Chapter Ten
Ten
It’s been three days and there’s been no word on Gertie.
“Did the police have any updates?” Genevieve asks when I arrive at the agency.
“I’m not sure why I bothered to swing by the station again. They’re still insisting my rickety front door flew open on a windy day.”
“That’s bullshit,” says Borzu.
“They’re stuck on the fact that nothing was taken. Like Gertie doesn’t count? But they insist no one’s breaking and entering to steal a senior cat. I know my door can be stubborn. That’s why I’d elbowed it shut that morning like I do every day, to make sure.”
Didn’t I?
Or was I so lost in my thoughts that I failed to properly pay attention? Maybe the door wasn’t closed all the way. Maybe it’s easier for me to blame an intruder than to blame myself.
Azar and I have put up signs everywhere. We handed out flyers with Gertie’s photo and my contact information to every local café, restaurant, and store within a ten-mile radius. There have been no sightings. Not that I’d expected any. Gertie lived indoors her entire life. She never expressed a remote interest in going outdoors. Khala couldn’t even coax her into the outdoor catio she’d had built for her. Someone took her. Someone who wanted to hurt me. Who wanted me to know that they were still out there.
Khala. Tears fill my eyes. I need to tell her what happened. But how? She entrusted her beloved pet to me for safekeeping, and now she’s missing.
“Too bad there’s woods across the street from you, or we could have had a chance to at least grab a neighbor’s camera footage,” Borzu says. “I ordered you video surveillance. I’ll install it as soon as it arrives.”
“I’m sorry, Nura,” Genevieve says. “This is too much to take back-to-back.”
“Any updates on Basit’s whereabouts on the day Gertie went missing?” I ask.
“Basit has been in Malaysia all week,” Borzu says. “His search history is clean.”
“His search history.” Genevieve shakes her head. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”
“I only hack for good, but there’s nothing shady in there—or rather,” he amends, “nothing shady pertaining to you, Nura. I’m still digging in on the podcaster’s identity. My contact said they’re going to introduce me to someone who knows someone. Waiting to hear back. Sooner or later we’ll get to the bottom of it, I promise.”
I know my team is doing their best to figure out what’s going on. I know things take the time they will. It’s what I counsel my clients on practically every time we speak: the importance of patience. But it’s harder for me to follow my own advice. How is it possible to keep on hitting dead end after dead end? How much longer do we have to wait until we know what’s going on? I think of Gertie and push back tears. The not knowing is physically painful.
“While we figure things out…” Genevieve glances at Borzu, then me. “We were thinking that maybe it’s time for some personal security for you. Just to be on the safe side.”
“Borzu ordered surveillance equipment,” I remind her.
“Nura.” Genevieve rolls her eyes. “I’m talking about real security.”
“She means a bodyguard,” Borzu interjects.
“Or maybe if you had a gun,” Darcy begins.
A gun? Just the word gives me goosebumps. I look at their concerned expressions. “I get it. I’m worried too. But you all know how I feel about guns. I’ve got my Mace. And we took that self-defense class last year, remember?”
“All the self-defense in the world won’t help if the other person is armed,” Darcy insists. “After that whole Andrei mess, I feel so much safer now that I have one.”
“A gun is a nonstarter. Lilah goes through my things all the time. I can’t take any risks.”
“At least let me check in with our contacts for a good personal security agency,” Genevieve says. “It can take some time to get things set up.”
The thought that I might need a bodyguard makes me shiver. My phone trills a reminder alarm.
“Can we table this for now? I have a virtual appointment with Beenish that I need to prep for,” I tell them.
At this, Darcy perks up. “Any idea how her date with Nayab went?”
“She flew up to New York last night to meet him. She texted me this morning and sounded thrilled.”
“I have a feeling about those two!” Darcy exclaims.
“You have that matchmaking eye,” I tell her. “I am going to insist she meet the three other potentials we lined up. It’s good to explore all options. But Nayab definitely seems promising.”
“This is the best part of the job, isn’t it?”
She’s right. It’s hard to beat that feeling when you realize that you might have helped steer the trajectory of someone’s entire future in a better direction. Even with all the heaviness around me, at least there’s this bright bit of news.
I settle into my office as the phone rings. It’s a few minutes early for our chat, but when I check the number, it’s not Beenish.
“Nura?” the woman on the other line asks once I answer. “This is Patti—your neighbor from three doors down. I saw the flyer for your kitty taped up over at Java Nut. I think I might have spotted her on my way home.”
“You saw Gertie?” I sit up straight.
“It was definitely a white-and-silver kitty. I tried getting closer, but she got spooked. Slipped behind The Tavern next door.”
I grab my keys. Skirting my desk, I tell Darcy to reschedule my call with Beenish, and hurry out the door. Maybe the police had it right. Maybe the door really did blow open, and then Gertie freaked and bolted. Maybe I can find her. Maybe Khala won’t ever have to know what happened.
—
But three hours of searching the nooks and crannies around The Tavern prove fruitless. There’s no sign of her. No trace at all.
“Any luck?” Patti asks when I pull into my driveway. She’s standing across the street, her beagle on a red leash.
I shake my head. “She may have fled by the time I arrived.”
“I wish I could have grabbed a picture,” Patti says. “She moved quickly.”
I hesitate. “Patti, did you happen to see anything unusual the day Gertie went missing? Any strange cars or people on our street?”
“That was Tuesday, wasn’t it? I babysit the grandkids on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I was gone for much of the day. I’m sorry, honey. If I’d seen your door open, I’d have shut it. I’m happy to share my handyman’s information so you can get it fixed right up.”
“Thanks, Patti.”
“Don’t worry, hon, she’ll turn up. I bet she didn’t go far. Those woods across from us, they’re a dream come true for a cat to explore.”
I look at the shadowed woods in the distance. Pine and poplar and brush ten acres deep. I imagine Gertie slipping out my door to frolic among those trees, chase squirrels, and catch mice in her twilight years. A final moment to reclaim her Siberian forest roots.
If only this was the image that stuck. Not the other thought that runs in a loop in my mind’s eye. Of that man. The one in the dark hooded sweatshirt. His face obscured by a mask. Drifting down my street. Skulking about my house. Who knew that grabbing Gertie, Khala’s treasured pet, was the exact right way to bring me to my knees.
I blink back tears. If that’s his plan, if that’s what happened, if he’s behind this, then it’s working.