“He was breathing, which is always a good sign.As gently as I could I picked him up, placed him on the towel, wrapped it around him, and put him in my car. I drove to the emergency clinic, the cat purring on the seat beside me.“What’s his name?” the young man at the front desk asked as my towel and cat were whisked to a back room.“Uh…John Tomkins,” I said.“That’s different,” the receptionist said, writing it down.“He was a pirate,” I said. “I mean Tomkins. I don’t know about the cat.”

“Natalie said, “That detective in charge of the case: is he your Jake?”My mouth dried. The words felt arid and dusty as I forced them out. “Who told you his name?” Like I had to ask.“Lisa pointed him out on television the other night, and I recognized him as one of the cops who was in here the other day.”I opened my mouth, and then shut it. Jake had to know he was fighting a rearguard action. And I was through lying to my own friends and family. “Yeah,” I said. “We used to be friends. A long time ago. He’s married now.”“Bastard,” she said.I shook my head. “Not really. He never lied to me. I just didn’t ask the questions I didn’t want to know the answers to.”

“See! He likes you,” Natalie said triumphantly.I stared down at the scrawny scrap of fur cautiously sniffing my hand.“He doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m going to feed him.”“Now who’s being a cynic? Anyway, every bookstore should have a cat.”The cat -- assuming it was a cat and not some beige bug-eyed refugee from outer space -- slunk uneasily down the counter, and flinched at the flutter of Mystery Scene pages as a gust of warm air blew in from the street.”

“Look, Paul. I appreciate what you’re telling me, but I gave Jake my word. Not to mention the fact, he’d throw my ass in jail if he found out I tried to go around him.”“He wouldn’t, you know,” he said. “Jake’s a pussycat.”Yeah, just a big old saber-toothed tiger.”

“He said you were on the scene when that Laurel Canyon homicide went down.”“I’m lucky that way,” I said.“So are you two square again?”I halted, mid-ripping open the cookies, and stared at him. “Well, he’s pretty square,” I said. “I’m just a rectangular guy.” With latent triangular tendencies.”

“If you want. It’s not really your kind of thing,” Perry said. “It’s a snow globe. You know, a big old house and lots of Vermont snow. I thought it might remind you of me.”“I don’t need a snow globe to remind me of you,” Nick said, which was probably the most romantic thing he had ever heard himself say. It made him blush.”

“Well, well," he said. "This can't be a coincidence.""It could," I said. "The odds aren't high, but they do exist.""Uh-huh.”