Excerpt

Nothing was prettier than Atlanta in the springtime, especially on the rare afternoons when traffic was light.

The gentle curves, broad lawns, and graceful old brick and stone houses along Ponce de Leon Avenue showed that off better than anywhere else in the city. The massive oak trees were still only green around the edges, late to put on their show as always. But the dogwoods already strutted their pink and white stuff, and rows of yellow and orange daffodils crowded forward demanding Betty's attention.

The sky was as blue as the robin eggs that would soon be appearing in nests all over her neighborhood, with only a few streaks of white clouds for contrast against the mid-morning sunshine.

A narrow park lay just to Betty's left as she slowed and stopped for a traffic light. A crowd of toddlers and their parents roamed slowly across the deep green grass, pastel baskets in hand. The only things more colorful than all the trees and flowers were those glorious Easter bonnets and dresses.

Betty turned down the classical station on the car's radio, then lowered the window on the passenger side. The glass slid down with barely a whisper. The squeals and giggles of children filled the air instead, along with the strong, rich scent of plants waking up.

Betty raised the window, smiling at the children, then frowning at the drift of yellowish dust floating across her windshield. Even with her allergy medicine, too many breaths full of Atlanta's bucketsful of pollen would deliver her to the cat groomer's shop in a state unfit for company.

And a strong gust of wind from a passing car might muss the holiday-appropriate curls she'd carefully arranged her short brown into despite the usual humid climate.

The risk of frizz and fuzz and general disruption was all too real.

Especially with a prime parental-judgement opportunity in her very near future.

The old-fashioned low granite curb glittered as Betty's white Volvo passed by, a reminder of her childhood that was disappearing everywhere else in the city. The rough, dull concrete the city kept using when the granite needed repair or replacement wouldn't be the same no matter what anyone said about easy maintenance.

Progress was good, of course, especially as the whole region continued its frantic preparation for the upcoming Olympic Games in the grand centennial year of 1996. But the insistence on sweeping away the past in an all-out sprint toward the future felt like a tragic mistake that would be impossible to undo once it was done.

She turned the radio back up just as the evocative strings of Copeland's lovely "Appalachian Spring" started playing. Well, they were a bit south of Appalachia here, but nothing could have been more perfect for such a glorious Southeastern Easter Sunday.

Betty adjusted the vent up toward her face so the air conditioning breathed across her skin. Spring might be beautiful here, but it was already getting hot enough for a most unladylike sweat, or worse, the onset of one of the wretched hot flashes she'd recently begun dealing with.

She hadn't expected such nonsense at barely forty-eight years old. But like her mother always said, the body's clock kept its own schedule, and all anyone could do was try to limit the damage.

Not that a bit of perspiration was actually damage, even when it struck without warning and for no good reason her logical mind could figure out.

Not in a city known for causing the most demure of ladies and gentlemen to perspire long before summer really got rolling.

In fact, her Diet Coke was sweating in the cup holder right this minute. That would help cool her down every bit as well as the AC did, and it tasted a heck of a lot better. She wrinkled her nose at the tiny bubbles and the sharp smell of the dark soda, glad it hadn't gone flat.

That first cold drink chilled her mouth, throat, all the way down to her belly. Not quite as good as the icy glass bottles of her youth, but better than just about anything else you could drink while you were driving.

The bright red glow of the Krispy Kreme hot sign caught Betty's attention, and it nearly tempted her away from her errand and a lifetime of her mother Charlene's lectures about how she should do whatever it took to wrestle her curvy, comfortable figure into submission.

Far more importantly to Betty, her girlfriend Lee was quite fond of women with curves. And they quite happily took turns when it came to wrestling into submission.

Heat that had nothing to do with the weather or her unruly hormones rushed to her cheeks at that naughty thought. Surely not the sort of thing she should be contemplating on Easter Sunday, even if she hadn't been to church since she was sixteen.

Thinking about Lee wasn't doing herself any favors right now, either. Not with Lee off to visit her own lovely mother in Wisconsin for the whole damn week.

Betty'd honestly had a tough time turning down the invitation to join Lee and skip her own family obligation.

Anyway, if she were going to give in and enjoy herself (without Lee) rather than withholding such a simple pleasure, Krispy Kreme would be the way to do it. The big doughnut factory down on Ponce was legendary around here, especially for the late-night crowds who appreciated the opportunity to satisfy their cravings twenty-four hours a day. A perfectly fluffy and not-too-sweet doughnut barely cooled enough to hold the crisp/sticky/sweet icing was hard to resist no matter the time of day or night.

Betty glanced down at the waistline of her dark blue skirt and sighed.

Her light-blue blouse already pooched out a bit because that silly old skirt never had fit right, and she hadn't even been to the Easter luncheon with her family yet.

Maybe she should be good and save her appetite.

Or better yet, finally quit listening to childhood's scolding voices inside her head and stop worrying about an outdated outfit she hadn't even bought for herself and didn't much like anyway.

Enjoy every bite of what was sure to be a delicious meal with mostly wonderful company, especially now that the younger generation had banded together to keep their parental group's comments about weight and food and desserts to a minimum.

Then go home and change into clothing she actually looked and felt good in, and toss her current getup into the Donate box once and for all.

Then get together with like-minded friends for the real celebration, at least until Lee got home.

That sounded like a plan worth celebrating.

She exited her half-nervous, half-anticipatory musing just in time to realize the East Lake Feline Emporium was about a mile ahead on her right, so she needed to stake out her spot in that lane. Betty dared hope her good traffic luck would hold out all the way until she picked up their newly rescued best friend, fresh from an Easter makeover and ready to meet the family.

One of the many things she liked about the Emporium was their generous policy of offering services and pickups on holidays, so all their four-legged darlings could look their absolute best for the cat-approved festivities.

