Over-the-Shoulder Shot

"Cut!" Morris yelled.

At first I didn't move. Seeing Muriel fall stiff onto the cage floor was such a shock, I felt bolted to my spot. Then a communal gasp from the dozen or so spectators jolted me out of my stupor. I realized I'd been holding my breath, and took in a huge gulp.

Suddenly I realized that all was not what it seemed. First of all the cage door was hanging open. Secondly the heap on the cage floor didn't look like the bird I’d been rehearsing with in Donnalee's trailer.

Cautiously I reached into the cage and touched the lifeless bird. Then I pulled it out and held it up for everyone to see.

"It's a fake," I told them, "a toy bird. It's not Muriel."

Several people rushed over to confirm what I'd discovered. "Well, where is she?" Rita asked Jake when I deposited the artificial bird in her palm. "Where's Muriel?"

"I don't know," Jake said. "She was in there when I covered up the cage. Rita, you checked the cage when we put it in the corner. You saw her."

"I saw her then," Rita said. "But I'm not seeing her now. She's gone!"

"Gone!" Morris repeated. "Where?"

"How would I know?" Rita answered. She sounded frustrated and hassled. "Where does any bird go when it flies the coop? Up in a tree somewhere, I imagine." She looked into the woods that bordered the bluff. Without powerful binoculars, there was no way any of us was going to spot that small yellow bird in that thick stand of trees.

"Jake!" Morris yelled. "Where's Jake?"

"Right here." Jake Brigham strode across the set. His face was crinkled into a mass of worry wrinkles.

To anyone who didn't know much about moviemaking, it would have seemed like this was no big deal. It was just a bird in a very short scene—and all it had to do was eat. But it really was a big deal. I found that out in the coaching session. Muriel was not just any yellow bird—she was a trained canary. She'd been taught not to be distracted by sudden noises and bright lights, for example, and not to be startled by people walking around and shouting instructions.

"So, where is she?" Morris asked. "Where's my Muriel?"

"I’ll find her," Jake said. "I'm sure she'll fly back on her own soon. Something spooked her, or she'd never have left. Someone must have released her, and chased her off."

"And tell me again how that could have happened?" Morris said. He wasn't yelling anymore, so I inched closer. I didn't want to miss anything. "How could someone have even gotten into the animal area?" Morris demanded. "Where were you? Where were your assistants?"

"Look, I understand why you're upset," Jake said. He'd lowered his voice too. They were both trying to have this totally private conversation in the middle of a large group of people. "I'm telling you, I'll get her back," Jake insisted. His face was getting really red. Morris had asked some good questions. Nothing should be more secure than the animal wrangler's area. If someone could break into that, there wasn't one area of the entire location that was safe from troublemakers.

"What are they saying?" I heard George's familiar whisper from behind. "Does Jake have a clue about what's going on?"

"Nope," I murmured. I told her what the two men had said.

"But how could anyone break into the wrangler's area?" George asked, echoing my thoughts. "It's supposed to be totally off limits."

"And really secure," I pointed out. "I doubt that it was an accident."

"I assume you've got a backup for me," Morris said to Jake. "A stand-in canary." His lips were drawn tight across his teeth as he talked, and he looked like a volcano about to erupt. George stepped up next to me—we were riveted to the action in front of us. It was almost like watching a movie.

"Yes, but you know as well as I do that it's going to take a little time to get this bird up to speed," Jake told Morris. "I'll need to work with Nancy—the stand-in canary has to get used to her. I'll do some run-throughs with the two of them."

"How long?" Rita asked. "How long before we're ready to shoot?"

"A couple of hours, I guess," Jake answered.

"More lost time," Morris said. "We've already lost days of shooting. Now the actors are ready, the lights, the cinematographers. The whole crew is keyed into this one scene. And you're telling me we all just stand around for two hours and wait?"

"Look," Rita said to Morris. "We can't lose any more time. It'll take us hours just to scrap this shoot and set up for another one. Nancy and the boys are here, and they're ready to go. Let's just skip the bird bit and shoot without it."

"No." Althea Waters hurried up. "You can't leave out the bird. We talked about this," she said to Morris. "Remember what Luther said. The bird is really important to Esther's story line."

Morris shook his head at Althea. For a moment it looked like he was going to agree with Rita.

