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“Blackberry! What do you have there?”
Judy Bolton had been setting the kitchen table for supper when she noticed that Blackberry, her black cat (except for his feet and the tip of his nose), had not come in alone. When the weather was cold, he had to meow to be let in and out, but during the summer, as it was now, he had a cat flap that let him come and go as he pleased. He was carrying something in his mouth, though Judy couldn’t tell exactly what it was. She went to investigate.
Thankfully, it wasn’t anything dead. In fact, it was a squirming something. Blackberry set it down, put a paw on top of it, and started washing it assiduously.
“Oh! It’s a kitten! Blackberry, where did you find that?” Blackberry made no reply, but only continued washing.
Judy turned to Mrs. Bolton, who was at the kitchen counter tearing up greens for salad. “Mother, look what Blackberry just brought in!”
It was an orange-and-white tabby kitten, around eight weeks old, Judy guessed. Old enough to leave his—at a guess, it was hard to tell at this age—mother, but just barely.
Mrs. Bolton glanced over, then went back to her preparations. “You have Blackberry, and Horace has The Ghost. What do you need with another cat? It’s not like we have problem with mice, with those two around.”
“I know we don’t need another cat—or kitten. I told you, Blackberry brought him in, not me. I wonder if he wandered off. He seems too small to be out on his own.” She gently took the kitten away from Blackberry and examined it. “What’s this? He has blood on him! No wonder Blackberry was washing him.”
She walked toward Dr. Bolton’s office, where he was finishing up his day’s patient notes. “Dad! I think I have a patient for you.”
“What is it, Judy girl?”
She handed him the kitten. “Blackberry just walked in carrying this kitten, and he has blood on him! Can you tell where he’s hurt?”
“I’m not a veterinarian, Judy girl, but I’ll see what I can do.” Dr. Bolton examined the kitten closely. The kitten protested briefly, then yawned in his face.
“As far as I can tell, this is a perfectly healthy kitten. There isn’t any injury that I can see, so I don’t think the blood is his.” He flipped the kitten over and examined its bottom. “Yes, ‘his’—it’s a boy cat, I can tell you that much. For anything else, I think that’s your department.”
“A mystery!” Judy breathed. She loved mysteries and had been instrumental in solving several of them—most recently a mystery involving invisible chimes. That one had given her a new friend, Honey Dobbs—and restored a girl with a sad past to her proper family.
“Whoa, there. It’s probably nothing. Maybe his mother brought some prey for the litter to practice on, for all I know. I can’t even tell if it’s animal blood or human.”
“Human!” Judy exclaimed. “Do you think there’s someone out there bleeding? I hope there’s someone to take care of him—or her—the way Blackberry trusted us to take care of this kitten. Oh, I can’t keep calling it ‘the kitten,’ though! What do you think I should call him?”
“How about ‘late to supper’?” said Dr. Bolton. “I hear your mother calling us, and this one probably would like something to eat as well.
Judy laughed, and headed for the kitchen. She poured some milk for the kitten, and then when Blackberry looked up hopefully at her, another bowl for him. “You know you normally get milk only in the morning,” she said severely. “This is only because you brought in—” she paused and thought “—in Marmalade that you get a treat.” Neither Blackberry nor Marmalade paid any attention to her as they busied themselves with their milk.
After dinner, Judy wandered outside. She didn’t know what distance Blackberry might have come with Marmalade, but it couldn’t have been too far. On the upper side of the street across from her house was a row of small houses, all alike. Each one was painted yellow, with wooden steps leading up the hill to the house. Judy wondered, not for the first time, if yellow paint was the cheapest available, or if there had been some sort of neighborhood agreement to keep the houses looking alike. As she wondered, she walked up and down the street, but didn’t see any blood—or any cats or kittens, for that matter.
“Are you looking for something?” came a voice from nearby. It was her friend and neighbor, Irene Lang, who worked in the local mill.
“Yes, but I don’t know what,” Judy said.
“What do you mean?” Irene asked.
Judy explained about Marmalade and the blood. “Have you seen anyone or anything around here that’s been bleeding? Or do you know anyone who’s missing a kitten?”
Irene nibbled her thumbnail and thought. “I haven’t seen anything like that recently. But Stevie Jensen has been telling everyone who would listen that he was going to get a kitten from Mrs. Sparks when it was old enough to leave its mama. The last I heard was, oh, a week or two ago. I haven’t seen him recently. And I certainly haven’t seen anyone bleeding enough to drip on a kitten.”
