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  “That would be me?”

  He nodded and turned his eyes back to the road, the smile lingering.

  “Well, I’m very grateful, Simon. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to this.”

  “I’m glad you took me up on the offer. For a while, you weren’t sure it was something you wanted to do.”

  “Oh, I always wanted to do it. I just couldn’t figure out how to pull it off. The house, the cats, my volunteering responsibilities. But in the end, I just said to heck with everything and took a leap of faith. It wasn’t nearly as difficult as I’d imagined. Things just sort of fell into place. The cats are my biggest concern. With my granddaughter staying at the house, I know they’ll be fine.”

  “Seleia seems like a smart girl. You aren’t afraid she’ll go all teenager on you and have wild parties behind your back?”

  “Not a chance. She’s not that kind of person. Not that she doesn’t like parties—‌I’m sure she does—‌but she’s way too self-assured to bother lying about it. Besides, Carol will be checking up from time to time. You remember my mother, Carol, from the old days?”

  “Ah, the redoubtable Mrs. Mackey of the clan MacKay. Yes, I remember her well, relentlessly researching her Scots heritage.”

  “Now she’s into solving television mysteries, the grittier the better. I’ve taken over the interest in the MacKay family tree.”

  “I, uh, I’m glad to hear she’s still with us.”

  “Oh, she’s very much with us. She and her friend, Candy, have a nice condo in Northwest Portland. Mum doesn’t drive but gets around just fine anyway. Between the two of them, they’re always doing something fun. Earlier this year she bought a gun and was taking shooting lessons.”

  Simon raised an eyebrow. “Then we needn’t worry about Seleia, need we?”

  I shook my head. “And it’s only a week,” I added. “What can happen in a week?”

  I knew the moment it came out of my mouth that I had tempted fate but I was in too good a mood to care. The amorphous shadow of foreboding receded as quickly as it had come.

  Chapter 4

  An innovative and safe way to get your little panthers out into the fresh air is to build a catio*. A catio can be anything from a window box to a gazebo. Find ideas on the internet or at your local library.

  *Catio: Blend of ‘cat’ and ‘patio’. An outdoor enclosure for cats.

  I won’t bore you with the details of the trip: the snail’s pace crawl through magnificent Seattle; the picturesque sprint to the ferry terminal; the long wait for the ferry that would take us across the sapphire waters and into the gray-green islands that make up the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

  The Cloverleaf Ferry was open air, about the size of a small yacht but not as fancy. It was passenger-only so we left the Cadillac at the car park where a sanctuary volunteer would collect it and stash it somewhere safe until Simon called for it again. We were the only travelers and it felt like our own private water taxi. It was getting late; as we skimmed the gold-tinged surf, Clover Island rose before us, a soft shadow against the setting sun.

  The misty silhouette began to take on distinction, a craggy shoreline, then trees and dark forest. The only structure was a red-painted boathouse and the dock, narrow and wooden. Culture shock hit me. It had been years—‌no, decades—‌since I’d been so far off the grid but it was more thrill than trepidation.

  Once we landed, Simon steered me to a collection of golf carts parked in a small graveled area.

  “Cloverleaf’s chosen mode of travel,” he said, beaming at the little vehicles. “Clean, electric, quiet.”

  He hefted our bags into the back seat of one of the carts, then gestured to the oval doorway. With a flourish that reminded me of a much younger Simon, he announced, “Your chariot awaits.”

  I hopped into the cab which was much more spacious than I had imagined. He went around the other side and took the helm.

  “No doors?” I mentioned, looking for a seatbelt and not finding one of those either. “What happens when it rains?”

  He patted the little vehicle on its tiny dashboard. “They come with removable doors. We thought of that, considering our Pacific Northwest winters.”

  Driving from the dock on the lonely road, I glanced behind us, watching the ferry shrink into the shadows of the oncoming night. That was it then; I was irrevocably headed on a voyage into the unknown.

  The roadway curved around the perimeter of the island and turned inward. Soon it diminished into pounded dirt that led across a field of shaggy grass and disappeared into a stand of Douglas firs. I would never have guessed that somewhere up ahead lay one of the largest and wealthiest animal shelters in the country.

