Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
T he rest of the afternoon was spent looking in the rooms of those who had items stolen. Each room seemed to carry its own story—a faint scent of old cologne here, a carefully arranged stack of books there, and the lingering unease of violated privacy. We left Tranquility Terrace with more questions than answers. Ray was lost in his own thoughts, eyes narrowed in concentration as he drove us back to his place. I, on the other hand, had only one thought—food.
The moment we walked through the front door of Ray’s small ranch-style house, I made a beeline for the kitchen. The place was a typical bachelor pad—just the basics: a beat-up sofa, a TV that looked like it had survived the nineties, and a kitchen table that wobbled if you so much as looked at it funny.
Ray tossed his notebook onto the counter, oblivious to my attempts to get his attention with increasingly exaggerated head bumps and vocal protests. I sat by my empty food bowl, looking up at him with the kind of deep, soulful gaze that would guilt anyone into action. Well, anyone except Ray when he was deep in thought.
“This place is full of suspects, but I can’t figure out who did it,” he muttered, pacing the small kitchen. “It could be pretty much anyone... I guess I should look for a motive. Who needed the money?”
I flicked my tail. Ray. Focus. The bowl’s not going to fill itself.
He didn’t notice. Instead, he grabbed a leftover sandwich from the fridge, plopped down at the kitchen table, and chewed thoughtfully as he stared at his notebook. I sat in front of him, waiting for him to realize he wasn’t the only one in this house who needed to eat.
This is it , I thought, sitting up straighter, staring directly at him. The eyes of desperation. The silent plea. Look at me, Ray. Come on. Just look down and see the face of a starving ? —
Ray sighed, his shoulders slumping as he scratched his head. His brow furrowed in frustration. “No forced entry, no witnesses… How are they getting in?”
I leapt onto the table, plopped down in front of his notebook, and gave him an annoyed meow, staring pointedly at my empty bowl. Finally, Ray blinked at me like he was seeing me for the first time all night.
“Oh. You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.
He grinned sheepishly and stood up. “Sorry, Earl. I’ll get your dinner.”
About time. I hopped off the table and followed him as he opened a can of wet food. The savory aroma filled the kitchen. Right after Ray set the bowl down, I dug in, the case momentarily forgotten. Let Ray chew over his theories for now. I had more important matters to attend to.
While I ate, Ray went back to pacing. “There’s something I’m missing. It’s right there, but I can’t figure it out. Maybe a change of scenery will help clear my head. I know what I need. I need some strong coffee. Let’s go to Purr & Pour.”
I paused mid-bite, my ears perking up at the name. Purr & Pour was the local cat cafe. Now, that was a place I could get behind—good coffee for Ray and maybe some extra treats for me. Tonight might not be so bad after all.