“Well, that’s a place to start, then. Two places, maybe—Stevie Jensen and Mrs. Sparks. Where does Stevie Jensen live?”
Irene pointed to one of the yellow houses down the row. This one had no laundry in front, and one window was boarded over. “That’s where the Jensens live. I’m not sure I want to go there, though. Mr. Jensen can be awfully nasty.”
“What do you mean?” Judy asked.
“Well, I sometimes hear him yelling at Mrs. Jensen, and she’s the nicest woman you could imagine. She visits my father to chat with him every week or so.” Mr. Lang used a crutch, and had difficulty getting about. He mostly stayed in the clean little home that Irene kept for him, but he enjoyed visitors almost as much as he enjoyed having Irene play music for him.
“I hope it’s Mrs. Jensen that answers the door, then,” Judy said. They headed to the house Irene had pointed out, and Judy rang the door. Irene shivered. “It’ll be all right,” Judy assured her. “Even if he yells, his bark is probably worse than his bite.”
It took long enough for anyone to come to the door that Judy was considering ringing again, when the door opened. Alas for Irene’s hopes, it was a man. Mr. Jensen, Judy assumed. He was wearing grubby pants with holes at the knees, and a grayish undershirt. Judy could feel Irene shrinking back, leaving her to deal with the man on her own. She just hoped Irene wouldn’t run away.
His expression was not encouraging; neither was his voice, once he spoke. “What do you want, girlie?” he growled. “If you’re selling something, I’m not buying.”
Judy tried to summon her best smile. “We’re not selling anything. We were hoping to talk to Mrs. Jensen. Is she available?”
“No!” Mr. Jensen snapped. “And she’s not buying nothing, either.” Judy tried to look around his body to see Mrs. Jensen—or Stevie—but neither was visible in the portion of hallway that she could see.
Judy kept a pleasant expression on her face, and persisted. “Honestly, we have nothing to sell. We’re your neighbors, and we wanted to ask Mrs. Jensen about a kitten. You wouldn’t know anything about a lost kitten, would you?”
All of a sudden Mr. Jensen’s face twisted and turned ugly. “No!” he shouted. “I don’t know anything about any blasted kittens, and I don’t want to! And Mrs. Jensen isn’t here, and she’s not going to be. So just get out!” And he slammed the door in Judy’s face.
Judy stood there open-mouthed for an instant, then turned back to Irene. “Is that what he’s been like before?”
Irene shrugged. “He’s always been polite enough when I’ve seen him outside, but I told you, I’ve heard him yelling some awfully mean things to Mrs. Jensen. I think he might have hurt her. A couple of weeks ago, she was putting out laundry, and I stopped by to say hello. She had a nasty black eye, and she had trouble with her left arm. She told me she’d fallen down, but I’m not sure I believed her.”
Judy gasped. “You mean you think the blood on the kitten might have been Mrs. Jensen’s? Maybe he killed her and her body is still somewhere in the house! How can we investigate?” She charged back home, leaving Irene behind, openmouthed.
Peter Dobbs, when she called him to babble her suspicions, was equally agape. “Hang on a minute there, supersleuth. You don’t know that the kitten was from Mrs. Jensen’s house, and therefore you don’t know that the blood on the kitten was Mrs. Jensen’s. There’s no known way to match blood to a person, even if you still had the blood, which you said you don’t because Blackberry cleaned him off.”
“But—”
“And to make the leap from there to Mrs. Jensen dead in the cellar—or was it the attic?—at Mr. Jensen’s hand is to make way too much soup from a few thin peas.” Peter was attending law school, and his knowledge of rules of evidence colored his thinking.
“So what should we do?” Judy wailed. “If Mrs. Jensen is hurt—or dead—we need to do something. And what about Stevie?”
“It seems to me,” Peter said, “that the first thing to do is find Mrs. Jensen. Without upsetting Mr. Jensen any further, if possible. Do you have any ideas on how to do that?”
“Hmmm. I’ll need to think about it. But I might have an idea. Could you come over tomorrow morning?”
“What are you getting me into?” asked Peter suspiciously. He’d seen Judy scheming more than once, and while her plans usually worked out, they didn’t always do so.
