Magical Cats Mystery 13 - Hooked on a Feline

by Sofie Kelly

  Mike was smart enough not to just rely on eye color to prove something like that. Maybe I needed to look at another Finnamore family trait that was more genetically straightforward. I was probably tilting at windmills again. I rubbed both temples. I had a headache again.

  Lachlan had found some information about the music school in the newspaper. “I’m on the right track,” he said to me. “I know it. Thanks for suggesting the newspaper and showing me how to look at it. I’ll be back to see what else I can find.”

  I was happy to see him smile.

  “Do you know where Levi is?” I said to Susan. “I need some help carrying in some boxes.”

  “He’s scraping gum off the bottom of one of the tables in the children’s section,” she said. “What is it with people and gum in the library? Don’t they know what garbage cans are for?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  Gum stuck all sorts of odd places in the building was a chronic problem for us.

  “Would it be okay if I made some signs?” Susan asked. “Just something that says, ‘Please put your gum in the garbage can,’ or something like that?”

  “It’s fine with me.” I wasn’t sure signs would make a difference but it wouldn’t hurt to try.

  Levi was on his hands and knees under one of the big round tables in the children’s department, scraping at the underside with the plastic scraper. His mind was clearly somewhere else because, when I called his name, he started and banged his head on the table.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as he backed out from underneath. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just need some help carrying some boxes up to the workroom.”

  “It’s not your fault,” he said. “That’s the second time I’ve done that in the last ten minutes. My brain can’t seem to remember there’s a table just four inches above my head.” He held one hand just above his hair and moved it through the air.

  Levi looked tired. He’d missed a patch on his left jawline when he’d shaved and he wasn’t quite looking me in the eye.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I’m okay,” he replied just a little too quickly.

  I could easily think of half a dozen things that could have been wrong in the life of someone his age. I hoped it was one of the minor ones.

  “I didn’t ask if you were okay. I asked what’s wrong.” I waited.

  He didn’t seem to quite know what to do with his hands. He ran them back through his hair, then tugged at the front of his shirt.

  “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

  “Are you trying to convince someone to break the law or hurt themselves or another person?”

  “No,” he said. “I would never do anything like that.”

  “Then you’re not going to get anyone in trouble. They might get themselves in trouble but that’s on them, not on you.” My mother had used that logic on me many times. Some of them it had actually worked.

  “Mrs. Anderson, the woman who died in that car accident a few months ago—is it true what I heard? That is wasn’t an accident.”

  I nodded. “It looks that way.” My stomach suddenly felt like I was on a roller coaster.

  “She was going home from here,” Levi continued, “after Mary’s talk, right?”

  “That’s right.” I wanted to push him to get to the point, but I was afraid if I did, he’d stop talking altogether.

  He rubbed his hands on his black jeans. “That day, I heard Mrs. Anderson arguing with someone. She was really angry.”

  “Do you know who she was arguing with?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. And the thing is, I just know that . . . that he wouldn’t have killed her.”

  “So then you can’t get that person in trouble.”

  He looked doubtful.

  “Levi, who was it?” I asked. I had a feeling I knew the answer.

  He looked down at his feet. “Johnny Rock.”

  That was what I had expected him to say. “I know they argued. Johnny told me.”

  Levi still looked troubled. “Did he tell you what he said to her?”

  “He told me they’d had words over a business deal.”

  He couldn’t seem to keep his hands still. He ran a hand over his head. He pulled at a loose thread on his shirt. “He wouldn’t have killed an old lady. I don’t want him to be in trouble because of what I heard.”

  “Levi, is this something the police need to hear?” I asked.

  He looked down at his feet. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s just that Johnny said something they might take the wrong way.”

  I slowly let out a breath. “I don’t think Johnny could kill anyone, either—old or not. So what did he say? ‘I wish you were dead’?” I smiled. “I’ll tell you a little secret. When I was not much younger than you are, I said that to my mother more than once when I was fighting with her. But I didn’t mean it and no one really thought I did.”

  Levi almost smiled. “I can’t picture you as a teenager,” he said.

  “Sometime, I’ll show you some slightly embarrassing photos from back then,” I said.

  He scuffed one foot on the floor. “Okay. Johnny didn’t exactly say he wished she was dead but it was pretty close. He said, ‘When you’re dead, I will dance on your grave, old woman, and it can’t come soon enough for me.’ ”

  Given how angry I knew Johnny had been at the time, the words didn’t surprise me. It also didn’t surprise me that he hadn’t volunteered that he’d said them.

  “So do I need to talk to the police?” Levi asked.

  “How about I tell Detective Gordon what you just told me, and if he needs to talk to you, he’ll let you know.”

  His shoulders sagged with relief. “Thanks, Kathleen,” he said. “I’ll go get those boxes for you.”

  Once the cartons of books were upstairs, I called Marcus and explained what Levi had told me. “I don’t think it’s a big deal,” I said. “But I thought I should let you know.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Johnny’s feelings about Leitha are pretty clear. I don’t need to talk to Levi.”

