When he spotted me in the corner, he smiled broadly and headed my way. This had to be Eugene Marter, and I observed him with curiosity as discreetly as I could. I judged him to be about five foot six, and he had dark, close-clipped hair, and a pale face that reminded me vaguely of his grandmother. He wore faded jeans, worn sneakers, and a flannel shirt that had been through the wash a few times too often. He had the appearance of a man who had little money to spend on himself. Or was he an eccentric who preferred to dress this way? Neither his mother nor his grandmother looked shabby.

I stood as he neared the table. “Good morning. You must be Eugene Marter.” I stuck out my hand.

He grasped it firmly and gave it two quick, hard shakes. “Morning, Mr. Harris. Mighty nice to meet you. Grandma sure does think you’re a gentleman.” His bland countenance split in a brief but charming smile.

“Please, have a seat.” I indicated a place at the table. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Well, I could probably use some water right about now. All this running around’s made me kinda thirsty.” He glanced over at the counter. “I’ll just get me a bottle of that fancy imported stuff and be right back.”

I nodded, and he walked away. I resumed my seat, and Diesel, alerted by the presence of a stranger, sat up and stretched. When Eugene Marter came back with his bottle, Diesel went around to him. The cat waited until Marter was seated, then laid a paw on the denim-clad knee. Diesel chirped at the man, and Marter stared at him.

“Hey, there, big guy. Mama and Grandma told me about you. Ain’t never seen a kitty cat this big before.” Marter glanced up at me. “He got some kind of gland problem? Or is he s’posed to be that big?” His touch was tentative as he stroked Diesel’s head.

“He’s large for his breed,” I said. “He’s a Maine Coon, and they are generally larger than most domestic cats.”

“Well, I’ll swan.” Marter shook his head, and I struggled to hide my amusement over an expression I hadn’t heard since my own grandmother passed away thirty-five years ago.

“You mentioned on the phone that you wanted to talk to me about something.” I thought a gentle prompt wouldn’t hurt, since Marter seemed in no hurry to talk. Instead, he sat staring at the cat, and Diesel seemed equally fascinated by him.

Marter focused on me. “Huh? Oh, yeah, matter of fact there was something I wanted to talk to you about.” He leaned forward. “According to Grandma, you’re a pretty sharp guy. She also said she’d read in the paper where you was some kinda detective or something. That right?”