The Cats Came Back

by Sofie Kelly

  Hercules kept moving until he reached the edge of the green space where the bank dipped down to the water’s edge. A chill fingered its way up the back of my neck. I remembered having to jump down over a similar embankment, across from the hotel, trying to escape a killer. I put my free hand on my stomach and took a slow deep breath and then another.

  Owen made a soft murp and nudged my hand.

  “I’m okay,” I said. I leaned sideways, just the way the cat had, to see where Ruby and Hercules were. Hercules had stopped walking. He was next to a small scrub of waist-high bushes at the edge of the embankment. Ruby took a step forward, leaning down to look at something. Her body went rigid.

  My chest tightened; the feeling was like being laced into an old-fashioned corset. For a moment I couldn’t get my breath. Whatever Ruby was looking at, it wasn’t good. I picked up Owen and got to my feet, grabbed the carrier with my other hand and headed across the grass.

  Ruby was pale, one hand clenching the strap of her camera so tightly her knuckles were white against her skin. She pointed at a cluster of wild black currant bushes. “I think . . . there’s a body, right there,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. I wasn’t doubting her. I just really wanted her to be wrong.

  She exhaled softly. “Yes . . . I think.”

  “I’ll look,” I said. I’d seen dead bodies before. I put Owen down next to his brother. “Stay with Ruby, please,” I whispered to both of them.

  I made my way closer to the bushes, watching carefully where I stepped. I could see what easily could have been mistaken for a pile of discarded clothing—the sleeve of a white sweater, a striped skirt or dress and rope-heeled shoes, but experience told me I was looking at a body. I moved closer, part of me hoping against hope that it was just someone who’d had too much to drink and passed out, even as some other part of me was aware of the way the body was crumpled in on itself and that there was no indication the person was breathing. I tasted something sour and bitter at the back of my throat.

  I tugged a branch out of the way so I could get a better look at what was in front of me. For a moment the image blurred out of focus as though I’d suddenly stuck my head underwater. I forced myself to take a second look.

  It was Emme Finley. She’d worn that candy-striped sundress with its bright yellow, blue, red, green and white stripes at the noon-hour concert I’d taken in on Tuesday—with that same white sweater.

  It looked like there was some blood in her hair. I reached down and touched two fingers to the side of her neck. The skin was cool and mottled under my touch. It confirmed what I already knew: She was dead.

  chapter 3

  I closed my eyes for a moment and mentally wished Emme’s spirit a safe journey. Then I picked my way out of the bushes, trying to step where I’d put my feet when I’d made my way over to the body in the first place.

  Ruby’s eyes were locked on my face. “Kathleen, please tell me that’s not . . .” She swallowed hard. “. . . Emme.”

  I shook my head. It was difficult to hold back the tears, but it wouldn’t do me or Ruby or even Emme any good to just sit on the grass and cry—even though that’s what I wanted to do.

  Ruby held up her phone. “I called nine-one-one,” she said. Her voice was raspy with emotion.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m . . . uh . . . going to put Owen and Hercules in the truck. I’ll be right back.”

  The cats had stationed themselves on either side of Ruby while I’d checked on the body. Neither one objected when I picked them up and headed across the grass. I unlocked the driver’s door and set them both on the front seat. “Please just stay here,” I said.

  Hercules meowed and Owen nudged my hand with his head. It almost seemed like they understood.

  I walked back to Ruby. She was standing in the same spot, looking out across the water, arms folded over her chest, shoulders hunched a little. “She bought that sweater at the co-op store,” she said. She didn’t look at me. “I was with her. It was one of Ella’s.”

  Ella King was a talented knitter. Everything she created was one of a kind.

  “I thought it was her but I wanted to be wrong.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  We stood there in silence until a police car came down the street and turned into the marina driveway, lights flashing, siren silent. It cut across the parking lot and pulled in next to my truck. Officer Stephen Keller got out of the driver’s side. He was a big man, ex-military, as his square-shouldered stance suggested. He gave me a nod of recognition.