  “For the record, I don’t think Johnny killed Leitha no matter what he said to her, and I’m certain he didn’t kill Mike.”

  I pictured Marcus probably shaking his head at the phone. “For the record, right now I’m just going to say, ‘no comment.’ ”

  * * *

  Marcus showed up just after we’d closed the library. I was about to get in the truck and Harry was sweeping the back end of the parking lot. The Reading Club kids had taken some vegetables home, and there were dirt and the odd radish all over the pavement.

  I waited by the truck as Marcus walked over to me. He raised one hand in hello to Harry. “Kathleen, did you by any chance talk to Johnny this afternoon?” he asked.

  “If you mean, did I call and warn him that Levi had heard him telling Leitha how happy he’d be when she was dead? No.”

  He had the good sense to look a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. I just wondered if he might have come in or called for any reason. You did say he made a big donation to the computer fund.”

  “I haven’t talked to Johnny at all today. Why?”

  “I need to talk to Harry,” he said.

  That didn’t answer my question, so I followed him across the lot. He asked Harry the same question: Had he talked to Johnny this afternoon?

  Harry shook his head. “I haven’t talked to Johnny for a couple of days.” He pulled off his hat, ran a hand over his bald head and put it back on again. “More than any of the rest of us, Johnny is struggling with Mike’s death. They were close and I think Mike would have ended up going on the road with Johnny for at least part of the time, even if the rest of us didn’t.” He stopped and took a couple of deep breaths. “Mike was the reason we ended up getting together for the Last Bash. It was his idea and he nagged the rest of us until we were all in. The two of them had plans and I think Johnny’s having a hard time let
ting go of them.” He focused on Marcus. “No offense, but we need answers and the sooner the better.”

  “I know,” Marcus said. “I’m trying to get you those answers. There are a couple of things I need to talk to Johnny about, but I haven’t been able to find him.”

  “If I hear from him, I’ll tell him to call you,” Harry said.

  Marcus nodded. “Thanks.”

  I said good night to Harry and walked back to the truck with Marcus. “You can’t actually think Johnny killed either one of them?” I said. “He had no reason.”

  “My job is to gather the evidence.”

  I gave him a look.

  He sighed. “The problem is, no one had a reason to want Mike dead as far as I can see. No one had a motive to kill Leitha, either. She was difficult, no question, but she was an annoyance, like a mosquito buzzing around your head, not a threat to anyone. I’m going to check Eric’s. I’ll call you later.”

  I watched him drive away and then I unlocked the truck, set my messenger bag on the seat and climbed inside. When I turned to head toward Mountain Road and home, I looked out over the water and the Riverwalk and it occurred to me that I might know where Johnny was. I headed in that direction instead.

  As I drove, I thought about the argument Levi had overheard between Leitha and Johnny. Those words “When you’re dead, I will dance on your grave, old woman, and it can’t come soon enough for me” didn’t sound like a threat to me. It almost sounded like Johnny had been gloating.

  I thought about Lachlan, working so hard to find some justification to stop the deal for that property in Red Wing. Lachlan had said Johnny didn’t want the teen to waste his time researching the old building. That gave me an idea.

  I parked in the lot where the concert stage had been set up. That night felt like such a long time ago. A man was standing by the edge of the embankment, looking out over the water, hands stuffed in his pockets.

  I walked across the grass toward him. “Hey, Johnny,” I said when I got close.

  He turned and gave me what passed for a smile from him these days. “Hey, Kathleen. What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you.”

  The water was dark and angry and the clouds were low and heavy. It was going to rain soon.

  “You were the new buyer for the building in Red Wing, weren’t you?” I asked. “The buyer who was going to turn the property into a parking lot. You scammed Leitha. That’s why you weren’t worried. That’s why you told Lachlan to let go of his plan to stop the sale. You didn’t want to stop the sale.”

  He was nodding before I finished speaking. “Yeah. I bested her. You have no idea how hard it was not to rub her face in that, to keep it secret.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “It wasn’t just about the building. It was the way she treated Mike and Jonas. Part of it was because I hated how she kept pressuring Lachlan about college and threatening not to let him have the Finnamore money for his education, as though studying music was somehow not good enough. I wanted her out of the kid’s life but I didn’t make it happen. Mike cared about the old bat, you know. And that tells you everything you need to know about him right there.”

  I nodded because I couldn’t get any words past the lump in my throat.

  “So why were you looking for me?” Johnny asked.

  I cleared my throat. “Marcus needs to talk to you. I think you should tell him what you just told me.”

  Johnny pulled out his phone. “What’s his number?”

  chapter 18

  I waited with Johnny until Marcus arrived.

  “I would never tell you how to grieve,” I said when I caught sight of Marcus pulling in next to my truck in the parking lot, “because something like that is so intensely personal, plus it annoys the crap out of me when people do that.”

  Johnny gave me a small smile, the first genuine one I’d seen from him in a while.

  “But I am going to remind you that if Mike were standing here instead of me, he would tell you to grab life by the—” I pictured Mike onstage explaining his definition of a good friend. I smiled. “By the athletic supporter and live every second you’ve got because none of us knows how long that’s going to be.”