“Nothing illegal,” said Judy. “At least, I don’t think so.”
Peter groaned.
Peter came by the next morning, not long after breakfast. After being introduced to Marmalade, he got down to business. “So, what do you have in mind now, Miss Sherlock Holmes?”
“Well, I didn’t know Mr. Jensen, so he probably won’t remember my voice.”
“And you’re planning to call him?”
“Oh, no! I don’t want to talk to him. Dr. Bolton’s office will be calling to confirm an appointment with Mrs. Jensen.”
Peter looked dubious. “Do you even know that Mrs. Jensen is one of your father’s patients?”
Judy nodded. “I asked him yesterday, after I was done talking with you. He wouldn’t tell me what she saw him for, of course, but he did look worried when I mentioned her name. Irene said she thought Mr. Jensen might have hit Mrs. Jensen, and if it was bad enough, she might have gone to see Dad. He treats the people in the neighborhood for what they can afford, and mostly they go to him because there isn’t anyplace else to go.”
“Your father is a good doctor, and a good person. He could make much more money if he stuck to treating people on the other side of Farringdon.”
Judy knew he was right. “You’ll be the same kind of lawyer, when you graduate, won’t you?”
“I hope to. I don’t know what kind of a practice I’ll have, though.” He squared his shoulders. “Lead on, MacSherlock! Time to call Mrs. Jensen. At least, I hope it’ll be Mrs. Jensen, and that all your worry is for nothing.”
Judy picked up the kitchen phone and dialed the Jensens’ number. She identified herself as being from Dr. Bolton’s office, and asked for Mrs. Jensen. A grumpy but civil enough voice told her that Mrs. Jensen wasn’t at home. “Oh!” said Judy. “Dr. Bolton really wanted to talk to her. Do you know where I could reach her?”
“Try her sister’s house. I think she’s there.” And the phone went dead.
“He thinks she’s at her sister’s house,” Judy reported. “Let’s go there and find out.”
“I’m game,” said Peter. “Do you know where she lives?”
Judy groaned. “I don’t know where she lives, and I don’t even know what her name is! She won’t be named Jensen, because that’s Mrs. Jensen’s married name.”
“Unless the sister married Mr. Jensen’s brother, of course,” said Peter.
“You’re being silly. And you don’t even know if Mr. Jensen has a brother for her to marry.”
They both laughed; it was good to release the tension that had been building up.
“I just wish,” Judy mused, “that Blackberry could talk. He’s the one who knows what’s going on. And Marmalade, of course. But he’s too young to know anything.”
“Even if he could talk, you mean,” said Peter. “Blackberry can’t talk, but maybe he’s willing to return to the scene of the crime? Maybe if we took him outside he’d take us back to where he found Marmalade?”
“Honestly, Peter, I don’t think it’ll work. Blackberry’s a smart cat, the smartest I know, but he’s not a dog. And that’s the kind of thing dogs do, not cats.” Her eyes lit up. “But maybe we don’t need a dog—or a cat! When Blackberry brought Marmalade in, he had blood on him—”
“I know. You said that already.”
“Don’t interrupt, my boy. He had blood on him, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a blood trail we could follow.”
“Or one a dog could follow.”
“You just want to be able to say you need to see a man about a dog,” Judy chortled. “If we had a dog, maybe. But we don’t, and I don’t know of any bloodhounds waiting to be borrowed.” Her brow furrowed as she concentrated. “But I have an idea. Even if we can’t find Mrs. Jensen, maybe we can find Stevie. He has to have friends in the neighborhood, doesn’t he? I can hear children playing outside. Maybe they know something.” She looked around and noticed Marmalade playing with a piece of string. “Maybe they’ll even recognize Marmalade.”
“Worth a try, anyway,” Peter agreed. He picked up the string and dragged it around for Marmalade to pounce at.
“But first we need to be properly provisioned.” She went to the kitchen and got a basket, and emptied the cookie jar into it. “It’s a good thing that Mom baked a fresh batch of oatmeal cookies yesterday. I’ll have to make another batch of cookies to replace these.” Then she found Marmalade, who was sleeping on his cushion, and gently placed him in another basket.
“What are you doing?” asked Peter.
“Hoping someone will be able to identify Marmalade. We’re not even sure he’s Stevie’s kitten. But if he is, maybe seeing him will help us find him.” They headed out, Peter holding the cookies—lighter by one than when they were first handed to him—and Judy with the kitten.
