A Tale of Two Kitties

by Sofie Kelly

  “I can teach you,” Ruby said again. “All you need is big needles and bulky yarn and you can make a scarf. I promise.”

  Susan looked skeptical.

  “I didn’t know you could knit,” I said.

  Ruby grinned. “Hey, just because I’m a pierced, rainbow-haired artist doesn’t mean I don’t have traditional skills, too. I can knit, sew and make my own ketchup. My grandmother taught me.” The eyebrows went up again. “My grandfather taught me a few things, too, but I don’t usually talk about those.”

  Ruby’s grandfather, Idris Blackthorne, had been the town bootlegger. I could only imagine what skills he’d taught his favorite grandchild. “Probably a road best not traveled,” I said lightly.

  “Are you working tomorrow morning?” Ruby said to Susan. “We could go to the yarn store. What color were you thinking of?”

  Susan made a face. “I’m not certain but I did think gray would go with his eyes.”

  I put a hand on Ruby’s arm. “I’m going to go give Abigail a break,” I said. “Everything’s okay here?”

  Ruby nodded. “It is. Thank you.”

  “I’ll keep going,” I said quietly.

  Ruby nodded again and turned back to Susan. As I headed for the circulation desk, she was pulling out her phone to show Susan a scarf that might work for Eric.

  The thief wasn’t Susan. But the knot in my stomach hadn’t completely untied itself. I still had two more people to talk to.

  Owen and Hercules were waiting in the kitchen when I got home. Over a bowl of chicken stew with dumplings for me and a little plain shredded chicken breast for them, I explained about the missing items at the artists’ store.

  I talked to the cats all the time. They were good listeners, especially if chicken or sardine crackers were involved. They didn’t interrupt for the most part unless it was to try to mooch (unsuccessfully) part of a dumpling, and there were times when they wordlessly seemed to take part in the conversation. I didn’t generally share that last part with people.

  When I was down to the last couple of bites of my dumpling, I leaned back in my chair and curled one leg underneath me. Owen was peering at his dish as though he was trying to figure out whether there could be one last morsel of chicken hidden behind it. Hercules had started his face-washing routine, spending more time than usual on the left side of his furry black-and-white mug.

  “I need to talk to Rebecca,” I said, ticking things off on my fingers. “And I have no idea how to bring up the thefts at the store.”

  Owen gave up nosing around his bowl and walked over to sit in front of the back door. He looked back over his shoulder at me and then meowed loudly.

  Meanwhile, Hercules took one last pass at his face before moving across the kitchen to sit by the cupboards and stare at the one where I kept the tea.

  “You two are not at all subtle,” I said.

  They exchanged a look and Owen meowed again.

  “Okay, I’m going,” I said. I scooped up the last bit of dumpling, then got up and headed for the living room and the telephone. I sat on the footstool and pulled the phone down beside me. As I was punching in Rebecca’s number, I looked over to see Hercules watching me, head poked around the living room doorway.

  Rebecca agreed to come for tea in the morning to hear all about the new books for the Reading Buddies program. She had served on the library board for years and had a soft spot for the literacy project.

  Hercules followed me around while I threw in a load of laundry and did the dishes. I told him about the rest of my day and he made little murping noises that at least made it seem as though he was interested.

  Later I curled up in the big chair in the bedroom and called Marcus. This was the longest we’d been apart since we’d become a couple, and I missed him like crazy. Owen stretched out across my lap while Hercules sprawled on his back on the floor, moving his paws in the air as though he were doing a halfhearted yoga routine.

  If Marcus had been in town, I would have pushed Maggie to talk to him about the thefts. Not only was he a detective with the Mayville Heights Police Department, but he also knew Susan, Rebecca and Nic. The two of us had met when I’d gotten caught up in one of his cases and it had taken a long time for us to work through our differences. Marcus was the kind of person who looked at the facts and I tended to pay more attention to feelings. It had taken a case involving his sister, Hannah, for each of us to be able to see things from the other’s perspective.

