I woke the following morning with a brain fuzzy from lack of sleep. All night long I’d alternated between lying awake trying to think of the best next steps for finding Pug’s killer and having dreams ranging from silly to downright disturbing.

The silliest had been when Eddie, wearing my favorite pajamas and eating crème brûlée, had used my cell phone to call Katie and ask her to bring Disney World tickets when she came up for the summer. The creepiest had been when I’d been walking through a forest, enjoying the sounds of a breeze in the trees and the twittering of birds, when all the noise suddenly stopped. I’d turned in a circle trying to figure out what had happened, trying to see, and then I did see. Looming over me was a dark shadow, human in form, its arms raised high, holding something dark and large and heavy and—

Happily, I’d woken up at that point, sweating and breathing hard. But out of the murky mist and into the light of day, one big question emerged.

“How did I know it was heavy?” I now asked.

Eddie looked pointedly at my cereal bowl. “Mrr,” he said.

“You know perfectly well that you don’t get the leftover milk until it’s, you know, actually left over.” I ate another bite of toasted oats to firmly demonstrate that I was still eating. “But as I was saying, back in that dream, I was trying to get away from the shadow because he was about to thump me with something heavy. How did I know anything about its weight?” I thought it all through again. “Plus, why am I saying it was a male? Is that the default gender when you’re attacked, even in a dream? Odds are for it, but it’s not as if women don’t do bad things.”

“Mrr.”

I looked down at him. He was sitting on the floor, tail curled around his feet, eyes focused intently on mine. With our gazes locked, I ate a bite of cereal. Ate another one. Then, finally, I scooped out the last few round pieces and put my empty bowl on the floor.

Eddie gave the bowl a long, hard look. Then he gave me a long, hard stare and stalked away, his tail one tall flag of protest.

“Now what did I do?” I asked. But, of course, he didn’t answer.

Muttering about cats in general and ones named Eddie in particular, I opened the cupboard door that held the cat carrier. “Don’t go far,” I called. “It’s a bookmobile day, remember?”

“Mrr!” Eddie galloped back to the kitchen. “Mrr!”