Sins of the Father by Patricia Sprinkle

Author:Patricia Sprinkle
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-03-23T22:00:00+00:00

Of their five-hour trip home with two cats alternately yowling and scratching the sides of their boxes, the less said the better—especially since the larger one soon clawed his way out and roamed the car for the rest of the drive. The women ate sack lunches from a drive-through and made only one gas and bathroom stop.

“If traffic is bad, I’m going to need Agnes’s litter box,” Dr. Flo warned as they reached the outskirts of Atlanta.

By the time they reached Buckhead, Katharine had a throbbing headache and tight muscles in her neck and down her back. She had thought she had left all her stress on Jekyll, but it had crouched on top of the car and ridden back with her like another cat.

After Dr. Flo drove away, she left the cats in the car while she set up the utility room with the food and water dishes and litter box she had brought from Agnes’s. “Just like home,” she told them as she carried them in and released them. The big cat darted into the small space between washer and dryer and tried to press himself into the wall. The little cat dashed out of the utility room and disappeared.

“You’d better remember your sandbox is in here,” Katharine called after her. She propped one elbow on the dryer and asked the big one, “Why on earth did I bring you all home? You’re going to want me to talk to you and pay you attention, and Tom is coming home tomorrow and wants to go up to the lake. Can you ride up there and ride back again Sunday, when you haven’t even settled in here yet? Are you going to need a cat psychiatrist when this week is over?”

He hissed and puffed up his fur.

She stooped down and coaxed, “Make an effort, okay? Work with me here. I know you miss Agnes. She was a great owner. But I’ll do my best. Take a while to get used to the place and relax. I’ll be back.”

She took a couple of pills for her headache, brought in her bags, and unpacked. Then she called Posey. “We had a marvelous time,” she reported, and described most of what had happened on Bayard Island. She didn’t mention Agnes’s shotgun or her death—Posey was apt to let things like that slip to Tom.

Posey listened with few comments until Katharine mentioned one name. “Mona Bayard?” she said in the tone that meant she was trying to remember something.

Posey’s spacey memory was legendary in the family. Wrens often joked, “Sugah, at least you don’t have to worry about becoming absentminded when you get old.”

Still, if you gave her enough time, she usually dredged up what it was she was trying to remember. This time it took thirty seconds by Katharine’s watch. “Is that the Mona Bayard with that gaw-geous house down in Savannah—the one everybody was talking about on last year’s tour of homes?” Posey’s drawl tended to deepen when she was talking about antique furniture and old houses.

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