  But Marcus was out of town at a hockey skills clinic. There wasn’t anything he could do so I didn’t say anything. If I couldn’t figure out who had taken the missing items from the co-op store, I would nudge Mags to get him involved when he got back. So I talked about Reading Buddies and how good Maggie’s pizza had been, and when I hung up, Owen’s narrowed golden eyes were fixed on my face.

  “Don’t give me that look,” I said, scratching behind his left ear. “I didn’t tell Marcus because there’s nothing he can do.”

  Owen continued to stare at me. I leaned forward and stared pointedly back at him. “Was there anything you did today that maybe you’d just as soon not share with me?” I said. To my amusement, Owen suddenly became very engrossed in his feet.

  Rebecca arrived for tea about nine thirty the next morning. She was tiny, barely five foot three in her sock feet, with blue eyes and silver hair in a pixie cut that showed off her gorgeous cheekbones. Abigail was working for me in return for a shift I’d taken for her the week before so I didn’t have to be at the library until noon.

  Copies of the new books we’d received were on the table. After she’d hugged me and talked to Owen and Hercules, Rebecca sat at the table to look at the books while I made the tea.

  “Wonderful choices,” she said. She held up one of the picture books. “I especially like this one with the dancing cows.”

  I smiled. “We all agreed on that one. Even Susan’s twins gave it a resounding yes.”

  Rebecca smiled back at me. “It’s always good to get the approval of your target audience.”

  I set a cup of tea in front of her. “Thank you, dear,” she said. She took a sip and nodded her approval. “I’m glad you called me. I wanted to talk to you about Reading Buddies. Everett and I would like to throw an end-of-school party for the children next month. I’m sorry, I know it’s short notice.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I said, smiling across the table at her.

  I’d put a plate of cut-up fruit on the table because I knew Rebecca had been instructed by her doctor to restrain her sweet tooth a little. “Well, that’s easy,” she said, reaching for some apple slices. “You say ‘yes.’”

  “Okay. Yes.” I gave her arm a squeeze and she beamed at me.

  I was touched by the generous offer, which I suspected had originated with Rebecca. Everett was just as kindhearted as his wife, but Rebecca had an extra soft spot when it came to anything involving kids.

  She leaned down for a moment to speak to Hercules, and I realized I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ask her about the missing items from the co-op store because I was certain she’d had nothing to do with the thefts. It made no sense. Looking at Rebecca smiling down at Hercules, I found it hard to imagine her looking furtive while she browsed in the shop and stuffed a couple of placemats in her tote bag. There had to be some other explanation for what had happened.

  “Do you think Eddie would agree to come to the party?” Rebecca asked. “He’s so good with children.”

  “I think he probably would,” I said, getting up to refill my cup. Now that he didn’t have all of Rebecca’s attention, Hercules had started nosing around the canvas bag next to her chair.

  “Leave that alone,” I said quietly to him.

  Hercules immediately sat down, the picture of innocence, but when I turned back to the counter, from the corner of my eye I saw him nudge the bag with his nose onc
e more. I swung around again. “Cut that out!” I said sharply.

  “Oh, he can’t hurt anything,” Rebecca said.

  “You spoil him and Owen,” I said, frowning in mock annoyance at her.

  Since my attention was diverted, Hercules decided it would be a good time to give the tote a poke with his paw. That was enough for me. I moved to pick him up just as the bag slid down the chair leg and toppled over. A small plastic baggie fell out. Hercules swatted it with a paw and it skidded across the floor, stopping at my feet.

  “Very, very bad,” I said to the cat, who didn’t look the slightest bit repentant. I bent down to pick up the baggie. Inside were five chocolate-dipped chocolate chip cookies that I recognized as coming from Fern’s Diner. I straightened up and looked inquiringly at Rebecca.

