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  “Come on, Kitties,” she said at the top of the stairs. “You’ve only got another hour until showtime so get your sparkle on!”

  “Finally!” Cecelia exclaimed when she walked into the café. “I get my favourite spot.”

  She put her purse down on the table, beaming a smile at Marjorie as she walked over to the counter. “Did the student sleep in?”

  “I’m not sure, he hasn’t popped in yet. Do you want your usual?”

  Cecelia nodded, giving an exultant laugh as Chaplin and Houdini rushed over to see how she was doing. “I see being early has its advantages.”

  Marjorie checked the clock, feeling a tad disquieted that Fletcher hadn’t turned up that morning. He’d been such a habitual customer, she had to push down the expectation he should have called to say he wasn’t coming.

  Ridiculous. Her clientele could take a day off without checking in!

  “Here you go,” she said, carrying across Cecelia’s order. “Do you want me to shoo them away a bit?”

  In the short timeframe she’d been there, half the kittens in the café had crowded around the woman’s table, butting against her ankles and mewing.

  “No, they’re fine.” Cecelia leant over to stroke Chaplin before spraying on hand sanitiser. “What a treat to have all their attention to myself.”

  “Well, let me know. I think there’s something odd in the air today because they’re overly clingy.”

  Already that morning, Marjorie had freed an elderly woman trapped in a corner by half a dozen kittens, running at her feet when she tried to leave. Usually, they saved the dawdling around the legs performance for her alone, but this morning they were sharing the love.

  Near ten o’clock, Regina Ashford dropped by the café for a quick cup of coffee. “It looks like your department has its work cut out for it,” Marjorie commented as she prepared a cappuccino with extra chocolate on the side. “Is this the largest drug bust you’ve ever worked?”

  Regina snorted, shaking her head. “Not likely. As soon as Sergeant Matthewson called the other regions in for extra help, we lost control of the case.” She took a sip of her coffee, leaving a foam moustache on her upper lip. “This morning, I’ve been out on my usual beat as though nothing exciting’s happening at all.”

  “How dare they?” Marjorie set up a second cup without being asked. “Just because they’re more heavily resourced doesn’t mean they know the job any better. You’re the one with the local knowledge.”

  “To be fair,” Regina said with a shrug, “I haven’t been back in town long enough to qualify as an entrenched local. People are just as likely to talk to one of the Christchurch cops as they are to me.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. There’re plenty of folks in town who remember you from your first stint here.”

  Regina raised her eyebrows, apparently unconvinced. “Hm. Well, it’s nice of you to say, anyway. Have you had any trouble up here lately?”

  “We had a kitten escape yesterday. Apart from that, nope.”

  The officer soon took her leave and Marjorie spent the rest of the day alternating between serving and checking her watch. She’d grown used to chatting with Fletcher during the lulls between busy stretches and readied an amusing titbit only to have no one but the kittens to tell.

  “Still, at least you won’t scold me when I go too far,” she said to Monkey Business, who promptly jumped a foot in the air, twisting in mid-air to scamper away. “Or you might,” Marjorie amended with a giggle.

  The next day, Fletcher was a no-show again. The day following that, Saturday, was busy as usual, with little time for Marjorie to stop and lament his absence. Still, it worried her when she checked the form on the clipboard.

  The half-completed details were a chance for Houdini to find a new home. As she opened the cupboard under the stairs to pull out the vacuum cleaner and found herself with a faceful of Chartreux kitten instead, Marjorie realised his adoption would give her poor heart a rest from unexpected shocks, too.

  Sunday was her half-day, which wasn’t entirely accurate considering her closing time only moved from three to one o’clock. Still, with no sign of her resident student again, Marjorie decided it was time to take matters into her own hands.

  The fifteen dollars a day wouldn’t make or break her but the loss of an adoptive parent and friend was a harder cross to bear.

