"Yes. As soon as I hear."

Theo turned and let himself out, leaving Kincaid in doubtful possession of Jasmine's flat.

Kincaid stood for a moment organizing his thoughts, determined to ignore the rumblings of his stomach a bit longer. Theo Dent's revelation that Jasmine had arranged to see him this weekend, after a six month hiatus, made Kincaid feel even more uneasy about the whole business. Had Jasmine lied to both Margaret and Theo? In Margaret's case it might have been motivated by kindness, but surely not in Theo's.

Kincaid stuck his hands in his pockets and sighed as he looked around the familiar room. It seemed to him that Jasmine's quiet presence had provided an anchor in more than one life-both Margaret and Theo had wailed "What shall I do now?" as bereft as abandoned children, yet he had no idea what Jasmine had felt for them, or anyone else, for that matter. Her presence was already as elusive as smoke, and he thought he had known her quite well.

He went to the kitchen sink, intending to dry and put away the whiskey tumblers. His foot nudged something and he looked down curiously. It was the bowl of food he had put out that morning for the cat-untouched, dried, and crusted over. "Damn and blast," Kincaid swore. He had forgotten about the cat. He'd meant to speak to Theo about it, hoping Theo would take the beast home, or make arrangements for it.

He knelt and peered under Jasmine's bed. The dark, hunched shape of the cat remained exactly where he had seen it last, and he wondered if it had moved at all. "Kitty, kitty, kitty," he coaxed, which elicited as little response as before. Returning to the sink, Kincaid scraped the dried food into the bin and refilled the bowl. He shoved this offering as far under the bed as he could reach, then stayed down on knees and elbows, contemplating the cat. He felt guilty as well as helpless in the face of the animal's grief, and he had no experience with cats.