  She didn’t quite meet my gaze.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  There were two spots of color high on her cheekbones. “I don’t suppose you would believe that I don’t know how those cookies got in my bag?” she said. The look on her face reminded me of Owen the last time he’d decapitated a Fred the Funky Chicken and scattered bits of dried catnip all over the living room.

  I pointed a finger at Hercules. “There will be consequences.”

  He made a soft murp and seemed to shrug, almost as though he were trying to say he didn’t really think so.

  I sat down again, setting the cookies on the table, and reached over to catch Rebecca’s hands in mine. “What’s going on?” I asked again.

  Rebecca pursed her lips and met my gaze this time. “I’m a weak old woman.”

  I shook my head. “You are not old and you most definitely are not weak. You’re one of the strongest women—one of the strongest people I know.”

  That got me a small smile. “Do you remember me telling you that my doctor wants me to cut back on the sweets a little? And by the way, my mother had a sweet tooth and she ate cookies until the day she died and she was just fine.” Her chin jutted out just a little. I’d seen that defiant pose before.

  I waited without speaking. Rebecca cleared her throat. “I guess that isn’t really relevant,” she said after a minute. “I’m, uh . . . I’m having a hard time following his instructions.”

  “You’ve been buying cookies at Fern’s.” I tapped the baggie with a finger.

  She nodded. “I can’t make cookies at home. Everett has a nose like a bloodhound. I’ve been getting half a dozen at a time and . . . having them when I’m not home so he doesn’t find out. He’d be so disappointed in me.”

  “You can’t really believe that,” I said, giving her hands another squeeze and then sitting back in my chair. “That man is bear-poop crazy about you. You could go downtown right now and rob the Wells Fargo Bank and Everett would say it was their fault for having all that money inside.”

  “Bear-poop crazy?” Rebecca said, a smile pulling at her lips.

  “Harrison Taylor’s description, not mine,” I said. “But the words are accurate.”

  Her expression grew serious again. “I’m disappointed in myself, Kathleen.”

  “I get it,” I said. “I really do. I’ve never met a brownie I didn’t like.”

  “Merow,” Hercules said, adding his two cents to the discussion.

  I smiled. “And Hercules would not want to have to give up sardine crackers. He’s always trying to find a way to sneak a couple more as it is.” And as simple as that, I knew what had happened.

  “You haven’t been eating cookies at home, so where have you been eating them?” I asked.

  Rebecca blushed again. “I’ve ducked into the co-op store several times as well as the library. I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t touch any books with my sticky fingers.”

  Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  I got up and put my arms around her shoulders. “How about this weekend we try a couple of cookie recipes with less fat and sugar than what you’ve been sneaking, cookies even your doctor would approve of. I have a couple of new cookbooks at the library.”

  “You are a darling, darling girl,” Rebecca said, leaning her cheek against my arm.

  I saw her eye the bag of cookies on the table. I reached over and pushed the plate of fruit closer. “It would probably be better if someone else finished those cookies.”

  Right on cue, Hercules meowed loudly. Rebecca laughed as I looked down at the cat and said, “Not you.”

  After Rebecca left, I changed for work, packed the last of the chicken and dumplings for lunch—along with Rebecca’s cookies—and headed over to Riverarts to tell Maggie what I’d concluded about Rebecca’s furtive behavior in the shop.

  “I’m sorry,” Maggie said. I’d found her in front of her easel, working on the sketch she’d shown me the day before.

  I looked at her, confused. “For what?”

  “For getting you mixed up in this. For thinking, even for a moment, Rebecca would have taken anything. Or Susan for that matter.” There was paint on the tip of her index finger and she scraped at it with her thumbnail. “I’m not so sure that Nic could be the thief, either.”

  “Maybe there’s another explanation.”

  Maggie nodded. “I like Nic. Maybe it was just a tourist.” She picked at the paint on her finger again. “I don’t like this, thinking the worst of people.”