"I'm sure you've already spent a ton of money just getting those birds all the way out here in the first place." Althea kept talking, her words rushing out as she pleaded her case. "And you're paying Luther for his expertise. You might as well get your money's worth from all of them."

"And Nancy's really good. I'm sure she'll be able to switch to the new canary without any trouble," Jake added.

"All right, all right," Morris said with a huge sigh. "Break, everyone—but stand by. When Rita calls, I want you all back here in seconds!"

"Nancy, I haven't totally been on board with your idea of sabotage up until now," George said. "But I'm beginning to be a believer. There's no way we could have this much bad luck."

"Exactly," I agreed. "And I'm beginning to narrow the field of suspects—"

"Come on, Nancy, let's go." Jake was motioning to me to get to work.

"Tell Bess what's happened," I told George as I headed toward Jake. "Let's get together later. I want to run some ideas by you two."

As I walked with Jake to the menagerie, I was in sort of a daze. I could hear Jake rattling on beside me as he told me about the new stand-in canary, but I couldn't stop thinking about the problems plaguing this small production.

The new canary was as well trained as the original one—and I was well trained by then too. My rehearsals with the new bird went quickly, and Jake and I reported back to the set with the new Muriel in an hour and a half

We shot half a dozen takes before Morns announced lunch. Bess, George, the Alvarez brothers, and I found a table for six and tore into plates of Mrs. Fayne's excellent lasagna. About halfway through the meal, I heard a familiar voice.

"Might I join you all?" Harold Safer asked.

"Sure, Mr. Safer, have a seat," Bess urged. She introduced him to Ben and Luke. "This lasagna is so good because Aunt Louise uses Mr. Safer's mozzarella and Italian sausage," she said warmly. Bess is wonderful at putting everyone at ease.

"So how did the shoot go this morning?" Mr. Safer asked me. "I hear you were working on one of the cabin interior scenes."

"That's right," I said. I wasn't at all surprised to hear that he knew the specifics. As much as he loved the theater, being on the set of a film in production must have been heaven for him—and he was probably hanging on every word he heard.

"And you're going down to the cabin itself on location this afternoon, is that right?" he asked.

"Right," Ben answered. "That's when Nancy and I take a ride on the bucking buckboard. I tell you, I'd rather ride a bronco without a saddle—its back is bound to be softer than that wooden seat!" I nodded an agreement as I sipped some water.

"So is Mr. Houseman on the grounds?" Harold asked me. He tried to make his tone casual, but I could see he was extremely interested in my answer.

"As a matter of fact, I think I see him over there. Come on, Mr. Safer."

"Really? Are you sure it will be all right?"

"Of course, come on."

We both wiped marinara sauce from the corners of our mouths. Mr. Safer took a huge gulp of cranberry juice, and I led him across the room.

I stopped at a table with a reserved card perched in the middle. Around it sat Morris, Rita, Lee Chang, Donnalee Collins, Althea, Luther, and Herman Houseman.

"I'd like you all to meet my friend Harold Safer," I said, pushing him forward just a little. "He's a River Heights merchant and is supplying the cheese and sausages for Mrs. Fayne's food service—including the ingredients for your lasagna today," I added, taking a page from Bess's etiquette book.

I went around the table, introducing each of them. Everyone greeted Harold warmly, and a few made special comments about his delicious contribution to the meal.

"And this is—," I began, as I got to the person I'd saved for last.

"No introduction is needed, Nancy," Harold said. "Mr. Houseman, you're my biggest fan. I mean, I'm your biggest fan. I've seen every Broadway and off-Broadway production you've done in the last twenty years, including your most recent Lang Day's Journey. Masterful, absolutely masterful."

Mr. Houseman wiped his hands on his napkin with a few large swipes, then stood almost at attention, facing Harold. "My dear Mr. Safer, you honor me with your words. It is always a special pleasure to meet someone with a genuine love of great theater." He held out his hand.

Harold wiped his own palm against his trousers and clasped Mr. Houseman's in a firm handshake.

"I hadn't realized this before," Luther said. "Harold, you could be Herman's stand-in. You're both the same height and build; you have the same profile and hair."

"I told him the same thing," I said.

"I'm very honored by the comparison," Mr. Safer said, stepping back a few inches.

"If we didn't already have an understudy, I'd hire you," Morris added. "Nancy’s spontaneous employment agency has already bailed us out of several jams so far!"

"Well, we won't keep you any longer," Mr. Safer said, backing away a little more. "Please continue your meals. It was lovely meeting you all."

