by Sofie Kelly
“Kathleen, are you saying there was a letter from my mother in that mail?” He sounded skeptical and I didn’t blame him.
“According to Celia Hunter, and it wouldn’t be that difficult to check.” Owen had rolled onto his back and his back paws were moving through the air like some sort of low-impact aerobic workout. “She’s going to be here for a few more days,” I said. “If you want to read the letter she offered to show it to you.”
I heard him exhale. “Yes,” he said. “Do you have a phone number for her?”
“She’s staying at the St. James.”
“I’ll call her,” Simon said. “Thank you. I seem to be saying that a lot to you.”
“My mother would say it’s a sign you have good manners,” I’d said, lightly. I’d hesitated for a moment. “If you want company call me. Either way, please let me know what happens.”
“I will,” he’d said. “Good night.”
Now, Hercules meowed loudly from his perch on top of my bag. Owen had other priorities. He was sitting next to his food dish and he meowed just as loudly as his brother had in case I’d somehow forgotten it was breakfast time. Hercules, however, could be determinedly single-minded when it suited him. He jumped down from the chair and sat directly in front of me, staring up at me with serious green eyes. But Owen was not going to let anything get between him and his first meal of the day. He meowed a second time, a bit louder than he had the first time. Hercules turned to glare at his brother, his tail flicking restlessly across the floor. There almost seemed to be a challenge in his gaze. It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Owen immediately dropped his head and began nudging his dish across the floor toward me. As far as he was concerned everything else could wait until he’d eaten. Hercules stayed where he was. If Owen wanted to get to me and his breakfast, he was going to have to go through his black-and-white sibling. I could see where this was heading.
“That’s enough,” I said.
They didn’t even look at me. Owen was glaring at Hercules through slitted golden eyes. Hercules was unmoving, except for his lashing tail, like an ebony-and-alabaster statue.
I brought my hand, palm flat down, on the table. Hercules jumped at the sound. Owen’s head came up, catching the edge of his dish. Unfortunately he’d been pushing his water bowl across the floor, not his food dish. There wasn’t very much water in the bowl, but what there was splashed in his face. He yowled in outrage and began to vigorously shake his head.
I grabbed a dishtowel and hurried around the table. “Let me see,” I said getting down beside him on the floor. I’d heard Mary use the expression, “Mad as a wet hen,” but it seemed to me that “Mad as a wet cat” was a better description of someone truly outraged. I put a hand on Owen’s back as he continued to shake his head. “Let me see,” I repeated. I wiped his face with the towel. His wet fur was sticking up and there was a sullen expression on his face.
“Are you all right?” I asked, using a dry edge of the towel to smooth down his fur, being extra careful around his ear. His pride was clearly wounded but other than that he seemed fine. The contents of the dish had hit him but the bowl itself hadn’t.
I wiped up the water, got breakfast for both cats and a bowl of granola with almond milk and fruit for myself. Owen muttered to himself the entire time he was eating. Hercules glanced in his brother’s direction a couple of times but wisely kept his distance.
When I finished my own breakfast I cut the last sardine in the fridge in half and gave a piece to each cat. “I’m sorry,” I said to Owen. “That little incident with the water was partly my fault. I did hit the table a little harder than I meant to.”
Suddenly I thought of Harry Taylor smacking the top of the rain barrel after Leo Janes had walked away from him that day out by the gazebo. Could Harry be connected in some way to that piece of information Leo had discovered? I had no reason to think he was, but Harry wasn’t acting like himself, and it wasn’t as though I had anywhere else to start.
I checked my watch. Talking to Harry would have to wait. I was meeting Marcus out at Wisteria Hill to feed the feral cat colony that called the old carriage house on the property home. Roma was assisting on an early surgery in Red Wing and I’d volunteered Marcus and me to take care of the cats’ breakfast.
• • •
Marcus was waiting for me, leaning against his SUV, as I crested the top of Roma’s driveway. He gave me a quick kiss. “Good morning,” he said with a warm smile.
“Umm, good morning to you, too,” I said. I gestured at the house. “Roma left everything we need in the porch. I have her key.”
We walked across the gravel parking area, collected the cats’ dishes along with food and water and then headed for the carriage house.
“How did the shopping go last night?” Marcus asked.
“Good,” I said. “And that’s all I’m telling you because Eddie isn’t allowed to know what the dress is like. Apparently it’s bad luck.”
Marcus laughed. “I didn’t think Roma cared about those old superstitions.”
I grinned back at him. “It’s not Roma. It’s Maggie.”
We made our way around the side of the weathered old building. Marcus pushed the heavy wooden door open and we stepped inside. I waited a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.
It was because of Marcus that Roma had discovered that there was a feral cat colony out at the old estate. He’d found an injured Desmond and taken the big black tom to her clinic. Desmond was the clinic’s cat although he spent more time at Roma’s house than at the clinic these days. He had one eye and was missing part of an ear. Even though he wasn’t that big, his appearance and his attitude made him seem larger and very imposing. He’d backed more than one unruly dog under a clinic chair.