Judy had been right about hearing children’s voices. There was a lively game of stickball going on in the street a few houses down. The two of them headed for the game, and stood at the edge for a while until things came to a natural break. None of the children paid any attention to them—apparently Judy was close enough to being an adult to be beneath their notice. She wasn’t quite sure what to do, but it turned out she didn’t have to. One of the children came up to her and said rather rudely, “Whatcha want, lady? We ain’t blockin’ the road, are we?”
They were, of course, but since there was no traffic coming by, Judy hardly thought it mattered. And that was neither here nor there with their quest. “Cookies.” She motioned to Peter, who held out the cookies. “Want some? And do any of you know this kitten?” There was a scurry as all the children hastened to help themselves, and a brief mumble of thanks from some of what Judy thought must be the better-raised ones. After the initial flurry, most of them drifted away to start the game up again, but one boy stayed to look at Marmalade.
“Isn’t that Stevie’s kitten?” the boy asked. “What are you doing with it?”
“I found him,” Judy said. “At least, my cat found him. We’re looking for Stevie. Do you know where he might be? My name’s Judy, and this is my friend Peter.”
The boy looked suspiciously at the two of them, then scowled. “Stevie isn’t in trouble, is he? Because he lost the kitten?”
Judy shook her head. “No, he’s not in any trouble. Not with us, at least. Did someone else say he was in trouble? And what’s your name? I’ve seen you around; you live down that way, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” He pointed vaguely down the street. “I’m Fred. And Stevie said his father said pets are a smelly nuisance, but his mother talked him into letting him have it. But then this morning—” He closed his mouth abruptly.
Judy felt a burst of excitement. He did know something! “What happened this morning?”
Fred looked stubborn. “I can’t tell you. He made me promise.”
“A promise is important,” Judy agreed. “But they can sometimes cause more pain than they’re intended to prevent.” She knew that from sad experience. It was a promise that had kept her from talking about the danger to Roulsville when the dam was an unknown threat, and it was a promise to Lois that had caused the confusion about the ring, making Lorraine think that Judy had stolen her ring. She was a lot more careful about making promises now.
“If he made you promise,” Peter stepped in, “that’s a promise made under duress, and it’s up to you to decide whether or not to keep it.”
Judy opened her mouth to disagree with him, her eyes flashing with anger, then shut it abruptly. Whether he was right or not was an argument for another time. The important thing at the moment was to find out what Fred knew, and to help the Jensens. Just, Judy mused, as she had managed to convey the message about the dam to Horace, despite her promise. “Did Stevie ask you for something? We think Stevie and Mrs. Jensen might need help, and if they do, we want to help them.
Fred looked torn.
“Do you know where they are?” Judy persisted. She offered him another cookie, and waited. Fred nibbled at it, then his face cleared.
“He came to my house early this morning. I was outside, and he was trying to be sneaky. He said his mother was asleep, and he was hungry, and did I have anything I could give him? There wasn’t much around that my mama wouldn’t miss, but I gave him some bread and a couple of apples. He gave me a nickel for it. It was the best I could do,” he sighed.
“Why did he need food, though?” Judy asked. She didn’t like the sound of this.
“He said he and his mama had run away and were hiding. They were awfully scared. His mama fell asleep, and he went out to look for food. He said his dad was awfully mad at them, and that’s why they were scared. Stevie took the kitten, too, but it got away, and his mama wouldn’t let him go after it.”
Peter nudged Judy, and whispered “So someone does need rescuing, after all.”
Judy shuddered. If Stevie’s mother had run away from home, something had to be very bad indeed. She remembered Irene saying that she thought Mr. Jensen hit Mrs. Jensen. Maybe she was really injured! There had been blood on Marmalade, after all. “Where are they hiding?” she asked Fred. “I need to find them to help them. And I won’t tell Mr. Jensen.”
“I can’t tell you where they are,” he said. “I promised.” As he said it, he pointed to the abandoned factory down the street from them. “I gotta go.” And he grabbed on last cookie, and ran back to join his friends at the stickball game.
“Oh, no!” Judy exclaimed. “They can’t have been there long, but they can’t stay there, either. How can we help them?”
