Cat Trick: A Magical Cats Mystery

by Sofie Kelly

  I twirled around in the chair and reached for the phone.

  Lise Tremayne answered on the fifth ring. “Hi, Kath,” she said. “How are things in the Hundred Acre Wood?”

  “Beautiful,” I said. “The sky is blue. The sun is shining. And I think Pooh and Piglet just walked by my window.”

  Lise laughed. “No fair. It’s rainy and windy here.”

  “You could always come for a visit.”

  “I should do that,” she said. “Before you come home.”

  Lise was my closest friend in Boston. She assumed I’d be heading back to the city when my contract expired. So did Ethan and Sara. I knew my dad wanted me closer, but he wouldn’t say it. And my mother, who had an opinion on everything, was for once keeping her opinion to herself.

  “Lise, I need a favor,” I said.

  “Favors are my specialty,” she said. I pictured her in her office at the university, her feet in some ridiculously high heels propped on the edge of her desk.

  “I’m looking for some information. Do you have any contacts in Chicago?”

  “Absolutely. What do you need?” Lise had contacts everywhere. She came from a big family—eight brothers and sisters. Her husband was a very talented jazz guitarist who had played all over the place. And she was warm and down-to-earth. She could talk to anyone about anything.

  “Anything you can find out about Alex and Christopher Scott. They own a tour company in Chicago.”

  “Wait a second. Are they both lawyers?”

  “Yes,” I said, stretching one arm up over my head. “But as far as I know, they’re not practicing. Why? What do you know?” Not only did Lise know people everywhere; she also had a mind like the proverbial steel trap. I heard a squeak, which told me she was leaning back in her desk chair.

  “Do you remember about five or six years ago there was a story that went viral online? This guy talked himself into a job with one of the top law firms in Chicago by paying off the caddy of one of the managing partners and then somehow improving the man’s golfing score so he won a bet with some other lawyer. The partner was impressed with the would-be lawyer’s initiative.”

  “The story sounds familiar,” I said. “Then didn’t it turn out that the guy failed the bar exam?”

  Lise gave a very unladylike snort of laughter. “Five times. Someone from his class outed him online.”

  “It was one of the Scott brothers.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m pretty sure it was Alex. And even more embarrassing, his brother passed the first time.”

  “Ouch.”

  “It gets better,” Lise said, “or worse, depending on your perspective. Their father was a lawyer and his father and his father. And no Scott had ever not passed the bar exam on the first try.”

  I switched the phone from one hand to the other so I could stretch my other arm. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

  “It is. So what do you want to know?”

  “Anything you can find out about their business, Legacy Tours. Rumors, gossip, anything that’s not common knowledge.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Lise said. “You notice I didn’t ask if this has anything to do with a dead body.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said, wishing I could somehow reach through the phone and hug her.

  “I’ll talk to you soon,” she said.

  The parcel from Mom was sitting on my desk. I reached for it, wondering what she’d sent me as I pulled the tape off the end flap.

  It was a small picture of a tiny cottage, with two cats sitting on the front steps and the caption Home Is Anywhere You Are. I felt the pinch of tears and had to swallow and blink a couple of times. I knew this was my mother’s way of saying she’d support whatever decision I made. It made me miss her even more.

  I took a deep breath. Then I got up and set the picture in my briefcase. I took the foil-wrapped package of brownies down to the staff room, where I put one on a plate and left the rest in the middle of the table. I poured a cup of coffee and took it and my brownie back to my office, where I ate lunch backward—brownie first, salad last—and went over paperwork.

  At twelve thirty I took over the circulation desk so Mary and Mia could have their lunch. Later Abigail and I did a presentation on podcasts for one of the seniors’ book clubs. When I headed for the parking lot at quarter after five, I was glad I’d left dinner in my slow cooker. I’d hoped that Marcus might stop by, but I reminded myself that we’d disagreed about my getting involved in his cases before, and we’d always worked it out.

  Owen was sitting on the top step by the back door when I got home. As soon as I unlocked the door, he followed his nose and went over to the counter to stare up at the slow cooker. The kitchen smelled like tomatoes, onions and spices. Owen tipped his head back and closed his eyes. If it smelled delicious to me, how good did it smell to him?