"Oh, Nancy, that was wonderful," Mr. Safer said in a soft voice as we returned to our table. "If I can ever do you a favor, you only need to ask."

After lunch the Alvarez brothers and I joined the crew and Morris on location at the abandoned cabin in Humphrey's Woods. I didn't have any dialogue in this scene. According to the script, the Rackham brothers were returning to their home. They get off their horses and have a long conversation about their intentions and don't realize I'm in the garden beside the cabin, hearing every word.

Morris spent hours setting the scene and shooting dozens of takes. Then—-just when I thought we were through—he set up the cameras for the reverses. Reverses show the same scene, only from the opposite angle. In this scene, that meant we first had to shoot the whole thing dozens of times from Ross Rackham's point of view.

Next all the lights and cameras were repositioned so we could shoot the scene dozens of times from John Rackham s point of view. Later, in the editing room, Morris and his editor would cut and splice the scene the exact way they wanted, switching the points of view to make it realistic.

Finally we heard Morris call out the magic words: "Okay, everyone, that's a wrap for today." If we all hadn't been so tired, we would have cheered. Instead, we just started filing to the shuttles that would take us back up to the compound.

We had walked only a few yards when we heard Morris shout again. "What?" he yelled. "How could that happen! Hold it, everybody. Come on back!"

We dragged ourselves back to the cabin. "We've got a problem," he announced. "As you know, while we changed the camera positions and lighting to shoot the reverses, we took the horses away for a water break. Unfortunately Rita just noticed that the horses were put back in the wrong order for the reverses. We have to shoot the reverses again."

"Morris, it's almost dark," Lee Chang pointed out. "There's no point in shooting them now. The light will be all wrong."

"I don't care—we're reshooting the reverses. Now." Morris was adamant.

"But it doesn't make sense," Rita told him.

"We're shooting, and that's that," he said. "Come on, come on, let's go." He sounded a little frantic.

By the time we got back to the compound, it was dark. Most of the people involved in the shoot had disappeared into their trailers or headed back to town. I had driven my own car in that morning, but I wanted to see if Bess needed a ride. I knew George would be riding with her mom.

The carpentry shop was closed, and there was no sign of Bess. The whole compound seemed nearly deserted. It was great to see the security lamps on, but they were tuned to the lowest power. Clouds snuck across the moon, and the shadows came and went across my path.

The catering tent had been folded while we'd been at the cabin, and Mrs. Faynes operation had moved into the original mess hall building. There was no one there but the all-night-coffee-bar guy. He told me that Bess had gone home with George and Mrs. Fayne.

As I circled back toward the parking lot, I was surprised to see Mr. Houseman standing near a large sycamore. I decided to take a minute to thank him for making Mr, Safer's day. I thought that might encourage him to talk to Mr. Safer when he saw him hanging around the compound.

As I approached the tree, I realized Mr. Houseman wasn't aware of me at all. He was deep in conversation with someone who was standing in the shadows and hidden by the tree trunk.

I decided not to interrupt him, but I didn't want him to think I was eavesdropping. So I figured my best move was to just back away quietly.

Step by step I retraced my path, placing each foot carefully onto the ground. I gazed steadily at him as I backed up, but I didn't need to worry about being discovered. He was way too interested in the person in front of him to notice me.

As I watched, he leaned forward to kiss the person in the shadows.

Danger in the Dark

I watched the couple for a few minutes. Mr. Houseman's large frame pretty well blocked out the woman he was kissing—I couldn't see her face at all. And it was too dark to identify her by her clothing. They stayed locked in a heavy embrace while I backed away.

I was really careful about not making any noise and revealing myself, and I managed to get out of the area without Mr. Houseman or the mystery woman hearing me. I went to my car and headed for town. The closer I got to home as I drove along the old road, the more I realized how tired I was.

The minute I got home, I called Bess and George and set up a breakfast meeting. George promised that she had news from her data recovery work. I felt like I was falling asleep almost at the same moment I crawled under the covers. I closed my eyes, pushed my pillow into the perfect shape, and barely budged until morning.

I had decided on Susie's Read & Feed cafe for Thursday breakfast because I wanted privacy while we talked. I especially didn't want anyone from the production company hearing our conversation. And I love Susie's coffee and muffins.

First I told my friends about the problems on the location shoot. Then I described the embrace Mr. Houseman gave the woman in the shadows.

