A Night's Tail

by Sofie Kelly

  There was no sign of Owen or Hercules. I knew the latter could be anywhere given his ability to come and go as he pleased. Owen had to be somewhere in the house. I had my fingers crossed that he wouldn’t “appear” at the wrong time.

  We’d been home for about fifteen minutes and I’d just poured myself a cup of coffee when Maggie called.

  “I heard what happened,” she said. “I’m making pizza. Don’t make any plans for lunch.”

  I leaned against the counter. “Thank you,” I said. I hadn’t even thought about lunch. “Oh, Ethan and Derek are here.”

  “It’s okay. It’s a big pizza,” she said.

  Ethan had come out to the kitchen while I was talking to Mags. He poured himself a cup of coffee. It struck me that our coffee habit was another way we both took after our mother. Thea Paulson was beautiful, charismatic, opinionated and stubborn. All three of us had inherited that stubborn streak. Ethan definitely had Mom’s stage presence and charisma.

  My parents had each been married twice. Both times to each other. Ethan and Sara were the result of their reconciliation. I was fifteen and mortified by the undeniable proof that my mother and father, who I’d thought were barely on speaking terms, were actually much closer than that.

  “That was Maggie,” I said, ending the phone call. “She’s bringing pizza.”

  A smile flashed across Ethan’s face. I didn’t think it was because of the pizza. It wasn’t my overprotective big-sister imagination. Ethan had a bit of a crush on Maggie. I opened my mouth to say something and took a sip of coffee instead. This wasn’t the time.

  “I’m going to make a couple of phone calls,” Ethan said. His hair was sticking up all over his head. I caught myself reaching out to smooth it down the way I had done when he was a kid and stopped myself. Ethan wasn’t a kid anymore and I needed to remember that.

  I poked my head in the living room, where Derek was sitting on the sofa with his laptop. “Coffee’s ready,” I said.

  He gave me a tight smile, or what passed for a smile at the moment. “Thanks,” he said, setting the computer on the sofa cushion beside him and getting to his feet. He looked tired and a bit gray. Unlike Ethan, who burned off his stress by constantly being in motion, it seemed that Derek kept what he was feeling inside. He poured a cup of coffee, added two sugars and stirred distractedly as he checked his phone. His mouth pulled to one side and he jammed the phone in the pocket of his jeans.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  Derek let out a breath. “Yeah. Liam hasn’t answered my text.” He shook his head. “Kids.”

  “What does he want to study in college?” I said, mostly to fill the silence.

  “Communications or maybe recreation. It doesn’t matter.” Derek made a dismissive gesture with one hand.

  “It doesn’t?” The confusion I was feeling had to be showing on my face.

  “Liam’s going to play in the NFL. What he studies doesn’t make any difference.” Derek took a sip of his coffee. “We’re headed for the big time. All that other stuff is just background noise.” He took his cup and went back to the living room.

  A college education was just background noise? Once again I found myself missing Jake and his scraps of paper covered with pencil sketches.

  * * *

  I decided I’d go over the plans for the quilt show and see what information I could e-mail to Melanie. I sat down at the kitchen table and Owen suddenly appeared at my feet, a little too suddenly. He launched himself onto my lap, peered at my cup and then looked around. As far as Owen was concerned a cup of coffee was an excuse for a brownie or a cookie or even a piece of toast with peanut butter. He loved peanut butter.

  “No treats,” I said, stroking the top of his head.

  He made a murp of dissatisfaction.

  “Maggie’s bringing pizza later.”

  Immediately, he lifted a paw and took a couple of passes at his face. “You look very handsome,” I assured him.

  Owen loved Maggie—something he and Ethan had in common it seemed. Owen followed her everywhere, sat with a rapt look of adoration at her feet and had on more than one occasion dispatched an errant rodent, which in turn meant that Maggie was also crazy about him. She—along with Rebecca—kept him in catnip chickens and sympathized with him over his antipathy toward the music of Mr. Barry Manilow, whom both Hercules and I adored. Aside from the fact that Owen and Maggie were different species, it was a perfect friendship.

  Owen looked over the papers spread on the table in front of me. He switched his gaze to me and then cocked his head to one side and meowed, it seemed to me, in curiosity.

  I felt self-conscious about having a conversation with a cat when Ethan and Derek were around although I did it all the time when I was by myself. “I’ll tell you later, I promise,” I whispered. That seemed to satisfy him.

  Maggie arrived just before noon with the pizza.

  “It smells wonderful,” I said.

  “It should go in the oven for about five minutes,” she said, kicking off her boots and coming into the kitchen in the wildly striped socks that Ella King had knit for her.

  “I thought you might say that, so I’ve already warmed it up.”

  With the pizza in the oven Maggie shrugged off her coat and scarf and leaned down to say hello to Owen.

  “Hey, Maggie,” Ethan said, coming in from the living room. He’d combed his hair and changed his shirt.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about my baby brother having a crush on one of my best friends. Not good, that was for sure, which made me feel guilty. Where was the harm? Since I’d been a teenager when Ethan and Sara were born my role had been part older sister, part second mother. More than once Ethan had reminded me that he already had a mother and she was more than enough.