  Simon must have read my mind, because he laughed and asked, “Not quite what you expected, is it?”

  “Well, I really didn’t know what to expect. But, no. I guess I had pictured something more, um...”

  “Civilized?”

  “Opulent. With all your affluent benefactors, I was envisioning trimmed gardens and modern architecture. So far, I haven’t seen any architecture at all except for that boat shack at the dock. Do you keep all your animals in lean-tos in the woodland wilds?”

  He winked at me. “I’ll admit this part of the drive is a little deceptive.”

  We soon passed from summer’s eve into woodsy darkness where the lane meandered through a tunnel of salal and mountain huckleberry. Tall firs, their trunks like columns, soared up in needle filigree toward the unbroken blue of the sky. Simon pulled the cart to a stop and switched it off. Instantly the scent hit me, loamy and rich with a spice of salt from the strait. I took a deep breath, then another.

  “Listen,” Simon said softly.

  I obeyed. Only the chatter of a chipmunk and the far-off tattoo of a woodpecker broke the eerie quiet.

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “That’s the point, sweetheart. This is what serenity sounds like. Soon it will seep into your soul and you’ll let go of all those extraneous distractions. Then true creativity can begin.”

  He restarted the cart and we drove the rest of the way in a silence of our own.

  * * *

  The hum of the cart and the cool, crisp breeze on my face was hypnotic so I wasn’t sure how much farther we’d traveled by the time we reached the shelter. I only realized I’d been dozing when I woke to see Simon remotely clicking open a huge wrought-iron gate. Arched above it was a carved wooden sign that read Cloverleaf Animal Sanctuary. Intricately worked among the letters were animals—‌cats and dogs mostly, but I also picked out horses, birds, and even an orca.

  “It’s beautiful!” I sighed.

  “It is, isn’t it? And there’s much more to come. Cloverleaf is an extremely imaginative community. Artistry fits so well with what we do.”

  “I never thought about it, but I suppose it does.”

  “You no longer paint?”

  “Not for years, I’m sorry to say. I’ve always promised myself I’d take it up again someday.”

  “Don’t procrastinate, Lynley dear. Somedays rarely come without a little help from us.”

  “I’m not sure I still have it in me,” I admitted.

  “Within the next week, you’ll have your answer.”

  Simon rolled the cart through the gate, clicking it closed behind him. As we climbed the winding hillside, I really did feel as if I were heading toward my destiny.

  * * *

  Rounding a turn, there it was, edifice upon edifice, bright wood and stone, shining in the sunset like a wilderness city of Oz. The sound came to me as we neared—‌dogs, a symphony of them.

  The road ran directly toward a low glass-fronted dome which proclaimed itself the Visitor Center. Inside, the room was dark, and I could see a sign on the door giving the hours as nine to five.

  Simon pulled past the center and into the settlement. The rows upon rows of buildings were much smaller than I had originally thought, one room, maybe two at the most. Some had a name
above the door—‌Meow Manor, Purr Palace, Tortie Terrace. Through the many windows, I could see a multitude of cats: cats on perches; cats on sills; cats in beds; cats roaming. There were small doors that opened out into catios, wild mini-forests where the felines could play and hide and stalk to their hearts content. I suddenly wondered if there was a way Friends of Felines could construct such a thing. FOF took great care of their kitties—‌volunteers like myself made sure of it—‌but still, no matter how cozy we did up the kennels, they couldn’t compare to a near-natural environment like this one.

  Soon we’d moved out of Cats and into Dogs. This too had both indoor and outdoor access, though the outdoor enclosures were much larger with room for the dogs to run. A cacophony of barks and howls accompanied the cart as it proceeded. Dogs ran up and down the fence line in noisy salutation, then trotted back to their beds and food bowls once we’d passed by. There was a wide range of shapes, sizes, and breeds, though a majority seemed to be the stocky pit bull type.

  “Where is everybody?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t seen a soul—‌not a human one—‌since we’d entered the compound.