"Wow, who was it, do you think?" Bess asked, her eyes wide.

"It could have been anyone—I didn't see her at all."

"Not Althea," George guessed.

"Probably not," I agreed. "She and Luther seem to be getting very close. But I didn't see the woman, so it's possible."

"It could have been Donnalee, or Rita, or Jane Brandon, or any of the other women in the compound," George said.

"Or it could have been someone from town," I pointed out. "But let's get back to focusing on the sabotage. I've come to the conclusion that it all had to be instigated by someone who knows how the different areas of the production work."

"But that means they have to know when to do these things," Bess said.

"That's what I'm saying," I nodded. "The sabotage has to be perpetrated by someone who not only knows how the different aspects of moviemaking work, but also knows this particular production's schedule."

"Someone on the inside!" Bess said, her eyebrows raising. "Really? Well, I guess that nixes the Muskoka Musketeers and Jack Halloran from the suspect list, doesn't it?" Bess asked.

"Unless Halloran is paying an inside operative to do his dirty work," George muttered, chomping into her egg sandwich.

"Now that the filming has actually begun, things could get really messy around the set," I pointed out. "I need evidence... clues... something that leads us to the culprit. If it's someone on the inside, there's got to be some evidence we can get our hands on. George, you said you have news. I'm hoping you found out something after going through all those computers."

"I did," she said, "but I need more time to trace it. I found the programs that connect to the generators. They were supposed to be loaded on two department's computers: maintenance and security. But there's evidence that a third computer was involved, and the generator program was overwritten with new instructions on that one. I'm tracing its owner."

"So we identify the computer owner, and we might have the saboteur," Bess concluded. She took a bite of her ginger-peach muffin. "But I'd still like to know who's kissing Herman Houseman," Bess added.

"I was going over there to thank him for being so nice to Mr. Safer," I said. "Houseman was pretty kind when I introduced him."

"Don't forget, he's a really good actor," Bess pointed out. "While you were on location, Mr. Safer took a beautiful basket of goodies over to Houseman’s trailer. But The Great One' brushed him off. Said he was too busy to talk to him."

"Mr. Safer was crushed, right?" George guessed.

"He said he completely understood—but I think it was rude," Bess declared.

"You're right," I agreed. "Just accepting the basket would have been enough to make Mr. Safer happy for days. There really isn't any excuse for deliberately snubbing him like that."

"You know," George said, hesitating for a moment. "There was a computer full of e-mails about meetings. And they were all signed H. That could have been Herman. I haven't sorted out who his correspondent is yet, but it won't be long. I keep getting distracted by people wanting help reloading their software."

"Maybe it's his kissing partner," Bess said with a wink.

"Okay, keep at it," I urged. "I'm determined to talk to Jack Halloran. I want to see that script he got. I tried to phone him, but he won't take my calls—and he won't return them either. He knows I heard his fight with Morris and figures my loyalty is with him. But I'll keep after Mr. Halloran—I'll park outside his office if I have to."

"What can I do, Nancy?" Bess asked.

"Just keep your ears and eyes open," I said. "You're right in the thick of the activity, so you're bound to hear all the speculation and rumors. We need to get this case solved soon! I feel like we're sitting on a time bomb."

When we got to the compound, everyone was buzzing about the big scene Herman was about to shoot in the soundstage. It was our first chance to see the great actor at work, so the three of us joined other observers behind the cameras.

Surprisingly, he spent the first hour blanking on lines and bungling cues. "This is absurd," he finally yelled. "I can't recite these lines. They're clearly written by an amateur!"

"Cut!" Morris called.

"Amateur?" Althea bristled. She was standing between Morris and Lee Chang. "Perhaps if the lines were being said by a professional," she continued, "instead of a half-baked ham..."

At that, Herman turned on his heels and stalked off the set.

"Looks like old Herman's having some trouble with his lines," George whispered. "You'd think someone with all his Broadway experience would be able to remember them better than this."

"Live theater and film are really different for actors," I reminded her in a whisper. "There are a lot of distractions when you're shooting a movie scene—a lot of stopping and starting."

"And sometimes there are stops in the middle of lines," Bess said. "It's hard to keep the flow."

"Keep the flow?" George said. "Give me a break! If you ask me, Herman Houseman's distractions are more personal than professional."

"Are you talking about last night?" I asked.