  Since Fletcher had so kindly filled out his address on the adoption form, Marjorie closed up the café right on the dot so she could turn up on his doorstep and find out for herself if her worries were valid.

  Chapter Three

  When Marjorie turned up at the address, she did a double-take. Her expectation for student housing was poor, cheap, and nasty, not necessarily in that order. Instead, Fletcher’s home was a tidy, three-bedroom structure made from sturdy brick, with a neatly clipped front lawn and weed-free flowerbeds.

  By the time she reached the front door, she’d decided he must rent a room or board with the true owners. When she pressed the doorbell, Marjorie waited for a middle-aged man or woman to open the door.

  Nobody answered.

  After a few tries, giving far longer than anybody needed even if she’d caught them mid-shower, Marjorie walked to the side of the house and peered along the edge of the property.

  A gate separated the back yard from the driveway. It was possible someone could be out there and not hear the doorbell.

  “It’s not trespassing until you open something you shouldn’t, or someone tells you to leave,” she whispered in reassurance while striding along the driveway. The garage door was wide open with no vehicle parked inside the space. Surely that meant the owners were nearby.

  Hanmer Springs might be a town where you could forget about locking your doors but leaving a treasure trove of tools on display in an open garage was another matter altogether.

  “Hello. Anybody there?” she called out at the end of the drive. “I’m looking for Fletcher.”

  A crash from the next-door neighbour’s yard made Marjorie jump, then a tousled head of hair stuck up over the fence. “Argh,” a voice announced as another crash sounded. “Don’t worry, I’m alright.”

  “Good to know,” Marjorie called out, suppressing a burst of laughter. “Can I help you?”

  “Just give me a second.” This time when the tousled hair turned up it was high enough up to display a face beneath. A grinning man with rough skin and patches of deep crimson on the nose and cheeks, like he’d spent a lifetime on the rough seas or with a whisky bottle clutched in his hand. His blond hair stood up at all angles. “You’re after Fletcher?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Marjorie wandered over to the rickety wooden fence, holding her hand up to shake. “I’m Marjorie Hardaway. Fletcher usually comes into my café for at least five or six hours a day, but I haven’t seen him since Wednesday.”

  “He took off late Wednesday afternoon,” the man said, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. “I’m Efron Jackson.” He reached over, touching the tips of Marjorie’s fingers a second before he jerked backwards, another crash sounding.

  “How about I come over?” she shouted, trying desperately hard not to giggle. “It’ll be easier.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, just hurrying along the driveway and up the opposite path. Efron was struggling to free himself from an old council recycling bin, the sturdy plastic construction not equal to his weight.

  “Let me help you,” Marjorie said, rushing forward before the man toppled over again. “Is anything broken?”

  “Just this bin and my pride,” Efron said with such an easy grin, she felt certain his pride had survived unscathed. “Now, where were we?”

  “Fletcher leaving on Wednesday.”

  “Ah,” he tipped his head back, rubbing the side of his nose. “That’s right. The lad’s usually up for a chat and a cuppa but he seemed in an awful hurry.”

  “Oh, dear,” Marjorie said, pointing to Efron’s leg. “You’re bleeding.”

 
; The man’s face turned white as chalk and he sagged.

  “Lean against me,” she said, rushing in to catch him before he fell. A friend in primary school, Alice, had been prone to faint at the sight of blood and this many years later, Marjorie still recognised the warning signs.

  “I’ll get the blood on you.”

  “In which case, it’ll wash off. Is your door unlocked?”

  When Efron didn’t answer, Marjorie headed there, anyway. The man wasn’t much taller than her, but she couldn’t support his weight for long. Especially not if he lost consciousness altogether.

  With a ‘thank goodness’ under her breath, she discovered the door not only unlocked but also off the latch. She tipped her shoulder against it, dragging Efron over the step and depositing him onto a chair in the kitchen.

  “Where are your first aid supplies and I’ll get this sorted,” she said, wrapping a tea towel around the man’s lower leg to stem the blood flow in the meantime.

