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Chapters (50)
  1. COVER
  2. PRAISE FOR TITLES BY MIRANDA JAMES
  3. ALSO BY MIRANDA JAMES
  4. TITLE PAGE
  5. COPYRIGHT
  6. DEDICATION
  7. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  8. ONE
  9. TWO
  10. THREE
  11. FOUR
  12. FIVE
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. EIGHT
  16. NINE
  17. TEN
  18. ELEVEN
  19. TWELVE
  20. THIRTEEN
  21. FOURTEEN
  22. FIFTEEN
  23. SIXTEEN
  24. SEVENTEEN
  25. EIGHTEEN
  26. NINETEEN
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. THIRTY
  38. THIRTY-ONE
  39. THIRTY-TWO
  40. THIRTY-THREE
  41. THIRTY-FOUR
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. THIRTY-SEVEN
  45. THIRTY-EIGHT
  46. THIRTY-NINE
  47. FORTY
  48. AFTERWORD
  49. LETTER TO THE READER
  50. SPECIAL EXCERPT FROM BLESS HER DEAD LITTLE HEART

Once I had Diesel in my arms, I let Teresa scurry up the walk ahead of us. Under cover of the porch, I put the cat down and stood aside as Teresa pulled open a screen door to knock on the wooden door behind it.

After a moment Teresa knocked again, and seconds later the door swung back to reveal a short, heavyset woman who appeared to be in her late sixties or early seventies. She scowled at the sight of Teresa and said, “What are you doing here?”

THREE

Thunder crashed, and I jumped as the rain poured down once again. What was wrong with this woman? We needed to get inside and out of the storm. I was thankful we had avoided getting soaked as we scurried from the car onto the porch, but if the wind picked up again, we would soon be dripping.

“I beg your pardon.” Teresa stepped back from the door, obviously confused. “When I spoke to you yesterday, you said this morning would be fine.”

Her posture rigid and her expression suspicious, the woman stared at Teresa a moment. She reached toward the wall inside the door, and the porch light flickered on. The woman’s face relaxed, and she flashed a brief smile.

“I’m sorry, couldn’t really see who you were.” She stood aside and motioned for us to enter. “I thought you were that, um, salesman I talked to the other day. He just won’t leave me alone, trying to sell me, uh, life insurance.”

I followed Teresa inside, and Diesel almost got tangled in between my legs in his haste to enter the house. I managed not to stumble and moved out of the way. The woman closed the door behind us. I was grateful to be out of the storm but a bit skeptical of our would-be hostess’s explanation of her earlier rude words to Teresa. She didn’t sound particularly convincing—especially since Teresa in no way resembled a salesman. It wasn’t that dark on the porch.

The woman’s eyes widened as Diesel stretched and warbled a greeting. “I’m Marcella Marter, Mrs. Cartwright’s daughter.” She continued to stare at my boy. “What kind of cat is that? I surely don’t think I ever saw one that big before, outside of a zoo.” She brayed like a frightened donkey—her version of a laugh, I supposed—and startled the rest of us. Diesel drew back with a jerk, and I patted his head in reassurance.

“His name is Diesel, and he’s a Maine Coon, the oldest natural breed of domestic cat in the U.S. They tend to be larger than other breeds, but Diesel here is well above average in the size department.” When he heard his name, the cat warbled again as he looked up at me and then at Mrs. Marter.