by Sofie Ryan
“She’s special,” I said.
“Yes, she is,” he agreed. “And stubborn. She didn’t want any of you to know she couldn’t find a place to live.” He reached down and stroked Elvis’s fur. “I’m very grateful for what you and Mac are doing—fixing the apartment and letting her live here.” He indicated his thank-you gift in the middle of the room. “Please, accept this as my way of saying thank you.”
I wasn’t quite sure what to do. “What is it?” I asked.
“Merow,” Elvis said.
“Elvis thinks you should see for yourself,” Mr. P. said. “I agree.”
“All right,” I said. I got to my feet, brushed off my hands and started removing the elastic bungee cords that were holding the two wool blankets in place. They fell to the floor, and for a moment I just stood there, speechless.
It was a cat tower. And not just any cat tower. It stood about five feet high with a sleek, curved S shape. At the top was a smooth, curved platform topped with a Berber carpet square. About a foot below that was another level, and there was a third underneath that, maybe three feet off the ground. On the bottom, on one side was a hidey-hole, about two feet square with a circular opening. It too was topped with a square of carpet. On the opposite side of the S curve, a rectangle of sisal had been attached, perfect for sharpening claws. All I could think was that it looked so elegant, not a word I would have used to describe a cat tower before this.
“Oh my word,” I whispered. I was speechless, something that rarely happened. I looked at Mr. P., my mouth hanging open.
“Mrrr,” Elvis said. He made his way across the floor and poked his head in the hidey-hole entrance.
“No, you can’t go in there,” I said.
Being a cat, he immediately decided that was exactly what he wanted to do and did.
“It’s okay, Sarah,” Mr. P. said. “It’s for Elvis.”
I shook my head. “It’s beautiful. It really is. But I can’t keep it. It’s way too expensive.”
He looked genuinely puzzled. “No, it isn’t. It’s just a little wood and some carpet samples. I already had all the lumber, and Vince got me the carpet.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You made this?”
Mr. P. nodded.
I looked at the cat tower again. “But it’s all . . . curvy.” I gestured with both hands.
“Oh, my dear, that part was easy,” he said. “All I had to do was put the wood in the steam box. We have one at the seniors’ workshop.” He gestured at the tower. “The finish is water-based and nontoxic, by the way.”
Elvis climbed out of his new little house and jumped up on top of it. Another leap and he was on the first level above the floor. He lay down and looked around. “Mrrr,” he said approvingly.
“This is beautiful,” I said, still feeling a little at a loss for words. “This is art. I had no idea you could do this.”
“So you like it?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
I nodded. “Yes, I do. And so does Elvis.”
“You’ll keep it, then?”
“I’d be honored,” I said. “Thank you for the thank-you.”
“You’re very welcome,” he said. He was already putting on his coat.
“Could I drop you at your poker game?” I asked.
He waved me away. “Thank you, but the game is at Harry’s and he lives just around the corner.” He pulled on his hat and wound the long scarf around his neck again.
Elvis jumped up another level and looked around rather like a monarch surveying his kingdom. “Mrrr,” he said again, clearly pleased.
“You’re welcome, Elvis,” Mr. P. said. He patted my arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I showed him to the door and after he left turned back around to find Elvis at the top of the tower. “You’re so spoiled,” I said.
He gave me an unblinking green-eyed stare that told me he wasn’t going to dignify my remark with a comment.
I reached up and lifted him down, which got me a lot of cat grumbling. “I’m just going to move it over by the window.” The tower was heavy, but I managed to get it across the floor so it was just to the right of the window. I held out a hand. “Go ahead,” I said to Elvis once it was in place.
He made his way up two levels and settled himself with an exhalation that sounded a lot like a sigh of contentment. I folded the two blankets, which I recognized as belonging to Sam, and put them and the bungee cords in an empty grocery bag. I hung it on the front doorknob so I wouldn’t forget to return everything to him.
I remembered then that I hadn’t put any towels in the bathroom. I went to the storage closet to grab some clean ones. The back wall of the closet was the only wall I’d be sharing with Rose when she moved in, and I knew that Liam and Dad had used sound-muffling drywall and insulation when it had been built, so I felt confident Rose wouldn’t be able to hear me and I wouldn’t be able to hear her, either.
Elvis had jumped down from his perch and followed me because he was nosy that way. He poked his head into the closet the way he usually did, so we both heard the noise at the same time. It was a scratching, scrabbling sound.
I scowled and swiveled my head to look at the cat. He eyed the wall and then looked at me.
“If that damn squirrel got back in, we will be having squirrel stew for supper tomorrow night,” I said forcefully. I swear the cat made a face.
“Okay, so I don’t actually know how to make squirrel stew,” I hissed. “I’m trying to make a point.”
The sound stopped. We waited, both of us warily watching the closet wall. Less than a minute later it started again.
Late in the fall my dad had replaced the bedroom window in the back apartment. A squirrel had jumped in through the opening. Dad had chased it all around the small bedroom, but it was Mom who had saved the day by putting a piece of bread spread with peanut butter on a chair outside the window. Once the squirrel had taken off with its treat, she’d stood guard with a leaf rake until the new window was in place.
