“He’s never mentioned anything like that,” Mrs. Manley said.
“I haven’t seen Andy in a while,” I said to Mrs. Manley. “Is he still friends with Steven Palmer and Jason Wiggs?”
“No. I believe Steven is living in North Carolina and Jason has a young family.”
“So, who’s his new friends?” Lula asked. “Are they clowns?”
“Lula is impressed that Andy used to be a clown,” I said to Mrs. Manley.
“He was a wonderful clown,” his mother said. “It’s a shame it didn’t work out. He’s been struggling to find himself ever since.”
“I understand he was a security guard at Plover’s Jewelry,” I said.
“Yes, but Martin Plover turned out to be a terrible person. He accused Andy of stealing. He even got the police involved. Nothing came of it, of course.”
A fluffy white cat was rubbing against Lula’s leg.
“Isn’t that nice,” Mrs. Manley said to Lula. “Sugar Cookie has taken to you.”
“Yeah, but I’m more or less allergic to cats,” Lula said.
“These cats are all up for adoption if either of you would like to give one of them a forever home,” Mrs. Manley said.
A second cat came over to investigate Lula.
“I feel hives coming on,” Lula said. “I’m getting all stuffed up.”
“I’d really like to talk to Andy,” I said to Mrs. Manley. “Is there any way I could get in touch with him?”
“He has a cell phone, but he doesn’t always answer it. I’ll give you the number. Sometimes it works if you text him.”
“My eyes are itchy,” Lula said. “I can feel my throat closing over. Are my lips swollen?” She had her hand on her forehead. “I’m sweating. That’s a bad sign. I could be going into heart failure or something. I gotta get out of here.”
She ran to the door, wrenched it open, and ran out.
“No!” Mrs. Manley shouted. “Close the door. These are indoor cats. They can’t go out. They’ll get lost.”
A bunch of cats rushed for the door and escaped before Mrs. Manley could stop them.
Mrs. Manley slammed the door shut and ran after the cats. “My kitties! My babies!”
Lula reached the car and opened the door, and Bob bounded out. He was in cat heaven. He didn’t know which cat to chase first. He had crazy eyes. He chased a calico up a tree and ran down a tuxedo cat that arched its back and hissed at him. I scooped up the tuxedo cat and it swiped at me, leaving bloody claw lines on my hand.
“I need some Benadryl. I need an antihistamine,” Lula said. “Anybody got an EpiPen?”
Mrs. Manley took the tuxedo cat from me. “You have to get Rusty,” she said. “He can’t get lost. He has a leaky heart valve. He needs his meds.”
“Which one is Rusty?” I asked.
“He’s sort of rust colored, and he only has one eye,” Mrs. Manley said.
Bob ran past me, and I grabbed his leash. He yanked me off my feet and dragged me halfway across the yard, but I held tight. I stood up, grabbed his collar, and muscled him to the car. Lula was inside checking herself out in the mirror.
“Do I look puffy?” she asked me. “Is my face red?”
Lula has skin the color of a Hershey’s Kiss. It was hard to tell if it was red.
“Maybe a little,” I said. “I’ll be right back. I have to look for Rusty. Don’t let Bob out of the car.”
I walked around the outside of the Manleys’ house and found Rusty and a small tiger-striped hiding under a bush. I carried them to the front door and handed them over to Mrs. Manley.
“Are you missing any more cats?” I asked her.
“These were the last two,” she said.
“Sorry about Bob.”
“Dogs will be dogs,” she said. “Say hello to your mother and grandmother for me.”
I got behind the wheel and looked over at Lula. “Are you okay?”
“I didn’t have any antihistamine, but I found some Tic Tacs. I think they’re helping.”
“Do you want to go to the ER?”
“No. I’m starting to feel better. I’m just gonna roll my window down and get some air.”
“Maybe you had a panic attack.”
“No way. People of my persuasion don’t get panic attacks,” Lula said.
“What’s your persuasion?”
“I’m big and bold. I used to be Presbyterian, but I decided to change over when I was in high school.”
“So big and bold is like a religion?”
“You bet your ass,” Lula said. “It’s a belief, you see what I’m saying?”
“What about God?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s big and bold,” Lula said. “He’d have to be in order to take care of the universe, not to mention everything else that’s going on.”
I pulled the file on Duncan Dugan, my official FTA, out of my bag and paged through it. “I’m putting Nutsy on the back burner for the moment. Duncan Dugan is thirty-six years old. He’s originally from New Brunswick. Never married. He dropped out of Mercer County Community College halfway through his first year and started working at the button factory. He’s worked there ever since. He owns a silver Kia Rio. For the past six years he’s rented a small house near the button factory.”
“Who posted the bond for him?”
“His parents put up security for the bond money. They’re in Fort Myers, Florida. It looks like they moved there about ten years ago.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“He has an older brother in Alberton, Maine.”
“No priors?” Lula asked.
“No. Zip. Nothing.” I stuffed the file back in my bag and pulled away from the curb. “Let’s see if Dugan is home.”
Faucet Street is a block away from the button factory. It’s one of several streets of small cottages that are smushed together row house style. Most of them are occupied by button factory employees.
Seventy-two Faucet was a single-story, yellow clapboard house in the middle of the block. Cars were parked on the street, but none of them was a Kia Rio, and none of them was directly in front of number seventy-two.
I parked across from the house, and Lula and I sat and took the temperature of the area.
“There’s nothing happening on this street,” Lula said. “Everybody’s working. Are we gonna do a B & E? ’Cause this would be a good time for a B & E. Just sayin’.”
“No breaking and entering,” I said to Lula. “I’m going to ring his bell and with any luck he’s recovering at home.”
“Yeah, but what if he isn’t home? Can we do a B & E then?”
“No.”
“How about if we smell a decomposing body?”
I looked at Lula. “Do you really want to break down a door and find a decomposing body?”
“You got a point,” Lula said.
We walked across the street, and I rang the doorbell. No answer. We looked in the front windows. No indication that anyone was at home.
“Now what?” Lula asked.
“These row houses have small backyards that back up to an alley. We can check out the alley.”
We returned to my car, and I drove down the narrow one-lane road that cut the block in half. I counted off houses and parked behind the yellow clapboard. The Kia Rio was parked in the small backyard.