“Sliding in through his cat door, he heard the washer going. The time was ten-fifteen. Maybe Harper, who had moved in last night, was getting domestic. Strolling into the laundry, he found Clyde was still home, sorting clothes, tossing the whites onto the top bunk, which belonged to the cats, and his colored shirts onto the lower bunk. The fact that the dirty clothes were picking up animal hair was of no importance in this household. “What’re you doing home?” he said softly, glancing in the dire...ction of the spare bedroom. “Harper’s not still asleep? You feeling okay? You take the day off?” “Took the morning off. Harper’s riding with one of the search groups.” Joe leaped into the bottom bunk, onto old Rube’s blanket, and began to lick dust from his paws. “Has he heard anything more about the case? Anything from his officers?” Clyde didn’t answer. Continued to sort clothes. “Well? What? You don’t need to act like I’m the enemy.” “You know how I feel about your meddling.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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