“I get lonely, for Chrissake! What do you want from me? Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Then Mick heard the sound of someone speaking in the background. “Uh-huh.” Peterson’s voice was muffled, as if he’d lowered the phone. “Okay. All right.” Then Peterson’s voice returned to full volume. “Look, Mick, I gotta go. They have a few more ‘questions’ they wanna run by me. I’m well and truly screwed. Why’d you have to ask Harmony to take care of that damned cat?” And then the phone went dead.

*   *   *

Mick’s fingers were still gripping the cell phone that had fallen away from his ear as if it were suddenly filled with wet sand. It lay facedown on his thigh. His face was void of expression. His body was still, too still. Something wasn’t right. “What did he want?” Sarah asked. He turned his head in her direction, an inch or two, max. His gaze was unfocused.

“Harmony’s dead.” His voice was flat, almost monotone.

“The Harmony who is taking care of Charlie?”

“Crap,” he cursed softly. Jabbed at his phone screen, then held it to his ear and listened. “Damn. Not picking up. I’ll text Peterson, tell him to grab the cat before he leaves.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure he has a lot on his plate right now. Charlie will be fine.” From what little she knew, Paul Peterson was one of the last people she’d trust with her cat. “I’m flying back tomorrow, and the food and water I left would last him a couple of weeks.”

Mick nodded curtly. “Fine.” He shoved his phone in his pocket. Exhaled.

“Was she sick?”

“No.”

“What happened?”

“Drowned.”

The taxi was silent. Just the tinny sound of the radio, music being sung in an unfamiliar language, the plucking of stringed instruments in high-pitched tones, accompanied by lots of complicated percussion. The hum and bustle of the city streets beyond the confines of their taxi created a constant background pulse.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said.

“We weren’t close. It’s a shock is all. She was a couple of years younger than me, with her whole life before her.” He turned toward her, his face bleak. “I know it’s not my fault, but the fact that she died in my pool. She must have decided to take a dip, slipped, and banged her head. If I hadn’t asked her to go there—”

“No. I’m not letting you put the burden of that woman’s death on your conscience. She chose to swim in your pool. If you want to blame somebody, blame me. I’m the one whose cat needed looking after.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”