Final Catcall

by Sofie Kelly

  The building was long and low with a decent-size parking lot in back. It had windows on three sides, and the front glowed with neon after dark. Inside there was the requisite jukebox, a counter with gleaming chrome stools and cozy booths with red vinyl seats.

  To my surprise, Burtis Chapman was perched on a stool at the counter, one massive hand wrapped around a coffee cup. The first time I’d ever taken notice of those huge hands it had occurred to me that he could probably squeeze my head between his thumb and index finger and make my brains come squirting out of my ears. I was very glad that he seemed to like me.

  We walked over to the counter and Burtis smiled when he caught sight of me. He was a big block of a man and his smile didn’t make him look any less intimidating. I remembered that the crocodile had smiled at Captain Hook right before he’d swallowed the pirate’s hand.

  “Kathleen, girl, it’s good to see you,” Burtis said. “What in heck are you doing here?”

  “Good to see you, too, Burtis,” I said. “I came for breakfast. What about you? Isn’t it a little past your breakfast time?”

  He gave me a sly grin. “Well, for breakfast number one, but not number two.”

  I turned to Andrew, who had been watching us like he was discovering another culture in a National Geographic special. “Burtis, this is my friend Andrew Reid. He’s here from Boston. Andrew, this is Burtis Chapman.”

  Andrew took the hand Burtis offered and did his best not to wince as they shook.

  “So you’re the young man who was a big enough asshole to let Kathleen get away,” Burtis said. I should have known that if he’d heard the story—and who in town hadn’t by now—he’d say something.

  Andrew’s face reddened but he held the older man’s gaze.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “I am the asshole who let her go. And now I’m trying to win her back.”

  “And how’s that workin’ for you?” Burtis asked.

  “Not well,” Andrew said with a shake of his head. I saw him surreptitiously clench and unclench the hand Burtis had just shaken. Probably trying to figure out if there were any intact bones left in it.

  Burtis laughed. “I gotta give you credit for trying,” he said. “But I can’t wish you good luck because we want to keep Kathleen here.”

  Andrew nodded. “Well, then, may the best man win.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on,” Burtis said. He winked at me.

  I slipped onto the stool beside him and Andrew took the one on the other side of me.

  The waitress came out of the kitchen and slid a plate of fried tomatoes and what looked to be sourdough toast in front of Burtis. She was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt with PEGGY SUE embroidered over the pocket, hot pink pedal pushers, and red open-toe wedgies.

  She smiled at me. “Hi, hon, what can I get you?”

  It probably would have surprised a lot of people to know that Peggy had read every issue of Scientific American the library had and all of Stephen Hawking’s books on quantum physics.

  “The big breakfast for each of us,” I said, gesturing at Andrew. “And coffee, please, when you have a minute.”

  “Sure thing,” she said.

  “Peggy Sue?” Andrew said softly in my ear.

  “It’s her real name.”

  He caught sight of the jukebox at the far end of the diner. “Does that work?”

  I nodded. “Do you have quarters?”

  He patted his pockets and slid down off the stool. “I do. I’ll be right back.”

  Burtis set his mug on the countertop and looked at me. “Did Brady take care of your friend yesterday?”

  “Yes, he did,” I said. “I like him.”

  The sly smile was back. “The boy gets his charm from me.”

  Peggy put a huge mug of coffee in front of me and I reached for the sugar. “Burtis, I have a feeling that’s not all Brady gets from you.”

  He laughed. “If Brady was here he’d tell me not to say anything that might incriminate myself, so I’ll just keep my mouth shut.”

  I smiled back at him, added cream to my cup and took a long drink. Fern’s had excellent coffee.

  “Burtis, did you loan your truck to Abigail Pierce the other night?” I asked.

  The grin disappeared. “Now who exactly wants to know? You or Detective Marcus Gordon?”

  I took another sip of coffee before I answered. “Me,” I said. I set the cup down and leaned one elbow on the counter. Andrew was still looking through selections on the jukebox, but I wanted to finish the conversation with Burtis before he came back. “You heard about Hugh Davis, the director from the theater festival Abigail is helping to organize?”

  He nodded. “I know who you mean.”

  “Abigail’s my friend. I don’t want anything from his death to splash back on her. If you’d rather I ask her, I will.”

  Burtis shook his head. “No need. Yeah, I loaned her one of my trucks. She had some stuff she needed to move for the festival and I have more than one truck. She picked it up Friday afternoon and brought it back that same night. Didn’t look like she’d moved any dead bodies with it, by the way.”

  “Good to know,” I said.

  Andrew had finally made his song choice. The first few notes of the music came out of the speakers and I had the urge to pull my shirt up over my head. It was “My Girl” by the Temptations.

  “Not exactly subtle, is he?” Burtis said, picking up his fork again.

  Peggy returned with our food just as Andrew got back to the counter. She set an oversize oval plate in front of each of us. Andrew looked at his and blinked. I’d already picked up my fork.

  There were scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, fried potatoes with onions, tomato and some fresh rosemary, and two thick slices of raisin toast. I knew from past experience that the eggs would be fluffy, the bacon crisp and the potatoes golden on the outside and fork soft on the inside.