  “Bathroom.”

  “Which is?” As Efron sagged, Marjorie propped him up with one hand, snapping her fingers under his nose. “Don’t do that. Bite down on your tongue or something. If you slump onto the floor, you’ll be staying there until bigger help than me arrives.”

  He shook himself, eyelids fluttering before he straightened slightly. “Down the hallway, second on the right. There should be something in the cabinet.”

  Marjorie pulled out everything relevant and dumped it on the kitchen floor. While Efron stared at the lighting fixtures, she cleaned out the wound, plucked a shard of plastic from his calf, and taped it up with a plentiful supply of band-aids.

  “There you go,” she said, groaning as she stood. “You can look now.”

  Efron offered her an embarrassed shrug. “Sorry about that. I’ve always had a problem with the sight of”—he waved his hand—“you know, but the Lord blessed me with being clumsy, as well. It’s a powerful mix.”

  This time, Marjorie couldn’t hold back the giggles. “I’m so sorry,” she said between splutters. “I’m not laughing at your injured leg.”

  “Don’t worry.” Efron stood, flexing out his injury and tipping her a wink. “As long as you’re my nursemaid, you get to laugh all you want. Cup of tea?”

  “That’ll be lovely.”

  She sat and watched him work, half forgetting the reason she was there at all until a steaming cup was firmly in her hand.

  “Has Fletcher lived next door to you for long?”

  Efron sat back, patting his tummy. He reminded her of a long-gone kitten named Humphrey who’d loved to loll about on his back, patting his fluffy belly. If anyone else tried to do the same, the claws would come out.

  “I don’t keep great track of dates. The curse of being self-employed and without many cares in the world.” He screwed up his face in concentration. “Maybe a month or two. No longer than that.” Efron waited for a beat, then smiled. “Probably.”

  “And what about flatmates? With the rental on a nice place like that, I guess he has a few others living with him.”

  “Oh, no. None that I’ve seen. Just Fletcher on his lonesome. That’s why I never feel bad about checking if he wants to join me in a beer while watching a game. When a man’s on his own, you need to watch out he doesn’t get lonely, you know?”

  “I’m sure he appreciates it,” Marjorie said. “That’s why he told me he spends most of his days in my café. Doing coursework via distance learning is fine for an education but he misses the company he’d get at university.”

  “I can see that.” Efron ran a hand through his hair again, showing why it was so messy. “He has a girlfriend, I think. And an older fellow stops by regularly.”

  Marjorie had never seen Fletcher with a woman, but she nodded at the reference to an older man. “Is he the one dressed up in a checked jacket with leather elbows?”

  “That’s the one.”

  A week or more ago, Marjorie had bumped into Fletcher and a companion while out shopping. While the fellow with him introduced himself as a professor of philosophy—the young man’s subject—Fletcher had pulled him away before they could exchange more than simple pleasantries. She’d guessed he was embarrassed, much the same way she would have been as a child, caught talking with a teacher outside of school.

  “What’s his girlfriend’s name?”

  The man shrugged. “Never spent any time on the subject. She drives a red car if that helps.”

  Marjorie screwed up her nose, giving a small laugh. “I’m sure that narrows it down.”

  “To the most popular colour on the road, yep.”

  With the information about Fletcher drying up, Marjorie made her excuses to leave. “If I take a closer look through the windows, promise you won’t phone the police?”

  He gave her a Scout’s salute.

  The front windows revealed nothing of interest but in the rear, through the window just by the backyard fence, she saw a stack of boxes piled high. With judicious use of squinting, Marjorie could make out they were laptop computers, at least if the outside of the boxes was to be believed.

  “How on earth can he afford any of this?” she mused to herself.

  “And what business is that of yours?” a furious female voice asked. “This is private property and if you don’t have the authorisation to be here, I suggest you leave.”

