Magical Cats Mystery 13 - Hooked on a Feline

by Sofie Kelly

  “It does,” I said.

  She nodded. “I know.”

  We sat in silence for a moment. “I’m going to miss talking to him,” she finally said.

  I reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I should get back inside.”

  “Me too,” Tracy said. “It was very nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” I said.

  * * *

  “Do you want to go over to Fern’s for supper?” Marcus asked as we pulled out of the parking lot about half an hour later. The sky was low and gray and it was raining again. He was dropping me off and then going in to the station for a little while. “A case that’s coming up in court soon,” he’d offered by way of explanation.

  “I have spaghetti sauce,” I said.

  He shot me a quick sideways glance. “Does one somehow negate the other?”

  I shook my head. “No. I can have it tomorrow— Wait. I can’t. I’ll eat it Monday.”

  “Is there some rule that says you can’t eat spaghetti on Sundays because I’m pretty sure I’ve broken it more than once?”

  I smiled. “No, there isn’t. It’s just that I’m going out to have supper with Harrison tomorrow.”

  Marcus didn’t say anything for a moment and he kept his eyes fixed to the road. I let the silence sit between us. “You know why he invited you,” he finally said.

  “Yes,” I said. “He likes my company.”

  “He thinks you can figure out who killed Mike Bishop.”

  “He probably does.”

  “What are you going to say?”

  I looked over at him. His blue eyes were still looking straight ahead. “I don’t know,” I said.

  And I didn’t. I adored Harrison. I considered Harry a friend. I wanted to help them if I could. This wasn’t the first time I’d gotten mixed up with one of Marcus’s case, so I wasn’t sure why I was so uncertain. Why this time felt different. Maybe it was because Mike and I were friends or close to it. His death felt so personal. I wasn’t sure I could be objective.

  Marcus sighed softly. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, Kathleen.”

  I reached over and touched his arm. “I appreciate that.”

  “But I am going to ask you to think carefully about whatever choice you make. This case is deeply personal for a lot of people, including you and me. It’s harder to be objective. It’s harder to set your own feelings to one side. It’s harder not to pick up other people’s pain.” He glanced briefly at me then. “That last part you’re going to have to deal with no matter whether you say yes or no to Harrison.”

  We were at the house by then. Marcus pulled into the driveway and put the SUV in park. I undid my seat belt, leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I promise I’ll think carefully about whatever choice I make,” I said.

  “I know you will.” He kissed the side of my mouth and smiled at me. “You didn’t give me a yes or no about Fern’s.”

  “Yes.” Fern’s meat loaf and mashed potatoes were the ultimate comfort food and that sounded pretty good right about now.

  “I’ll call when I’m leaving,” Marcus said. He kissed me a second time.

  I got out, opened my umbrella and watched him back out of the driveway before I headed around the side of the house to the back door. Hercules was sitting on the bench in the sun porch. He made a face as I held my half-open umbrella out the door and gave it a shake. I propped it in the corner and sat down next to him.

  “Mrr,” he said, cocking his head to one side almost as though he was asking if I was okay.

  “I’m all right,” I said, kicking off my shoes. “It was a nice service. Very sad.”

  Hercules moved closer, putting his two front paws on my leg. I stroked his fur. I had no idea how much of what I said to them either cat understood—a lot more than the average cat, I was certain. Given what else they could do, it didn’t seem that implausible.

  “I think Harrison is going to ask me to try to figure out who killed Mike Bishop.” The cat wrinkled his nose at me as though considering what I’d just said.

  Hercules and I had been listening to whatever songs by Johnny and the Outlaws I could find online. Even Owen seemed to like the band’s music. He didn’t always share my taste in music the way Hercules did. Whenever I had gotten involved in one of Marcus’s cases, so had the boys, as far-fetched as that seemed. More than once, Owen’s ability to disappear and Herc’s to walk through walls had helped me learn something I wouldn’t otherwise have figured out. I hadn’t been able to convince Marcus of that, though.

  Hercules seemed to have come to some sort of conclusion. He jumped down from the bench and went into the kitchen without waiting for me to unlock the back door. I sighed, picked up my shoes and followed him, stopping to open the door first. Hercules was already halfway across the kitchen, headed for the living room. He was a cat with a purpose. I had no idea what he was up to.

  He made his way across the room and launched himself into the big wing chair. I folded my arms and glared at him. “Excuse me. That’s a people seat not a cat seat,” I said.

  His response was to stare pointedly at my laptop, which was sitting on the footstool.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  Hercules looked over at me and blinked his green eyes a couple of times.

  “Yes, I get that you think I should say yes to Harrison,” I said.

  He continued to look at me.

  “I’m still thinking about it.”

  Hercules was as motionless as a statue. I knew better than to get into a staring contest with him. I wouldn’t win.

  “I need to get out of these clothes first and I’d like a cup of coffee,” I said.

  He meowed softly and began to wash his face. It was easy to be magnanimous when you’d won, especially when you were a cat.

  I put the laptop on the kitchen table, started the coffeepot, then went upstairs and changed into a red-striped T-shirt dress that was comfortable for sitting around in but would also be okay to wear to Fern’s later.