  “Hi,” Maggie said with a smile. Ethan took her coat and hung it up. Maggie snagged a little brown paper bag from one of the pockets. I knew what was inside.

  “No, no, no,” I said, shaking my head.

  Ethan looked confused. “What?” he asked.

  “You’re spoiling him.”

  Now Ethan looked completely lost. “How is Maggie spoiling me? What did she do?”

  “Not you,” I said. “Owen.”

  The cat in question also knew what was in the bag. His golden eyes were locked on Maggie.

  She took Fred the Funky Chicken out of the bag, leaned down and held it out. Owen took it carefully from her. The half-lidded look he gave her was pure bliss.

  “Mrrr,” he said as he headed for the living room.

  “You’re welcome,” Maggie called after him with a smile. She cleared her throat and her smile faded. “I know it’s Lewis Wallace who’s dead,” she said. “May he be welcomed by the light.”

  Once again news had traveled around town faster than a New York minute. Given the speed the information had spread, maybe the expression should have been “a Mayville Heights minute.”

  “I’m not going to ask what happened because I know Marcus probably told you not to talk about it,” she said as she caught one of the chrome chairs with her foot and pulled it out so she could sit down.

  “Thanks, Mags,” I said, giving her a hug. “And for the record, when Owen decapitates that chicken—and he will—I’m calling you to clean it up!”

  The pizza was fantastic as usual. Pizza making was one of Maggie’s skills. She’d dirty every dish in her apartment but the end result was always worth the mess.

  About halfway through the meal the conversation turned to the missed workshop.

  “Any chance we’ll be able to reschedule?” Maggie asked.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “We? I didn’t know you were taking the class.”

  She nodded, gesturing with her fork. “Ruby talked me into it.”

  Maggie was primarily a collage artist, although she also creat
ed detailed, fanciful drawings like the ones she’d done for the trail map of this area and the street map of the town. Ruby, on the other hand, created bold pop-art paintings in vivid neon colors and often hand-tinted her photographs.

  “I didn’t know you were interested in writing songs.”

  “I’m interested in the creative process in general,” she said.

  Ethan leaned forward, propping an elbow on the table. “What would you like to know?” he asked.

  They started talking about songwriting and I just listened. Derek was quickly pulled into the conversation. Both Ethan’s and Derek’s mood lightened as they explained their writing process to Maggie. The dark cloud that had been hanging over us since we’d gotten home from the hotel seemed to dissipate as the three of them talked.

  When Maggie finally had to leave for her shift at the co-op store I walked her out. “Thank you for the pizza and the conversation,” I said.

  “Anytime,” she said with a smile. “I like your brother.” Her expression changed. “I didn’t like Lewis Wallace but I’m sorry he’s dead.” She gave me a hug, hopped into her Bug and drove away.

  I thought about what Maggie had said and told myself that the niggling unsettling feeling I had was just that, an uncomfortable sensation that was understandable given that I had just seen a dead body a few hours ago.

  * * *

  Marcus arrived midafternoon just as I was debating making cookies. He didn’t kiss me, which I assumed was because Ethan was in the kitchen with me.

  “Have you had lunch or would you at least like coffee?” I asked.

  He gave me a tight smile. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  He seemed to be in working-cop mode, all business with very little of his emotions showing through.

  “Is Derek here?” he asked.

  “He went for a walk,” I said. “He was getting a little antsy but he should be back anytime now,” said. A knot was forming in my stomach. I tried to ignore it.

  “I’ll wait,” Marcus said. “It’ll give me time to go over both of your stories again.”

  I was just finishing explaining why I’d been so sure that Lewis Wallace was dead before I’d even checked for his pulse when Derek walked in. He seemed surprised to see Marcus.

  “I need to ask you a few questions,” Marcus said. “I’d like you to come down to the station with me, please.”

  “Why?” I said. The knot in my stomach was knitting itself into a giant lump. “Marcus, what’s going on?”

  “Is Derek under arrest?” Ethan asked. I didn’t like the challenge in his voice or his expression.

  “No one is under arrest,” Marcus replied. “I just have some questions.”

  “Ask them here.” Ethan’s back was up. I could tell from his body language, legs wide apart, hands moving through the air.

  “The station would be better.” In contrast to Ethan, Marcus’s voice was steady and quiet.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Derek said. “I don’t mind going.” The pinched lines on his face told me that might not be the truth.

  Ethan made a gesture with one hand like he was swatting a bug away. “No, it’s not fine. They think you did this.”

  Marcus shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to,” Ethan retorted. “It’s pretty obvious.”

  I stepped between them. “It’s because of what happened at the bar, isn’t it?” I searched Marcus’s blue eyes for some clue to what he was thinking.

  “And the altercation in front of Eric’s. Yes.”

  Derek’s face reddened and he glanced down at his feet.

  Marcus looked at Derek. “I just have to hear your side of things,” he said. “On the record. That’s all.”

  Derek looked up. “Really, it’s fine,” he repeated. He glanced at Ethan then shifted his attention to Marcus. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “Thank you,” Marcus said.

  Ethan pushed past me, blocking Derek’s way. “Don’t do this,” he said between clenched teeth.

