Rita Horn parked her new pickup truck in the muddy gravel lot across from the docks. She dragged a bag of dry kibble from the bed and squinted at a dozen feline silhouettes framed by the sunset. It was a shame so many cats were homeless in Shadow Point. She’d take them all in if she could, but the three she already had were sure to protest.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” she called, shivering against the brisk autumn breeze. Feeding the strays seemed a decent compromise to adopting them all, but it didn’t minimize the guilt she experienced every time she stopped to check on them. If they had to be on their own, she supposed the abandoned factories along the waterfront made a decent haven. There was camaraderie, no natural predators and plenty of mice to sustain them when Rita worked late and missed her usual stop.
The cats swarmed her ankles as she rounded the building’s edge, mewling and climbing over one another to get to the food. She stopped at a line of cement bowls she’d purchased from a local landscaper when the pet store versions had insisted on blowing away.
“Who’s hungry?” She tipped the bag over the bowls, filling each to its rim. “Ah-ah-ah.” She nudged a growling pair apart. “No fighting. There’s plenty for everyone.”
The bag was nearly empty when a latecomer trotted into view. The little orange-and-white tabby had something smeared over its face and down one side.
“What is that?” Rita crouched for a closer look. Deep crimson streaks flattened the kitty’s fur into matted stripes. Rita clutched her chest. “My poor baby. What happened to you?” She reached for the tabby, but he jumped free with a hiss. It was easy to forget many of the cats were feral, not abandoned. It had taken weeks to get some to come out and see her at dinnertime. She clucked her tongue and extended a hand with the last of the kibble on her palm. The little guy wouldn’t survive long with an injury that had bled so much. He needed the wound cleaned, antibiotics and probably stitches.
“Kitty,” she cooed. The injured cat darted away, and Rita dashed after him, leaving the empty bag behind.
“Kitty, kitty, kitty.” Her sensible three-inch heels clicked and snapped against the cold ground as she gave chase. She stopped short at a fence marked NO TRESPASSING. The cat paused a moment beyond the chain- link barrier before screeching out of sight.
“Darn it.” She dropped the kibble from her palm and scanned the scene, debating the importance of her flawless, law-abiding record when that kitty needed a doctor.
A line of bloody paw prints knotted her tummy and propelled her to action. If she was caught, at least she could give a good explanation. Surely no one would fault a woman for trying to help an injured animal.
Rita shored up her nerve and tugged the gate where a thick chain and padlock held it loosely to the fence. There was enough space to slip inside if she held the gate and ducked beneath the chain, so she took a deep breath and went in. She followed the trail around the factory’s edge, admiring the soft cotton candy glow of a setting sun as it gave way to twilight. The cat stared down at her from a windowsill eight feet in the air. “Are you even hurt?”
She scanned the scene for another injured animal. Where had the blood come from, if not from the cat who was wearing it? A dark puddle drew her forward, toward a narrow object several yards away. The air seemed to sizzle with danger as she scooped an expensive-looking pen off the ground. An odd thing to find at an abandoned factory, unless developers had been here. Maybe the state was finally going to make good on the promise to renovate the area. She froze as the tip of her shoe slid against the slick cement and swallowed a scream when the puddle came clearly into view, red as the sun burning its last rays of daylight off the water.
Rita raked her cell phone from a coat pocket with trembling fingers. There was far too much blood to have come from a cat.
A sudden splash sent ice fingers down her spine, and the low murmur of voices pushed her back to the building’s edge. She closed her eyes to summon a thread of bravery, then peeked toward the sounds with caution.
The angle of the sunset reduced both figures to faceless silhouettes. They were clearly male with broad shoulders and strong gaits, but they were of strikingly different heights. Together, they strode beneath a cone of security light, revealing one man’s dress shirt and the other’s official-looking jacket, complete with patches she couldn’t read from that distance. Rita’s heart took off at a sprint as a dark stain down the front of the dress shirt began to look a lot like the puddle she’d just seen. The man with the stained shirt wiped his hands on a rag. A gun holster nestled safely against his side.
A black sedan seemed to manifest from the shadows, parked silently beside a line of blue barrels. The trunk popped open as the men approached, revealing what appeared to be more blood and a number of firearms. The man tossed the rag into the trunk, then dragged a suit jacket out. He threaded his arms through the sleeves and fastened two buttons over the broad crimson stain.
Rita swiped her phone screen to life. The little device rocked unsteadily in her sweat-slicked palm. Her breaths shortened and her heart rate spiked uncomfortably. There wasn’t enough air, and she couldn’t swallow. Rita gripped her phone tighter and fought the wave of panic quickly taking control. Not since she lost her mother had anxiety come on so quickly.
She pressed her back to the wall and returned the phone to her pocket. She needed to sit down before she fell over. Her eyelids slid shut for an internal pep talk, and she reopened them with purpose. She’d make the call from someplace safe. Someplace she could breathe. She forced the last ounce of bravery from her bones and tiptoed back through the shadows, along the building’s edge, careful not to let her heels smack against the ground.
The snick of a closing trunk and soft purr of an engine were behind her. A set of low growls rose before her near the food bowls. Rita’s muscles tensed. No fighting, she prayed. Not now.
The sound grew steadily into the familiar squawks of a feline brawl. A beam of light flashed over the ground before her, sweeping and narrowing as it drew nearer.
“Who’s there?” The man in the official-looking jacket moved in her direction. The familiar Cade County Sheriff’s Department logo was on his chest.
That could not be good.
Rita burst into motion, running as quickly as her trembling legs would carry her toward her truck, through the chained gate and across the gravel lot.
“Stop!” the man’s voice boomed behind her, punctuated by the echoes of heavy footfalls.
Not today, officer, she thought as she dived behind the wheel. Something bad had definitely happened at the docks tonight. She didn’t know what, and she wasn’t about to become another puddle on the concrete.
Rain poured over Deputy Cole Garrett’s hat and