  “Meditation,” said Simon, “And then dinner at Wolf Hall.”

  “Everyone eats at the same time?”

  “It’s not mandatory but most people attend. We’re a lot like a family, you see.”

  “Ah.” I didn’t really see but I figured I’d find out soon enough. “Is that where we’re going? I’m starving now that I think about it.”

  “I have a few things to take care of first. Let’s get you situated in your cabin, and then you can walk over whenever you please.”

  I nodded. In spite of the growls in my stomach, it would be nice to freshen up a bit before I went public.

  We came to a circle of tiny log huts that blended perfectly with the Northwestern landscape. Simon skirted back behind them and pulled to a stop four huts down. A few other carts were parked there as well, hunkering in the shade of the cabins like shiny toys.

  Simon was already out, grabbing my travel bag and laptop case. He hopped up the steps to the back door of the cabin. Purse and coat in hand, I followed.

  The place was as small as it had looked from outside and smelled faintly of dank, but the atmosphere felt homey. The space had been used well with built-in shelves, drawers, and a compact closet. There was a miniature table and two wooden chairs, a slim but comfortable-looking bed, and even a tiny kitchen with sink, coffee pot, and fridge. What more could a person want?

  “Where’s the bathroom?” I asked with sudden alarm. I had become very attached to convenient facilities, and the thought of trudging to some rustic outhouse in the middle of the night might put me right back on that ferry for home.

  Simon pulled back a tapestry I’d mistaken for a wall decoration. Behind it was a door. “Toilet, sink, shower,” he said. “We even have hot water,” he teased. “Would you like to change or wash up before going to the lodge?”

  “If you don’t mind. But I wouldn’t want to be late for dinner.”

  He smiled, the sparkling grin that hadn’t altered in all the years. “It’s not formal. You come whenever you’re ready and your dinner will be waiting for you.”

  He crossed to the window and pulled back a checked cotton curtain. “Wolf Hall is just over there. See?” He pointed to a massive log structure in the near distance. “The big place. Just go in the front door and turn to your right. That’s the dining room. You can’t miss it.”

  Moving to the desk, he opened a drawer. “Here’s a map of the grounds if you need it.” He looked at his watch. “Meditation will be over in a few minutes so you should be able to follow the noise. We can be a rowdy bunch at meal times.”

  I tried to picture the calm and quiet Simon Bird being rowdy and failed.

  “See you soon?” he smiled.

  I grinned back. “You bet.”

  Simon turned gracefully in the little space and ducked out the door, closing it behind him. I heard his footfalls descend the wooden steps and then nothing; a silence so profound it was mystical. Simon reappeared on the path to Wolf Hall. I watched him diminish into the distance. The sun was down now, shadows melding together into night. Lights were coming on in the hall and the outbuildings. I watched a moment longer, then clicked on my own lamp. It cast a honey glow across the cozy room. For a moment I wondered how I got so lucky as to be there. Then from nowhere came a shiver of anxiety. It began at my scalp, moved down my spine, settled in my stomach, and did not go away for a very long time.

  Chapter 5

  Who hasn’t watched an internet cat video? Those sometimes artistic, sometimes funny, sometimes cute compilations of cat antics became so popular on the web that the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis created the Internet Cat Video Fest which traveled annually throughout the US from 2012 to 2015.

  It had taken barely five minutes to install myself in the little cabin. I decided to keep my suitcase packed and get things out as I needed them. I put my toiletry bag on the shelf in the bathroom and set up my laptop on the desk. Amazingly there was Wi-Fi, but I resisted the urge to check my email. This was neither the time nor place for Amazon ads, jokes from friends, or those ever-enticing Facebook posts that draw you from one to the next like a trail of candy, always hoping for a bit of news, a funny photo, or my personal favorite, yet another innovative cat video.