  Derek shook his head. “It’s okay. It’s not like I wanted the guy dead.” He reached for his jacket, which was hanging on the back of a chair.

  I looked at Marcus. “Brady,” he mouthed.

  I gave an almost imperceptible nod and the two men left.

  Ethan swore, turned away from the door and folded both arms up over his head. “Derek didn’t do this,” he said. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone, even an asshole like that Wallace guy.” He looked at me. “Go after Marcus. Talk to him. Do something!”

  I reached for my phone, punched in a number and waited. “I am doing something,” I said.

  When Maggie answered I asked if Brady was with her, mentally crossing my fingers that he was.

  “He’s right here,” she said. “Would you like to talk to him?”

  “Please,” I said.

  Maggie handed over the phone to Brady and I gave him the highlights of what had just happened. “I know I’m interrupting your Sunday, and I’m putting you on the spot.”

  Brady laughed. “I wouldn’t have gone to law school if I didn’t want to be put on the spot. And you’ve met my father. Shy and quiet is not in our DNA. I’m on my way.”

  I thanked him and ended the call.

  Ethan had been watching me. “That was Maggie’s boyfriend or whatever the heck he is; Brady, right?”

  “Yes, that was Brady; yes, he and Maggie are friends,” I snapped. And yes, you should stop mooning over her like some smitten teenage boy, I added silently. “He’s on his way to the station.”

  “You don’t have to bite my head off.”

  “And you don’t have to act like a child when Marcus is just doing his job,” I said. I admired Ethan’s loyalty to his friend but I also had the urge to shake him at the moment. His behavior hadn’t helped anyone.

  He pulled out his phone. “I need to let Milo know what’s going on.” There was a petulant set to his jaw.

  I nodded, set my own phone on the table and decided I needed a bit of fresh air. “I’m just going outside for a minute.”

  Ethan’s focus was on his phone. He lifted one hand to let me know he’d heard me but he didn’t say anything.

  “Ethan,” I said.

  He looked up at me then.

  “For the record, Marcus is one of the good guys.” I didn’t wait for a response.

  Hercules was sitting in his usual place by the window in the porch. I sat down next to him and explained what was going on. He made sympathetic noises. “You know what this means, don’t you?” I said. “Whatever happened to Lewis Wallace wasn’t an accident.”

  A bit more than an hour later Brady brought Derek back. Milo had arrived by then. Everyone had questions and they were all asking them at once. Brady stood in the middle of the kitchen and gave a piercing two-fingered whistle. The room went silent.

  “All Marcus wanted was to ask some questions about the times Derek had encountered Lewis Wallace,” Brady said. “He hasn’t been charged with anything. He’s not in any trouble.”

  “So does this mean that Wallace guy was murdered?” Milo asked.

  “For now, all the police are saying is that he died under suspicious circumstances. They won’t know anything for certain until the medical examiner does the autopsy.”

  “This could all turn out to be nothing, then,” Ethan said.

  “Yes,” Derek said. “It’s not a big deal. A man died. The police aren’t sure what happened yet. They’re just trying to piece together his last couple of days. That’s it.” He turned to Brady and offered his hand. “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” Brady said.

  They shook hands and I walked Brady out.

  “Are things really okay?” I asked as we stood next to his truck in the driveway.

  He nodded. “For the
moment. Marcus did ask Derek to stay in town for now.”

  I felt a little frisson of anxiety and I rubbed the back of my neck. “He doesn’t have an alibi, does he?”

  The lines around Brady’s mouth tightened. “What are you getting at?”

  I folded my arms over my midsection. I was suddenly cold. “I checked Lewis Wallace to see if he was still alive. His body was stiff but still warm. That means he’d been dead for more than a couple of hours—probably closer to seven or eight.” I hated that I knew that.

  Brady sighed. “Derek says he couldn’t sleep so he went out for a walk.”

  “Yeah, Ethan says Derek does that when he’s working on a song and he gets stuck.”

  “In a bigger place someone probably would have seen him, but here . . .” He held up a hand and let it drop.

  “Brady, did Marcus say anything about how Lewis Wallace died?” I thought about the quick glimpse of the meeting room I’d had. There was something I’d noticed: what I’d thought was an orange-capped pen on the floor on the far side of the room. Now I realized that it was more likely an EpiPen.

  Brady shook his head. “He didn’t. I really don’t think he knows yet and if he has any suspicions he’s keeping his cards close to his vest, as my dad would say.” He smiled then. “Speaking of Dad, when are you coming out to the house to wax him again at pinball?”

  I smiled. “Is he still making noise about a rematch?”

  Brady’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “Oh yeah.” He was a pretty good player himself but not quite as good as I was. I’d spent a lot of time unsupervised as a kid.

  “He still claiming the floor was uneven?”

  “That, too.”

  Brady had bought a pinball machine at the weekend market several months ago. It was out at his father’s house. Both Marcus and Burtis Chapman had bragged about their prowess on the machine. I’d told them I was pretty good as well. They hadn’t taken me at my word. “Once this case is wrapped up I’ll be out,” I said.

  “I’m holding you to that,” Brady said, pointing a finger at me.