  “That’s not for you,” I said. “That’s for Maggie.” Immediately he leaned back to look around me. “She won’t be here for another hour,” I said. “And Roma’s coming as well.”

  The cat narrowed his eyes, whiskers twitching.

  “Hey, I like Roma,” I said, kicking off my shoes. “And don’t forget Maggie likes her.”

  Owen made a huffy noise that rumbled in his chest.

  “Suit yourself,” I said, going over to peek through the glass lid of the cooker. “Roma was hoping you or your brother would try some cat food samples she was sent, to see if you liked them, but you don’t have to.”

  There was a meow from the direction of the living room. Hercules was sitting in the doorway. He came about halfway across the room and meowed again.

  “Would you like to be Roma’s taste tester?” I asked.

  He sat down, curled his tail around his back legs and licked his lips.

  I smiled at him as I went to the sink to wash my hands. “Thank you. Roma will appreciate that. I think there’s some kind of salmon-flavored bits and maybe chicken. I’m not sure.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Owen’s head whip around at the word “salmon.” His third favorite word after “sardines” and “funky chickens.” Fourth favorite if you counted “Maggie.”

  He galloped across the floor, legs high in the air, and then sat down next to his brother, wiggling his backside and bumping Hercules with his hip, which got him a withering look.

  “Oh, so you are interested in helping Roma?” I said.

  He licked his lips just the way Hercules had done.

  “Your brother volunteered first,” I told him as I dried my hands. “But if Roma needs a second opinion, you’ll be it.”

  Owen glared at Hercules. Herc flicked the tip of his tail in return and came over to rub against my leg.

  I told the cats about seeing Burtis with Lita in the library parking lot as I peeled the potatoes. “Do you think those two could actually be a couple?” I asked.

  Hercules closed his eyes as though he were trying to imagine the two of them together. Owen, who was still sulking under the table, didn’t even look in my direction.

  Then I told them about my conversation inside the library with Burtis. “He is right that the library is an important part of Mayville,” I told Hercules as I got the makings for a salad out of the fridge. “The usage numbers have gone up and they’ve stayed up.”

  “Merow,” he said with enthusiasm.

  “It wouldn’t have happened if Everett hadn’t paid for the renovations as a gift to the town and if people like Oren hadn’t worked so hard to see the work get finished. Everybody here cares about Mayville Heights. And so do I.”

  I took down four tomatoes that had been ripening on the kitchen windowsill. “I’m thinking that maybe, maybe if I can figure out what happened to Mike Glazer, it could do more than put Old Harry’s mind at ease. Maybe it could somehow help save the tour proposal.”

  Hercules put a paw over his face. Was that his very polite cat way of saying “Are you out of your mind?”

  “It might help,” I said a little defensively
. All I could see around the paw was one green eye looking at me.

  I put the tomatoes on the cutting board and scooped the cat into my arms. He nuzzled my chin. “I could do it,” I said. “I could figure out how Mike died, and Maggie and Liam can convince his partners that basing a tour around Mayville Heights is a great idea.” I scratched the spot above his nose where his black fur gave way to white. “All I need is Wonder Woman’s Lasso of Truth and her bulletproof bracelets.”

  He scrunched up his furry black-and-white face and tilted his head to stare at the ceiling.

  “And the invisible plane would be good, too,” I said with a laugh. I put him back on the floor.

  Maggie arrived about quarter after six. Owen was waiting for her by the back door.

  “Hey, Fuzz Face,” she said, bending down to smile at him. As usual, he got all twitchy and started to purr. “Mmmm, something smells good,” she continued, stepping into the kitchen with the cat three steps behind her. “Is it that beef dish you made before with onions and mushrooms and tomato sauce?”

  I nodded. “It is.”

  She looked down at Owen. “This is going to be good.” Then she looked at me. “What can I do?”

  Just then Roma knocked on the back door.

  “You could put the knives and forks on the table,” I said as I went out into the porch to let her in.

