At last she reached Old Mackey’s house. It sat, squat and secretive behind tall hedges, a meager light burning on the porch, a dim glow coming from behind the curtains across the window of one room. She racked the bike against the porch railing and knocked on the door. After a long wait, a gravelly voice shouted, “Well? Are you coming in or not?”

She pushed, and the old door creaked open. The hall was dark. A cat came out from the only lighted room and inspected her, sniffing along the edges of her wet boots. Dimly, she could see a man in the next room, sitting in a chair with a book in his hands. She dripped off, gaining courage, and removed the foil-wrapped package from her pocket before hanging her coat on the rack amid an odd assortment of jackets, coats and scarves.

“Hello?” Rose ventured, “Mr. Mackey?” She made sure to pronounce it right. He got up from the chair then, leaning on a cane. Peered out and gave a sniff much like the cat had. Rose stepped forward and proffered the foil-wrapped cake. He took it with his free hand.

“It’s homemade, with real butter.”

“Thank you,” he said and sat down. He put the package on the table next to his chair, picked up the book he had been reading when she arrived and resumed reading it now.

Rose stood there, uncertainly. The cat came around from behind a chair in the corner and stared at her.

Mackey looked up from his book. “You still here?”

“I guess so.”

“Either you are or you aren’t.”

1 am.

Mackey showed no inclination to put his book aside. She needed to do something drastic.

“I have a confession to make.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“That cake was a bribe.”

He looked interested.

“I have to tell you something. Something I know about something that’s happened.”

He lifted his arm to take in the room. “This isn’t the police station, love.”

“I’ve already been there, they wouldn’t listen to me. Well, not the first time anyway. I can’t go back again.”

“Commit some crime, did you?” He laid the book aside.

“I’ll try to explain.”

He sighed. “Aye, well, sit down if it’s going to be a long story.”

Her story came out awkwardly. As if listening intently, the cat crept closer and then jumped into her lap. She stroked its back, and it started to purr.

“Watch out,” Mackey said. “It’s a fickle creature.”

“Mr. Mackey, do you think it sounds crazy?” 79

“I can’t say off the top of my head. I’ll have to think about it.”

The cat stopped purring and abruptly smacked Rose with a sharp claw. Rose rubbed at the tiny droplets of blood.

“Bad puss,” Mackey said abstractedly.