“I don’t believe we do.”

“And we sorely need one,” Patrick said from across the diner, his gaze not rising from his laptop screen. “To chase down overdue parking tickets and find lost puppies. Speaking of which . . .” He glanced at me. “Did I hear that your cat has disappeared?”

I nodded. “I’ve hated to mention it, with Ms. Conway missing.”

Ida frowned. “The black stray?”

“Yes. I was taking out trash that morning. He must have slipped out. But if you do spot him, I’d like to know he’s okay.”

“Of course.”

Ida looked around at several of the other elders, dotting tables throughout the diner, as if knowing they’d be listening in. They all glanced over and said no, they hadn’t seen TC, but they’d keep an eye out.

“I’ll speak to Grace,” Ida said. “She might know more than she’s saying.”

“Good luck with that,” Patrick called over, still typing.

“Well,” I said. “If I can’t find my own cat, I suspect I’m not exactly ready to be a PI. Nor am I ready to investigate Ms. Conway’s disappearance. But I’d like to try.”

“With Gabriel’s help, of course,” Walter said.

“Er . . . yes, Gabriel has offered to provide—”

“You’ll be working with him, won’t you?” Ida pressed. “I haven’t seen him around. I hope that doesn’t mean anything. We were so happy to see you two together.”

“We were never . . . together,” I said. “It’s a business partnership—”

“Yes, yes. I mean working together. You still are, aren’t you?”

“Liv?” Patrick raised his mug. “Break’s over, isn’t it?”

While he was giving me a way out of this conversation, I could tell this was important to the elders. They might tease about me becoming a PI, but they knew I needed Gabriel for this.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll be working with Gabriel.”

Ida smiled. “Excellent. Then we’ll provide you with anything we can.”

As I walked up behind Patrick, he lifted his empty coffee cup as if he recognized the sound of my steps.

I retrieved the pot. “I’m officially still on lunch,” I said as I filled his mug.

“Which means you’ll get a much better tip today. In fact, I think I’ll double it.”

“Awesome. What’s double of nothing?”

He smiled. “My favor is much more valuable than any monetary reward.”

“Good, because I need to draw on that favor.” I sat down across from him. “You know some Welsh, right?”

“I do.” He closed his laptop. “Let’s step outside.”

“This will only take a second. One word. Maybe two—I can’t tell with Welsh. It sounds like coon anoon.”

Patrick went still, and the hairs on my neck rose. I turned to see a half-dozen pairs of old eyes fixed on me. They all glanced away quickly, as if I’d imagined it, but was I imagining, too, that the noise level had dropped to nothing? As if no one wanted to miss what I said next? Which would be a little creepy, if that wasn’t par for the course in Cainsville. For a bunch of folks past retirement age, they all have very good hearing—or top-notch hearing aids.

“You know the word?” I asked Patrick.

“Say it again?”

I did. He frowned, his eyes going to the side as if accessing memories. That frown didn’t go away, which told me he wasn’t finding what he was looking for.

“It sounds vaguely familiar, but no.”

“You know Welsh, Patrick?” said a voice beside us.

I looked over to see Ida looming as much as a woman barely over five feet tall can loom.

“Liv said you know Welsh?” she said.

“I’m a man of many talents.”

“But you don’t know what Cwn Annwn means?” I said.

“I do not.”

I had one hand in my pocket, gripping the boar’s tusk. I’d considered showing it to him, but as I thought that, I could feel the weight of his gaze on me.

Not here. Not here.

He wasn’t communicating a telepathic message or anything so New Agey. It was his body language communicating the message that he wasn’t comfortable talking in front of the old folks.

Sometimes in Cainsville, I felt like the new girl at school, with the popular clique calling dibs on my friendship. That’s great, but I was really more intrigued by the weird guy in the corner. While the weird guy is quite willing to mock the clique, he knows his boundaries, too, and poaching the new girl too openly is beyond those limits. I’d talk to Patrick later.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I’d taken Ricky up on his offer of a walk instead of coffee. We met at Burnham Park and walked along the lakefront. We were talking about his classes when my phone rang. I hit Ignore. Gabriel called again, then broke down and texted, telling me to check my e-mail. I apologized to Ricky before I did, but two calls and a text could mean it was urgent news about Pamela.

I read Gabriel’s e-mail, cursed, and shoved the phone into my pocket.

“Pamela?”

“No, a job offer.”

After I told him about it, he said, “Knowing Gabriel and his wallet, he’s offering you about the same as you’d make waiting tables, right?”

“Not exactly. Triple my hourly rate at the diner.”

“Shit. That’s not bad. And this is a job you actually want.” He lifted a hand against my protest. “I saw you work with him, Liv, and I’ve heard you talk about it. The only problem? Gabriel. You guys are on the outs. No, he didn’t tell me. Your name came up, though, and I’ve known Gabriel long enough to tell something was wrong.”

“I’d rather not explain, because he’s your lawyer, too. I’ll only say that what happened wasn’t a reflection on his legal ability.”

“Obviously, or you’d have kicked his ass off Pamela’s case.” A group of joggers veered around us, Ricky having made no move to get out of their way. “You feel as if, by accepting his offer, he wins. But if you don’t take it, you lose.”

“No, I—”

“Yes, if you don’t take it, you lose. You want this job. But it means going back to someone who hurt you.”