"What about Harry?" she asked with a smidgeon of hope in her eyes.

"I found him a home . . . yesterday." He held up his hands hopelessly. "You wouldn't believe how many people have called to adopt cats," he said quickly, hoping to change the subject. "I must have a hundred messages by now. It's uncanny."

She shrugged. "Well, that's because of the rumor."

"Rumor?"

"You haven't heard?"

"What do you mean?"

"The million-dollar-cat rumor. It's circulating around town."

"What are you talking about?"

"Somehow folks got it into their heads that one of Lilly's cats-or maybe all of them depending on who you listen to-is going to inherit a million dollars." She gave him a smirking look. "I know it's plum foolish, but that's what folks are saying. Everyone's talking about the million-dollar cat. I expect that's why you got so many calls." She gave him a suspicious look. "You did find Harry a good home, didn't you?"

Garrison nodded sadly. "Yeah. It's fine."

"Just tell me one thing," she began again. "Why can't you just stay here until Christmas?"

"Because I can't."

"Why not?" she pleaded.

"They need me on the job now," he said firmly. "I'm supposed to report on the tenth."

She took in a deep breath then pursed her lips. It looked like she wanted to explode all over again.

"I'm sorry, Ruby."

"I'm sorry too, Garrison. Sorry for you."

"But you'll forgive me, won't you?"

She narrowed her eyes. "As a Christian woman, I have to forgive you. But as your grandma's good friend, I do not have to like it." She turned to walk away. "No," she repeated, "I do not have to like it!"

After getting a new cell phone number the next morning, Garrison stopped by Mr. Miller's office, explaining his need to get to Seattle. "I promised to be on the job by the tenth and that's tomorrow. Is it okay if I do the two-week checkups today? It'll be a couple days early for some of them, but-"

"I don't think that's a problem. That is, if you feel confident you've found them all good homes."

"I honestly think I have. And if I can wrap this up, I'd really appreciate it." Then he remembered Harry. "Although one of the cats was only placed a couple days ago. That two-week check is a ways off and I'll be working in Seattle then."

"Hmm . . ." Mr. Miller wobbled a pencil back and forth between his fingers. "Maybe I could check on that one for you."

"Sure, I'd appreciate that." Garrison felt a wave of relief. The last thing he needed right now was to visit Harry and have that cat look longingly with those pale green eyes. He already missed Harry far more than he'd imagined possible. Almost as much as he missed Cara-although he was determined not to dwell on that. Onward and upward.

"The most important part of all this is the final visit. And that'll be up to you to do." Mr. Miller aimed his pencil at Garrison. "Only you can determine if the cats are properly settled-and it's your job to deliver the checks too."

"The deadline lands right before Christmas for five of the cats. Although Harry, the one I placed most recently . . . is later." Garrison frowned. "Does that mean I'll have to make a special trip from Seattle to check on him?"

"Hmm . . . I'm thinking out loud here . . . since that's the cat I'll be checking on next week, maybe we can bend the rules a little. If I decide that it's a good home, I'll recommend that you include that cat's final visit with the others. How's that sound?"

"That'd be great. That way everyone will get their bonuses before Christmas."

"Good. Now you email me your two-week report along with all the names and addresses of the new pet owners, and I'll have my a.s.sistant prepare a package for you. It'll be ready to pick up"-he paused to write this down-"on the twenty-fourth." He smiled at Garrison. "And you can have the pleasure of playing Santa Claus."

"Great."

"And just so you know I'll be leaving town on the twentieth. Taking the family on a ski vacation for Christmas. But Ellen will be here, although I told her she could leave early on Christmas Eve. So the sooner you get here, the sooner she can be on her way."

"I'll do what I can to leave work early that day," he a.s.sured him. Then they tied up a few more loose ends and, feeling satisfied that he was getting closer to having fulfilled his grandmother's final wishes, Garrison thanked the lawyer and left. Now all he needed to do was to make some quick visits to check on the cats.

He stopped by Vincent's house first. Vincent, wearing a checkered ap.r.o.n, was in his kitchen making cranberry-nut bread. Rusty was basking in the suns.h.i.+ne on a kitchen chair, watching his master it seemed.

"This is a recipe my wife liked to use," Vincent explained as he wiped his hands on the front of his ap.r.o.n. "I never tried it before myself, but for some reason I felt inspired today. Or maybe I was just hungry for it."

"How are you and Rusty getting along?" Garrison reached down to scratch the big orange cat's chin.

"Like a pair of old pals." Vincent grinned at the cat. "Two bachelors making the best of it."

"He appears happy and healthy." Garrison looked at Vincent. "Also I wanted to let you know I'm heading back for Seattle this afternoon. Took the job there after all."

Vincent's smile faded. "You're leaving? So soon?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Gainful employment . . . so to speak."

"Well, you'll be missed around here."