  “She’s over . . . there,” I said, gesturing in the direction of the clump of black currant bushes.

  “Wait here, please,” he said. He moved past me to go check the body.

  I looked back toward the street and felt a rush of relief to see Marcus’s SUV waiting to turn into the marina. He parked on the other side of my truck. As he got out from behind the wheel, he gave me just the barest hint of a smile.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said to Ruby.

  She glanced back and caught sight of Marcus. “I’m okay,” she said.

  I met Marcus at the edge of the grass. He was wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt and he needed a shave.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, concern pulling lines tight around his mouth and blue eyes. “And what about Ruby? When I heard there was a nine-one-one call out here . . .” He swiped a hand across his mouth.

  “We’re fine,” I said.

  He gave my arm a quick squeeze. “I’m glad. Tell me what happened.”

  I explained how distracted the cats had been and how Ruby had finally followed Hercules over to the embankment. “I checked to make sure it was a body and not someone just passed out or asleep.”

  “Owen and Hercules probably caught the scent of—”

  “I know,” I interrupted. I didn’t want him to finish the sentence. “Her name is Emme Finley,” I continued. “She’s here for the festival. Ruby and I know her.”

  He glanced in the direction of Officer Keller. “You know how this works, Kathleen,” he said.

  I nodded. “I do.”

  He walked over to join the other police officer. I rejoined Ruby. The two men spoke for a moment, then Keller led the way to the body.

  Marcus took a quick look, then pulled a pair of blue latex gloves from his pocket and bent down for a closer view of the body. I tried not to think of it as Emme Finley lying there.

  “What could have happened to her?” Ruby said. Her arms were still folded over her midsection as if she were hugging herself.

  “I don’t know,” I said, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind my ear. “Maybe she fell and hit her head. Maybe she had some kind of medical problem.” I hadn’t seen any obvious signs of injury on Emme’s body other than the bit of blood in her hair, but I hadn’t looked any closer than I needed to be sure she wasn’t alive. I didn’t say that maybe foul play was involved. I hated even thinking it.

  “I wasn’t even sure . . . I mean, you know how people dump things along here. Even when I thought I recognized the sweater I wasn’t certain. Then I saw a foot.”

  I nodded. “She was wearing that sweater and the same striped sundress at the lunchtime concert on Tuesday.”

  Ruby looked at me, and I could see it was taking as much effort for her not to cry as it was for me. “I wanted to be wrong.”

  I reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. The image of the foot slipped halfway out of the green espadrille was etched into my brain.

  A green lace-up espadrille.

  I flashed back to the conversation I’d had on Friday at the library with Emme when she’d shown me her pretty red flat sandals: “These are more my speed. Miranda’s the one who can glide around in heels.”

  “What is it?” Ruby asked.

  Something must have shown on my face.

  “It�
��s not Emme,” I said.

  “Yes it is,” she said. “I told you, Ella made that sweater. I was with Emme when she bought it. And you said she was wearing that dress at the concert.”

  I started shaking my head before she’d finished speaking. “You saw the shoe. It had a heel. At least two inches.”

  Ruby looked lost. “Why does that matter?” she asked.

  I pressed both hands to my face and blew out a breath. “Because yesterday Emme told me she only wore heels when she was performing. And because yesterday Miranda was wearing a pair of shoes just like those.” I looked over my shoulder in the direction of Marcus and Stephen Keller.

  The color drained from Ruby’s face. “You mean that’s Miranda?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  Ruby made a helpless gesture with one hand. “Miranda? That doesn’t make sense. She’s nice. Kind. Young. She and Emme are like sisters.”

  Marcus was on his way over to us. “I have a few more questions,” he said as he joined us.

  “We were wrong,” I blurted out. “That’s not Emme Finley.”

