Page 177 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“Oh no,” Mary says. “I can see why you wanted to help him.”

As I approach the corner, I slow down, then turn on my hazards as I pull up to the curb and roll down the passenger window. “Roger, what are you doing out here? I told you that I’d look for her.”

“I only left the door open for a minute. I went by your apartment to see if you wanted to go to the library.” His eyes are glassy, and his hand seems to be shaking more than usual as he clutches the cane. He casts a surprised glance at Mary but doesn’t comment, no doubt preoccupied by his worry for Cleo.

“Mr.…Roger,” Mary says, obviously fumbling for a last name she doesn’t know. She opens the passenger door and gets out, then gently takes his arm. “Let’s get inside where it’s warm.”

“I can’t,” he says, his voice breaking. “I have to find Cleo.”

Mary glances over her shoulder and sends me a pleading look.

“Cleo might still be in the building,” I reason. “You can look in there while Mary and I search outside.”

Roger looks uncertain, so Mary says, “I’ll go with you. And if we don’t find Cleo inside, then I’ll come back out and help Jace. Butyouneed to stay inside. Cleo might come back on her own, and you’ll need to be there to let her in.”

“Mary’s sister runs the shelter where I got Bingo,” I said. “She knows what she’s talking about.”

After a moment of indecision, Roger conceded with a nod of his head. “Okay. That sounds smart.”

Itissmart, and I mouththank youto Mary as Roger turns to walk into the building. A tight smile turns up her mouth before she leads him inside.

This isn’t the first time Cleo has escaped, so at least I have some idea of where to look. I park my truck in the parking lot and get out, heading to the dumpsters first. She loves digging in Roger’s trash, and I’ve found her hanging out in the dumpster before. But there’s no sign of her.

Helplessness claws at me. Roger loves his cat, and if anything happens to her, I’m not sure how he’d take it. I walk around the block, looking like a prowler as I search the shadows and various nooks. When I strike out, I head back to Roger’s apartment to check in and come up with a plan of action. Maybe Mrs. Rosa will help.

When I reach Roger’s apartment, his door is cracked open, and I find him sitting at his small kitchen table with a mug in front of him while Mary taps on a tablet on the kitchen counter,her phone pressed to her ear. “I just changed that part. Any other suggestions?”

Roger looks up at me with a hopeful expression, which quickly turns crestfallen when I shake my head.

Mary looks up too, her eyes locking with mine. “I’ve got to go, Maisie. Thanks for your help.” She ends the call. “Nothing?”

“No. I checked the dumpster—one of her favorite haunts—and then walked around the block.”

Worry creases her brow. “Maisie says to make flyers and pass them out to the neighbors, so I already designed one based on what she told me to include. I’m about to send it to the nearest printing shop to get copies made. Maisie says a hundred should do it for now. I’ve already canvassed the neighbors on this floor, asking them to look out for Cleo, and a couple of them volunteered to pass out flyers. One was a Mrs. Rosa who seemedveryinterested in meeting me.” She gives me a smile I can’t interpret, then says, “In any case, Maisie says the best time to look for a cat is at night.” She casts a glance to Roger, then back to me. “But obviously, we don’t want to wait that long.”

I stare at her in surprise. Not only has she helped calm Roger, but she’s taken over the command center for Cleo’s search. “Wow. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Mary says, already turning her attention back to her phone. “Wait until we find Cleo.” She taps on her phone a few times, then holds it up to her ear. “Asheville Human Society? Yes, my name is Mary O’Shea, and I’m calling on behalf of Roger Ditmore. His orange tabby cat Cleo has gotten loose, and we wanted you to know in case someone calls or brings her in. You can reach us at…” She rattles off a phone number, and I’m taken aback to realize she’s just given themmynumber. Which she’s memorized.

It’s startling to see Mary like this. She’s a powerhouse of organization.

I knew that somewhat, but seeing her in action is an intense turn-on.

She’s as appealing like this as she was last night, tipping her head back in her living room, her body flowing with the music.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Jace Hagan?” Mrs. Rosa asks in a low tone behind me.

I turn to see her in the hall. I start to claim I don’t know what she’s talking about, but the stern look in her eyes lets me know I’ll only be prolonging my interrogation. “It’s not what you think.”

Her brow shoots up. “And how do you know what I think?”

I step into the hall and partially close the door. “We’re just friends.”

She gives me a look similar to the one my mother used to give me when she caught me up to no good. “Friends who have sleepovers?”

“It’s nearly noon.”

“Exactly. And I know for a fact you didn’t come back to your apartment last night.”

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