Garrison nodded. "I really appreciate all the help you gave me on the house. Wish I could be around at payback time."

Vincent's brow creased. "No worries there. My finances aren't going to change."

Garrison wanted to disagree, but at the same time, he did not want to let the cat out of the bag. He smiled to himself at the appropriateness of that metaphor, then shook Vincent's hand and promised that he'd be back in time for Christmas.

Since Beth's house was only a few blocks away, he made that his next stop. Beth was in the midst of touching up an older woman's roots. Garrison, seeing that Spooky looked perfectly fine and was actually a bit more friendly than he recalled-or maybe Garrison's general opinion toward cats had changed-told Beth that he had no complaints. "Looks like Spooky has found herself a perfect home," he told her.

"I wish you could see Annabelle and Spooky together," Beth told him as he pulled his coat back on. "It's like they were made for each other." She smiled. "Thank you again!"

He told her about his house being on the market. "So if it sells, we'll have to figure out what to do with your furniture."

She waved her hand. "Who knows? Maybe the buyers will want to purchase the furnis.h.i.+ngs too. I wouldn't argue with that."

He told her he'd mention that to his agent, then promised to be back in touch shortly before Christmas.

Next he went to Riley and Sabrina's house to check on Oreo. He had no doubts that Oreo would be in good shape and, after Sabrina let him into the house, he knew the cat had fallen into a sweet little nest. "I just love him," she told Garrison as she cuddled the cat in her arms. "I don't know why I didn't think to get a cat ages ago." She rubbed her face into his. "Although I'm glad I waited for this one. He's really a darling."

Once again, Garrison made the speech about returning to do the final check at Christmastime, but before he got out the door, Sabrina stopped him. "I know it's none of my business," she said in a careful tone. "But I'm curious about what went wrong with you and Cara."

He gave her a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "I don't know . . . you guys just seemed like a good pair."

"Well . . . I . . . uh . . . I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"I just wondered what came between you two."

He frowned. "I guess it was David."

Her brows arched and he excused himself. "See you around Christmas," he called as he hurried out.

As he drove around the block to David's house he was curious. Why had Sabrina said that? Did she know something he didn't? And, if so, what was it? Glancing at Cara's house, he noticed the car missing from her driveway, then remembered how she worked in the city on Mondays. Probably for the best.

He tried to bury any resentment he felt toward David as he knocked on the door. This was not about Garrison-this was about a cat. Muzzy, to be specific. David was perfectly courteous and, once again, Garrison felt completely rea.s.sured that another cat had landed in the perfect home. Perfect for Muzzy and perfect for Jackson. And, unless Garrison was imagining things, Jackson's social skills were improving too. He thanked David and reminded him that he'd do the final check right before Christmas. As he got back into his car, he did not allow his eyes to wander over to the gingerbread house. Best not to look back.

The last one on his list was Viola, although he knew there was really no reason to check on that cat. She was perfectly happy with Ruby. However, he wanted a second chance to make things right with one of Gram's dearest friends-a woman who'd been like an aunt to him. But before he knocked on her back door, he made one last check on the house and put his bags into the back of the Pontiac. His plan was to be on the road by two.

Ruby scowled darkly as she let him into her kitchen. "I s'pose you're here to check on Viola," she said in a grumpy voice. "As if I don't know how to take care of my own cat by now."

"I had no doubts about that," he a.s.sured her. "I was more interested in seeing you. I'm sorry to find you in such bad spirits. Are you still mad at me?"

She rolled her eyes. "The world does not turn around you, Garrison Brown."

He blinked. "No, I didn't think it did."

"If you must know, I'm out of sorts over Elliott."

"Elliott? What's he done?"

"He's done left."

"Left?"

"That's right. Took off in the middle of the night. Not so much as a fare-thee-well from that ungrateful boy's lips."

"Ruby . . . I'm sorry." He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, Garrison." She broke into sobs and he wrapped his arms around her. "I had such hopes for that boy. Seemed like he was really connecting with you."

"I'm sorry, Ruby." His voice choked. "I feel this is partly my fault."

She stepped back, fis.h.i.+ng a tissue from her sleeve and wiping her nose. "No, no, that's not fair. I'm not blaming you for my grandson's bad choices." She looked intently into his eyes. "You are only responsible for your own bad choices, boy."

He nodded glumly. "That's true."

"You see to it that you don't make any more bad choices-you hear Ruby now?"

"Yes. I hear." He kissed her cheek. "And you and Viola take care. I'll see you at Christmas."

She brightened a little. "Oh yeah, that's right-you bringing me my million dollars to go with that cat, right?" She laughed like she knew that was never happening.

"I wish I could do that," he told her. "I'm sure you'd put it to good use."

Her chin bobbed up and down with strength. "You got that right. First of all I'd buy that house next door and turn it into a halfway house."

He grinned. "I'll bet you would."

