by Sofie Kelly
“It seems he liked younger women.”
I thought of what Ruby had said about Ami Lester.
“He was there as the guest artist for your summer music festival, wasn’t he?”
“Uh-huh. The Wild Rose Summer Music Festival. He was actually a last-minute replacement for someone else.” Owen came around the side of the footstool and sat next to my chair. I shifted a bit so I could pet him.
“I’m surprised,” my mother said. “Why was a musician of Easton’s caliber at a small regional festival?”
“I don’t know.” I hadn’t thought about it before, but she was right. Helping out from the goodness of his heart didn’t seem like something the man I’d met would do. Then again, we’d only met once—while the man was alive—and Owen had jumped on his head, so maybe he hadn’t been at his best.
“How’s Dad?” I asked.
“Annoying,” Mom said.
“What happened?”
“We’re having artistic differences.”
“Over what?”
“Over his interpretation of Nick Bottom. Your father is over-the-top.”
I bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t laugh. “The character is kind of flamboyant,” I said.
She snorted. “There’s a difference between flamboyant and flaming.”
I couldn’t help it then. I laughed. “You’ll work it out, Mom,” I said.
There was silence for a moment. Then she said, “I saw Andrew yesterday.”
Andrew. Tall, sandy blond hair, blue eyes, muscles in all the right places and a smile that could melt the elastic in your undies.
“That’s nice,” I said, working to keep my voice from giving away my feelings.
“He said to say hello.”
Andrew, who went to Maine on a two-week fishing trip after we’d had a major fight and came back married. And not to me.
I swallowed. “How is he?”
“He looks thin.”
“This is his busy time of year,” I said. I checked my watch. “I’ve gotta go, Mom,” I said. “I have tai chi class.”
“And you don’t want to talk about your ex-boyfriend,” she said. So maybe she did have mother radar after all.
“You’re right. I don’t. But I really do have tai chi.”
“I’ll let you go, then,” she said. “Call me soon, Katydid.”
“I will,” I said. “Bye.”
I hung up the phone, then bent down and picked up Owen. He sat on my lap and studied my face.
“Andrew said hello,” I said.
Owen tipped his head to one side and put a paw on my chest.
“I’m all right,” I said. I scooped him into my arms and stood up.
“You know, Andrew said I didn’t know how to be spontaneous,” I told the cat as we headed for the stairs. “So I quit my job in Boston and came halfway across the country to supervise a renovation that’s never going to be finished, and to top it off, I’m a suspect in a murder investigation.”
Owen lifted his head to look at me.
“Yeah, I guess I showed him,” I said.
7
High Pat on Horse
I set Owen down on the bedroom floor. He stretched. Then something seemed to catch his eye. He moved across the room and stuck his head under the bed. “The only thing you’re going to find under there is more dust bunnies,” I said.
I looked in the mirror. My hair hadn’t changed since morning. I combed my droopy bangs off to the side and fastened them back with a clip. It made me look about twelve. Assuming twelve-year-olds have permanent laugh lines.
Owen’s backside was still poking out from under the end of the bed. “I’m leaving,” I said. “Are you staying in or going out?” His back end gave an Elvis shimmy and he disappeared completely behind the hanging edge of the quilt.
I went back downstairs, stuffed my towel, sweatshirt, shoes and water bottle into my bag; grabbed my keys off the kitchen counter; and pulled on my sneakers. Hercules was nowhere to be seen. I locked both doors and started down the driveway, pulling the strap of my messenger bag over my head.
I’d tried Rebecca a couple of times in the afternoon but gotten no answer. Would she be at class? I glanced back at the house and discovered Hercules was following me down the sidewalk. I waited for him to catch up.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked. “And how did you get out of the house?” He stared unblinkingly at me. “Go home,” I said, pointing back at the house. His eyes followed my fingers; then he walked several steps past me, stopped and looked back. “No. You’re not coming,” I said. “Just because Owen snuck down to the library doesn’t mean you get to come, too.”
