Helen pressed her hand to her heart, the color bleaching from her face. “A pet?”

“Not exactly.” Molly set the cage on a packing box, but Roo didn’t like that. “Quiet, pest! I’m afraid this isn’t the best time for a visit, Helen. I have to go to the park.”

“You’re taking it on an outing?”

“Releasing it.”

“I’ll—I’ll come with you.”

Molly should have enjoyed seeing her sophisticated former editor so discomposed, but the mouse had discomposed her, too. With the cage held far from her body, she led the way outside and began winding through the back alleys of downtown Evanston toward the park by the lake. Helen, in her black suit and heels, wasn’t dressed for either the heat or stumbling around potholes, but Molly hadn’t invited her to come along, so she refused to take pity.

“I didn’t know you’d moved,” Helen called from behind. “Luckily, I ran into one of your neighbors, and he gave me your new address. C-couldn’t you release it somewhere closer?”

“I don’t want him to find his way back.”

“Or use a more permanent trap?”

“Absolutely not.”

Although it was a weekday, the park was filled with bicyclists, college students on Rollerblades, and children. Molly found a grassy area and set the cage down, then hesitantly reached for the latch. As soon as she sprang it, Mickey made his leap for freedom.

Straight toward Helen.

Her editor gave a strangled cry and leaped up on a picnic bench. Mickey disappeared into the shrubbery.

“Beastly things.” Helen sagged down on the tabletop.

Molly was feeling a little wobbly-kneed, too, so she sat on the bench. Beyond the edge of the park, Lake Michigan stretched to the horizon. She gazed out and thought of a smaller lake with a cliff for diving.

Helen pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her forehead. “There’s just something about a mouse.”

There were no mice in Nightingale Woods. Molly’d have to add one if she ever found a new publisher.

She gazed at her old editor. “If you’ve come here to threaten me with a lawsuit, you’re not going to get much.”

“Why would we want to sue our favorite author?” Helen pulled out the envelope that held Molly’s check and set it on the bench. “I’m giving this back. And when you look inside, you’ll see a second check for the remainder of your advance. Really, Molly, you should have told me how strongly you felt about the revisions. I’d never have asked you to make them.”

Molly didn’t even try to respond to that piece of Slytherin crapola. Nor did she pick up the envelope.