"I am," George said. "Plus all those e-mails. All I'm saying is he seems to have some whole other agenda aside from making this film."

After a lot of pleading by Morris and Rita, Herman returned. But the scene didn't get any better. Finally Morris yelled "Cut!" for about the fiftieth time. He, Herman, Rita, and Althea all huddled in a loud discussion for a few minutes. Then they left in four different directions.

"I have to get to work," Bess said. "It's afternoon already, and we're trying to get the boat set ready for the big fire scene at ten tonight."

"Why so late?" George asked.

"It probably has something to do with the finance guys Morris is meeting with this evening," I told them.

"Well, I can't play hooky any longer either," George said. "Anybody for supper in a couple of hours?

"Probably not," I said. "I'm going to run a few errands. I'm free until the shoot tonight. I think I'll pay a visit to Harold Safer, and then camp out at Jack Halloran's office."

"Mr. Safer?" Bess asked. "I assume you're after more than just a cheese sandwich."

"I don't know, exactly," I answered. "Just curious about something, I guess. I'll fill you in later, after I talk to him."

My friends went back to work, and I took off in the direction Althea had gone. I wanted her opinion on Mr. Houseman's problems with his lines.

My hunch was right. Althea and Luther were working at one of the rustic picnic tables along the river. It was an absolutely beautiful day—sunny and breezy. A couple dozen Canada geese paddled in formation on the choppy dark Muskoka.

"Nancy!" Luther greeted me. "Come interrupt us. We can use the break."

"Speak for yourself," Althea said with an affectionate smile for Luther. "I'm really under the gun here." Then she looked at me. Her expression was friendly, but I could tell she hoped I wouldn't interrupt them for too long.

"I only have a minute," I told them, taking a seat at the table. It was littered with white, yellow, blue, magenta, and green pages. Each color represented a different revision of the script.

"I saw you watching the shoot this morning," Luther said. "What did you think?"

"Funny you should ask," I answered. "That's why I'm here. I'm interested in what you two think is going on with Mr. Houseman."

"He's a jerk," Althea said abruptly, throwing down her pen. "He hasn't learned his lines. He's been in coaching for weeks, and he still stumbles through his part. Now he wants Morris to make up cue cards and have them scattered around the sets, so he can just read them and won't have to memorize anything. Whoever told this guy he could act?"

"Lots of people," Luther said gently. "And you know that. Why he seems unable to demonstrate it on this particular occasion, though, is anybody's guess."

"That's what I'm really curious about," I said. "He's not even close to living up to his reputation. You two are more on the inside than I am. Have you heard any reason why Mr. Houseman's having so much trouble? Is he sick? Any personal problems you know about? Professional problems with Morris or the studio?"

Althea shrugged, and Luther shook his head. "Nancy we haven't heard anything to explain it," he said. "It’s just taking him longer than we all thought it would to adjust to film schedules and the whole moviemaking process, I guess."

"I'm a little harder on the old guy than Luther is," Althea admitted. "I don't think Herman is even trying to get it right."

"Well, thanks," I said. "If you do hear anything, let me know. Do you know where Morris is? I'd like to talk to him, too."

"No way you'll get to him right now," Althea warned me. "He's in his office in a meeting with finance people—studio bankers have flown out from the coast. Believe me, you don't want to be even close to that meeting."

"I'm sure you're right," I nodded. "I'll see him later at the fire shoot."

When I left Althea and Luther, I went to my message box in the woman's dressing-room trailer. Crew members left messages there about schedule changes, costume fittings, and script notes. I had only one computer-printed message: / have information about the so-called accidents on this production, and proof about the canary release! Meet me in the menagerie at seven. Signed, a Friend.

I've had messages signed "a Friend" before, and that wasn't always an accurate description of the author. But I knew I couldn't ignore it either. I pocketed the note and drove back to town.

First I went to Safer's Cheese Shop. I wanted some quick background on Herman Houseman and figured that Mr. Safer would be my best source of information. I wasn't sure how to approach the subject after Bess's account of his last encounter with the actor. But I didn't have to worry. Mr. Safer brought up the subject the minute I walked into his shop.

"Nancy! I'm so glad you're here!" he said, rushing to greet me. "I can't thank you enough for introducing me to Herman Houseman. It's the highlight of my year by far. What a man! What an actor! And how lucky we are to have him for a while—here in River Heights! It's unbelievable."