I picked him up, walked back to the yard and set him on the grass. Then I crossed the lawn and started down the street. After half a dozen steps I stopped. “You’re here, aren’t you?” I said, not turning around. Herc rubbed against my leg. I looked down. He looked up. I swear he was grinning.
“I don’t have time to do this,” I said, checking my watch. I was going to have to hustle to make the start of tai chi class. I bent and picked up Hercules again. I half ran, half speed-walked back home. I unlocked the porch door, set Hercules inside, relocked the door and ran for the street, bag smacking against my hip.
I slowed to a fast walk to catch my breath and shifted the strap of my bag. Hercules was walking beside me along the edge of the grass where it met the sidewalk. I stopped and crouched down. Herc sat.
“How did you do that?” I asked him. “I put you in the porch. I locked the door.” I remembered Owen chasing birds in the backyard and how I’d thought for a moment that he could disappear. Was that how Hercules had gotten out of the porch? Could he . . .
No. Crazy moment. Owen couldn’t make himself invisible. Hercules couldn’t walk through walls. And I was way more stressed than I’d realized. They were cats. Real cats—fast and stealthy. They had no paranormal abilities. They were sneaky, not supernatural.
I lifted Herc into my arms and stood up. “What am I going to do with you?” I didn’t want him to wander down the street and maybe get hit by a car.
“Okay. Fine. You win,” I said. “You can come.” I stuck my face close to his furry black-and-white one. “No getting out of the bag and no jumping on anyone’s head. Are we clear?”
He nuzzled my cheek. I undid the side zipper of the bag, pulled out my sweatshirt and shoes and set Hercules inside. He twisted around and settled next to the rolled towel, tucking his tail around his back legs.
“Are you all right?” I asked, tying my hoodie around my waist. Hercules made a sound that was halfway between a meow and a burp. I closed the zipper. He peeked out at me through the side mesh panel. I settled the padded back of the bag on my hip and started down the street.
When I’d found the cats on the overgrown grounds of Wisteria Hill, I’d brought them home in this bag. Maybe that was why they liked being inside it. The bag couldn’t collapse down on them and there were half a dozen mesh panels so the air could circulate. And they were getting carried instead of having to walk.
I looked through the top mesh window. Hercules was stretched out, with his head on one paw and the other over his nose. He opened one eye and looked up at me. “It does not smell in there,” I whispered. The paw stayed on his nose and the open eye winked shut.
A truck passed, heading up the hill. Maybe I should stop talking to the cat, I thought. At least while there were vehicles driving by. I didn’t want to be known as the crazy lady who talked to her gym bag.
Rebecca and I arrived for class at the same time. I waited by the door as she came up the sidewalk from the other direction.
“Hello, Kathleen,” she said with a smile. “I like your bangs off your forehead.”
“They’re driving me crazy.” I held the door open for Rebecca with one hand and took her canvas tote bag with the other.
“Thank you,” she said. “You know, I think they just need a little more layering.”
I sighed as we started up the
steps. “I wish I’d never cut my hair,” I said.
Rebecca’s smile widened. “As soon as I can hold a pair of scissors I’ll even up the ends for you and see what I can do with those bangs. I promise. You’ll feel better.”
At the top of the stairs I put Hercules down between my feet, untied the shirt from around my waist and hung it on one of the hooks by the studio door. At the end of the row a collapsible red umbrella dangled from the last hook. A green scarf with beaded ends was knotted around the middle of the umbrella.
Rebecca was sitting on the wooden bench opposite, changing her shoes. I hung her bag next to my sweatshirt. She glanced up and noticed the umbrella. “There’s my scarf,” she said. I reached over, unknotted the fabric and handed it to her. The long edges had been beautifully stitched by hand
She smoothed the material on her lap. “Thank you,” she said. “I know it’s just a scarf, but it was a gift and I couldn’t remember what I’d done with it. I didn’t realize I’d left it here.”
She looked troubled. Was she afraid she was getting forgetful? I hadn’t seen any signs that Rebecca was having problems with her memory. I smiled at her. “I forgot my rubber boots here once,” I told her. “I didn’t notice that I wasn’t wearing them until I was starting up Mountain Road in the rain and the water was streaming down the sidewalk over my feet like a waterslide.”