“Cart before the horse, Judy girl, as your father would say,” Peter said. “The first thing is to find them, and get them someplace to stay. They can’t stay in that old building. I don’t know what Mrs. Jensen is planning to do, but hiding out there has to be just a emergency solution.”
“Do you suppose Mr. Jensen is looking for them?” Judy asked, then answered herself. “He sounded angry, but I don’t think he was worried. Not yet, at least. He said he thought they were at Mrs. Jensen’s sister’s place. Maybe that’s where she went before when they had an argument.”
Peter looked thoughtful. “Maybe he thinks she’ll come home herself because she doesn’t have anyplace else to go. Honey told me that’s what happened with her. She hated her family, except for her little brother, and she would have left. One time she tried, and you’ve seen the scars from the beating she got then. After that, she was too scared.”
“How awful!” said Judy. “For Honey and for Mrs. Jensen.” She set out determinedly toward the abandoned factory. “Do you think we’ll be able to get in?”
“Look at it logically,” Peter said. “If Mrs. Jensen was able to, we should be able to as well. If we can’t, then it’s a safe bet that she couldn’t, either. What I worry about is whether anyone is going to care if we’re trespassing. We have no right to be in there.”
The entire place looked derelict. Some of the windows were boarded up, and others were simply broken, as if someone had tried to take care of the building, and then later given up. And one corner of the roof was sagging in collapse.
“We’re not going in to trespass,” Judy reasoned. “We just want to find Mrs. Jensen. And it’s not like we’re breaking in. At least, I hope not,” she added. The main doors were closed and locked, as Judy had expected. But as they went around to the side, she noticed that a smaller door was ajar. The two of them slipped in. There was a large open space, with boxes and equipment strewn around haphazardly. Over on the far side, there were doors of what looked to be offices.
“Let me call for her,” Judy said. “She might not be so scared if she hears a girl’s voice.” Peter nodded. “Mrs. Jensen! Can you hear me? I’m Judy Bolton, your neighbor down the street.”
She stopped to listen. For a while, there was only silence, then they heard something like a sob. They followed the noise. “Mrs. Jensen?” Judy called again.
“Over here,” a resigned voice said. She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Stevie was fast asleep with his head in her lap. “How did you find me? And are you here to take me back?”
Judy laughed. It echoed oddly in the large empty space. She pointed to Marmalade, who was fast asleep in his basket. “It was all his fault,” she said. “He led us to you. We’re not here for anything, though. We just want to help.”
“Help,” Mrs. Jensen said, rather bitterly. “What kind of help can you give?”
Peter stepped forward. “What kind of help do you need?” he asked.
“Not the kind my family gave me, that’s for certain. My sister helped, by sending me back to my husband after he hit me for the first time. He didn’t mean it, she said. My parents helped me by sending me back after he gave me a black eye. You must have done something to upset him, they said. And I went back. Every time. And every time, he promised he would never hurt me again. But he did. And this time he didn’t just hit me. Stevie got in the way, and Eric hit him, too. I don’t think he even noticed him.” She looked again at Judy. “You’re Dr. Bolton’s girl, aren’t you?”
There wasn’t much light in the factory, but Judy could see bruises on Mrs. Jensen’s face and arms. And she thought there was blood on Stevie’s shirt, though she couldn’t be sure. “He’s my father, yes. And I think the first thing we should do is take you and Stevie to him so he can take a look at you and see what kind of treatment you need.”
“You won’t make me go back? I won’t! This was the last time.” The sharpness in her voice must have woken Stevie; he stirred and lifted his head.
“Is it time to get up?” he asked sleepily. There was definitely blood on his shirt, Judy noticed. That was probably where the blood on Marmalade had come from.
“Yes, darling.” She helped him up, and straightened his shirt. “If I go with you, you won’t make me go back?” she asked again.
“No, we won’t make you go anywhere,” Judy said positively.
Peter nodded. “And he might be able to give you more than medical-type help.”
Mrs. Jensen turned to Stevie. “We’re going with these people to see the doctor.”
“I’m Judy, and this is Peter,” Judy said. “And I think you already know him,” as she pointed to the kitten.
“Fluffy!” Stevie said. He sprang to his feet, and took the basket from her. “I thought I lost him for good! I was trying to hold on to him, but he squirmed away, and it was dark, and Mama wouldn’t let me go after him.” He held the kitten close to him.