As they hugged again, he promised to pray for Elliott and she promised to fix him another chicken pot pie the next time he came home. And then he got into the Pontiac and headed north to Seattle.

14.

There had been a time when Garrison had loved being in Seattle. The photogenic landscape of mountains and water and sky had never failed to energize him, and the beat of the city had always filled him with enthusiasm and high expectations. But something had changed . . . and he didn't think it was Seattle.

To be fair, the grim, gray weather was not helping any. But Garrison tried to remain focused on his new job, his new boss, and the possibility of moving into a new apartment-when Gram's house sold. According to Barb, it could happen any day now.

"My first open house was a huge success," she'd told him shortly after he'd returned to Seattle. "I ran it on both Sat.u.r.day and Sunday. And I had more than thirty people go through."

"Thirty?"

"Well, certainly some of them were Looky-Lous and some were just your curious neighbors wanting to see what you'd done with the place. But there were at least two families who were seriously shopping for a home. And, oh my, you should see how fabulous Felicia has made your house look. You probably wouldn't recognize it. I've got all the real estate agents in town coming through on Thursday. I wouldn't be surprised if we got an offer even before Christmas."

"Really?" He felt a mixture of anxiety and hope. On one hand, he wasn't ready to let go . . . on the other hand he had no choice.

By the end of his second week back in Seattle, Garrison felt so blue that he wondered if he was coming down with something. Or maybe his malaria was flaring up. But his temperature registered normal. And besides feeling gloomy and weary, he had no real symptoms. Telling himself it was simply the cold, wet weather getting him down, he jogged through the company parking lot and jumped into the Pontiac. Within minutes he was headed down the freeway. His hope was to reach the Miller law firm before three o'clock to pick up the packet. He knew that Mr. Miller had been out of the office most of the week and that his a.s.sistant planned to close early. Garrison had promised to get there before she locked up.

As he drove south, he tried not to think of what kind of a Christmas he would have this year-certainly not a traditional one. But, to be fair, his past nine Christmases in Uganda had not been traditional either. Yet they had been sweet . . . and genuine . . . filled with good-hearted people.

He turned the radio on, tuning to a station that was playing nothing but Christmas songs, and before long he started feeling cheery. After all, he was about to play Santa Claus in a very real sort of way. Handing out sizeable checks to some very decent folks-what could be better? He tried to imagine their surprised faces. Hopefully they'd be surprised. He remembered the million-dollar cat rumor that Ruby had mentioned. Surely no one had taken that seriously.

It was two-thirty when he pulled into the nearly empty parking lot in front of the law office. Pulling his trench coat over his head to block the rain, he ran up to the front door and, since it was locked, banged desperately on it. Surely the a.s.sistant hadn't gone home already.

"Sorry," she said as she let him into the foyer. "I'm supposed to lock the door when I'm the only one here." She thrust a large white envelope toward him. "The checks and everything are in here."

He thanked her and wished her Merry Christmas, then ran back out to his car. His plan was to go to Gram's house first. He'd dump his stuff, nuke a microwave meal, then be off to play Santa. But when he drove up to Gram's house, he almost didn't recognize it. First of all, the house was decorated with strings of delicate white lights. And in the front window stood a tall tree, which was lit up as well. Flanking the front door, which had been painted a nice brick red, was a pair of small evergreen trees in s.h.i.+ny red pots. They too were strung with white lights. On the door was a large evergreen wreath with a big plaid bow. Even though he knew that the house was vacant, he couldn't remember when it had ever looked this inviting. So inviting that he entered the house through the front door instead of the back.

Barb was right-he didn't recognize the place. And yet he did. It was the house he'd left behind, only better. It looked so good that he suddenly felt ill at ease, like he was a trespa.s.ser. Perhaps he shouldn't be staying there. Just to be sure he called Barb, interrupting her from what sounded like a boisterous Christmas party. He quickly explained and she just laughed.

"Of course you can stay there, darling! It's your house. And, just so you know, most of the agents will be enjoying a break for the next few days. So just make yourself at home and don't worry about messing anything up. Felicia's people will put it all back together. Just enjoy-and Merry Christmas!"

Feeling more relaxed, he dumped his bag in his room, which had also had a facelift. Everything looked amazing. And yet . . . something felt wrong. Something was missing. He glanced around the living room as he headed to the kitchen. Oh yeah . . . no cats. Of course, this simply reminded him of the mission that lay ahead. After putting away a Hungry Man meal, he opened the white envelope and discovered six big checks held together with a paper clip. "Here comes Santa Claus," he said as he slipped them into the inside pocket of his trench coat. Then, feeling unexpectedly merry, he sang the rest of the verse as he crossed the two driveways, hurrying through what was turning into freezing rain, and knocked on Ruby's back door.

"Come in, come in," she called out. "Get yourself outta that cold."