A Case of Cat and Mouse

by Sofie Kelly

  “For now.”

  “I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, Kathleen,” he said.

  “So would I,” I said with the slightest of smiles. I had caught his meaning and I was certain he’d caught mine.

  I stuffed the envelope Eugenie had given me in my messenger bag. My feet hurt from being on them so long all day. All I wanted to do was climb into the bathtub with one of Maggie’s herbal soaks and stay there until I looked like a prune. I didn’t want to make supper. Marcus was out of town for the weekend at a coaching seminar in Minneapolis. He’d been helping with the high school girls’ hockey team and it was something he was good at—no surprise, because he was pretty athletic. I was happy the case hadn’t derailed his plans.

  I unlocked the truck, dropped my bag on the seat and decided to head to Eric’s to get some supper to take home. I found a parking spot on the street just a couple of spaces down from the café, a sign, I decided, that the universe did not mean for me to cook tonight.

  The restaurant was fairly quiet with about half the tables occupied, typical for a Saturday evening this time of year. I took a stool at the counter just as Nic Sutton was coming from the kitchen with a tray of food.

  “Hey, Kathleen,” he said. “Give me two minutes and I’ll be right there.”

  I nodded. “Take your time.”

  Nic expertly delivered the orders, smiled and gave what from my vantage point looked like directions to the Stratton Theatre all quickly and efficiently. He scanned the room to make sure no one was trying to get his attention and then came back and slipped behind the counter.

  “What can I get you?” he asked. “I’m assuming since you didn’t grab a table that you want takeout.” Nic was about medium height and stocky, with light brown skin and deep brown eyes. He had grown a goatee a few weeks ago and I thought the closely cropped facial hair suited him.

  “I do,” I said. “How about a noodle bowl?”

  “Good choice,” he said. “How about chicken and shrimp?”

  There was a better than average chance that I would end up with a paw in my bowl if I said yes to the shrimp but I did it anyway. “Are there any cheese biscuits?” I asked.

  Nic shook his head. “But we do have some fresh naan bread. It’s made with caramelized onions.” He raised his eyebrows in a question.

  I smiled. “That sounds good, too.”

  “I’ll go put your order in,” he said. He grabbed his tray and headed for the kitchen. When he came back he gave me an appraising look. “Leaded, unleaded or no coffee at all?”

  “Better make it decaf,” I said. He poured me a cup in a take-out container and I gave myself a mental kick for leaving my new stainless-steel mug at home.

  “Were they taping the Baking Showdown today?” Nic asked as he set the cup and a lid in front of me.

  “I just came from there,” I said, reaching for the cream and sugar.

  “Any hints on who’s in and who’s out?” he asked, a teasing smile lighting up his face. “I would not breathe a word to a soul. I swear. And on a totally unrelated subject we have chocolate cheesecake.”

  I laughed. “Nice try but my lips are sealed.”

  Nic made a face. “Overplayed my hand a little with the cheesecake, didn’t I?”

  I nodded. “Little bit, maybe.”

  “Can you at least tell me how Charles is doing?” he asked.

  I took a sip of the coffee. It was hot and strong, just the way I liked it. “You know each other?”

  “Kind of,” he said. “I was working last week when it seemed like pretty much everyone from the show showed up for dinner. We were swamped. Claire’s shift ended at six and she hadn’t been out of the door five minutes.”

  “So Charles was here?”

  Nic scanned the room again to see if anyone needed anything. “Good thing he was. Like I said, we were swamped. First thing I know, Charles is getting coffee for people. Next thing he’s helping me wait tables. I wouldn’t have gotten through the night without his help.”