  Burtis made short work of the last of his fried tomatoes and drained his coffee. He climbed off his stool and put one hand on my shoulder. “You have a good day, Kathleen,” he said.

  I smiled. “You too, Burtis,” I said.

  He nodded at Andrew and walked over to the cash register.

  “I no longer have any feeling in my right hand,” Andrew said once Burtis was out of earshot.

  “Count yourself lucky then,” I said, reaching for my coffee. “I’m pretty sure he could break it if he wanted to.”

  We ate in silence after that until Andrew groaned and leaned his forearms on the countertop. “Oh, man, that was good,” he said. “Do they make that bread here? And where the heck do they get tomatoes that don’t taste like Styrofoam?”

  There was part of a sausage and half a piece of bread left on his plate. “Yes on the bread and I don’t know about the tomatoes.”

  I leaned sideways, speared the sausage with my fork and ate it. Then I broke the bread in half and ate that, too.

  Andrew rolled his eyes. “You win, and where the heck did you put all that?”

  I patted my midsection. “I was hungry.”

  Peggy came back and refilled my cup and after I’d added cream and sugar I swung around so I was facing Andrew.

  “I have a question about Friday night,” I said.

  “Sure,” he said, turning his cup in slow circles on the green Formica.

  “What else did you see?”

  “Aside from that SUV on the highway? Nothing.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. Just the dark blue SUV.”

  “Close your eyes,” I said.

  Andrew narrowed his gaze at me. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Because it will help you concentrate.”

  “And I’m concentrating on what, exactly?”

  I made a face. “Will you just do it, please?”

  He closed his eyes.

  “Okay, we’re driving toward the water. The marina is coming up on the left side. What do you remember?”

  “How good you s
melled,” he said at once.

  “That’s not helping.”

  He shrugged. “You asked what I remembered. That’s what I remembered.”

  I flexed both hands, squeezed them into fists and resisted the urge to slug him.

  “We’re turning into the driveway. Do you see any cars coming out?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  I didn’t remember any vehicles passing us, either. “What about in the parking lot?”

  “Two half-ton trucks with some kind of logo on the door, a white cargo van and a silver sedan. The car had a flat.”

  I could picture both vehicles, although I hadn’t noticed the car had a flat tire. “Anything else?”

  “Three sailboats out in the water.” He opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, Kathleen. I didn’t see anything.”

  I folded my fingers around the heavy stoneware mug. “It’s okay. You should call Detective Lind, though, and tell her about the SUV.” I still had Hope Lind’s card in my pocket. I pulled it out and handed it to him.

  He turned the cardboard rectangle over and frowned at me. “Who’s this Detective Lind? I thought your friend was investigating.”

  “Detective Lind is in charge for now,” I said. “Marcus is working on something else.”

  He shrugged and tucked the card in his shirt pocket.

  I drank the last of my coffee and set the mug back on the counter. “Thank you for breakfast,” I said, “but I need to get home.”

  “I was hoping you’d show me around,” Andrew said, slipping off his stool.

  “I think you’ve pretty much seen all of Mayville Heights in the last week.” I brushed crumbs from my jeans as I stood up.

  “I guess I have,” he said, dipping his head and giving me that killer smile. “I was hoping to go to the top of the bluff. I heard there’re some good hiking trails. And after that I thought we could drive into Minneapolis for a late dinner.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t,” I said, pulling my wallet out of my purse.

  Andrew held up a hand and shook his head. “No, Kath. I invited you.”

  I hesitated.

  “You may as well say yes,” he said with a gleam in his green eyes. “My legs are longer. I can get to the cash register before you can.”

  “All right. Thank you.”

  He took a step closer to me. “C’mon, Kath. It’s Sunday. Come with me.” He held out both hands. “Show me what’s so great about this place.”

  “I already have plans,” I said. My plans were to make more sardine crackers for Owen and Hercules and to scrub the kitchen floor, but they were still plans. I twisted my watch around my wrist. “Go home, Andrew,” I said. “I mean go home to Boston. I’m glad that you came, but I won’t change my mind. It’s . . . The time for us has passed.”

  It sounded like a line from a bad novel, but it was true. We were never, ever getting back together. I think I’d heard that line in a song.

  Andrew smiled, a genuine smile, not his I-am-so-damn-cute smile. “I have six more days to change your mind. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He paid for breakfast and we went out to the car. As he pulled out of the parking lot I saw him glance up the hill.

  “Don’t,” I said quietly.

  He looked over at me. “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t head for the bluff instead of taking me home and think I’ll be okay with it.”

  He looked away and shook his head, not even trying to hide the smile. “See? You know me better than anybody.”

  “It’s your big glass head,” I said lightly. “It’s like a fishbowl. I can see right through you.”

  His expression grew serious. “That’s why we belong together.”

  I sighed and shook my head. There didn’t seem to be any point in saying anything. Andrew didn’t want to listen.

  “I’ll call you later,” he said when we got back to the house. “Maybe I’ll be able to persuade you to have dinner with me.”

  “Call Detective Lind,” I said as I got out of the car. “It’s probably not important, but she still should know what you saw.”