  I put a hand on his shoulder for a moment and then headed over to meet Marcus.

  “Thank you for getting Johnny to call me,” he said. “I thought you were going home.”

  I knew that meant Why didn’t you just tell me where you thought Johnny was? Since he hadn’t asked me that directly, all I said was “I’m going home now.”

  I started for the truck. Marcus didn’t say, I’ll call you later, and neither did I.

  * * *

  After supper, once again I sat at the table with my laptop. I checked my e-mail. Susan had scanned the documents she’d found that referred to John Finnamore’s eye color and e-mailed them to me. I also had an e-mail from Roma with a fairly large attachment. The subject line was THE BURLESQUE SHOW.

  I opened Susan’s e-mail first. Two different society-page articles mentioned John Finnamore’s blue eyes and dark hair. I had the feeling I’d gotten way off on a tangent. I hadn’t learned anything that put me closer to figuring out who had killed Mike.

  “Does any of this really matter?” I asked Hercules, who was sitting at my feet, carefully washing his chest.

  He looked up and meowed loudly and enthusiastically. He seemed to think it did. I wasn’t so sure anymore.

  I heard the washer shut off. I went down to the basement and discovered Owen sitting in the empty laundry basket on top of the dryer, both paws up on the end of the basket.

  When Ethan and Sarah were very small, I would take the two of them sledding in a park close to where we lived. I’d stick them in our laundry basket—leaving behind a pile of dirty clothes on the floor—tie the basket to an old metal toboggan we had and then I’d jump on the back and we’d go like stink down the steepest hills there.

  Ethan was always in the front of the basket, two little mittened hands holding on to the end, a huge grin on his face, with Sarah behind him with an equally big smile on her face. Dad insisted that that was the reason they both had lead feet.

  The cat reminded me of Ethan. For all I knew, maybe Owen was imagining himself hurtling down a snowy hill.

  I moved the wet towels into the dryer. Owen leaned his head over the side of the laundry basket and watched. “You know, if you could just learn how to set the timer, I could get you to do this and save me a trip up and down the stairs.”

  He looked at me and yawned. Cat for Not happening.

  When I got back upstairs, I found Hercules standing up on my chair, looking at something on the laptop. Somehow, he’d managed to open Roma’s e-mail and get into the photos from the burlesque show.

  “How did you do that?” I said.

  He ducked his head as though modestly trying to say, Oh, it was nothing.

  A photo of Zorro strutting his stuff on the middle of the stage out at The Brick filled the screen. I smiled, then leaned over and closed the image. I thought of Roma’s frustration with trying to organize another show. I wished there was a way to convince Mary to at least plead Roma’s case to whoever Zorro was.

  I scooped up Hercules, sat down and settled him on my lap. He immediately reached a paw toward the computer and Zorro filled the computer screen again.

  “I don’t have time for this right now,” I said.

  He gave an insistent meow that I knew meant he wanted me to look at the photo.

  I yawned and stretched. “You’re so stubborn,” I said.

  His whiskers twitched. A pair of green eyes was locked on my face. I glared back at him, which was a waste of time because he never lost a staring contest. Neither did Owen. “Fine,” I said. “I will look at the picture.”

  I pulled the laptop a bit closer, centered the photo of Zorro and studied it. His fencing foil was thrust forward, his cape swirled behind him and he was giving the crowd a wicked grin as he swiveled his hips from si
de to side. I couldn’t see what Hercules thought was so important about the image. Maybe he’d just been poking at the touch pad because it was fun. Maybe the photograph didn’t matter at all.

  And then I noticed something on Zorro’s left hip. I used the magnifying feature to get a close look. The image was blurry but I could just make out the tops of two tiny fingers, spaced apart like they were part of some hand gesture tattooed on the man’s hip.

  I zoomed out again and looked at the man carefully: his body type, his smile. And suddenly I got it. I slumped against the chair back. “Mike Bishop was Zorro,” I said aloud.

  Hercules had already jumped down to the floor and was washing his face. He meowed his agreement without looking up from his ablutions.

  Mike was Zorro. Suddenly it all made sense. That was why both Mary and Sandra had refused to put Roma in touch with the mystery dancer. They couldn’t. “Take me at my word when I tell you that there is no way Zorro will ride again,” Mary had said to me. I looked at the photo one more time. It seemed so obvious now. Why hadn’t it occurred to me before? Mike had the soul of a performer and a huge, kind heart. Getting up on that stage to help the no-kill shelter was exactly the kind of thing he would have done.

  Hercules had stopped washing his face and was looking up at me as though he wanted something.

  “Thank you for pointing out the photo,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously at first.”

  And then, in case he hadn’t been looking for a little vindication, I got him a couple of sardine crackers.

  * * *

  It was raining when I got to the library the next morning. I was unlocking the main doors and juggling my messenger bag, my coffee mug and my umbrella when Mary came up the steps and grabbed my cup just before I dropped it. I didn’t have a good record with coffee mugs.