Copycat Killing: A Magical Cats Mystery

by Sofie Kelly

  I reached down and scratched behind the little gray cat’s ears. He closed his eyes and started to purr.

  “Kath, I’ve been thinking,” Maggie said. “Do you think someone from Jaeger’s past could have tracked him down, and convinced him to go back to his old life?”

  “It wouldn’t have been that hard,” I said. “I know he changed his name, but he wasn’t exactly keeping a low profile around town—at least not lately. And look where he ended up, in the same small town his lawyer came from.”

  Maggie grunted her agreement and I pictured her stretching one arm behind her head, or hanging from the waist with her hands flat on the floor. “His old life was very different from waiting tables at Eric’s and working a few shifts in the co-op store, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I e-mailed one of my old profs,” she said. “Before he got caught—before he went to jail—Jaeger, Christian, was living quite the ritzy life: fancy apartment, gallery openings, the best tables at restaurants—all the clichés.”

  “Wait a minute. That doesn’t fit with what Peter told us,” I said. “Remember? He said that Jaeger needed the money to take care of his sick mother.”

  Owen jumped onto my lap. I pointed at a tuft of cat hair stuck to the edge of the stool. He looked blankly at me.

  “I’m not so sure Jaeger was the person that Peter seems to think he was,” Maggie said.

  “Were Jaeger and Ray Nightingale friends?” I asked. Owen kept putting his paw out to the telephone receiver as though he wanted to take it away from me.

  “Not as far as I know. Why?”

  I shifted sideways a little so I wasn’t sitting directly on one of my many bruises. “Remember when Abigail and I went to that estate sale in Summerhill a couple of weeks ago?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Jaeger was out there. Abigail saw him and she says Ray was with him.”

  “So what did Ray say? Did you ask him about it?”

  “He said he bumped into Jaeger at the sale, that’s all.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment. Then Maggie said, “You don’t believe him.”

  I sighed. “No, I don’t.”

  “Ray’s not the kind of guy to get mixed up in some kind of scam, Kath. He just isn’t. I’ve known him for years. He was one of the first artists to get behind the idea of the co-op.”

  “I didn’t say he was involved in some kind of scam. It’s just…” I hesitated. “When I asked him about Jaeger he didn’t tell me the truth. I know a lie when I hear one, Maggie, and Ray was lying, about something.”

  She made a small sound on the other end of the phone. “Do you think I should talk to him?”

  “No,” I said. “Not yet at least. Maybe, maybe I’m wrong.” Owen bumped my hand because I’d stopped scratching the side of his head. “Would you like a date square?” I asked.

  “What?” she said, clearly confused by the abrupt turn the conversation had taken. It occurred to me I was sounding like Marcus.

  “Would you like a date square?” I repeated.

  “Umm, okay.”

  “Would you like some company with your date square?”

  She laughed. “I would. I’m at the studio.”

  “I’ll be there in ten,” I said.

  Owen jumped off my lap and headed purposefully for the kitchen. “No,” I called after him.

  He didn’t alter his path. He didn’t even glance back at me. I got to my feet and followed him. I knew what was in his furry little mind.

  He went directly to where the cat carrier bag was hanging next to my jacket and sat underneath it. I stood, arms folded, by the kitchen table. “I know you understand the word no,” I said.

  He continued to ignore me and instead tried to swat the bag with one paw. He didn’t even come close.

  “You’re not coming with me,” I said.

  Nothing. Clearly I was on permanent ignore. I went upstairs and brushed my teeth and my hair, and then I came back down and put half a dozen date squares in a container to take to Maggie’s. Owen was still sitting underneath the bag.

  I bent down closer to his level. “Owen, I’m sorry but you can’t come.” He glared at me for a moment then turned his back on me, flipping his tail straight up in the air so I suddenly had a face full of furry kitty backside.

  Had I just been mooned by a cat?

  I straightened up. “I’m leaving,” I told him. “I won’t be long.”