  Roma was carrying a string grocery bag and a bottle of wine. “This is Ruby’s latest vintage,” she said. “I’m driving and I see Maggie is, but I thought you could save this to enjoy with . . . someone else.”

  I took the bottle and mock-glared at her. I knew she meant Marcus. Then again, maybe I could share the bottle with him as a peace offering.

  I hung up Roma’s coat while she said hello to Maggie. I knew it was only a matter of time before she outed me on kissing Marcus. For a moment I considered turning around, flinging out my arms and announcing it, but that seemed a tad melodramatic.

  When I did turn around, Hercules was sitting in front of Roma. She opened the top of the string bag. “Hello, Hercules,” she said. “I need your opinion on these cat food samples.”

  “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘bribe,’ not ‘samples,’” Maggie said. She looked down at Owen and raised her eyebrows conspiratorially. She’d pulled out a chair and was sitting, one leg tucked underneath her, not unlike the way Owen was sitting on the floor beside her, his tail curled around his feet. He was sneaking little looks in Roma’s direction, I noticed.

  Roma pulled a cardboard box stamped with paw prints out of the string bag and opened the top flap. “This isn’t a bribe,” she said to Maggie. “I need an honest opinion. Another vet I know is developing a line of all-natural, organic cat food. It’s not as though I can try it and decide if it’s any good.”

  Maggie leaned forward, snatched a piece of star-shaped kibble out of the box and popped it in her mouth before Roma could react.

  She chewed and then wrinkled her nose. “Needs salt,” she said.

  Hercules’s head swiveled from Roma to Maggie and back again. Roma shook her head with a wry smile. “Maggie Adams, I can’t believe you just ate cat food,” she said.

  Mags pointed at the box. “It’s not like the stuff is made of bug parts,” she said. “Which wouldn’t be so bad because I have eaten a bug once.”

  Owen gave her a look of pure, unadulterated adoration. I had no idea how much of the sentence he understood, but he definitely knew the word “bug.”

  Hercules, who also knew the word, dropped his eyes. I think he would have blushed if he could have. Hercules had eaten a bug once too—a very hairy caterpillar. It hadn’t exactly lain well on his stomach.

  The light on the slow cooker went from red to amber as the heat went from “cook” to “warm.” I grabbed a spoon and lifted the lid for a taste. It was Lise’s recipe, and as usual, it tasted as good as it smelled. The sauce was perfect. I didn’t even need to adjust the seasonings.

  “Roma, it’s in her hand,” I said, turning on the oven light so I could peek in to see if the roasted potatoes looked done. They did.

  “What’s in her hand?” Roma asked, frowning. Hercules was frowning too and sniffing in Maggie’s direction. Unlike Roma, he knew what I meant.

  “The cat kibble thing.”

  Maggie laughed and looked at me. “How did you know?”

  I gave my best impersonation of Mr. Spock from Star Trek, complete with one raised eyebrow. “No crunching,” I said. “You did a very good fake chew, but I didn’t actually hear you eating.”

  She looked down at Owen and nodded. “We have to remember that for next time,” she said. She turned her gaze to Roma again. “And why is it okay for you to bring them treats, but you give me a hard time when I do it?”

  Roma folded her arms over her chest. “Eric’s sausage-filled panzerotti are not a suitable treat for cats.”

  With exquisite timing, Owen yowled his objections. Even Roma laughed. Then she shook a few of the star-shaped bits of cat kibble onto the floor near the cats’ food dishes and took a couple of steps back. Hercules gave her a long, thoughtful look. Then he went over to the pile and sniffed. “Salmon,” Roma said helpfully.

  Owen’s gray ears twitched. I could see the tension in his small furry body.

  Hercules looked back over his shoulder at Roma. Then he took a cautious bite. The second bite wasn’t nearly as restrained. The third bite was actually more like shoving his face in the small pile. He sighed with happiness.

  Roma smiled. “Hercules doesn’t seem to think they need salt,” she said to Maggie. She looked at Owen and held out the box. “Would you like to try them?”

