Diesel smiled at her. “Why is your cat wearing pants?”
“She’s a national champion, and she’s in heat. We’re going to breed her tomorrow.”
The cat on the car gave a loud YOWL and the national champion jumped out of Danko’s arms and shot out the door.
“Miss Snowball!” Danko shouted. “Help! Catch her! She can’t get pregnant from that alley cat!”
In a flash, Snowball was out of sight, running as fast as she could in her cat diaper, the gray cat close on her tail. Gail Danko stomped onto her little porch with her plaster-coated foot and single crutch, but she clearly wasn’t going to catch Snowball.
“Don’t worry,” I said to Danko. “Diesel will track Miss Snowball down. He’s good at this. He has special tracking skills.”
“I don’t track cats,” Diesel said.
“Of course you do,” I told him. “You have that whole energy sensitivity thing. That’s why you’re the bounty hunter.”
“I can find people.”
“Are you sure you can’t find cats? Have you ever tried to sniff one out?”
“No,” Diesel said, “but Miss Whatever shouldn’t be hard to find. Speaking from the male perspective, they’re probably just around the corner in the bushes, trying to get her pants off.”
He disappeared around the side of the building, and Danko and I stood waiting.
“What happened to your foot?” I asked her.
“Bunion surgery,” she said. “I’ve been sitting with the stupid thing elevated for two weeks, doing nothing but eating. I was struggling with my weight before the surgery, and now I’m totally fat. And if that isn’t bad enough, Miss Snowball’s going to get pregnant with that trailer-trash tomcat.” There was some god-awful screeching and howling, and Danko stumbled back and put her hand to her heart. “My baby!”
“It might not be so bad,” I said. “She could be faking it. I mean, who hasn’t faked it once or t
wice, right?”
A moment later, Diesel emerged from behind the house with Miss Snowball. The diaper was shredded but still attached, her fur was standing straight out, and her eyes were almost popped out of their sockets.
“Was that you screeching and howling?” I asked Diesel.
“Princess wasn’t happy with hotshot’s foreplay technique.” He handed Snowball over to Danko. “I hope the cat you’ve got coming tomorrow knows what he’s doing.”
“We wanted to ask you about Gilbert Reedy,” I said to Danko. “I believe you dated.”
“We met for coffee, but he started wheezing after five minutes. Turns out he’s allergic to cats.”
“Did he say anything interesting in those five minutes?” I asked her. “Did he mention a key?”
“No. He said on his form that he had the key to finding true love, but that was it. Hard to talk about keys and true love when you’re having an asthma attack.”
Diesel backtracked to Salem and parked in the lot of the public library. “Sharon Gordon is third on the list. She’s a librarian. Thirty-six years old. She lives with her mother. And her Facebook page says she likes Nora Roberts, s’mores, and penguins.”
“You can trust a woman who likes s’mores,” I said. “It’s the gooey factor.”
“Something to keep in mind.”
We entered the building and found Gordon shelving books in the children’s section. She was tall and slim, with brown hair pulled back in a clip at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a pale pink knit top, tan slacks, and flats.
She gasped when she turned and saw Diesel. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m used to seeing short people in this room.”
“We’d like to talk to you about Gilbert Reedy,” Diesel said.
“Are you police?”