  “Okay,” he said with a shrug. “And I’ll talk to you later.”

  I walked around the side of the house and sat on the back stairs. Hercules came across the grass, stopping every few steps to shake a paw. He sat beside me, a sour look on his face. I used the sleeve of my sweatshirt to wipe the top of his front paws, which seemed to appease him a little.

  “I saw Burtis at the diner,” I said.

  Herc murped softly, which I took to mean “Tell me more.”

  “Abigail was driving one of his old trucks Friday night. The night she said her phone died. The night nobody knows where she was.”

  Hercules leaned his head against my arm. “Merow,” he said softly.

  “I know,” I said, reaching over to stroke his fur. “There’s no way this is good.”

  15

  I made kitty crackers for the boys and chicken stew with dumplings for myself. When Andrew called after lunch I turned down his offer for dinner. Again.

  The cats and I spent most of the afternoon out in the yard, working the compost Harry Junior had dropped off into the cold frame box where I was going to try growing lettuce and kale early in the spring. In midafternoon Rebecca walked over for a visit and we had cranberry scones and tea in her gazebo.

  I tried not to think about Hannah or Abigail and their connections to Hugh Davis. There wasn’t anything I could do, so I vowed to follow my advice to Marcus and stay out of it.

  I was up early the next morning to meet Ruby at River Arts and see her painting of Hercules. When I came downstairs he was sitting underneath the carrier bag.

  I folded my arms and looked at him. “What are you doing?”

  He looked up at the bag and then over at the back door.

  “If you’re coming with me you need to have breakfast,” I said, picking up his and Owen’s water dishes.

  He got up and walked over to the back door.

  “I told you I’m not buying you a breakfast sandwich. You’re a cat. Cats eat cat food.”

  He walked right through the door into the porch.

  “Oh, like that’s going to work,” I called after him.

  Owen came in then and rubbed against my leg.

  “Hey, Fuzz Face,” I said, bending down to scratch the top of his head.

  I got his breakfast and set the dishes in their place by the refrigerator. He looked around the room and checked under the table.

  “He’s out in the porch,” I said.

  Owen cocked his head to one side.

  I measured coffee into the machine. “He’s sulking.”

  He studied the back door for a moment—thoughtfully, it seemed to me. Then he dropped his head and started sniffing his food.

  Once the coffee was ready I poured myself a cup and went out to the porch. Hercules was on the bench, looking into the yard. One ear twitched, but other than that he gave no indication he knew I was in the room.

  “Ruby will probably have some of those kitty treats,” I said.

  He jumped down and headed for his breakfast, pausing only to give me a look best described as patronizing as he passed me. I shook my head and followed him into the kitchen. Nobody had cats like mine. Sometimes they really were like little people in fur suits. Manipulative little people.

  Ruby was waiting for me at the back door of the River Arts building. She smiled when she caught sight of the cat bag. “You brought Hercules,” she said, her eyes lighting up.

  I shrugged. “I know it sounds weird, but I swear he knew I was coming to see you. He was sitting by the carrier when I came down this morning.”

  “It doesn’t sound weird to me.” She leaned toward the mesh panel on the top of the bag. “Bonjour, mon petit,” she said.

  From inside the bag he made a little murp.

  Okay, so it appeared Hercules knew how to speak French, too.

  Ruby took us up to her studio. The painting was on one of her
easels, turned away from the door. I unzipped the carrier and Hercules climbed out, walked to the far side of the table and sat down. He looked expectantly at Ruby.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said, just in case she was talking to me, even though I was fairly sure she wasn’t.

  She swung the easel around and for a moment I was speechless. “Oh, Ruby, it’s incredible,” I said when I found my voice again. I hugged her and she beamed with pleasure. “I want to jump up and down and squeal,” I said, grinning back at her.

  She’d painted Hercules in shades of purple from deepest indigo to a pale lavender. He was sitting up, head tipped slightly to one side. It looked just like him—except for the purple.

  The cat himself was studying his likeness, squinting and leaning forward. “Well,” I asked. “What do you think?”

  “Merow!” he said loudly, with much enthusiasm.

  “We give it two paws up,” I said to Ruby.

  Right on cue Hercules held up a paw and looked at me.

  Ruby folded her arms over her chest and laughed. “Could I give him a treat?” she asked.

  “Would there actually be any point in me saying no?”

  She twisted her mouth to one side. “Not really. There are two of us to one of you. I think we could outvote you.”

  “You have five minutes,” I said sternly to Hercules, holding up one hand, fingers spread apart. “Then we have to get to the library.”

  “You’re not going to make him shelve books all morning, are you?” she asked in mock outrage, hands on her hips.

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. “Hercules is too short to shelve books. He’s going to update the card catalogue. You should see how fast those little black-and-white paws can move across a keyboard.”

  Ruby laughed and reached for the bag of cat treats, already approved by Roma. Hercules gave me a look that said I wasn’t nearly as funny as I thought I was.

  Susan was waiting at the bottom of the steps when I got to the library. She grinned when she saw the cat carrier bag slung over my shoulder. “Is it Bring Your Cat to Work Day already?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I forgot to get you a card.”