No answer, again. She’d already left two voice mails. It’s been nearly two hours since Randolph was at the Whitewater Bottoms. He should’ve picked up service within a few minutes. It’s not like him not to call right back. Where is he? He should’ve been home over an hour ago. Rhetta set her phone on the island countertop and strode across the kitchen to the back deck. When she slid open the door, she was greeted with plaintive yowling. She closed the door, headed to the pantry, and retrieved two cans of cat food. She popped open the lids and returned to the porch. Using her elbow, she slid the door open again. Three cats—two calicos and one tiger—pranced in anticipation. “OK, babies, here’s your supper.” The cats threaded their silky bodies between her feet as she weaved through them to locate their food pan. As she began spooning out the fishy mixture, the house phone shrilled. She dropped the cans on to the outside table then skidded across the kitchen floor, snatching the portable phone on the third ring.