  His expression was pained. On the one hand, there was a box of fish-flavored cat food. On the other hand, the hand holding the box belonged to Roma, the woman who poked him with needles and tried to cut off his access to sausage panzerotti and frozen yogurt.

  “Here,” Maggie said. “Try this one.”

  She held out the little star she’d palmed in her hand and then let it drop to the floor in front of Owen. He looked uncertainly at it, sniffed it and then gave it a careful lick. It disappeared from the floor faster than if I’d sucked it up with the vacuum.

  Roma dumped a few more bits onto the floor in front of him.

  “I think your friend just got two paws-up,” I said to her, setting the salad bowl on the table.

  Roma pulled out a chair and sat down as I filled the plates, handing one to her and another to Maggie, before setting my own on the table.

  Mags took a bite, gave me a blissful smile and waved her fork approvingly at me.

  “This is good,” Roma said after her first taste. “Could I have the recipe?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. Owen had come to sit next to Maggie’s chair, the way he always did when she had dinner with us. Hercules was next to the refrigerator, washing his paws. Maybe I’d gotten lucky and the little cat food drama had made Roma forget about me kissing Marcus.

  She turned to Maggie, fork poised over her plate. “So how was your week?” she asked. “I know Kathleen was kissing Marcus. What have you been doing?”

  Or maybe it hadn’t.

  For a moment Maggie was as still as a stone statue. Then she squealed, flinging both hands in the air like she was about to do a victory dance in the end zone. “Finally,” she exclaimed. “I was beginning to think I was going to have to ask Rebecca if there were any kissing potions in those old notebooks of her mother’s.” She peered at me across the table. “When did you kiss him? And why didn’t you tell me?” Her gaze flicked over to Roma. “And how did you find out?”

  Roma shrugged. “I asked. She turned the cutest shade of red.” She gestured to me with her fork. “Just the way she’s doing now. It was a dead giveaway.”

  Maggie nodded. “I know. She used to do that all the time whenever I’d say Marcus was just perfect for her. That’s how I knew she liked him, no matter what she said.”

  “I can hear the two of you, you know,”
I said.

  Mags nodded. “We know.” She speared a couple of potatoes, popped them in her mouth and then leaned her elbows on the table, propping her chin on her interlaced fingers. “So?” she said after she’d chewed and swallowed.

  “Marcus kissed me. I kissed him back. That’s it,” I said. “He didn’t throw me over his shoulder and swing back to his tree house like Tarzan.” It didn’t seem like a good time to mention that we’d argued this morning. Again. Maybe I would invite him over to try Roma’s wine and this time I’d kiss him.

  “I’ve never thought that sounded very comfortable,” Roma said, wrinkling her nose, not unlike the way Owen did when he was inspecting his food. “Hanging upside down over someone’s back and whipping through the trees—I think I just might get motion sickness.” She made a backward motion with her hands. “I like a nice dip.”

  “Mmm, yeah.” Maggie nodded slowly. “But it’s very easy to overextend one’s back, and there is more than half a foot difference in height between Kathleen and Marcus.”

  The two of them stared at me. “You’re wasting your time,” I said. “I don’t kiss and tell.” They exchanged shrugs and picked up their forks again. “But if I did,” I continued, “I’d say, ‘Wow!’”

  They both howled with laughter.

  “Now why don’t we talk about your love life?” I said to Maggie.

  “Sure,” she said, “except I don’t have one.”

  “What do you call Liam?” I asked.

  “Cute as a bug’s ear?” Roma said. Maggie and I both looked at her. “Just because I have Eddie doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate cute.”

  Maggie nodded. “Liam is a sweet man, but all we are is friends.” She squared her shoulders and held her head high. “I want what you and Marcus have.”

  I frowned across the table. “What do we have?”

  “Passion,” she said. “It’s the difference between a plain brownie and one with nuts and chocolate frosting. I want the nuts and the chocolate frosting.”

  “You are nuts,” I said. “Marcus and I don’t have passion.”

  Laughing, Roma shook her head. “Wisteria Hill? This morning? Something was going on between the two of you, although it didn’t look like something that was going to end with Marcus flipping you over his shoulder and swinging through the trees.”