The Older Woman Read Online Free PDF Page A

alone in her house. On the other hand, she’d trusted him enough to inflict him on Mrs. Bee. It looked as if she trusted him enough to leave him all alone with the Meehan family silver, too.

    The doorbell abruptly rang—way too early for callers in Doyle’s opinion. He toyed with the idea of ignoring it, then decided that it might be Meehan with her arms full, and the least he could do was let her into her own house.

    He struggled to his feet and then to the door—the wrong door. The doorbell rang again, and he hobbled in the opposite direction, this time with a cat escort.

    The boyfriend stood on the patio with his little white bag and a cardboard coffee cup holder holding two cups.

    “This ought to be good,” Doyle said to the cat. He opened the door wide and stood waiting, enjoying the man’s startled look much more than he should have. But—as he’d told Meehan—he didn’t get out much. He had to find his entertainments where and when he could.

    “I’m…looking for Katherine,” the boyfriend said warily.

    “Katie’s not here,” Doyle said, using Mrs. Bee’s version of Meehan’s given name for no other purpose than to annoy the man who had taken off and left her standing in the rain.

    If at all possible.
    The
    man
    frowned.

    Definitely possible, Doyle decided.

    “Where is she?” the boyfriend asked pointedly. He was not happy about this situation at all. Meehan was supposed to be exactly where he’d left her, no doubt. And she certainly wasn’t supposed to be entertaining another man.

    “Don’t know,” Doyle said.

    “When will she be back?”

    “Don’t know,” Doyle said, continuing his effort to be helpful.
    “What
    are
    you doing in her house?” the man asked next, his Mr. Rich and Cool image getting away from him.

    “Not much. Sleeping. Drinking coffee. Feeding the cat. You want me to take that?” Doyle asked of the little white bag and the plastic cups in the cardboard holder.

    “No, I don’t,” the man snapped. He stalked away and dumped the white bag and the coffee in the rollout trash can as he passed it.

    “Want me to tell her you came by?” Doyle called. And made a fool of yourself?

    The boyfriend didn’t answer. He hopped into his very nice silver car and backed noisily out the drive.

    The cat chirped at Doyle’s feet. “Why didn’t you stop me?” he asked it. “Now he’s really vexed.”

    The cat made a different kind of noise and executed another one of its four-pawed dance turns.

    “Nice dresser, though,” Doyle said. He closed the door and hobbled back into the kitchen.

    He finished the rest of his coffee standing up and put the empty cup on the top rack of the dishwasher. It was a lot harder to get the make-do cat food dish off the floor than to put it down there, but he eventually managed. There was nothing to do now but attempt the long walk across the yard to Mrs. Bee’s. He was halfway to the back door when he remembered that he was supposed to unplug the coffeemaker.

    As was its custom, the cat accompanied him in both directions, and when he opened the back door again, it sniffed the air but made no attempt to go outside.

    “Stay alert,” he said as he hobbled through. “Coyotes are sneaky bastards.”

    Doyle pulled the door closed after him and paused for a moment on the patio. The morning was cool, washed clean by yesterday’s rain. Meehan’s array of wind chimes tinkled softly in the breeze—glass, melodic chrome tubes and tiny brass bells, and, every now and then, a dull and hollow clunk of bamboo. Flowers grew in numerous pots and hanging baskets, most of which he couldn’t identify. He recognized the red and purple petunias, but he had no idea whatsoever about the green thing that smelled like lemons. His knowledge of plants was limited to farm crops and survival-training edibles. His knowledge of Kate Meehan was limited, as well. Who would have thought she liked these kinds of things?

    An assortment of birds flew back