Hopefully sweet Pearla would be in a cheerful, friendly mood after her luxurious spa day, and not fierce and furious.

Much as Betty and Lee might wish they could predict their darling's moods and react accordingly, after only a couple of months, Pearla often kept her preferences and procedures mysterious and unexpected.

But wasn't that adventure and surprise one of the best things about sharing their lives and their hearts with a miniature white lion with stunning green eyes in the first place?

Chapter 2

Betty turned into the broad, scrupulously neat parking lot, absently wondering why no other cars were parked on the freshly surfaced blacktop. She expected the Emporium to be crowded this time of day as eager cat companions arrived to retrieve their newly clean and pampered friends, especially on a family-oriented holiday.

Right now, Betty had her choice of spots marked with white stencils of various stylized cat poses. She decided a fluffy beauty curled up for a nap would be her best bet, and maybe even influence Pearla's mood for the better.

The heat rising off that pretty surface embraced her like a wet electric blanket the second she stepped out of the car. She'd heard about Atlanta gradually turning into even more of a heat island with all the pavement, and the sweat popping out on her temples and just under her nose verified the dire prediction at once.

Perhaps that was why no one else was parked and waiting. A vehicle would transform into an oven after only a few minutes with heat radiating from both directions.

In her opinion, the Emporium's strict policy about never, ever leaving a cat or any other animal in a car made perfect sense. She believed the signs posted warning that windows would be broken if anyone was ever foolish enough to risk it.

She also understood why the owners of the tidy little white house converted into a feline oasis kept the sprawling magnolias surrounding the golf-course-quality lawn cut back from the parking lot. Beautiful as the trees were, they were notorious for dropping their big, shiny leaves everywhere, and the huge, wonderfully lemon-scented flowers had to go somewhere when their blooming time was done.

Onto vehicles or into them by way of their owner's shoes probably wasn't the best outcome for people willing to pay a small fortune to keep their furry friends extra clean and looking and smelling their best. Word was the sister business a couple of miles away—East Lake Canine Emporium, of course—was every bit as fastidious and well managed.

Still, Betty wished they'd planted something to keep their clients' cars from overheating quite so quickly.

She hurried along the pale sidewalk as quickly as she dared in her sensible blue pumps, smiling at the multicolored paw prints decorating the concrete.

A wide white awning overhead provided blessed relief from the solar assault.

The big windows flanking the house's soothing peach-colored door were mostly uncovered underneath the shade, featuring tasteful photos of cats in every possible contented pose around the edges.

Betty wouldn't have believed it until she saw it herself, but apparently people who were particularly nervous about leaving their companions tended to stand outside and watch the goings on in the comfy lobby for a long while before venturing in. The grooming and spoiling areas were in the back, so it wasn't like the poor worrywarts were going to see what really went on without a tour (which staff were happy to give).

But for some reason, observing people walking in and out with their favorite and often decorated carriers and seeing how the staff took notes and payments usually reassured them enough to finally go through the door and investigate.

With their cats safely at home, at least the first couple of visits.

Once Betty's dear friend Travis had recommended this fine establishment, she had no hesitation in trusting them to care for Pearla. She'd never known him to steer her wrong with any kind of advice, and the five gorgeous kitties he referred to as his Fabulous Feline Fleet were their own form of ringing endorsement.

Not only had the Fabulous Feline Fleet never been groomed anywhere else, but Travis had known Mr. Wilkenson, the owner of this fine establishment, since their college days.

She turned the brass doorknob shaped like a cat's face and sighed at the rush of cooler—and more importantly, drier—air inside. Not too cold for the precious warmth-loving creatures, and the bathing area was positively steamy. But Betty appreciated the consideration for her human, perimenopausal self.

The wonderful people she'd entrusted with her darling Pearla really did think of everything.

The lobby's soft lavender and mint aromas washed over her before she closed the door behind her and let her eyes adjust to the relative dimness. After several seconds went by, she blinked, certain she was still not seeing clearly.

An empty parking lot was one thing, even during the normal pickup time.

But seeing what seemed like the entire building deserted, without lights or the sound of happy conversation? Not even the usual low relaxing music in the background?

Something was off here.

Betty glanced around again at the easy-clean but comfortable chairs with their cat-patterned cushions, silvery display shelves with all manner of treats, toys, and cozy beds, and a bookcase full of books covering all aspects of feline art, care, and fiction.

The section filled with cat-themed trinkets meant only for human enjoyment was a wonder to behold, and a first-rate temptation for emptying out her bank account.

The receptionist's desk was a sturdy white model that held a computer disguised by a video screen showing cats of all shapes and sizes playing.

Closed doors on either side of the desk led to the heart of the business, with carefully designed tubs, drying cages, and several luxurious waiting areas for cats fancied up and ready to go home.

But Betty didn't hear a thing besides her shoes tapping on the sky-blue tile under her feet.

She didn't need to glance at her watch to make sure she had the time right, and she wasn't likely to mix up an ordinary day with Easter Sunday.

The first uneasy stirrings of worry twisted through her belly.

Where in the world was everyone?

And where was Pearla?

They'd barely started getting to know each other, and Betty and Lee had been working hard to make sure Pearla felt safe and secure after her previous life as a stray and weeks spent in the shelter.

She raised one hand, meaning to push the door to the back open, then hesitated.

If something dreadful had happened, maybe she shouldn't charge right in.

But the thought of that something dreadful happening to her cat gave her enough courage to at least knock on the door.

She'd figure out the rest when the time came.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" she called.

Something shuffled on the other side of the door, and quick footsteps moved toward her.

Too light and quick to be an assailant, right?

And surely someone intending to cause her harm would make more of an effort to be quiet.

Wouldn't they?