It was as I was telling myself firmly not to think about this that I heard a rumble. It seemed to be coming from the sky. I looked up just in time to see it . . . a large, dark gray jet plane. It was flying awfully low. It was the first man-made object I’d seen overhead since the hurricane, and it was flying awfully low.

“Military cargo jet,” Drew said, answering my unuttered question. “They must have gotten the runway cleared.”

“FEMA?” I asked hopefully. If it was FEMA, there was a chance it might be carrying pet food.

“Doubt it. They usually send military personnel first. But it’s good news, anyway.”

It wasn’t to me. It meant that my mother might make good on her threat about arriving.

“How many is this, anyway?” Drew asked, tapping the list I’d pulled from my backpack.

“Oh.” I checked. “Twenty. We have seven more to go. Then we should probably head back to your aunt’s and see if there’ve been any more faxes. I’m sure there have.”

He looked dismayed. “More? There can’t possibly be more.”

I smiled at him. “Why? Are you ready to go back to restoring historic windows?”

He scowled at me, picking up the leashes of the now considerably happier dogs. “Not on your life. I love our new business . . . even if we’re not getting paid. I’d just like it better if it involved less starving animals, and more time with you, preferably in my bed.”

I smiled. “I think that could be arranged—after we’ve finished checking the rest of these houses.”

The rest of the pets on our list were fine, only in need of a little TLC—like one tuxedo cat who wanted only to sit on our laps and be petted (it turned out a neighbor had been looking in on her, but had been unable to communicate with the owner to tell her so). In the next house, a poodle was similarly being cared for by neighbors, and wanted only to play fetch with us, because she was so bored. Each had been left with enough food to get them by for at least another day . . . but beyond that, we were in trouble.

“I really think,” I was saying to Drew as we climbed the steps to the last house on our list, his friend’s pitties in tow—he’d insisted on taking them with us—“that we should break into Frank’s and take what we need. I know he wouldn’t mind. He’s a pet lover himself. I’ve heard he has a boxer.”

I’d had to raise my voice, because as I was speaking, another plane flew overhead. There’d been a steady stream of cargo jets, floatplanes, and helicopters flying by, so many that it was nearly impossible to hear oneself think. It felt like Casablanca, as portrayed in the classic old movie of the same title, only with all the flights arriving, not departing, and all the palm trees missing their fronds.

The home we were visiting was a stately older Victorian house much like Drew’s aunt and uncle’s. Painted a lovely shade of blue with cream trim, it didn’t appear to have suffered much hurricane damage at all. Its storm shutters were already thrown back, which was odd for a home whose owners had apparently evacuated, and there was a newish set of white wicker chairs sitting on the porch.

“We’re not breaking into Frank’s,” Drew said, as the dogs scrambled eagerly up the porch steps ahead of him. “CVS will probably reopen soon. Even though the last thing I want to do is give my hard-earned money to a corporate conglomerate, we can buy food—”

It was as he was saying this that a figure I hadn’t noticed before rose from one of the porch chairs and stepped in front of me.

“Hello, Sabrina,” Caleb said.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Due to flooding and damage caused by Hurricane Marilyn, the Florida Department of Health (DOH) is advising residents to take precautions against unclean water. Your tap water may contain disease-causing organisms and may not be safe to drink. BE SAFE NOT SORRY!

I was so startled, I nearly fell back off the porch.

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

My mind was whirling. This didn’t make any sense. What was Caleb doing in Little Bridge? How had he known I’d be at this house? And why was he wearing white jeans and a pink Lacoste shirt in a hurricane-recovery zone?

“You know why I’m here, Sabrina,” Caleb said. His handsome, expressive face was filled with angst. “How else was I supposed to see you? You won’t take my calls. You won’t answer my texts. You—”

“There’s no cell service.”

“I meant before.”

Before he could take another step toward me, Drew came striding up, seized Caleb by the collar of his shirt, and pushed him back against the home’s decoratively painted front door.

“Hello, there,” Drew said, with deceptive cheerfulness, as both the pitties immediately thrust their noses into Caleb’s crotch and began to paw at him, barking excitedly. “Have you met my new dogs?”

Caleb was wincing and trying to break free, but there was nowhere he could go with Drew pressing him so firmly against the door, and the pitties’ hot breath on his middle section. “I-I don’t know you. You got the wrong guy, man.”

“I don’t think I do,” Drew said, his face just inches from Cal’s. “Your name is Caleb, isn’t it?”

Caleb, still trying to squirm away since Drew was in his face and the dogs were in his private parts, threw a glance of appeal at me. “Sabrina, who is this guy?”

“This is my new friend Drew.” My heart was still hammering from the surprise encounter, but it was slowing down a little, and I felt able to make introductions, the tall, dark, handsome man to the tall, blond, handsome man. “Drew, this is Caleb. Caleb, Drew.”

“Hey, man,” Drew said, relaxing his hold on Cal’s collar slightly, though the dogs continued to bark and paw at him. “Maybe you can explain something to me. See, we’re supposed to be feeding a cat at this house. Or maybe it’s a dog. What is it, Bree, a cat or a dog?”

I checked the list. “It’s a cat.”

“Yeah,” Drew said, relaxing his hold completely on Caleb, since the dogs were managing to keep him cornered. “But then we get here, and we find you instead. Where’s the cat, Cal?”

Caleb looked terrified. “There’s no cat, okay? I saw the judge’s post last night online and seized an opportunity. This is my second cousin’s house. He said I could borrow it anytime I wanted—”

I shook my head, amazed. “How did you even get here?”

“Flew into Miami this morning, then took a floatplane. They’re letting anyone land as long as they bring food or medical supplies. We brought a bunch of antibiotics. I know a doctor. Look, Bree, can you get this guy to call off his dogs? I really need to—”

“We?” Something cold had clutched at my heart. “Who is we?”

Caleb sighed. “Fine, okay. Kyle is here, too.”

The cold thing turned to icy panic. “What? I thought he was in rehab!”

“He was. He got out.”

“Got out? Or signed himself out?”

“He signed himself out. Look, I really don’t like dogs, could you just—”

“Hold these.” Drew handed me the dogs’ leashes, then confronted Caleb. “Where is that douchebag?”