by Sofie Kelly
I crouched down so I was level with him and he put one white-tipped paw on my knee. “Owen’s fine,” I said. To my right the subject of the conversation was carefully sniffing the sardine he’d taken off the plate and set on the floor, just the way he always did with his food.
Herc made a noise that almost sounded like sympathy. I gave the top of his head a scratch and straightened up.
I could smell the coffee Marcus had started. While he got plates and mugs from the cupboard I got Hercules his breakfast. He murped a thank-you and began to eat, eyeing his brother from time to time.
“What time do you have to be at the library?” Marcus asked.
I raked a hand back through my hair. “I don’t have to worry about opening—I called Abigail and she’s doing that for me.” I looked over at Owen again. “Do you think he can be trusted not to try to get that collar off?”
“Of course not,” Marcus said, putting the sugar bowl and a small carton of cream in the middle of the table. He moved around me to get the sandwiches he’d warmed up in the microwave, dropping a kiss on the top of my head as he went past. “I don’t have to go back to work until tomorrow. I’ll stay here.”
“What are you going to do all day?” I asked.
“We were going to paint your spare bedroom this weekend. I can at least start. I mean, if you trust me to start without you.” He raised one eyebrow.
“I trust you,” I said, taking the plate he handed me. I sent a pointed look in Owen’s direction.
Marcus laughed. “I’ll keep a close eye on him, I promise.”
“The paint is on the workbench in the basement and you can eat whatever you find in the refrigerator for lunch. There’s some pulled pork and some coleslaw.”
Hercules had finished his breakfast and carefully washed his face and paws. Instead of coming and sitting next to my chair the way he usually did at breakfast time, he made his way around the table to the place Marcus had set for himself.
I laughed and shook my head as Marcus poured me a cup of coffee. “I don’t think you’ll have to eat by yourself,” I said, gesturing at the little tuxedo cat sitting next to his chair. “‘Lunch’ is Hercules’s favorite word, tied with ‘breakfast,’ ‘supper’ and ‘snack.’”
The cat loudly meowed his agreement.
I took a drink from my coffee and watched Marcus as he tried to be discreet about sneaking a tiny bit of Canadian bacon out of his sandwich to the cats. He really was handsome, with broad shoulders, dark wavy hair and a smile that came slowly but lit up his face when it finally arrived. Both cats liked Marcus, which was a good thing because I was crazy about him. I was uncomfortably aware that I had to tell him everything about them soon.
chapter 3
After we finished eating Marcus stood up and made a shooing motion with one hand. “I’ve got this,” he said. “Go get ready for work.”
By the time I had done my hair and makeup and changed, Marcus had cleaned up the kitchen and started moving furniture from the spare room. Owen was supervising from the gray slipper chair that Marcus had already moved into the upstairs hallway.
I put a hand on Marcus’s chest as he passed me, stopping him long enough to give him a quick kiss on the mouth. “I’ll call you later,” I said. I leaned over to stroke Owen’s fur. “Be good,” I whispered.
Owen made a face as though he were insulted by the mere idea that he’d be anything else.
When I got to the library Mary was at the circulation desk and Abigail was just coming down the stairs. “How’s Owen?” she asked, walking over to me.
“He’s all right,” I said. “He had to have stitches and he’s wearing a cone, which he’s not crazy about.” I smiled at her. “Thank you for opening.”
Abigail smiled. “Anytime. I’m glad Owen’s all right. Let me know if you need to go home and check on him later.”
I nodded. I was hoping that cat-sitting didn’t turn into cat-wrangling for Marcus. Or the feline version of Jules Verne’s The Secret of Wilhelm Storitz .
It was a busy morning. It seemed like half the population of Mayville Heights was looking for something to read. The dip in the temperatures after a day of unseasonably warm weather seemed to have nudged people into coming in for a few books so they could curl up by the fire and stay inside. I managed to find a few minutes at lunchtime to call Marcus.
“The collar is still in place, the ceiling is painted and we’re having a pulled-pork sandwich for lunch,” he said.
“We?” I asked. I already knew the answer to the question. The boys loved pulled pork as much as they loved sardines.
There was silence for a moment. I thought I heard a faint “mrr” in the background.
“I meant me,” he said then. “I’m having a pulled-pork sandwich for lunch.” I heard the sound again in the background. I was fairly certain it was Owen.
I laughed. “I’m sure you are.”
“I talked to Mike Justason,” Marcus continued. “His dog is fine but he mentioned seeing a stray in the area. I called Thorsten and he said he’ll do some extra circuits of the area.” Among his other jobs, Thorsten was also the town dogcatcher.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll see you tonight.”
• • •
When I got home at the end of the day I found Marcus and his two furry helpers in the kitchen. “Something smells wonderful,” I said.
“Chicken and rice,” he said.
“I could get used to coming home to this,” I said.
“I could be a kept man,” Marcus teased, squaring his shoulders and jutting out his chin.
I laughed. “No, you couldn’t. You’d miss being a police officer.”