After Marcus had shown up with Desmond, Roma had gone out to Wisteria Hill to see if there were any more cats. She’d discovered nine in total. Now there were just seven. It had taken multiple attempts to capture them all. Roma had taken the cats back to the clinic, where they had been neutered. Then they had been returned to Wisteria Hill with Everett Henderson’s tacit, if not expressed, approval.
There was no sign of any of the cats now, which was typical. I looked around for any indication that anything was amiss but saw nothing. I remembered how surprised I’d been to learn Roma hadn’t tried to find homes for the cats.
“They’re not used to people,” she’d explained. “And they wouldn’t adapt well to living with them.”
Marcus and I set out the food and water and then retreated back by the door to wait. I leaned against his chest and he wrapped his arms around me, the warmth of his body keeping me warm.
After several minutes I heard a sound down near the feeding station. “Lucy,” I whispered.
The little calico cat may not have been the largest in the small colony, but she was its leader. She moved into view, sniffing the air, then she turned in our direction.
“Good morning, Lucy,” I said in a low voice.
Lucy and I had a connection I couldn’t explain. She’d come closer to me than she would to anyone else and sometimes it even seemed like she understood what I was saying to her. Roma believed it was because Lucy trusted me for some unknown reason, the same way Owen and Hercules had put their trust in me the day I’d come across them up here as tiny kittens. I sometimes wondered if Lucy, like the boys, had some kind of special ability and that was why we had connected.
The little cat moved closer to us, stopped and meowed softly. Then she made her way to the feeding station.
“You’re welcome, Lucy,” I whispered.
The rest of the colony made its way out to eat then. We both looked each cat over carefully for any sign that it was unhealthy or injured in any way.
“They all look good,” Marcus said softly against my ear.
After the cats had eaten they made their way back
to their shelters. Lucy stopped to look in our direction before she disappeared again. Once the cats were gone, Marcus and I cleaned up the feeding station and set out more fresh water. Then we collected the empty food dishes and everything else and made our way back outside again.
“So how did breakfast with Burtis go?” Marcus asked as we started around the side carriage house.
“Delicious,” I said. “I have to ask Peggy what’s in the fried potatoes besides onion and dill.”
“Bacon fat,” he said. “Lots of bacon fat.”
I bumped him with my hip. “How did you know I had breakfast with Burtis?”
He squared his shoulders. “Have you forgotten you’re dating an ace detective?”
I put a hand on his shoulder and came up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “No, I have not,” I said.
Marcus laughed. “You’re not the only one who talks to Burtis, you know.”
“What did he tell you?” I asked.
Marcus shifted the empty water jugs to his other hand as we started for Roma’s side porch. “Probably no more than he told you: It’s not what a person has done that makes them intimidating, it’s what our mind thinks they’ve done.”
I nodded. “I realize it’s what Hitchcock said: ‘There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.’”
He nodded.
“So is Elias Braeden a suspect?” I asked as I fished Roma’s key out of my pocket.
Marcus raked his free hand back through his hair. “As far as I’m concerned just about everyone is a suspect right now.”
We put everything back in the porch and I followed Marcus down the driveway and back into town. He waved as he drove past Mountain Road and I turned down the hill.
Harry was at the library when I pulled into the parking lot, shoveling leaf mulch into a wheelbarrow from a large bin on the back of his truck. I’d known there was a good chance he would be. He had told me he was bringing some mulch for the bed at the back of the library where the rain chain had been vandalized and water had washed away much of the soil and mulch already there.
“Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “I thought I’d get an early start at this.”
“That’s fine with me,” I said. “I’m going to put the coffee on. Why don’t you come in later and have a cup?”
He rubbed his gloved hands together. “Thanks. That sounds good.”
“It was good of your father to help Mia with her project,” I said. “With Leo dead she didn’t really have many people to ask.”
“The old man likes kids,” Harry said. “And Lord knows he’s got enough stories about this town.” As I’d noticed before, once I mentioned Leo’s name Harry seemed to tense; the muscles in his neck looked like thick ropes.
“I better get back at it,” he said. “And I will take you up on that coffee later.”
I nodded and headed for the front steps. Harry wasn’t quite avoiding me, but it was close.
• • •
Midmorning I was talking to the leader of the senior quilters about a Christmas exhibit of their quilts when Patricia suddenly stopped midsentence and touched my arm. “Kathleen, either Abigail has taken up semaphore or she’s trying to get your attention.”
I looked over at the front desk. Abigail held up a hand and then pointed at the phone. “Excuse me for a minute,” I said to Patricia. I walked over to the desk.
“It’s Harrison Taylor for you on line one,” Abigail said. “And I thought maybe you needed a break. Patricia can talk your ear off.”
“Thanks,” I said. “She’s not really that bad. She just likes to get every detail nailed down.”
“Nailed down, stapled, glued and cemented,” Abigail said with a grin.
I reached for the phone. “Good morning, Harrison,” I said.