Rebecca stood up and reached past me to tuck the scarf into her tote. “What you’re trying to say is that I’m not getting old and feeble.” She smiled back at me.
I gave her shoulder a light squeeze. “I wouldn’t let you cut my bangs if I thought you were,” I said.
I grabbed the strap of my messenger bag, and we went into the studio. Violet raised her hand in greeting. Rebecca walked over to her.
I headed for Maggie, who was standing next to the tea table. “Hi,” I said. “Can I leave my bag under the table?”
Her hand was on the top of her head, gently pulling it down to her shoulder. “Sure,” she said. “Do you have something breakable inside?”
“I have a cat inside,” I said.
“What?” Maggie’s eyes widened, which looked a little strange because her head was tipped sideways. I lifted up the bag so she could look in the top. “Is that Hercules?” she asked.
“Shhh, yes,” I hissed.
She let go of her head and peeked in the bag again. “Hey, Fuzz Face,” she whispered. A soft meow came from inside. “Why did you bring a cat to class?” Maggie asked, grabbing the top of her head again and pulling it down to the opposite shoulder.
“He wouldn’t stay home,” I said. “He kept following me. I put him in the porch, but somehow he managed to get back out when I wasn’t looking.”
“Very sneaky,” Maggie whispered to the bag. She gave me a sideways grin. “Stick him under the table,” she said. “Can he breathe okay in there?”
“Thanks,” I said, carefully sliding Hercules out of the way. “And yes, he can breathe.”
Maggie started rolling her head slowly from one shoulder to the other. “Any more news on Easton?” she asked.
My hands were clammy. I wiped them on my shorts. “The police found part of his cuff link in the meeting room are at the library,” I said.
“How’d it get there?”
“That’s what Detective Gordon wants to know.”
Maggie dropped her head to her chest. “So he thinks what? That you and the maestro made out in the meeting room? Then he ended up dead and you put him on a book cart and rolled him down the street to the Stratton, and no one saw you?”
“When you say it like that it sounds . . . silly,” I said.
“Because it is.” Maggie moved to the middle of the room, loosely shaking her arms.
Someone clattered up the stairs. Ruby. She came through the door, pulling off a yellow tie-dye T-shirt to reveal an orange tie-dye tank. I loved Ruby’s clothes. I’d dressed a lot more conservatively when I’d been in my twenties.
Roma walked over, slowly rolling her shoulders. Violet and Rebecca trailed behind her. Roma touched my arm, turning me partly away from the others. “Kathleen, how do you feel?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
Slowly I flexed and extended my fingers. “I’m okay,” I said. “These muscles are a bit sore, but the tingling is gone and everything works the way it’s supposed to.”
“Good,” she said.
I glanced over at the table. Was it my imagination or could I see Hercules’ green eyes watching through one of the front mesh panels? I turned back to Roma. I’d been meaning to ask her about Owen. “Roma, do you know anything about catnip?” I said.
“I know some cats love it and others don’t,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
I rubbed a hand across my neck. Sometimes I missed the weight of my hair on my neck. “Have you seen those little yellow chickens stuffed with catnip that they sell at the Grainery?” I asked.
“You mean Fred the Funky Chicken?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh. Rebecca’s been buying them for my cats. Hercules isn’t interested, but Owen—”
“—is acting like a catnip freak,” Roma finished.
“Yes.”
“Makes sense. About fifty percent of cats like catnip. The rest don’t. It’s probably genetic, the way tongue rolling is in people.” She smiled. “It won’t hurt him.”
“Thanks. That’s good to know,” I said.
Roma twisted a wide silver ring around the index finger of her right hand. “You know, there’s catnip growing wild on the grounds of Wisteria Hill. Maybe that’s how Owen got a taste for it.”
“Do you know much about the cats out there?” I asked, tugging at the bottom of my T-shirt, which had bunched up when I’d tied the hoodie at my waist.