"We're very lucky," I said, nodding. "You mentioned seeing him several years ago on Broadway, right?"

"Yes—and what a treat it was! Of course, it was nothing like meeting him in person."

"What has he been doing since you saw him on stage? I believe this is his first film, isn't it?"

"Yes, but only by his choice. He gets dozens of offers and turns them down. And all of them are very lucrative, I might add. He had a sort of slow period for a few years, but then it was as if he'd been discovered all over again—the offers began pouring in. Especially lately. Probably because of his triumph in Long Day's Journey into Night, his star has never been higher. People are clamoring for his talent, and paying dearly to get it. His agent can practically auction him off to the highest bidder."

We chatted a little more, and then I left. Mr. Safer had no answer for the puzzle I had to solve: If Herman Houseman was being offered a ton of money for all these other jobs, what was he doing on a low-budget production like Stealing Thunder?

From the cheese shop I went straight to Rackham Industries. I was determined to see the script that made Jack Halloran so angry. When I told his secretary that I wasn't leaving until he saw me, she finally ushered me into his office.

"What is it, Nancy?" Mr. Halloran barked from behind his desk. "If you're here to plead the case for Stealing Thunder and Morris Dunnowitz, you're wasting your breath. I've made up my mind to fight that production to the finish."

"I'm not here to argue with you," I said. "I want to know just want one thing. Who sent you the script?"

"I don't know. It was dropped off here at the office—I assume by a courier. Why?"

"May I see it?"

"I guess so." He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a plain manila envelope and handed it to me. I skimmed through it, jumping from scene to scene.

"Mr. Halloran, this isn't the screenplay for Stealing Thunder. I don't know who wrote this, but this is not the script we're shooting."

He grabbed it back. "What do you mean?" he asked. "It has to be."

"But it's not. I'm playing your ancestor Esther Rackham, and I'm very familiar with the script. Someone has pulled a major hoax here, and I'm afraid you're the victim. Because of that, I'm sure I can persuade Morris and Althea Waters, the screenwriter, to let you read the correct version. I think you'll see there are no lies or distortions in it. You know that Luther Eldridge would not be consulting if there were!"

Mr. Halloran studied my face hard, as if he was trying to bore right into my brain and see if I was telling the truth. "All right, if you can set it up, I'll read the real screenplay."

"Deal," I said.

By the time I got back to the compound, it was six forty-five. The sun had set, but the sky still glowed with a dull dusky light. The air was cool, so I zipped a red sweatshirt on over my jeans and T-shirt.

I walked around the soundstage to the menagerie. The horses were still outside, in a pen next to the stable. They whinnied at my arrival and ran in circles a couple of times. They seemed restless—maybe they knew there was a shoot in a couple of hours.

I looked around for Jake, but there was no one near the place, so I selected a spot bathed in bright light from a portable security lamp and sat down on a stump to wait for "a Friend."

Seven o'clock… a quarter after. Still no one came, and there was no sign of Jake. The horses were really restless by then, and they were still circling the perimeter of the pen. The pale light was gone from the sky by that time, and everything looked gray.

I started to feel a little jittery myself. I walked over to pat a couple of the horses and maybe calm them—and me—down. But they jumped back, and one reared on his hindlegs and snorted.

A low noise caught my attention. I followed the sound about thirty yards over to the trailer Jake had shown us—the temporary home of mountain lions Kaia and Thunder. "So that's why the horses are nervous," I muttered to myself. "I can't believe Jake would leave one of the cats out here all by itself."

But he had. Thunder was pacing back and forth against the wall of the huge cage. A high metal roof kept him inside, but he was clearly not happy. "Hey, fella, where’s your pal?" I said to the cat, in my most soothing tone. "Jake? Hey, Jake. Where are you?" I knocked on the trailer door, but there was no answer, and it didn't budge.

I wasn't really afraid of the lion. It was a trained animal, and used to people. But I was still cautious— after all, I wasn't his trainer. So I hung back about five or six feet from the cage and tried to comfort the restless cat.

"Thunder, be cool," I murmured. "Jake will be back soon, I'm sure. Just settle down, boy. I'll wait here with you. We can just hang out—"

It happened so fast, it was like a streaking me­teor—you see it, and then it's gone. Thunder crouched back, bared his teeth, and pounced. He hit the cage so hard that the door popped open. And the strength of his leap vaulted him straight at me.

Date: 2016-03-03; view: 665