  “So you’re saying he waited tables here for two hours?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Eric wouldn’t let him pay for his own food. I never could have handled so many people all by myself.” He reached for the coffeepot. “I’ll just go top up some cups and your food should be ready.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. I took another sip of my coffee. Charles had been here helping Nic with customers the night Kassie Tremayne was killed. There was no way he could have killed her, and I was happy about that because I did like the big baker. On the other hand, Charles had had an alibi all along. Why hadn’t he said so?

  chapter 11

  I drove out to Wisteria Hill early Sunday morning. I’d had to drag myself out of bed. It had been a long week.

  Roma had decided early in the morning was the best time to move the cat colony. For the past several weeks she had been slowly moving their feeding station, which was at the back of the carriage house, over to the door, literally a few inches at a time. I had helped her as often as I could. The first couple of times Lucy had looked perplexed, but noticed after carefully checking out the food and the water she’d eaten, the others had followed her lead.

  Today, for the first time, the feeding station was in the doorway of the cats’ new home. Eddie had done an excellent job on the twelve-foot-by-twelve-foot shed. It was insulated, with a roof that didn’t leak and new shelters for each cat made from plastic storage bins by Rebecca, Ella King and Harry’s daughter, Mariah.

  I was surprised by the knot of anxiety that lay in my stomach like I’d swallowed a large rock. This was such a big change for the cats. What if they didn’t like their new home? What if they all just disappeared? We’d never be able to find them again. And I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to rehome Smokey at the clinic, at least not now. The colony was his family. Just because he was old didn’t mean there wasn’t a place for him.

  Roma had asked me if I would put out the cats’ food and water for the first time.

  “Of course I will,” I’d said at once. Lucy trusted me as much as she trusted anyone, and Roma hoped the cat would accept the change more easily if she saw me.

  Roma and Eddie stayed across the driveway as I headed for the carriage house with the food, the dishes and two jugs of water. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest and I knew she was probably as apprehensive as I was.

  I propped the side door of the carriage house open and then went over to the new building. That door was wedged open as well and the feeding station was set up in the doorway. Eventually it would be moved farther inside. Eddie had built a small flap in the larger door so the cats could come and go as they pleased. There was a partial wall dividing the shelter area from the rest of the space so the cats would feel secure. The shelters themselves were up on a long shelf about waist height. There was a small step about halfway between the floor and the top of the platform so the cats could easily get up and down. I knew even Smokey could navigate the distance if I could just come up with a way to convince Roma that he needed to stay.

  The building was sheltered by a clump of evergreen trees and some other bushes, which Eddie felt would mitigate the extremes of both the summer and the winter temperatures.

  I set out all the dishes and filled them with food and water. Then I backed away, crouched down and waited. I had probably stayed like that for maybe five minutes, although it felt a lot longer. The lump in my stomach felt heavier and harder. I had cramps in both my legs but I was scared to move, afraid that if I did it would be just the moment the cats would appear and I’d frighten them away.

  Then, finally, I saw movement at the door of the carriage house. Lucy poked her head out. She looked at me and it seemed to me she looked confused. I didn’t blame her. After the loft had fallen down in the carriage house we didn’t see her or any of the cats for two long days. They didn’t touch any food.
Roma kept putting out water and insisted they would come back. Later she’d admitted she was trying to convince herself as much as she was me.

  “They did come back, Kath,” she had reminded me earlier. “This will work, too.” I wondered if, like before, the reassurance was for herself as much as for me.

  I watched Lucy. Lucy watched me. Neither of us moved. I was holding my breath, I realized. I let it out and then called softly to the little cat. “Hi, puss. Breakfast is ready.”

  She took a step outside and her whiskers twitched as she sniffed the air. Could she smell the food at that distance?

  “C’mon, Luce,” I said. “This is your new home. It’s safe. I promise.” I thought about the little cat finding Marcus and making such a fuss he’d realized something had to be wrong and headed for the carriage house in time to help save Syd and Olivia.

  Lucy cocked her head to one side. She seemed to be weighing my words. Or maybe she was just deciding whether to go back inside the carriage house or bolt for the trees.

  Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I was just going to have to convince Roma and Eddie to let the cat colony have the carriage house to themselves until they were all gone after very long and happy lives.

  And then Lucy took a step forward. And then another. She meowed loudly and Smokey stuck his gray head around the carriage house door. He stepped outside and started for the feeding station. After a moment the other three cats followed. They all seemed a little apprehensive and skittish, even Lucy, but they all came and ate and then Smokey went inside. He had always been the most curious of the group and the most fearless. I leaned sideways and watched him sniff everything and then disappear back where the shelters were. Roma had put a couple of the sardine crackers I made for Owen and Hercules in front of each shelter as what she called a “welcome home” gift.

  After Lucy had eaten she sat and washed her face while the others finished and then followed Smokey inside. Finally she turned, looked at me and meowed again.

  “I’m glad you like it,” I said. I had to blink away a sudden, unexpected prickle of tears. Everything was going to be all right. Lucy turned back around and went to explore her new home.

  I stood up, shaking my left leg, which had fallen asleep because I had been crouched down so long. I walked back over to Roma and Eddie, hobbling a little as the feeling came back to my leg.

  “It worked!” Roma exclaimed, bright-eyed. She’d come close to tears herself, it seemed.

  We hugged and then I leaned back. “Don’t make Smokey go live at the clinic,” I said. “Please.”

  Roma shook her head. “I’m not.”

  I stared at her for a long moment. “You’re not?”

  “I’m not. This is his home and his family. Eddie convinced me I was wrong. And that’s why he built that extra step between the ground and the platform. So Smokey could make it up and down easily.”

  I looked up at Eddie, who was smiling at me. The former hockey player really was a softie. “I love you, Crazy Eddie Sweeney,” I said.

  The smile turned into a grin and he wrapped me in a bear hug. “Love you, too,” he said.

  I told Roma I would call her later that afternoon to see how the cats were and then I got in the truck and headed home.

  I’d had fruit and yogurt before I had driven out to Wisteria Hill. Now I was hungry again. I found Hercules sitting on the back steps, green eyes cast skyward. He had some weird rivalry going on with a grackle—or maybe it was several grackles, I wasn’t sure.

  I leaned down and picked him up. “How do you feel about a breakfast sandwich?” I asked.

  He murped with enthusiasm and nuzzled my neck.

  “Where’s your brother?” I asked.

  Hercules suddenly wriggled to get down. That was not a good sign. As soon as I stepped inside the kitchen I knew why Hercules had suddenly gotten squirmy. Owen was under the kitchen table and based on the bits of dried leaves surrounding him, he had been playing air hockey with a Fred the Funky Chicken. For once he hadn’t bitten the head off and spread catnip everywhere. This would be easy to sweep up. There was just a tiny split in the side of the cat toy.

  Owen gave an indignant meow when I picked up the chicken.

  “Yes, I know it’s yours, but you made a mess on my clean floor.”

  The cat looked around the room and then fixed his narrowed golden eyes on me. I remembered that I hadn’t actually washed the floor on Friday. I had gone to Maggie’s with Roma instead.

  “Okay, my almost clean floor,” I said. “That’s not the point. I don’t see your little paws working the broom when there’s catnip everywhere.”

  He lifted one paw and stared at it. I couldn’t help laughing. I leaned down to scratch the top of his head. “Okay, Fuzzy Face,” I said. “First I’m going to clean up your mess. Then I’m going to make a breakfast sandwich.”

  Owen murped his enthusiasm for both ideas and tried to grab the yellow chicken I was holding. I snatched it out of his reach. “Say good-bye to Fred,” I told him, straightening up and taking the catnip toy to the garbage can. It was one good swat away from splitting open and spewing a whole lot of dried catnip all over my semiclean floor.