  I turned and surveyed my new home-‌away-‌from-‌home. In spite of the friendly ambiance, the space felt empty. I immediately knew what it lacked—‌a cat. I was so accustomed to sharing my life with my feline friends that I felt a tangible loss without them. For a moment I thought about calling my kitties on my cell phone. I knew Seleia would put the instrument up to their ears and let me purr a long-distance hello. They might even purr back, though in my past experience, they were usually stoically silent. Maybe my bodiless voice confused them; maybe they were just miffed that I was gone.

  Checking myself in the miniature mirror, I came to the conclusion that my appearance might benefit from a little self-care. After rummaging for a brush, I smoothed out the travel tangles in my hair. There was indeed hot water, and the feel of the warm washcloth on my face was refreshing. I brushed my teeth and reapplied lipstick, the only make-up that I wore with any regularity. I thought about changing my clothes but compromised on swapping my day-worn tee shirt for a sleeveless cotton blouse of pre-wrinkled blue and white print. These were animal people, after all; they were unlikely to give a hoot about my fashion style.

  Slipping outside before I could let the uncertainty of the new situation get on my nerves, I instinctively turned to lock up and realized I didn’t have a key. There was an old-fashioned lock in the rustic red door; had Simon simply forgotten to give it to me? Or was this place wide open like the communes of old? Back in the hippie days, we were avidly against locks of any kind, feeling we had nothing to hide. It was a matter of honor; we trusted everybody, and amazingly enough, very few things were ever lost. But those days were gone. In the new century, people were known to steal anything that wasn’t nailed down. Still, I wasn’t really worried about theft at the sanctuary. I shrugged it off. I just had to trust that the volunteers at Cloverleaf were an honest lot. And get the key from Simon next time we met.

  * * *

  Wolf Hall was abuzz with conversation, laughter, and yes, even a few rowdy hoots and hollers. The place smelled of good food—‌garlic and broiled onion, Marsala and curry. Intermingled were the rich scents of baked goods—‌bread, fruit pie and maybe even a chocolate cake somewhere in the mix. If I thought I was hungry before, now I was ravenous. Simon caught me at the doorway. He hustled me through the crowd of eaters to a round table near a giant fireplace, where a bushel basket of corn flowers and dried grasses rested in the hollow. Everyone greeted me as I passed. I waved and nodded back like the polite person my mum had raised me to be but was glad when I finally got to settle into my own chair.

  A plate of rice, curried lentils, sesame spinach, and delicate cabbage salad was
whisked down in front of me. I looked at Simon who sat down next to me in front of a half-eaten plate. We were the only two at the table though I saw it was set for six.

  “I hope you like vegetarian food,” he said. “We eat no meat here, I’m afraid.”

  “I think most animal shelters are like that,” I commented. “Vegetarianism goes along with respect for life.”

  “We aren’t all vegan, though we always have a full vegan menu for those of us who are. And you?”

  “Humm?” I gurgled as I gobbled up my food.

  “Are you still a vegetarian?”

  I stopped to think. The last time I had seen Simon, I must have been on one of my meatless kicks. Sometime between then and now I loosened up on dietary restrictions, making life easier for me and those whose cooking I enjoyed. “Oh, I’ll eat pretty much anything. It’s simpler that way. But when I cook for myself, it runs toward veggies. Salads, beans and rice. Quinoa is my latest discovery.”

  “Simon! Simon!” came a call from across the room and I looked up to see a slight young woman in a diaphanous wine-colored dress gesticulating wildly.

  Simon sighed briefly and then pasted on a smile and stood, waving to the girl. “Tulsa Thorpe, my right-hand man, so to speak,” he said by way of explanation.

  Tulsa ghosted her way through the maze of tables, stopping only when she came nose-to-nose with Simon. Her blue-gray eyes twinkled with excitement and her red-gold curls framed her pale face like an angel in a renaissance painting. She was slight of build but tall as the artist and had no trouble looking him in the eye.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were back?” she said with a slight sulk.

  “I just got in a few minutes ago,” he exaggerated. He turned to me. “Tulsa, I’d like you to meet my friend Lynley Cannon from Portland.”

  Tulsa wrenched her attention from Simon and smiled sweetly. “If there’s anything you need, Lynley, just let me know.”