Free Dead Between the Lines by Denise Swanson Page A

time to get all the paperwork completed.
    I had so many conflicted emotions regarding his return that I’d been purposely not thinking about it. I felt guilty about doubting his innocence. I was nervous about how his presence would change both Gran’s and my life. I had no idea if he’d be able to get a job. And if he couldn’t, I was worried about whether I could financially support a third person.
    His skills would be out-of-date, but, worse, he’d have a criminal record because in the end, Dad’s lawyer had persuaded him to settle for parole instead of taking a chance on a retrial. He
had
been the one behind the wheel of the car that had killed an innocent girl. Even though he’d been drugged at the time, there was no guarantee a jury would find him innocent. That argument, plus our not having the money it would take to finance a whole new trial, had convinced my father to agree to the less risky option.
    As the attorney had also pointed out, if Dad was paroled it was highly unlikely that there’d be any new media attention. His wasn’t a high-profile case, and there was no one who might protest his release and stir up the interest of the press. A new trial, on the other hand, would probably result in an onslaught of newspaper and television reporters camping out in Shadow Bend.
    Since there wasn’t anything I could do about my father issues right now, I turned my attention to sneaking Tsar into the house without incurring Banshee’s fury. Parking my car in front of the house, I left the Russian Blue in the BMW while I went inside to scope out the situation. As usual, the Siamese was in the living room, sunning himself on the cat tree in front of the picture window.
    As I entered, he opened one eye, saw that it was me, and went back to sleep. Only Gran’s presence could induce Banshee to move—well, her and the sound of a can of tuna being popped open. For the spoiled Siamese, it was always food o’clock somewhere.
    Deciding to bring Tsar in through the back, I unlocked and propped open that door, then went to fetch the Russian Blue and his paraphernalia. The elaborate pet transporter could be transformed from a rolling carrier to a car seat to a backpack, so I strapped the Russian Blue on my body, balanced his litter box in one hand and grabbed his luggage in the other, and eased into the utility room.
    After a quick peek to make sure the coast was clear, I tiptoed through the kitchen, then crept down the hallway to my room. My plan was to keep Tsar there behind closed doors until Monday, when I went to work. Banshee would never know his kingdom had been invaded by another animal.
    In my bedroom, I set the pet carrier and suitcase on the floor. Looking around the twelve-by-twelve space, I opted to put the litter box in the attached bathroom. After I made sure that the litter was perfectly smooth for the finicky feline, and feeling smug at having outsmarted Banshee, I strolled back into my bedroom and froze.
    The Siamese was poised in front of Tsar’s carrier and he had managed to hook a claw in the zipper tab. As I watched in horror, the malevolent monster pulled downward, licking his chops and looking exactly as if he were unrolling the top of a sardine tin.
    •   •   •
    I still couldn’t believe it. Instead of snacking on Tsar, Banshee had sniffed him, given his ears a few licks, and then the two cats sauntered out of the bedroom as if they’d been friends for years. Once I recovered from my shock, I followed them, sure that the Siamese was luring the Russian Blue to his doom. But the kitty couple was curled up together on the sofa, fast asleep.
    Thankful for small miracles, I left the dozing duo and went into the kitchen for a snack. I’d skipped lunch and I didn’t want to be so famished by dinner that I inhaled my food. That was so not the picture of me I wanted in Jake’s mind.
    One negative of the store closing early was that I had way too much time to fuss with my clothes and hair.