  I had just poured my coffee when Hercules poked his head around the living room doorway and meowed inquiringly at me.

  “I’m ready,” I said. I snagged the nearest chair with one foot, pulled it closer and sat down. The cat padded over to the table and launched himself onto my lap.

  “So what should we look for?” I asked. I talked to Hercules and his brother, Owen, a lot. Saying out loud what was running through my mind helped me make sense of things. At least that was how I rationalized it.

  Hercules gave me a blank look. Okay, it seemed where to start was my department.

  “By the way, where’s your brother?”

  “Mrr,” he said with what looked to me like a shrug.

  Translation: I don’t know.

  Given the fact that Owen could become invisible anytime he wanted to, it was possible he was here in the kitchen right now. Possible but not very likely. Owen was very good at disappearing. Hiding the fact that he was “hiding,” not so much. My guess was that he was either in his basement “lair,” where he stashed things he’d swiped from around the house, or upstairs on the bed in the spare room—somewhere he knew he wasn’t supposed to be.

  “Maybe we should poke around on social media,” I said to Hercules. “If Mike surprised someone who had broken into his house, maybe it wasn’t the first time they’d done something like that. Marcus said there hadn’t been any break-ins reported, but people don’t always call the police if nothing’s been stolen.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you think?”

  “Merow!” he said. Hercules was almost always enthusiastic about helping me do some online research. He’d peer at the screen and move his head as though he were reading an article or checking out a photograph. Oddly enough, more than once, a seemingly stray tap of his paw at the keyboard had landed me on just the piece of information I was looking for.

  I thought about who lived in the same area as Mike had, working my way along the closest streets in my mind. Just ab
out everyone used some form of social media, it seemed. A lot of people were talking about Mike’s death and about the reunion of Johnny and the Outlaws. I couldn’t find any mention of any break-ins in the area.

  Hercules stayed perched on my lap, green eyes glued to the laptop screen, one paw on the table edge. When I leaned back and reached for my coffee, he tapped a paw on the touch pad, then turned and looked at me.

  “Okay, what did you do?” I asked, leaning around him so I could see the screen.

  He looked from the computer to me. If he could have raised an eyebrow and said, Duh, he probably would have.

  We seemed to have somehow landed on the Facebook page for Keith King’s storage business. I’d seen Keith a lot more frequently at the library in the past few months. He was one of the newest members of the library board, and like Mike, he had been researching his family history after receiving one of those DNA test kits.

  I read a few of his posts but didn’t find anything useful. I was about to give up and move on when I spotted it. About three weeks ago, Keith had offered a deal on renting a medium-sized storage unit: rent for twelve months and get one month free. Keep your snowblower and winter gear safe from anyone with sticky fingers who might walk through your yard.

  I leaned back in the chair, putting one hand on Hercules so I wouldn’t knock him off my lap.

  “That could just be a promotional line,” I said. “It doesn’t mean there’s been someone wandering around people’s yards out where Keith lives.”

  “Mrr,” Hercules said without moving his gaze from the laptop’s screen.

  “Yes, I know. It doesn’t mean there hasn’t been, either.” I could call Keith, but I wasn’t sure how to ask him without explaining why I wanted to know.

  I looked at the computer again. There were comments under Keith’s post, I noticed. I scrolled through them slowly. The third-to-the-last one gave me what I was looking for. It had been made by one of the Reading Buddies moms. She had jokingly asked if Keith had a unit large enough for her car because she’d had some change and a set of AirPods swiped from it while the family was on their back deck eating supper. Another commenter had commiserated with her, saying that unfortunately you had to keep your car locked all the time these days, even in Mayville Heights. Someone had sprayed whipped cream all over her front and back car windows.

  It wasn’t exactly a smoking gun, and there was a big difference between grabbing a pair of AirPods from an unlocked car and killing a man in his own living room. Still, I couldn’t help thinking that I might be onto something. At the same time, I was uncomfortably aware that I was already digging into a murder I wasn’t sure I wanted to get involved in—or even should.

  chapter 5

  Marcus picked me up just before six and we drove over to Fern’s. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who was looking for comfort food. The diner was busy but I was glad Marcus had suggested we eat out. It had been such a sad day, I was glad to be around other people.

  Peggy was just coming out of the kitchen when we walked into the diner. She was still wearing the navy dress she had worn to Mike’s service. She smiled, grabbed a couple of menus and showed us to a booth by the windows.

  “How’s Harrison?” I asked Peggy. “He didn’t find the service too much?”

  “I asked him that very question and he said he’s not feeble yet, thank you very much.” She shook her head. “That man is stubborn to the bone. On the other hand, it’s a quality he passed down to all three of his children. I told him that was karma in action.”

  I smiled. Larry was actually the most easygoing of all the Taylors. Harry, and especially Elizabeth, were just like their father.

  “I almost forgot,” Peggy said. “Eugenie says hello.”