  I tucked a stray strand of hair behind one ear. “I think I’ve told you before that my mother has an expression that involves”—I made a hurry-up gesture with one hand—“getting on with things or getting off the pot.” My mother, Thea Paulson, was an actress and director, with a group of intensely devoted fans thanks to her appearances on the soap The Wild and Wonderful. She could be a little dramatic at times, but she was usually right.

  Maggie laughed. “You have told me that before and I get it.”

  “So why don’t we get off the pot and go see if Nic is in his studio so we can put an end to this?”

  “Good idea,” she said.

  The door to Nic’s art studio was open and he was working by the window, cutting some kind of street map out of heavy paper with an X-ACTO knife. He turned and smiled at us when Maggie knocked. “Hi, what’s up?” he asked.

  “Did you steal from the store?” Maggie asked before I had time to even move beyond the threshold of the door.

  Nic’s eyes widened and his mouth came open a little. He swallowed and set his knife down with a tight, precise motion. “What did I do that makes you have to ask that question, and for the record, the answer is no,” he said.

  “You were working at the store a couple of days ago,” I said, “and you were acting a little . . . odd.”

  His expression changed then. “Yeah, I was.” He looked at Maggie. “I didn’t want you to know. Until I was sure.”

  “Know what?” she said.

  Nic smoothed a hand over his closely shaven head. “I’m still not positive, but I think there might be mice in the store.”

  Maggie took a step backward and folded her arms over her midsection like she was wrapping herself in a hug. She was afraid of small, furry creatures—mice, rats, moles, voles, even gerbils and hamsters.

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “What makes you think so?” I said.

  “You know the display shelves where we have the scarves and the placemats?”

  I nodded.

  “I was straightening things up and I noticed the end of one of the scarves looked a little bit chewed. And I saw some bits of dried leaves on the same shelf with the placemats.” He cleared his throat. “My dad had a problem with mice in his pawn shop and we saw the same thing. I wanted to be sure, though, before I said anything. If word got around that we had mice in the store . . .” He held up both hands. “I didn’t want to say something that would cause the tourists to stop coming, especially if it turned out I was wrong.”

  “But you don’t think
you’re wrong,” I said.

  Nic shook his head. “Probably not. Sorry.”

  Maggie was holding on so tightly to the sleeve of her T-shirt with one hand, I was surprised she hadn’t actually ripped a hole in it. “I’m the one who should be sorry,” she began. “I’m sorry for thinking you had . . . I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.”

  Nic held up a hand. “No. I should have told Ruby what I suspected right away.”

  I gave Maggie’s shoulder a squeeze. “This is fixable,” I said. “I have to go to work in a few minutes, but I’ll go home at the end of the day and get a certain furball who will take care of any mice foolish enough to venture into the shop.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “Unless you wanted to just get a shovel.” She pressed her lips together but it didn’t stop a grin from spreading across her face.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “So not funny,” I said.

  Nic’s eyes darted between us. “Am I missing something?” he asked.

  Maggie’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

  “A couple of springs ago there was some major flooding in the downtown,” I said stiffly. “There was a rat in the basement of the store.”

  Nic made a face. “What happened?”

  Maggie looked at me. “Oh, let me tell him. Please.” Her green eyes were sparkling with mirth.

  I wrinkled my nose at her. “Go ahead,” I said, “but the next time you find a rodent using your basement as a swimming pool, you’re on your own.”

  She grinned at me. “No, I’m not.”

  “Somebody tell me,” Nic urged.

  Maggie turned sideways so she could see both me and Nic. “Like Kathleen said, there was a lot of flooding in the downtown two springs ago, and there was about four feet of water in the basement at the shop—it was before we got the pump. Kathleen was with me when I went to check things out.”

  “And you found a rat?”

  Mags nodded. “Floating in the water.” She shuddered.

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Maggie said. “Kathleen scooped the rat out of the water with a snow shovel.”