“The nerve of some people.” The do-gooder neighbor followed him back toward his door. “Wouldn’t even take responsibility. I saw it. Saw it all.”
Shay stopped herself from following, biting her lip in frustration as she met the eyes of the few curious residents who had approached to see what the argument was about. They dispersed quickly.
There was no use in continuing to protest that it wasn’t her fault. She’d seen the look on Mr. Sanders’s face. If she pursued it, he would call the police. And they would not believe her, either.
She’d had a beer. She smelled of beer. Her car ran over the cat. The fact that it didn’t happen the way it sounded wasn’t going to bring the kitty back.
Accused, tried, and found guilty, again. The situation was ugly and familiar. No one knew or wanted to know the truth.
Yet she did. That man had deliberately made her kill that poor cat. And he was still out there in the dark.
Hugging an arm to her queasy middle, Shay swung around, panic seizing and holding her in place as her eyes searched every shadow for the sight of the man who had done this. Was he watching her from behind some bush? Had he heard every word? Was that what he wanted, to start trouble with her neighbors? Why?
Shay captured a sob before it could escape. Whatever the reason, she’d given him a bonus by having been the victim of a beer shampoo.
A new thought struck her, one that unglued her shoes from the pavement and sent her running like a frightened child for her door.
The man and Carly from the bar might be working together.
Maybe they weren’t done yet.
She needed help. She needed James.
As she approached her apartment she spotted something on her door, a note. The note simply said “YOU.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The sight of a sheriff at her door an hour later mustered only mild surprise. The owner of the cat must have called them about the death of Gandalf, after all.
Shay took her time unlocking her locks. She had showered, brushed and gargled, put on fresh clothes, washed her beer-soaked ones. She opened her door a crack with the chain still on, her gaze unwelcoming. “Yes?”
“Are you—” He paused to glance at the envelope in his hand. “Ms. Shayla Denise Appleton?”
Shay blinked. Very few people knew her full legal name. “Why?”
He pushed his hat back with a hand, his expression still bland. “Are you Ms. Appleton?”
“Yes.”
“This is for you.” He inserted a manila envelope through the narrow space of the open door.
Shay didn’t reach for it. “What is that?”
He didn’t answer, just held it there.
When she took it, he touched his hat in salute and backed off. “You have been served a summons. Good evening, Ms. Appleton.”
Shay held the envelope in two fingers. Every sense was telling her it wasn’t good news. She carried it over to the table where the paper with the word “YOU” had been dropped. It didn’t take her long to figure out that the sign referred to the crushed cat. It was an ugly threat and more direct than any of the others.
She went back to her sofa and picked up her phone, then reread James’s text for the tenth time.
We need to talk. I’ll call late.
She desperately needed to hear a friendly voice.
She had texted him two hours ago, after the cat incident, but there’d been no reply.
She hadn’t expected him to stay in touch during the week. She’d even told him not to bother to call, because she didn’t want to be disappointed if he forgot. Yet he’d texted Good night each evening about ten P.M. It was ten-fifteen.
She dropped the phone in her lap and let her gaze stray back to the table. A summons. She wasn’t certain what a summons was. Something to do with Halifax Bank, probably. Or Eric.
Possibilities shot through her like an electric current. What if Eric was suing her for slander? She’d need to hire a lawyer to defend herself. She didn’t have that kind of money. Couldn’t even afford to get her car door painted. Still, she should know what she was facing.
She opened the envelope, unfolded the sheets, and read a few lines. It was a copy of a complaint and the summons. It stated that she was listed as the defendant in a civil suit. She was being sued for false accusations and for defamation of character.
Of course she was. That was all there was left to happen in her life. The only amazing thing was how quickly Eric, or Halifax Bank, had filed a petition with the court. There must be a VIP lane in court for bankers like Mr. Cadwallader Jones.
She flipped through the rest of the paperwork without any real curiosity, yet mild surprise bubbled through her when at the bottom of the final page she saw the plaintiff’s name. Jaylynn Marjorie Turner. Who was that?
She went to her desk and opened her computer and typed in the name.
Shay sat down with a thump as the images appeared. Images of Jaylynn Turner turned out to be plentiful. And in every one the face of the woman who had brought Bogart in to be put down was staring back at her.