“My cat Blackberry found him and brought him in,” Judy said. “He had some blood on him, though—was that from you?”
“Yeah. I had a nosebleed. I’m okay now, though.”
Judy wasn’t so sure of that. She wanted her father to take a look at both of them. She helped Mrs. Jensen to her feet, and they headed out. “Wait!” Mrs. Jensen said as they were about to leave the factory. She took out a voluminous scarf, and wrapped it around her head and shoulders. “Maybe no one will notice me,” she said.
Either with the help of the scarf or just by luck, they made their way to Dr. Bolton’s office without anyone taking notice of them. There was no one in the waiting room, either. “I’ve brought you a couple of patients,” Judy called out.
Dr. Bolton took the two of them into his treatment room. A few minutes later, he emerged with Stevie and the kitten—formerly Marmalade, now Fluffy. “I think this young man would like some lunch.” His face had been scrubbed, and apparently there was no real damage. “I’ll be busy for a while with his mother.”
Judy and Peter took Stevie to the kitchen, and made sandwiches for all of them, and poured glasses of milk. “Thanks,” Stevie said, around a bite of his sandwich. “I was pretty hungry.”
As they were finishing, Dr. Bolton came in with Mrs. Jensen. Her left arm was bandaged, and there were still bruises visible on her face, but she looked much better. “Do you have a couple more of these for us, Judy girl?”
“Of course, Dad.” Judy made some more sandwiches, and poured two more glasses of milk, and they all sat around the kitchen table, except Stevie, who was playing with Fluffy in the living room.
“Well, Judy, this is a nice problem you’ve brought us,” Dr. Bolton said. Judy opened her mouth, but Mrs. Jensen beat her to it.
“I’m so sorry to bother you—” Mrs. Jensen started, but Dr. Bolton interrupted.
“Don’t be foolish! You’re not the one who’s the causing the bother. It’s that wife-beating husband of yours. I’d like to give him a taste of what he did to you, that’s all.”
Judy looked at Peter. “You mentioned lawyers earlier?”
Mrs. Jensen paled. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble over me,” she said.
“He’s already in trouble. The question is, do you want to press charges? It used to be that I couldn’t do anything about wife-beating husbands, but in this state there’s now a law to prevent it. Or, if not prevent it, to punish husbands who do.”
Judy was surprised. Her only experience with this kind of violence had been with Honey, who had been too glad to find her real family to think about the people she had grown up with, who were in any case already in trouble with the law.
Mrs. Jensen hesitated, then said, “I don’t want Eric to go to jail. It wouldn’t do any of us any good. But—I want a divorce. That’s what set him off yesterday. He told me he would never let me go, and then he hit me again—and he hit Stevie, too!”
“That’s terrible,” Judy said. “He had a bloody nose? It looks like he’s doing all right now, at least.”
“Yes, it went all down his shirt. And on Fluffy, too. I guess that’s why he was all bloody when you found him. I couldn’t let Eric do that again. So I ran away, because I couldn’t think what else to do. I was just going to run away and change our name, and hope he wouldn’t bother to hunt after us.”
“You don’t have to run away,” Peter said. “I bet we can do a better job of fixing things than that.”
She sighed, and then said hopefully, “Do you think it would work to use the threat of arresting him to get him to sign the divorce papers? If I knew he wouldn’t come after me, I have a friend in New York that we could stay with. But I know she’s scared of what Eric might do, so the only way she’d be willing to see me is if I’m free of him.”
Peter spoke up. “I think that if Chief Kelly had a little talk with your husband, he might be willing to see reason.”
“Chief Kelly!” Judy cried. “Yes, you should certainly get him to talk to Mr. Jensen. And you should get Mr. Jensen to pay Mrs. Jensen’s expenses to New York, too!” She had seen Chief Kelly in action, and knew that he was able to impress anyone, even someone as intimidating as Mr. Jensen.
“And I think I can arrange some free legal help for Mrs. Jensen, too,” Peter said with a smile.
Mrs. Jensen put her face in her hands for a minute, then looked up, her eyes wet. “A few hours ago, I was desperate, and now all these people are helping me. I don’t know how to thank you.”
Judy smiled. “That’s easy. Just take good care of yourself and Stevie. And Marmalade—I mean Fluffy. After all, Blackberry would never forgive us if he wasn’t well-looked after.”