  Eugenie Bowles-Hamilton was a cookbook author who owned a very popular bakery in Vancouver, Canada. We’d met when the revival of the Great Northern Baking Showdown was filming in Mayville Heights back in the spring. Eugenie was one of the two cohosts of the show, straight woman to Russell Perry, the lead singer for The Flying Wallbangers. I’d been hired, part-time, to research and provide background information for the hosts—primarily Eugenie—that fit with whatever each particular week’s focus happened to be.

  “You were talking to her?” I asked.

  “I saw her in person. I was in Chicago for a couple of days last week to film a small part on another baking show.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said.

  Peggy had ended up stepping in at the last minute for one of the baking showdown’s judges. She turned out to be great on camera, and even though the show ended up not airing, word of her warm personality and rapport with the other judge and the contestants had gotten around.

  “Would you believe Richard suggested me?” she asked.

  Richard Kent had been the other judge on the Great Northern Baking Showdown.

  I nodded. “I would. The two of you had great chemistry.”

  “We work well together, and while I don’t want to make a career out of this, it was more fun to be back in front of the camera than I’d expected.” She smiled. “Your waiter will be right over.”

  After we’d given the waiter our orders, I spotted Mariah Taylor, Harry’s daughter, clearing two booths at the far end of the diner. She was working at Fern’s part-time for the summer and helping her father as well.

  “I just want to go speak to Mariah for a second,” I said to Marcus. “I’ll be right back.”

  It had occurred to me that swiping a set of AirPods and spraying whipped cream all over someone’s windshield sounded like the kinds of things a group of teenagers might do.

  Mariah was stacking glasses in a large plastic bin. She noticed me and smiled. “Hey, Kathleen,” she said.

  “How’s the job going?” I asked.

  “Don’t tell my dad, but I think I like working for him a lot better.” She gestured at the table. “People are pigs sometimes.”

  “I know,” I said. “I had this same job when I was your age. How many times have you found gum stuck to the back of a booth?”

  She made a face. “Twice. One time I put my hand on it.”

  I nodded in sympathy. “I kneeled on a big wad of grape bubble gum once.”

  Mariah brushed a stray strand of hair back off her face. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me to stay in school so I won’t have to clear tables for the rest of my life.”

  I smiled. “First of all, there are worse jobs than this, and second, you’re smart enough to know the value of staying in school.”

  “Yeah, well, could you tell my dad that last part?” Mariah said.

  I laughed. “Bugging you about that kind of thing is part of his job description.”

  That got a smile out of her.

  “Mariah, do you know anything about some cars being vandalized out near where you live?”

  She flushed and her gaze slipped away from mine. “Sorry. I don’t.”

  I tipped my head to one side and studied her. “You’re a crappy liar, you know.”

  She stared down at the table for a moment. “You can’t tell my dad.”

  “As long as you’re not doing anything dangerous,” I said.

  Mariah shook her head. “I wasn’t doing anything dangerous and it was a onetime thing, believe me.”

  I nodded. “Okay. What did you do?”

  She dropped her gaze again. “I went to this party with a girl from my class. There was a lot of drinking and I heard a couple of other girls talking about spraying whipped cream all over someone’s car because the owner had complained about this dog getting loose and doing you know what all over her flowers.”

  “Did you know the girls?”

  Mariah looked at me then. “One is a year behind me and I didn’t know the other one.” She blew the stray hair off her face again. “The whole thing turned out to be a stupid waste of time. The girl I went with hooked up with some summer guy and ditched me and I didn’t have any way to get home.”

  “But you
did get home okay?” I asked. I thought about how many times Ethan and Sarah had done something like that and then called me so Mom and Dad wouldn’t find out. Not that I’d ever thought Mom and Dad were that oblivious.

  “Yeah,” she said, dropping a handful of forks into her bin. “I called Peggy and she rescued me. And she didn’t rat me out to Dad. And before you say I could have called him, Peggy already said that.”

  I struggled to keep from smiling. “She’s right you know,” I said. “And you can always call me if you get into another situation like that.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  She smiled. “Thank you,” she said. She looked over at Marcus. “You want me to tell him all of this?”

  “Just the part about the whipped cream and the dog.”

  “Okay.” She dipped her head in the direction of the booth. “You’d better go. Your food is ready.”

  * * *

  On Sunday, Marcus and I decided to go to the flea market out on the highway. I had been making a halfhearted effort to find a couple of Adirondack chairs for his backyard.

  “What about those benches instead?” he asked, pointing at a pair at a stall just up ahead.

  “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe benches and a pair of Adirondacks.”

  He laughed. “You’re not going to give up on those chairs, are you?”

  “The arms are perfect for holding a glass of lemonade or a cup of coffee.”

  “Or a cat,” Marcus said with a grin.

  I smiled back at him. “That too.”

  We walked over to check out the benches and discovered that Burtis and Lita were doing the same thing. Burtis and Lita seemed like an unlikely couple on paper. He was rough-and-tumble and as a young man had worked for the town bootlegger. Lita had been Everett Henderson’s right hand for as long as anyone could remember. I had no idea how Burtis and Lita had gotten together—as far as I knew, no one did—but they were good for each other and the way they sometimes looked at each other made my heart happy.