  Chapter Four

  “I’m so sorry,” Marjorie said, blushing until she felt like a hot flush had her in its clutches. “You must be Fletcher’s girlfriend. I was just trying to find out if he’s okay.”

  “And who are you?” The blonde woman perched her hands on her hips, glaring through blue eyes as sharp as icicles. She gave Marjorie a quick glance up and down, her expression turning scornful. “His mum?”

  If I was, you’d regret saying it in that tone, young lady!

  Marjorie clamped down on the thought, not wanting to antagonise the situation any further. Instead, she introduced herself, adding, “I run the kitten café just up the hill.”

  “That place.” The young blonde shook her head. “Fletcher spends more time in there than’s good for him.”

  Since the claim held a lot of truth, Marjorie didn’t defend it. She nodded along, trying a smile on for size. “Do you know where he’s run off to? He left in quite a hurry the other day and I haven’t seen him since.”

  The young woman lifted her nose in the air. “I don’t see how his whereabouts are your concern. Unless he ran out without paying a tab, then I think you should respect his privacy.”

  “Oh, of course.” Marjorie took a step back, feeling small and old and stupid. If it hadn’t been for the glint of tears in the blonde’s eyes, she would have cut and run right then. “It’s just I got worried. Silly, really.” She paused for a second, trying not to stare as a tear ran down the woman’s face. “I’m sorry but I didn’t catch your name.”

  “It’s Adelaide,” the young lady said. “Adelaide Rowland.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Adelaide. Fletcher mentions you all the time.” Marjorie kept her fingers crossed as she spoke the lie, content with the deceit because the young man should talk about his girlfriend.

  Adelaide’s sniffles came further apart and as she plunged her hands into her jeans’ pocket, Marjorie fished a travel pack of tissues out of her purse.

  “Are you crying because Fletcher’s done something awful or because you’re worried about him, too?”

  The young woman took a deep breath and blew her nose. “I don’t know where he’s got to. On Tuesday he was all over my DMs, then he just seemed to disappear.”

  “Efron next door”—Marjorie jerked her head in explanation—“says he took off on Wednesday afternoon and hasn’t been back since. Is he usually in touch with you during the week?”

  “Yeah, off and on. He doesn’t like to visit my place because I’ve got four roommates and they never seem to leave the house, but he often invites me over here or we chat online.”

  “Do you have a ph
one number for him?”

  Adelaide nodded, her eyes welling up again. “I’ve been texting him non-stop. Not desperate-like but enough to prompt him to send a reply.” She shook her head, a lone tear streaking down the side of her face. “So far, nothing.”

  “Is he the type to let his phone run out of battery?”

  The young woman gave a curt laugh. “Not likely. He’s attached to that thing worse than I am with mine. Sometimes we’ll be sat next to each other on the couch and he won’t drag his eyes off the screen.”

  From where Marjorie stood, that could apply to anyone at all, nowadays, but she kept her lip buttoned and nodded for Adelaide to continue.

  “Even if he broke the thing, he’d be into the shop the next day as soon as they opened, getting a new one. It’s not like him to be out of touch at all, and with everything that’s been going on around here…” She trailed off into a sob.

  Marjorie waited for a minute but when Adelaide didn’t resume, she prompted, “What sorts of things have been going on?”

  “With the police raiding everyone in sight.” The young woman gave her a stare full of curiosity. “Haven’t you heard about it on Facebook? There’re people being dragged into the station left, right, and centre.”

  “You mean the drug raids?” Marjorie said, hoping she’d got the wrong end of the stick. But the blonde nodded. “Surely, Fletcher’s not caught up with drugs.”

  “The police aren’t stopping there. Half my friends have been in the station this week, being asked questions like invading everyone’s privacy is perfectly okay.”

  If they were breaking the law, then it was okay in Marjorie’s book, but again she held her tongue. The thought of the boxes of laptops in the rear room weighed on her mind. Perhaps she would have been better off sticking to her kittens and her café and leaving Fletcher to worry about himself.