Elvis was sniffing the closet wall. He pawed at it and looked at me. “I don’t know how it got in,” I said in answer to what I imagined was his unspoken question. “Maybe while Mac and I were carrying in the ladder yesterday.” I turned and headed for the kitchen and my shoes, the cat on my heels. He followed me out into the entryway. There was a small pile of long boards, trim pieces we hadn’t needed for the cupboards stacked in the hallway. I took a section about three feet long from the top of the stack. I didn’t really want to hurt the squirrel, but when I saw it, I was going to swing that plank like I was Big Papi swinging for the Green Monster in Fenway. Elvis looked at me and licked his lips. He was in.
I unlocked the apartment door and eased it open, trying to be as quiet as I could. The sound was even louder in the apartment. It sounded like the squirrel—or whatever it was—was trying to dig its way out of the closet. I motioned to Elvis to go ahead of me, which he did, creeping across the kitchen like a furry black ninja. My plan was for Elvis to spook the squirrel into running and then I would chase it down the hall and out the front door, which I’d already opened.
The scratching sound seemed to be getting louder. It occurred to me that maybe it wasn’t a squirrel back there. But as long as it wasn’t a black bear, my money was still on Elvis. I eased my way over to the living room doorway and nodded at the cat. He darted around the corner to the bedroom doorway. I waited. No squirrel shot out of the bedroom with a cat in hot pursuit. The scratching sound began again. I crossed my fingers—figuratively since I was holding the length of wood with both hands—that Elvis didn’t have a skunk cornered in there, and I launched myself into the bedroom swinging the board in front of me—narrowly avoiding taking off the top of Rose’s head.
She turned and smiled at me. “Oh, hello dear,” she said.
Chapter 10
My heart was pounding so hard it took a
few seconds for me to get my breath. I’d come way too close to actually walloping Rose with my makeshift squirrel eliminator. “Rose!” I exclaimed. “You almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing in here?”
“I’m trying to get this dang-blasted curtain rod out of the closet,” she said. The rod was the long wrought-iron one that belonged over the living room window.
“Merow!” Elvis said sharply.
“I’m sorry, Elvis,” Rose said, inclining her head toward him. “Excuse my language.”
“Let me see,” I said. I poked my head around the closet door for a closer look. Each end of the rod had a pointed finial, and one of the points was wedged in the back corner of the space.
I twisted and maneuvered and in a couple of minutes I had the curtain rod free.
“You are a darling girl and very, very smart,” Rose exclaimed, clapping her hands together.
I blew my hair back off my face. “How did you get in here?” I asked. Elvis had gone into the closet, maybe to make sure for himself that there weren’t any squirrels in there.
“I borrowed the extra set of keys that Isabel keeps at Charlotte’s,” she said.
“And does my grandmother know you borrowed the keys?”
“Well, of course not,” Rose said, giving me a slightly condescending look. “She isn’t even in town.” She started patting her coat pockets.
“What did you lose?” I asked, brushing a dust bunny off the knee of my leggings.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just looking for—” She found something in her left pocket. “Never mind, dear. Here it is.” She pulled out a tape measure. “Hold this end for me, please.”
I took the end of the metal tape, and Rose went to the other end of the curtain rod. She peered at the numbers and her lips moved, although no sound came out. Then she smiled. “That’s going to work just fine,” she said.
I looked blankly at her.
“I have some panels that I was hoping would work in the living room window. And they will.” For the first time she noticed the board I’d been carrying. “Oh my goodness,” she said, her eyes widening. “Did you think I was someone breaking in?”
I bent down to pick up the plank. “I thought you were a squirrel.”
Her eyes darted around the room. “A squirrel?”
“One got in this room last fall when Dad put in the new window. I thought maybe it had gotten in again on the weekend when Mac and I were bringing in the paint and the ladder.”
Rose looked at the piece of cupboard trim in my hand.
“You weren’t going to hurt a little squirrel—were you, Sarah?”
The length of wood—which had seemed so small in the hallway when I was headed to confront a vicious rodent—suddenly felt like an oversized club now that I was standing here with Rose.
“I . . . I wasn’t going to hurt it,” I stammered. “I was only going to herd it outside again.” I made the motion with the piece of wood and noticed that Elvis had already slipped out of the room.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” she said, putting the tape measure back in her pocket. “Squirrels are environmentalists, you know.”
She leaned over to pick up one end of the curtain rod.
“I, uh, didn’t know that,” I said, taking it from her and following her out to the living room, where Elvis was sitting under the window, not looking at all like a cat who a few minutes ago was licking his whiskers at the thought of squirrel kebobs for a little evening snack.
“Oh yes,” Rose said. “Squirrels are the animal kingdom’s equivalent of Johnny Appleseed.” She tipped her head to one side and smiled at me, making a wide circle with one hand. “They spread seeds far and wide and help maintain genetic diversity in a lot of plant species.”
