Free Hotter than Helen (The "Bobby's Diner" Series) by Susan Wingate Page A

Mommy’s home.” She repeated the same words each day upon returning from work. “Kitty, want some food?”
    She set her purse and keys down on the kitchen counter and toed the heel of her left shoe, pulling it off, then did the same to her right.
    “Gangster. Kitty.” She untied her apron as she walked to the washer. Unlooping it over her head, she tossed the soiled thing into the machine and closed the lid. “Gangster. Where are you, you little monster?”
    He wasn’t in his usual spot on the couch.
    “Gangster? Where are you?” She remembered closing the coat closet earlier and wondered if he might’ve gotten shut inside there but then remembered petting him before she left. She checked the coat closet anyway and to no surprise was not inside. She remembered him jumping up onto the kitchen counter. Then questioned her memory. Was that yesterday or today?
    Looking inside the open door of the bathroom, Georgette checked to see if he might be there, curled up on a towel. No sign there either. “Gangster!” She had a couple other places she could look before she needed to panic. Her mind flashed on the kitchen door being unlocked.
    “Darn it, Gangster. When I find you …” Her voice trailed off from her fake threat.
    Stopping in the hallway, she looked around with her hands on her waist. She turned to the left then the right wondering why she couldn’t find her cat.
    She walked to the couch again and looked at the spot where he normally slept. She felt it checking to see if it was warm, if he was near. But it was cool. Rubbing her hands now over the entire surface of the couch, worrying about where her cat was hiding. She bent down to her knees and lay her cheek against the floor, looking with one eye closed the other targeted under the piece of furniture. He wasn’t there either.
    She raised up, bent-kneed, sitting next to the couch. “Gangster!” Her voice croaked out. “Kitty, honey. Where are you?” She felt her heart skip into a quicker pace but tried to calm down, to think of other hiding places, other options where she might search.
    Finally, she rose and walked fast to the open door of where Helen had stayed in. The mustiness of the room had been replaced with something fouler, something dirty. It smelled of Helen’s perfume and Hawthorne. Her nose twitched at the odor but she went inside anyway and pulled the chain to the ceiling fan sending it whirling for circulation. Then she opened up the window for the draft to wash the room clean. She checked under Helen’s bed.
    He wasn’t anywhere.
    Nearly at a run now, leaving doors open, she raced through the living room and outside through the French doors, calling for her cat there.
    After a half hour, she decided to call Roberta. When she pressed the button the distinct beep beep beep of a message still waiting on her voice mail buzzed in her ear. Messages left by Hawthorne. Messages left by Helen.
    But then she wondered if maybe someone else had left a message about her cat.
    She dialed her voice mail, pressed in her password and listened.
    Hawthorne’s begging voice pissed her off immediately and she deleted all four of his entreaties without listening all the way to their end.
    Helen’s messages disturbed her the most, making Georgette feel betrayed all over again.
    “Georgette,” her voice sounded urgent. Not what Georgette would have expected so she listened further. “Georgette. Look. It’s important you call me. I need your help. Oh. No…” A muffling through the mouthpiece was undetectable, then the phone went dead.
    Georgette deleted it. Just like Helen. Weak, pitiful, deceitful, conniving, untrustworthy, no-good Helen.
    It was Helen’s second message she decided to keep. “Hello, Georgette. Don’t worry about me. Like I said in my note, I’ve decided to go back to Seattle. I’m leaving Thursday morning on an early bus.”
    The complete reversal seemed odd. Her voice didn’t sound the same. The urgency had been replaced by