"Oh, that."

He narrowed his eyes at her dismissive response. 'Agatha, you're not playing games with me, are you?"

Her posture suddenly became ramrod straight in her chair. "You would think that of me?"

"In a heartbeat," he said with an easy smile as he sat down. "I learned all my best tricks from you."

"Yes, well, someone had to take you under her wing," she replied. "Poor child. If I hadn't-"

"Agatha," James said sharply. He had no wish to involve himself in a discussion of his childhood. He owed his aunt everything-his very soul, even. But he didn't want to get into this now.

"As it happens," she said with a disdainful sniff, "I am not playing games. I am being blackmailed."

James leaned forward. Blackmailed? Agatha was a crafty old thing, but proper as anything, and he couldn't imagine her having done anything that might warrant blackmail.

"Can you even fathom it?" she demanded. "That someone would dare to blackmail me? Hmmph. Where is my cat?"

"Where is your cat?" he echoed.

"Malllllllllllcolmmmmmmm!"

James blinked and watched as a monstrously obese feline padded into the room. He walked over to James, sniffed, and hopped up onto his lap.

"Isn't he just the friendliest cat?" Agatha asked.

"I hate cats."

"You'll love Malcolm."

He decided that tolerating the cat was easier than arguing with his aunt. "Do you have any idea who your blackmailer might be?''

"None."

"May I ask why you are being blackmailed?"

"It is so very embarrassing," she said, her pale blue eyes growing bright with tears.

James grew concerned. Aunt Agatha never cried. There had been few things in his life that were completely and utterly constant, but one of them had been Agatha. She was sharp, she had a biting sense of humor, she loved him beyond measure, and she never cried. Never.