“I do,” Roma said. “Some of us have been taking care of them, making sure they have food and shelter. Over time we’ve managed to catch them all so they could be neutered and have their shots.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t easy.”
I remembered the last time Roma had given shots to Owen and Hercules. Both cats had been yowling, scratching dervishes. Roma had worn a long, heavy Kevlar glove. Hercules had left teeth marks on the thumb and two fingers, and Owen, scratch tracks down the entire arm.
“Would you be interested in coming with me next time I go out to the estate?” Roma asked, pulling her ring all the way off and sliding it back on. Her nails were short, without any polish. “You seem to have a rapport with those cats.”
I glanced over at the table again. “I would,” I said.
Roma’s smile grew wider. “I’ll call you,” she said.
We turned toward the others. Violet was asking a question about one of the movements, her hands in front of her body at about shoulder height. Maggie adjusted one arm and pointed down at Violet’s knees.
“Cloud hands,” Roma said with a sigh.
I wasn’t the only one who had trouble with that part of the form. I couldn’t coordinate my hands with each other, let alone the lower half of my body. I looked like I belonged in platform shoes and spandex in a bad disco revival show.
We all watched as Maggie demonstrated, moving slowly and fluidly through the movement. Rebecca tucked her arm across the front of her body. Her sleeve slid backward, uncovering her wrapped wrist.
Maggie stopped what she was doing. “Rebecca, are you hurt?” she asked.
Rebecca’s face went pale and she put a protective hand over her arm. “It’s just my arthritis acting up,” she said, rolling her wrist slowly from side to side under her hand. “I’m using a poultice. The bandage is just to keep it clean and in place.”
Maggie stepped in front of Rebecca, took her hand and ran her slender fingers gently over the bandage. “Can you bend it?” she asked.
“Yes.” She pulled her arm away from Maggie and held it out from her body, slowly bending her wrist back and forth. “It’s just a little stiff.”
Maggie examined the bandage again. “Do you make your own cotton strips?” she asked.
>
Rebecca nodded stiffly. “Yes.”
“You have a very fine hand. What do you use in your poultice? Red cedar? Marshmallow?”
“I use my mother’s herbal remedies,” Rebecca said, holding her wrapped arm against her chest with her good arm. “They’re not like anyone else’s.”
“Oh,” Maggie said, discomfort showing on her face. She dropped her hand to her side. “Just take it easy. Stop if anything hurts.”
She took a step backward and a couple of slow, calming breaths. “Okay, everyone. Circle,” she called.
Roma moved to my right side, next to Rebecca. A look passed between the two of them. Would that be me someday, exchanging looks with Maggie when someone younger urged me to take it easy?
We made the circle a little bigger and started our warm-up exercises. Maggie looked across at me and grinned. I knew what was coming. “Bend your knees, Kathleen,” she called. I crossed my eyes at her from across the circle. Next to me I heard Roma laugh.
I was sweating by the end of class, even with the windows open and the fan running. I started for my bag and then remembered what else—who else—was in there. Instead I used the end of my T-shirt to wipe my face.
Ruby came up to me, her orange tank sweat stained. “I heard you found Easton’s body at the theater yesterday,” she said. “That true?”
I finger-combed my sweat-damp hair and refastened the clip. “Yes, it’s true,” I said.
Ruby held out her hand. “This is for you.”
A coil of black cord lay in her hand. I picked it up. A small purple crystal dangled from the cord. “What’s this for?” I asked.
Ruby touched the crystal and started it swinging. “Keep it with you. Or wear it. Whatever. It’ll keep negative energy out of your life.”
For a moment I didn’t know what to say. Between the problems with the library renovations and finding Gregor Easton’s body, I was pretty sure there was a lot of negative energy in my life. “It’s beautiful,” I finally managed. “Thank you.”
Ruby took the necklace from my hand and showed me how to slide the knotted ends along the cord to make it longer or shorter. I slipped the pendant over my head and tucked the crystal inside my shirt. I wasn’t sure it could keep negative energy out of my life, but it couldn’t hurt. I hugged Ruby. “This is so nice,” I said.