After supper Marcus took me upstairs to see the spare bedroom. He’d painted the ceiling and the walls. And as usual he’d done a meticulous job. “I thought we could tackle the trim on the weekend,” he said.
“That works for me,” I said. I turned in a slow circle. “I don’t know how to thank you,” I said. “It looks like a professional did the job.”
He smiled and a bit of color flushed the tops of his perfect cheekbones. He gave me a long look that did crazy things to my heartbeat. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said.
We returned downstairs and once again I was nudged out of the kitchen when I tried to do the dishes. I mock-glared at Marcus. “Okay, you win this one but don’t think I don’t know you’re buying your allies with sardine crackers.”
All that got me was three faux-innocent smiles.
“I’ll drive you to class,” Marcus said when I came back carrying my towel and shoes for tai chi a few minutes later. “I have to talk to Eddie.” He raked a hand back through his hair. “Did you hear about the business with the drone?”
I nodded.
“It could just be kids goofing off, or it could be someone with a weird sense of humor who gets off on scaring people, but either way it’s dangerous flying those things so close to traffic.”
“There’ve been a couple of accidents on that stretch of road as it is,” I said, pulling on my gray hoodie.
Marcus shrugged. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and Eddie will remember some detail about the drone that will help. There’s a flying club in Red Wing that I’m going to check in with as well.”
I smiled at him. Like I’d said before, I couldn’t imagine him doing anything other than police work. It was in his blood.
• • •
Rebecca was waiting for me at the second-floor landing when I got to tai chi. She was holding a small brown paper bag from the Grainery that held a catnip Fred the Funky Chicken for Owen and some organic fish crackers for Hercules so he wouldn’t feel left out. Roma had told her what had happened to Owen.
“Is there any point in me telling you that you’re spoiling my cats?” I asked as I tucked the paper bag in my canvas tote.
“No
t in the slightest, my dear,” Rebecca said, reaching over to pat my cheek.
I heard Maggie call, “Circle.” It was time for the class to start, which meant I had no time to argue with Rebecca. Not that I would have won anyway.
When I turned around after finishing the form at the end of class Marcus and Eddie were standing in the doorway. Marcus smiled at me but made his way toward Maggie. I knew that Brady was still out of town. Marcus had mentioned on the drive down that he wanted to talk to Maggie.
“Call me if you want to work on Push Hands on the weekend,” Ruby said on her way out the door.
I nodded, reaching for my towel. Roma came across the floor fastening the buttons of a cranberry cardigan that went well with her dark hair and eyes. “I’ll see you and Owen in the morning, about nine thirty,” she said.
“We’ll be there,” I said.
“Owen’s okay?”
I blotted the back of my neck with the towel. “If he was a person I’d say he’s milking this whole thing. He spent most of the day lounging on a chair watching Marcus paint the ceiling in my spare bedroom and I’m pretty sure someone”—I tipped my head in Marcus’s direction—“gave him more than cat food at lunchtime. Plus Rebecca got him another chicken because he had to have stitches.”
Roma smiled. “I think I’m going to be a cat in my next life.”
I grinned back at her. “Me too.”
• • •
The collar was still in place around Owen’s neck when I got up the next morning, much to my surprise, although I noticed some threads hanging along one edge probably because he’d been chewing or clawing at it. He sat at my feet while I started the coffee.
“You’re fine,” I said, reaching down to stroke his fur. He sighed and went over to his dish.
My cell rang then. I reached for it, noticing it was Roma.
“Kathleen, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to cancel Owen’s appointment because I have an emergency with a horse.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I don’t see any sign of infection around the stitches and he’s kept the collar on.”
“That’s good,” Roma said, “but I’d still like to see him. I know Fridays are your late day, but is there any chance you could bring him over on your supper break?”
“I could do that.”
“Okay, I’ll see you around five thirty?”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. “We’ll be there.”
Since I didn’t have to take Owen to see Roma until later, I spent the morning cleaning and doing laundry. I took the canvas drop sheet that Marcus had used while he was painting and hung it outside on my clothesline. Not a good idea. The wind caught it before I’d even gotten it clothespinned to the line and it sailed across the backyard and over the fence into Rebecca’s yard before I could manage to grab even an end of the tarp. All I could do was give chase.
I was wrestling with the drop cloth, trying to keep it from blowing away again, when Sandra Godfrey from the post office came around up Rebecca’s driveway.
“Hang on,” she called. “Grab that end and I’ll get this one.” She shifted the heavy mailbag on her shoulder to one side and hurried across the grass, putting her foot on the edge of the tarp before the wind lifted it again. Together, the two of us managed to get the big piece of canvas folded into something a lot more manageable.
“Thanks,” I said, hugging the bulky, folded drop cloth against my body. “If you hadn’t come along I could have ended up in Red Wing.”
Sandra grinned at me. “Well, for a moment I wasn’t sure if maybe that’s what you were trying to do.” She pulled a padded envelope out of her mailbag. “Is Rebecca around? She needs to sign for this.”
I shook my head. “She isn’t.” I looked at the package she was holding. The return address was Rebecca’s son, Matthew’s. “Could I sign for it?”