  His response was a slitted-eye glare. Then he headed for the living room and disappeared.

  Literally.

  I knew he’d sulk for a while and when I came home I’d find bits from one of his catnip chickens all over the kitchen floor.

  I was almost at the stop sign at the bottom of the hill when a flash of movement caught my eye, just at the edge of my field of vision. A small white dog darted into the street. I jammed on the brakes and turned the wheel toward the sidewalk as the back end of the truck fishtailed, waiting for a thump and hoping it wouldn’t come.

  It didn’t, although there was a noise from the passenger side of the truck and the right front tire bounced off the edge of the curb.

  The dog bolted across the empty left lane and disappeared up someone’s driveway.

  I put the car in park and leaned my head back against the seat, eyes closed. My heart was pounding a cha-cha rhythm in my chest.

  After a moment I opened my eyes again and looked over at the passenger seat. “I know you’re here, Owen,” I said. I waited for him to pop into view, so to speak.

  He didn’t.

  “I’m not moving this truck until I can see you.”

  Nothing.

  Okay, so he wanted to play hardball.

  “When we get home I’m going to gather up all the cheese and sardine kitty crackers and give them to Harry to take out to Boris.”

  Boris was a big and intimidating German shepherd that looked like he ate small cats for lunch. In reality he was, well, a pussycat. However, he’d once woofed in Owen’s face, which made him dog non grata in the cat’s eyes.

  I waited, and in a moment Owen winked into view on the seat beside me.

  23

  He didn’t exactly look innocent—that’s hard to do when your fur is all messed up, you have dirt on your nose, and one ear is turned inside out—but he tried.

  I glared at him. “You are a very bad cat,” I said in my sternest voice, although it was a struggle not to laugh with his ear like that. “I’m taking you home and shutting you in the bedroom.”

  The moment the words were out of my mouth I knew they were a mistake. He just vanished again.

  If I couldn’t see him I couldn’t grab him. I knew from experience that even if I lunged over to the passenger side, Owen would just jump out of the way. He wasn’t above meowing and then moving just to throw me off. Not only had I apparently been mooned by a cat; it also looked like I’d been bested by one in a game of wits.

  “Fine, you win,” I said, “but if you’re coming with me the least you can do is nose around and see if you can find some kind of clue about what Jaeger Merrill was up to.”

  The cat appeared beside me on the seat again. His ear was still turned inside out but his demeanor had changed from faux-contrite to cocky.

  “Ear,” I said, pointing.

  He swiped at it with one paw, turning it right side round again.

  I tightened my seat belt, backed up and then pulled out onto the road again. “And you can’t let Maggie see you.” I turned right, watching the road carefully because there were still patches of standing water. “You’ll have to do your look of adoration from afar.”

  I heard muttering noises from beside me but at least he didn’t go invisible again. “You know one of these days someone is going to catch us having one of these conversations and that’s going to be very hard to explain,” I said. Then I laughed because here I was having a conversation with a cat about having a conversation with a cat.

&
nbsp; I pulled into the tiny parking lot behind the River Arts building and Maggie waved from the back door. I grabbed one of the canvas bags I kept in the truck for grocery shopping and scooped Owen into it before he could pull yet another disappearing act. I put my purse in next to him, grabbed the date squares and got out of the truck.

  “Peter called,” she said, holding the door open for me. “He’ll be here in a minute. Do you mind if we wait for him?”

  “I don’t mind,” I said, handing her the date squares. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “No.” Maggie slid a hand over her hair. “Just that it had something to do with Jaeger—well, Peter calls him Christian.”

  “Maybe Peter found some family.” Owen was moving restlessly in the bag and I set it on the floor between my feet before Maggie noticed and asked me why the tote bag was squirming.

  Peter’s four-wheel drive SUV pulled into the lot then and he got out and walked across the pavement. He was wearing jeans and a denim shirt, his hair back in its usual ponytail.

