Page 39 of S.O.S. Billboard

“No. No. I’ve got this. I could cook in my sleep,” Celia chortled. “Billboard is pretty adept at feeding himself, but with me right next door, he knows all he has to do is call, tell me he’s running late, and I’ll make him a nice meal. So I have plenty of practice.”

That sounded like heaven to O’Shea. There were many nights, working overtime, where she would come home and grab a cold piece of pizza from the fridge before crashing. She wondered if Billboard knew how lucky he had it?

“Can I set the table, then?” O’Shea asked. She really wanted to make herself useful.

“Sure,” Celia answered amicably. “Silverware is over in that drawer,” she tipped her head, “napkins are over there, too, and glasses are in the cupboard next to the fridge. I’ll dish up the plates directly from the stove.”

O’Shea found everything easily enough, and soon, the good smells were making her stomach growl. She remembered the coffee she’d started. “I have coffee on, next door,” she told Celia. “Should I go pour us a couple cups?”

The older woman shook her head. “I’m a tea drinker, but if you want some, the eggs will be ready in three minutes. And if you don’t mind,” she continued, grinning, “I’d love a picture of your Zoe. Once she’s settled in, I’ll give her a visit.”

“Will do, and I’ll make it fast.” O’Shea aimed for the door, but was nearly tripped by two, very fat orange tabbies, twirling themselves around O’Shea’s feet as if they were one entity.

“Pumpkin. Squash,” Celia reprimanded the pair. “Leave O’Shea alone. Shoo!” She waved her spatula at them, and they simply gave her twin, green-eyed looks of boredom before sauntering away. “Don’t mind them. They rule the roost.”

“They’re beautiful,” O’Shea praised. “I’ll make sure I patthemwhen I get back.”

“Oh, they’ll let you know if and when they want patting,” Billboard’s mother chortled. “Otherwise, I’d steer clear.”

Ahh.O’Shea got it. Sort of. Not all cats were cuddlers. She’d need to research cat-independence the first chance she got.

Hurrying next door, she saw that Zoe had settled in a puddle of sun by Billboard’s sliders, and didn’t seem in any hurry to move. She snapped a quick picture for Celia. Then O’Shea cocked an ear toward Billboard’s room. There wasn’t a sound from him, either, so he clearly wasn’t stirring yet.

She poured a large cup of black coffee, lamenting that it didn’t contain the chicory root she normally craved at home, but she wouldn’t be fussy. Maybe today she’d be able to do that shopping she’d thought about, making sure she had…yup, her chicory root, and more chocolate.

“That was quick,” Celia approved when she returned. “Let me see your little baby, then have a seat.”

O’Shea walked over and held the phone for Celia to see, and after the appropriate cooing noises were made, O’Shea obediently went to the table.

There was a cup of tea steeping at one spot, so O’Shea took the chair across from it, immediately sipping and appreciating her hot beverage. Within a few seconds, her meal was in front of her on the table, and it included a small slab of ham which she hadn’t expected.

“I just warmed that up from leftovers,” Celia told her, not standing on ceremony, but sitting down to dig right in. “Now,” she said pointedly, “tell me about yourself.”

And here we go…

Twenty minutes later, O’Shea was marveling at the amount of information Celia had extracted from her. She’d only meant to tell about her job as a detective with the OPD, and perhaps even mention her aspirations to sergeant, but she’d somehow endedup spilling about her personal life; her wonderful brother, her deadbeat parents, and her hopes of finding a position in Boston.

“You’re a very ambitious young woman.” Celia seemed to approve. “And to come from such difficult beginnings.” She shook her head, as if lamenting for O’Shea, which made O’Shea’s heart clench. Sympathy had most always been missing from her life.

“I’ve done what I had to, to survive,” O’Shea told her. If Celia knew the whole truth, it would boggle her mind. “I’m sure anyone else in my position would have done the same.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Celia admonished lightly. “You’ve accomplished a lot with so little. Now tell me…”

Oh, oh.It sounded like Celia was through with small talk, and was getting to the nitty-gritty. This was, no doubt, where she’d ask about O’Shea’s intentions toward Billboard.

O’Shea braced herself.

Celia pushed away her now empty plate, skewering her with what O’Shea imagined was a probing, motherly look. “Why do you call yourself O’Shea?”

O’Shea blinked. It wasn’t what she’d expected. And nobody had asked her that for a very long time. Not since she’d let it be known—at least with her fellow officers—that the subject was off limits.

O’Shea, once again, needed to go with something close to the truth, without having to get into details.

“I umm, was named after my grandmother; my mother’s mother, who I lived with for periods of time when my parents were…absent.”Translation; drunk on benders. “Karen, that’s my grandmother’s name, was…isnot a nice person.”Yeah.The harpy was still alive, and wasn’t that just a shame. Simply saying her name, O’Shea had the urge to vomit, but she swallowed her bile. “As soon as I could make it happen, I forbid anyone to call me that, and I’ve simply been O’Shea ever since.”

“O’Shea being your father’s surname,” Celia supplied.

“Correct. He’s just…a weak man, uncaring of his kids, cowed by my mother who is just likehermother. But there’s nothing overtly nasty about him, so I kept O’Shea.”

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