  His blue eyes darted from me to Ruby and back again. “What makes you say that?”

  I explained about the shoe.

  It was getting darker. Marcus raked a hand back through his hair.

  “Emme has a tattoo,” Ruby said. “A bird, just the outline of one really.” She held up her thumb and index finger about an inch apart. “About this big.”

  “Where is it?” Marcus asked.

  Ruby put three fingers on her left shoulder blade. “Right here.”

  “And she has a beauty mark, just to the left of her mouth,” I added, touching my face.

  “I’ll be right back,” Marcus said. He walked over to Officer Keller again, and both men approached the body. I saw Marcus pull a pen from his pocket and nudge the neck edge of the white sweater aside. Keller leaned in for a closer look.

  The muscles in my shoulders were tight. I didn’t want it to be Emme lying there dead, but I didn’t want it to be Miranda, either.

  Marcus finally straightened up and looked in our direction. I could tell from his face that it wasn’t Emme Finley’s body there in the bushes.

  “It’s not Emme, is it?” I asked as he rejoined us.

  “I don’t think so. There’s no tattoo on the left shoulder. No mole on her face, either.”

  “It’s Miranda,” Ruby said. She was rubbing her left arm with her other hand.

  “Why do you think so?” Marcus asked, his forehead furrowed.

  “They look a lot alike,” I said. “They could be sisters.”

  “Do you know where Ms. Finley is staying?” Marcus said.

  “Her sister—she’s Emme’s manager—came with her. They rented an apartment just down the street from the Stratton. Miranda was staying with them. She’s kind of Emme’s assistant. You know the building that the Gunnersons own?”

  “I know it,” Marcus said. He hadn’t written anything down. Because of his dyslexia he made fewer notes than most other police officers.

  I took a deep breath and let it out. “So now what?” I said.

  “I’m going to send a car over to check on Ms. Finley.”

  Ruby pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I have her number right here. I can just call her.”

  Marcus held up a hand. “Don’t. Please,” he said.

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “Because right now we’re not sure who that is.”

  Ruby gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  Marcus looked at me. “Kathleen, do you feel up to taking another look at the . . . body? Maybe we can clear this up.”

  “I’ll do it,” Ruby said, even as I nodded.

  “You don’t have to.” I cleared my throat. “I’ve . . . been in this circumstance before.”

  She gave me what passed for a smile at this moment. “It’s okay, Kath, I’m not going to fall apart. And I’ve spent more time with Emme and Miranda than you have.” She looked at Marcus. “Let’s do it.”

  Marcus led her back across the grass. I waited, hands stuffed in my pockets. Officer Keller leaned over the body and carefully moved part of the black currant bush to one side. Marcus said something to Ruby. She nodded, squared her shoulders and stepped closer. She studied the body for a long moment, then looked up at Marcus.

  Ruby’s expression was serious, lips pressed together, as she walked back over to me. Her gaze met mine and she nodded. “You were right. It’s Miranda.”

  I sighed. “I didn’t want it to be Emme. But I didn’t want it to be her, either.”

  “I know,” she said. She looked around. “What I don’t get is what Miranda was doing here. And why was she wearing Emme’s clothes?”

  “They were best friends, so they might have borrowed each other’s clothes. And maybe Miranda came to look at the boats or to climb up to the lookout.”

  “Climb up to the lookout in those shoes?” Ruby made a face. “I don’t think so. Anyway, why would she be here all by herself?”

  It was a good question. I didn’t have a good answer.

  Marcus was headed back to join us again. More vehicles were arriving in the parking lot. He glanced past us and then his gaze settled on my face. “Both of you can go now.” He switched all his attention to Ruby. “I’m going to want to talk to you again,” he said. “Probably in the morning.”

  Ruby folded her arms over her chest again. “I’ll be at the shop.”

  Marcus glanced at me. “I’ll try to call you later. I can’t promise.”

  I nodded. “That’s okay.”