  “Hi Kathleen,” he said when he saw me. “How’s your head?”

  “All right,” I said. “Not nearly as bad as it looks.” I gestured to his hand, which was still bandaged. “How’s your hand?”

  He smiled. “Not nearly as bad as it looks.” He turned to Maggie. “Maggie, it looks as though I’m definitely going to be taking care of Christian’s estate. Could we set up a time so I can see what’s in his studio?”

  “What’s tomorrow morning like for you?” she asked.

  “Is eight too early?”

  She shook her head. “No. That works for me.”

  His face grew serious. His mouth worked and then he said, “Maggie, do you have a lawyer?”

  “Why? Do I need a lawyer?” Maggie said, frowning.

  He brushed a hand over his neck. “The police did a routine check of Jaeger’s car—it had been towed because it was left parked on the street. There were a couple of masks, packed to be mailed in the car.”

  Maggie looked at Peter. She was clearly puzzled. “I know,” she said. “Some of the artists like to wrap their own artwork when it’s going to be sent somewhere. Ruby does. Jaeger did.”

  “Do some of the artists use twenty-dollar bills instead of Styrofoam peanuts for padding?” he asked, dryly.

  Maggie went completely still. I couldn’t even see her breathing. “What?” she finally said.

  “There was ten thousand dollars stuffed in the back of the two masks. The address they were being sent to is a mail drop in Chicago.” He studied her face. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking from his expression. “You’re sure that Jaeger did all the packing?” he asked. “Not you?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Maggie said slowly.

  “Peter, what’s this about?” I asked.

  He held up a hand, but his eyes never left Maggie’s face. “Give me a minute, Kathleen,” he said. “What about the packing supplies?”

  “Other than the money?” she said, anger adding an edge of sarcasm to her voice. “Those all came from the co-op. And there would have been an invoice and a mailing label.”

  “Did you print those?”

  “Yes, on the store’s computer.”

  “Okay,” Peter said thoughtfully and I got the impression he was cataloging everything Maggie said in some mental filing system.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “The police don’t think I had anything to do with that money being hidden in Jaeger’s masks, do they?” Her shoulders were rigid.

  He shrugged. “That I don’t know. But before you talk to them again—because they are going to want to talk to you—I think you should get yourself a lawyer.”

  “Peter, no one’s going to seriously believe Maggie was involved in some sort of scam with Jaeger are they?” I asked.

  “I can’t say for certain,” he said. “I wouldn’t have believed he was forging artwork again, but I can’t come up with any other explanation for that much money stuffed in a couple of masks.”

  “Okay, let’s start from the premise that Jaeger was doing something illegal again.” I looked directly at Maggie for a moment before turning my attention back to Peter. “That doesn’t mean Maggie was his partner in crime. Ask anyone. They weren’t exactly getting along. If”—I held up a hand—“if he was working with someone, it’s more likely someone from his past. That’s where the police should be looking, at the people Jaeger—Christian—knew back then.” I didn’t see the point in saying anything about Ray Nightingale to Peter.

  “Good to know I have your trust,” Peter said dryly.

  “I’m sorry, Peter,” I said. “I didn’t mean you.”

  “I know what you meant,” he said. He focused on Maggie again. “I’ve heard there are some…inconsistencies in Christian’s finances. Are they going to find anything off in his sales through the store?”

  “No,” Maggie said.

  He studied her face and seemed satisfied with whatever he saw there. “All right,” he said. “If the police want to talk to you again, I’d be happy to represent you. You have my card.”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, then,” he said. He nodded at me and left.

  “That little…” Maggie shook her head and pressed a fist against her mouth. She didn’t swear and she was struggling to find words to describe Jaeger.

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “Mags, Peter is a lawyer. I’m not saying he’s overreacting, but keep in mind it’s his job to take everything, every small detail, very seriously. Just because that money was hidden in the masks doesn’t mean the co-op is involved in any other way. And no one, no one—not even Marcus—is seriously going to buy you as Jaeger’s cohort.”