“Good morning, Kathleen,” he replied. “How are things at the library?”
“They’re going well,” I said. “Your son came and repaired that washed-out flower bed at the back of the building and someone brought in four books that were due eight years ago.”
“Did you make him or her pay a fine?” Harrison asked.
“I thought about it,” I said, turning so I could lean back against the desk. “Then I realized one of the books may be a first edition of Clement Moore’s The Night Before Christmas with illustrations by William Wallace Denslow.”
“I take it that’s a good thing.”
“The book could be worth several thousand dollars to the right collector.”
“Then you have something to celebrate,” he said. “So how about coming for supper tomorrow night?”
I liked spending time with Harrison and maybe I’d get the chance to talk to Harry. “That sounds wonderful,” I said. We settled the details and I hung up.
The rest of the morning passed quickly. Abigail and I went over the plans for our Christmas programming and then I spent some time looking through the book suggestions people had left on our “What Would you Like to Read?” bulletin board display. Maggie came in after lunch to sort through the photos and decide which ones she was going to frame first.
“Are you going to have enough frames?” I asked.
She nodded. “In fact it looks like I may be able to get some of the mail and display that as well. Did you hear that Thorsten Hall got a Christmas card from an old girlfriend?”
“Very romantic,” I said.
Maggie laughed. “Not exactly. It was a religious card with a picture of a snow-covered church on the front. Inside it said, God Loves You and underneath she’d written, I still think you’re a jerk!”
“You’re making that up!”
She put one hand on her chest. “I swear I’m not.”
I thought about Meredith Janes’s letter to her former best friend. I wondered what it said.
• • •
Marcus had hockey practice while I was at tai chi but we met afterward for hot chocolate at Eric’s.
“Want to split a cinnamon roll?” he asked.
“They haven’t been out of the oven very long,” Claire said. “They’re still warm.” That was all I needed to persuade me.
“Okay,” I said.
Marcus smiled at Claire. “One cinnamon roll, two plates,” he said.
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
Eric’s cinnamon rolls were as good as Mary’s. That’s because he used her recipe. And so far I hadn’t been able to wheedle, whine or bribe it out of either of them.
Marcus must have guessed what I was thinking. “Do you think you’ll ever convince Mary to tell you what her secret ingredient is?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “And I’ve tried everything I can think of to make mine come out the same.”
“But yours are good,” he said. He’d tried just about every batch I’d made.
“I’ve gotten close.” I held up my thumb and index finger about a half an inch apart. “But there’s a little something missing.” I lined up the sugar bowl and cream pitcher on the table. “Mary says she’ll leave me the secret in her will.”
Marcus nodded solemnly. “Other words, she’s never going to tell you.”
I laughed. “Pretty much.” I leaned my elbows on the table and smiled at him. “What are you trying to sweeten me up for?” I asked. To his credit he didn’t try to pretend.
“We’re bringing Simon Janes in for questioning tomorrow. I didn’t want you to find out from . . . from anyone else.”
“He didn’t kill his father,” I said. I was beginning to sound like a broken record.
“I’m not saying he did.” He picked up a spoon from the table and flipped it end over end in his fingers. “Do you remember Schrödinger’s cat?” he asked.
I frowned, unsure of how we’d gotten from talking about whether or not Simon had killed his father to quantum mechanics. “I remember,” I
said slowly. “It’s a thought experiment that Erwin Schrödinger came up with that’s really a criticism of the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum superpositions.”
Marcus laughed. “Well, here’s what I remember: a steel box, a cat, a vial of poison. The cat could be dead or it could be alive. Until you open the box you don’t know which.”
“Yes.”
“Until someone is charged with Leo Janes’s murder Simon could be guilty and he could be innocent and this idea of Schrödinger’s murder investigation made a lot more sense in my head.”
I reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze. “I get it,” I said. “You’re just doing your job. I can live with that.”
• • •
I thought about what Marcus had said as I drove out to the Taylors’ after work Wednesday night. Harry might know something that could help solve Leo Janes’s murder or he might not. Until I opened the box, until I came right out and asked him, there was no way to know. I wondered how the Austrian physicist would have felt about his thought experiment becoming part of pop culture.
Harry opened the door when I knocked and the rich smell of onions, garlic and tomatoes welcomed me as I stepped inside. “It smells wonderful in here,” I said as he took my coat.
“Italian beef stew. I hope you like it.”
I smiled at him. “I already do. Anything that smells that good has to taste at least as wonderful.”
Boris padded over to meet me. “Hi, boy,” I said. I handed the paper bag I was carrying to Harry. “Half a dozen of those organic dog biscuits Roma’s friend makes and Maggie sent you a bottle of blueberry syrup.”
“That’s a bribe,” Harrison said. I went over to give him a hug, trailed by the dog.
“Why is Maggie bribing you?” I asked.
“You know that mail they found stuffed behind that wall at the post office?”
I nodded.
“There was a Christmas card addressed to me. She wants me to let her use it for some exhibit she’s putting together for you.”
