Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(62)

When I pushed the remote button to unlock the doors to my BMW, the lights blinked and Macy laughed softly.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"You. You're so predictable."

"In what way?"

"The car. It's such a doctor car. And I bet it's spotless inside."

"Well, yes, but what's that got to do with anything?"

"Oh, nothing," she said. "It's just so...you."

I bit my tongue to keep from making some remark about how she dressed.

As I'd expected, Macy chatted nonstop from the moment she slid into the passenger seat. I heard about her cats and about Harvey and a number of other people, places and things. She bounced from one topic to the next, like Leanne's friend Gayle, without any detectable rhyme or reason. If I hadn't known better I would've said she was nervous, but that didn't make sense.

She directed me to her address and when we pulled up I was the one who laughed. The house resembled something out of a fairy tale. It was painted yellow and red. The yard was surrounded by a white picket fence with a gate, and flowers seemed to be blooming everywhere. She had huge pots on the front steps and the flower beds were ablaze with bright purple azaleas. I half expected Cinderella or Snow White to come waltzing out the door, greeting us with some chirpy song.

"What?" she asked, obviously unsure why I was so amused.

"The house."

"Oh, yes, isn't it divine? I inherited it from my grandmother."

"So you got your, uh, style from her?"

"Some," she agreed. "I repainted it last summer. A few of the neighbors made a bit of a fuss, but they got used to it after a while. Personally, I think it's inviting, don't you?"

"If I was eight, I would."

"Oh, stop," she said and laughed.

Apparently, she had no idea that I was serious. With a sense of resignation I climbed out of the car and shoved my hands in my pockets. Macy was already on the sidewalk, about to open the front gate, when she turned to look at me. "Don't worry about Sammy. His bark is worse than his bite."

No sooner had I stepped onto her property than a huge brown dog of indiscriminate pedigree came rushing toward me at full speed, barking loudly enough to hurt my ears. I braced myself, certain I was about to be tackled.

"Sammy," Macy said calmly. "This is a friend."

Sammy stopped in his tracks and stared up at me, his eyes filled with suspicion.

"Go ahead and pet him," Macy advised. "He's really gentle, but he's gotten rather protective lately." She opened the front door and the second she did three cats raced outside.

Macy bent down and petted each one, murmuring words of affection. "Meet Snowball, Lovie and Peace."

I felt a bit silly and, not knowing how else to respond, I waved.

"They've been cooped up inside all day," she explained as the cats twined themselves around her legs.

She led me into the house and, not surprisingly, it looked like a disaster site. She had a number of halffinished paintings propped up against the fireplace--or what I assumed was a fireplace. I didn't take time to study them, but each seemed different from the others. There was a landscape, a seascape and a still life--a fruit bowl with what appeared to be one huge pomegranate. There was also a portrait of a sleeping cat, the white fluffy one. None of these paintings was completed. This worried me. I hoped she understood that I wasn't paying her until the mural was done. Apparently, she saw where I was looking.

"I have a problem finishing...stuff."

"So I see."

"Don't worry about the mural, though," she told me cheerfully. "My car insurance premium is due and I can't be late," she said, then added in a whisper she probably didn't think I'd hear, "Again."

I managed to hide a smile as I continued to survey the room. A laundry basket sat on her sofa, piled with either clean or dirty clothes, I couldn't tell which. The diningroom table was covered with books, newspapers, magazines and unopened mail. She'd tried to create orderly stacks, but either the cats had interfered with her efforts or the piles had gotten jumbled on their own.

We passed through the kitchen. The dishes had been washed and were set on a wire rack next to the sink. On a table in the small dining nook lay a hardcover book, opened and turned over to mark her place. I cringe whenever I see a book bent in such a fashion. I was sorely tempted to reach down and close it. This was a personal peeve of mine. I could see no reason to break a book's spine when a bookmark would serve just as well.

Looking out the window, Macy announced, "Harvey's out back, sitting in his chair. He spends far too much time doing that. He never used to." Worry tinged her voice. "I have a feeling he's had another bad day."

Even now I wasn't sure what she expected me to do. I'd talk to Harvey and determine what I could, but I had no promises to give her.

She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the back door. "Let me introduce you."

"Okay, only--"

I wasn't allowed to finish before she half dragged me outside. "Harvey," she called. "I'd like you to meet Michael, the man I was telling you about." Then she turned to me and whispered, "This is just for show." With that, she looped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. Turning back to Harvey, she said, "You were right all along. I was besotted from the moment we met."