  Ruby and I headed toward the truck. “Did you walk?” I asked. “I can give you a ride home or take you back to your studio.”

  “What?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. No, I drove.” She gestured at the gray-shingled marina building. “I’m parked over there.” She sighed. “I was just thinking about how awful this is going to be for Emme. She and Miranda grew up together in the same town. They’re more like sisters than friends.”

  “Do you know anything about Miranda’s family?” I asked, fishing my keys out of my pocket.

  “She doesn’t really have one. Her mother is dead. She has a stepfather and a couple of stepbrothers, but she told me they aren’t close.”

  I remembered Miranda telling me when I’d noticed her bracelet that her father had died before she was born.

  “Emme told me that after graduation she moved to Chicago with her sister to attend Chicago State and Miranda went with them. Miranda took some sort of administrative assistant course and then got a job. She is . . . was a whiz with numbers. When that job disappeared she became Emme’s assistant. She was a nice person. Why would someone want to kill her?”

  We had reached the truck and I glanced back to see Marcus talking with Officer Keller again.

  “Whoever killed her must have thought she was Emme,” Ruby said.

  I hesitated, unsure how to answer her.

  “C’mon, Kathleen, there was blood in her hair. I know you had to have seen it.”

  I had seen it, although I didn’t know what had caused it to be there. “She could have fallen and hit her head. You said yourself that she wasn’t wearing the right footwear to be walking along that embankment.”

  Ruby was already shaking her head. “If Miranda fell and hit her head, then we couldn’t have seen any blood. She would have been lying on the side that was injured.”

  The same thing had occurred to me. I just didn’t want to believe that someone had murdered Miranda. “Marcus will figure it out,” I said.

  Ruby pulled a hand over her neck. “I should have told him. Emme had had problems with an ex just before they came for the festival. Some overeager fan took photos of her with the guy at some club. Her ex’s name is Derrick . . . something. I don’t remember his last name.”
She made a face. “He’s a hustler, all charm and no depth, at least according to Emme’s sister, Nora. Anyway, a couple of the pictures turned up on the club’s Facebook page and their website, and then they got posted some other places. It looked like Emme was drunk, but she doesn’t drink. Some people called her a hypocrite for saying she didn’t drink, and the whole thing just got blown way out of proportion. I think it might be what ended the relationship with Elliot, the guy she’d recently been seeing. He’s a history professor. A little—uptight, if you know what I mean. Rumor had it he was pretty angry about those photos.”

  I could see she was beginning to get frazzled. I felt a little frayed around the edges myself. “You can tell Marcus in the morning,” I said.

  She pulled a hand back through her hair. “Kathleen, it’s possible this Derrick guy is here, in Mayville Heights. Nora thought she saw him a couple of days ago. Maybe he attacked Miranda because he thought she was Emme. Or maybe Miranda was trying to keep him away from Emme, and he attacked her on purpose.” She suddenly stopped talking. Tears filled her eyes and she tipped her head back so they wouldn’t spill over. “This is just like Agatha all over again,” she managed to choke out.

  I wrapped my arms around her. Agatha Shepherd was the first person to believe in Ruby’s artistic talent and the first one to encourage the would-be juvenile delinquent to make something with her art and her life. She had been killed in an alley downtown, and to make things even worse for Ruby, she’d been a suspect for a while. “Come back to the house and have tea with me and the furballs,” I offered.

  Ruby broke out of the hug and swiped away a stray tear with one hand. “You don’t like tea,” she said.

  “I like iced tea,” I said. “And I have lemonade. And brownies. I think.” Owen and Hercules were watching us from the driver’s-side window of the truck. “Please come.”

  “Okay,” she said, giving me a small smile. “I’ll follow you.”

  I nodded and she started across the lot toward her car.

  I unlocked the driver’s door of the truck and climbed inside. Owen and Hercules backed across the seat far enough to let me get in. They were both watching me.