  I grabbed the broom from the porch and swept up the mess Owen had made. He muttered and grumbled a little but he knew when he’d lost. I kicked off my shoes, hung up my hoodie and went to wash my hands. I knew there were eggs, tomatoes and cheese in my refrigerator and one last slice of Rebecca’s spelt bread in the breadbox. I scrambled the eggs, toasted the bread and added a couple of slices of tomato and two slices of cheese. The boys got a tiny bit of egg with two sardine crackers.

  I set my sandwich on the table and got my laptop. I didn’t have to be down at the show for a while. I wanted to see if I could learn a little more about Kassie.

  I was reading an article on an entertainment site about the revival of The Great Northern Baking Showdown, when Owen launched himself onto my lap and leaned in front of me as though he wanted to read what was on the screen, too. After we finished the article—Owen, if he was indeed reading, was pretty quick at it—we scrolled down to the comment section. The first episode hadn’t even aired and already people were critical about Kassie’s casting and her lack of experience and training when it came to cooking in general and baking in particular. They picked on everything from her hair to her penchant for heels to the way she pronounced the word “recognize” in her online videos. A lot of the comments were spiteful. I wondered if Kassie had seen any of them, and if she had, how they had made her feel. I felt uncomfortable and sad reading them and they weren’t directed at me.

  I got up to get another cup of coffee, setting Owen on the chair. When I came back to the table he was on his hind legs, one paw on the edge of the laptop, looking at the screen with what seemed to me to be a very self-satisfied expression on his face. Somehow in the short amount of time I had been up he’d managed to find Kassie’s Instagram feed. I scooped him up and set him on my lap.

  “Not even going to ask how you did this,” I said. “But I’ll give you a pass for the catnip.” He licked my chin.

  Kassie’s Instagram feed was a carefully curated collection of images. There was no way my kitchen ever looked that good.

  “Where are the clumps of cat hair on the floor?” I said to Owen. “Where are the funky chickens and stinky cracker crumbs?”

  He leaned forward for a better look at the screen and then seemed to shake his head. Clearly he was baffled, too.

  We spent a little time sifting through the photos Kassie had posted before her death. She had been showing more of what was happening on set than Elias had wanted posted online and while she didn’t mention any of the contestants by name she did manage to work in little comments on their baking. Very quickly I picked up a pattern in what she was saying and showing. She favored Ray. Although she didn’t use his name it wasn’t hard to figure out to whom s
he was referring. Anyone who had checked out the show’s social media would realize it was Ray.

  There was already a lot online about The Great Northern Baking Showdown and the contestants. Elias’s promo people seemed to be trying to generate as much buzz as possible, probably because they felt it would help find a buyer for the final product. It was hard to believe that people actually cared about the outcome of a program no one had seen yet.

  I remembered Charles telling me that Kassie had bet on the winner of the show being Rebecca. “This doesn’t make sense,” I said to Owen. “Why was Kassie piling on the not-so-subtle praise for Ray when her money was on Rebecca?” If anything, she had seemed to pick on Rebecca’s efforts a little.

  “Mrrr,” he said.

  “Unless . . .”

  Owen looked at me, cocking his head to one side.

  “We know people bet on the show. They bet on who will make it to the top three. They bet on who will win. If someone is perceived to be a long shot, then the payout will be greater if they win.”

  “Mrrr,” Owen said again. So far he seemed to be following me.

  I took a drink of my coffee. “So if Kassie gave people the impression that Ray is becoming the front-runner and Rebecca doesn’t have much of a chance of winning, they’re more likely to bet on him, which moves the odds with respect to Rebecca winning more in Kassie’s favor.” Could that have actually happened?

  It took a little searching and a couple of lucky pokes of the keyboard by Owen but eventually we managed to find an online gambling site that gave the odds of each one of the bakers taking first place on the show. People would bet on anything, it seemed.

  “Look at that,” I said. Owen followed my finger. Ray was favored to win, although as I tracked the odds back over the previous ten days his advantage had slipped a little. On the other hand, the chances of Rebecca winning had increased a little over the same period of time.