  “I have to talk to Ray, Kath,” she said. “If there’s any chance he knows anything…”

  “Okay,” I said. “Tomorrow. I’ll come with you.”

  She nodded and pushed the sleeves of her T-shirt up to her elbows. “So do you really think Jaeger’s past caught up with him somehow?”

  “I think it is possible. Like I said to Peter, he wouldn’t have been hard to find. That auction that Abigail and I went to had some nice artwork, as well as old photographs and rare books. I’m pretty sure there were people from out of state there, as well as from out of town. Jaeger could have easily met someone who knew him as Christian, maybe just by chance.”

  There was a loud crash from upstairs, just as I realized the bag between my feet, where Owen was supposed to be waiting, had gone limp.

  24

  Maggie looked up over her head and then she looked at me. “If there’s another…furry trespasser up there I’m going to scream.”

  I was pretty sure the noise had been caused by a furry trespasser, just not the kind she meant.

  “I’ll go look,” I said, reaching for the bag by my feet and slinging it over my shoulder. If I saw—and I did mean saw—the fur ball I was certain had caused the noise, he was going back in the bag and back in the truck.

  Maggie took a deep breath and swallowed. “Okay, I’m coming too.”

  That would make it hard to grab Owen, assuming he was visible. I thought about coming clean, but Maggie was already resolutely climbing the steps. I started up after her.

  There was no sign of the cat in the empty hallway, but a large cardboard box was lying on its side, the contents half spilled on the floor. It had clearly fallen off the stack of boxes pushed against the wall next to the door of Maggie’s studio. I was happy to see there was no squashed cat underneath it.

  Maggie made a face. “I think I stacked those too high,” she said.

  “Probably,” I agreed, thinking Owen jumping on the pile and rummaging around inside the top box hadn’t helped.

  She was already crouched down, gathering papers.

  “What are all these boxes doing out here?” I asked, bending down to help.

  “Another leak; in the storage space this time. We had to move everything out. And I just brought these things over from th
e co-op a couple of days ago.”

  There were boxes stacked by Ruby’s door and Jaeger’s former studio as well.

  “Oren is supposed to come in the morning to see if he can fix it,” she said. She picked up a dark brown leather portfolio that had been partly covered by a couple of her sketches and turned it over, clearly puzzled. “This isn’t mine.”

  She reached for the cardboard carton, still lying on its side. Inside among the papers and photographs was a wooden box, with an inlaid geometric design on its lid. Maggie sat pack on her heels with the box resting on her lap. “This isn’t mine, either.” She tipped the box sideways. “I don’t even see how to open it.”

  I took it from her. The box was about the size of a small jewelry box, low and flat, made of smooth honey-colored wood. The intricate design set into the cover had been made from several different kinds of wood. There were no hinges and no catch. “It’s a puzzle box,” I told Maggie. I swallowed a couple of times and studied the small box. It was well made.

  She reached over and ran her fingers over the top, feeling the design. “It’s very nice work. I thought puzzle boxes were a lot smaller than this.”

  “Not always,” I said. I gestured at the leather portfolio on the floor by Maggie’s knee. “Look inside and see if you can figure out who it belongs to. Maybe the same person owns this box too, and just put their stuff with yours by mistake.”

  Maggie undid the snap closure and opened the folder flat on the floor. The top piece of paper inside was a sketch for a mask. The page was covered with notes written in a tight, cramped handwriting.

  She blew out a breath. “This is Jaeger’s,” she said slowly. She flipped through the papers underneath the top one, nodding her head. “Yeah, this is definitely his.” She looked over at the puzzle box. “Do you think that belongs to Jaeger as well?”

  “What are the chances two different people would accidently put something in one of your boxes?” What was the chance even one person would?

  “When did you put these boxes in the storage room?” I asked.