“If you feel like joining me for supper, I can put together something simple.”

“I’ll take a rain check. I’m too grumpy to be good company. I’ll unpack and shower and then get in my comfies, which is bound to help.”

I could see my use of the word “shower” had set off a mental alarm. Henry was probably calculating the water I’d already used this week. “I’ll keep it short, I swear.”

“One would hope.”

I unlocked my door and let myself in. Ed was there like a shot, sliding through the open door. As usual, he strolled around my studio and made himself at home. He hopped up on the kitchen counter and settled like a bolster pillow, with his front feet tucked under him. I wasn’t sure if Henry realized where he was, so I opened the door again and stuck my head out. “Ed’s in here if you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks. Bring him over if he turns into a pest.”

“Will do.”

I closed and locked the door. I set my overnight case at the bottom of the spiral stairs and turned on the living room lamps. I noticed the message light blinking on my answering machine. I crossed to the desk and pressed Play.

“Kinsey. Spencer Nash here. I’m back in town and curious what you learned about Hallie Bettancourt. When you have a minute, would you give me a call? It’s Saturday, one o’clock, and I should be here until four. If you miss me, leave a message and I’ll call you back first chance I get.”

He recited his number and I made a note of it. I didn’t want to call him or anybody else. I needed time to myself.

I trotted up the spiral stairs and set my overnight case on the bed. Behind me, Ed jumped down from the kitchen counter and followed. He had a look around, sniffed at the baseboards in hopes of mice, and finally sprawled on my bed, watching with interest while I unloaded my overnight bag, leaving the permanently packed items where they were. That done, I stripped off my clothes and shoved them in the hamper.

I had a two-minute shower and a quick shampoo. Once I pulled on my oversize sleeping T-shirt and sweats, I felt better. I holed up for the evening, tucked in bed, where I finished my book with a boy-cat stretched out along my hip. I thought he’d ask to go out, but he seemed happy where he was. Nothing wrong with being single when you can do as you please without objection or complaint. The presence of the fur ball was icing on the cake.

• • •

It wasn’t until Monday morning that I caught up with Nash—or, to be more accurate, when he caught up with me. We’d played phone tag all day Sunday and I’d finally decided not to sweat it. My report wasn’t pressing, and he was entitled to his weekend without business intruding. I’d try another call when I reached the office.