She shrugged. “Sure. It would save me having to take this back to the post office and it would save Rebecca a trip to pick it up.” I signed where she showed me and tucked the small parcel under my arm.
“Thanks for your help, Sandra,” I said.
“No problem, Kathleen,” she said with a smile, shifting the heavy mailbag back onto her hip. “Try to keep your feet on the ground.” With that she headed back down the driveway and I made my way back to the house.
Before I left for work at lunchtime I went looking for Owen. He wasn’t hard to find. He was in the living room, sprawled on his back on the footstool, lazily staring up at the ceiling. With the collar on he looked like he was having some kind of spa treatment.
“You don’t belong on that footstool,” I said.
He rolled over awkwardly onto his side.
“Nice try, but I think you’re fine,” I said.
“Mrr,” he objected.
“Well, it’s a good thing we’re going to see Roma at supper time.”
Owen narrowed his eyes at me and his tail thumped the top of the ottoman.
“Same deal as before,” I said, stroking his soft fur. “You go, you behave—more or less—and you get sardines when we get home.”
He made a sound that I thought of as muttering like an old man. “For the record, behaving means no biting and no clawing. You can hiss if you want to.”
He seemed to think about my words for a moment, then rolled onto his back again in the November sunshine streaming through the window. I took that as a yes.
• • •
Owen was waiting in the kitchen when I got there at supper time. He was in a bit of a cranky mood. When I tried to settle him in the carrier he yowled loudly and twisted in my arms and I could see that it wasn’t going to work anyway with the collar in the way.
“Fine, you win,” I told him. “This time!”
I grabbed Rebecca’s parcel and my keys and headed out to the truck. Owen didn’t even make an attempt to try not to look smug.
Roma was waiting for us at the clinic. She checked Owen’s ear as well as the scratches on his nose and paw. “He’s healing incredibly well,” she said to me. “Keep the collar on for the weekend, but it can come off on Monday.”
Owen looked up at her from the examining table, giving her his best I-am-so-pitiful look. Roma reached into her pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag about half full of star-shaped cat crackers. She set four of them in front of Owen. He meowed a thank-you before bending his head to carefully sniff the treat.
“Now who’s spoiling my cats?” I teased.
“He deserves something,” Roma said. “He behaved really well.”
I didn’t say a word. I just continued to look at her.
“He behaved well for him,” she amended. “Hey, he didn’t even try to bite me.”
That was true, although Owen had hissed several times and his claws had come out. However, considering how much he loathed a visit to Roma’s clinic, that was progress.
I gave her a hug. “Thanks for taking such good care of the little furball.”
“Anytime,” she said with a smile. “Owen and Hercules are kind of like family. Does that sound odd?”
“Not to me,” I said, smiling back at her.
I carried Owen out to the truck and set him on the seat. He looked expectantly at me.
“You just had a treat. You don’t need another,” I told him.
He made a sound a lot like a sigh and turned to look out the windshield.
We were only a couple of minutes from Roma’s clinic when I noticed that not only was there a lot more traffic on the road, it had slowed to almost a crawl. We inched forward a little more and then stopped. Owen craned his neck but couldn’t see over the dashboard or around the collar.
“Merow?” he said inquiringly to me.
I shook my head. “I don’t know.” After we’d stayed put for several minutes I realized that if we didn’t get moving
soon I was going to be late getting back to work. I pulled my phone out of my purse and called the library. Susan answered.
“I’m stuck in traffic not far from Roma’s clinic,” I told her.
Owen was standing with his front legs on the passenger door, looking out the side window as though he were looking for a way to get us moving again.
“I’m not surprised,” Susan said. “A tractor-trailer hauling potatoes got off the road at the wrong exit and jackknifed taking a turn too fast. Apparently there are potatoes all over the road. No one’s hurt, though.”
I blew out a breath, making my bangs lift in the air. “Okay, thanks,” I said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I ended the call and discovered Owen looking at me. “Accident,” I said. “Looks like we’re stuck.”
I had no idea who was in the small silver truck in front of me, but the driver was clearly in a hurry. I saw him look out his side window and then check the rearview mirror. He sat for a moment and then from his body language seemed to decide something. He put the truck in reverse and, using his backup camera, came back as close to my front bumper as he could. It took a little back-and-forth maneuvering, but he managed to pull into the left lane, drive ahead a couple of car lengths and turn down a side road on the left that I knew would eventually take him downtown.
“What do you think?” I said to Owen. “We could probably get down to the library.”
He immediately sat up and tried to wash his face, which wasn’t easy with the cone in place. Owen loved going to the library.
Because the truck ahead of me had already pulled out it was easy for me to follow. I looked both ways, headed up the wrong side of the road and turned left without meeting any traffic.
“You have to stay out of trouble at the library,” I reminded him. “No going all Dr. Jack Griffin and roaming the building.”
Owen shared my interest in old movies, or maybe he just liked to lie in my lap while I watched them and scratched under his chin. Either way he was familiar with the H. G. Wells character from the 1933 movie The Invisible Man.