I nodded silently. I had the niggling feeling that Rose was screwing with me, but nothing showed in her face.
I set the curtain rod down on the floor under the window. “Is there anything else you need to do while you’re here?” I asked.
She shook her head and began to button her coat. “That’s all.”
I smiled. “I’ll get my coat then and I’ll drive you home.”
She waved away the suggestion with one hand. “I walked over here. There’s no reason I can’t walk home.”
“It’s cold,” I said.
“It was cold when I walked over,” she replied, squaring her shoulders under her blue coat.
“Rose, am I going to have to pin you down and tie you up with that cord”—I pointed to a window blind lying on one of the folding chairs, its cord spilling onto the floor—“and wrestle you into the car? Because I could do it.”
Rose reached over and patted my cheek with a gloved hand. “Fine. I’m going to let you drive me home because I don’t want you to be embarrassed when a little old lady takes you down.”
We started for the door. “You think you could take me down?” I said.
“Well, of course I could.” She gave me a look that, had it come from Avery, would have also come with the comment, “Well, duh.”
We stepped out into the small hallway, and I locked the door.
“When you have gray hair and wrinkles people tend to underestimate you. It’s one of the pluses of being old,” she said, “which is good, because some of the minuses are a pain in the hind end.”
“I don’t underestimate you,” I said, waggling my eyebrows at her. “But you may be underestimating me. I’ve spent most of my life around you and Gram and Charlotte and Liz.” I gave her a sly smile. “I’ve learned a few things from all of you.” I winked at her and went in to get my coat. I caught sight of the cat tower by the window. I poked my head back out in the hallway and beckoned at Rose. “I want to show you something.”
“Oh, my dear, that’s a lovely cat climber,” she said. She looked down at Elvis. “You’re a very lucky cat.”
He murped agreement.
“Sarah, where did you get this?” Rose asked.
“Alfred made it for me,” I said. “As a thank-you for me letting you have the apartment. You just missed him.”
Her face turned an adorable shade of pink. “Oh my goodness,” she said, putting a hand to her cheek.
“He’s crazy about you, Rose,” I said.
She smiled. “I know.”
“Rose Peterson has a very nice ring to it,” I teased as I got my jacket from the closet.
“Never you mind about my love life, missy,” she said tartly.
I looked at her over my shoulder. “Oh, so your love life is off-limits, but it’s okay for you and Liz and Charlotte to meddle in mine.”
She pulled herself up to her full height of almost five feet. “Yes, it is. We’re not meddling. We’re just sharing the benefit of our experience with you.”
I laughed and pulled on my hat. “Why do you always get the last word?” I asked.
Rose smiled. “Because I’m old and very cute.” She winked at me.
I kissed the top of her head much the way Sam had done with me. “That you are,” I said, grabbing my purse.
“Before I forget, I have some good news,” I said as I pulled out of the driveway. “Liz isn’t a suspect in Lily’s death anymore.”
“That’s wonderful,” Rose exclaimed. “How do you know?”
I told her about meeting Michelle.
“This doesn’t mean we’re stopping the investigation.”
I was at a stop sign and there was no one behind me, so I turned to look at her. “Why is this so important to you?” I asked. “You barely knew Lily. And Liz is in the clear now.”
“We can make a difference,” she said. “And when you get old, you get invisible.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand. You’re not invisible, Rose. Not to me.”
She nodded. “But you’re the exception, dear. Old people make
younger people nervous. They see that we’re slower and more forgetful. And nothing is where it’s supposed to be anymore without surgery or spandex.”
She put her hands on the front of her coat and made an upward motion like she was hiking up her chest, and I had to bite my tongue so I didn’t burst out laughing.
“Sarah, I know that you’re the one who figured out who killed Arthur Fenety, but we all helped,” she said.
She was right. They had. They’d driven me crazy in the process, but they had.
“We made a difference in the world beyond making baby quilts and selling cookies to get new playground equipment. I liked the feeling.”
“Those other things matter, Rose,” I said. I looked both ways and crossed the street.
“And so does this,” she said.
I sighed softly. “So what’s next?”
“You’re really not going to try to shut us down?”
I shot her a quick glance. I could tell from the brief glimpse of her body language that I’d be wasting my time. I’d always been wasting my time trying to stop them. So was Nick.
I didn’t even try to stifle a smile. “I told you I’ve learned a few things from all of you, and one of them is to know when I’ve been beaten. So no, I won’t. What will you do now?”
Rose sighed softly. “It’s looking more and more like Lily’s death has something to do with the harbor-front development,” she said. “It certainly has brought out the worst in some people.”
“Money usually does,” I said. I glanced over at her again.
She nodded. “That and sex,” she said.
“Right,” I agreed, keeping my eyes fixed on the road through the windshield. I was not going to get into a discussion involving sex with Rose.
“I know this is a good thing for Liz and for Eamon Kennedy and for a lot of the businesses along the harbor front, but I wonder sometimes if this proposal is good for the town.”
I did glance over quickly at her then. “It could be good for bringing in more tourists.”
