Cat Trick: A Magical Cats Mystery

by Sofie Kelly

  “And the next morning . . .”

  “Mike Glazer was dead.”

  “Roma, you need to tell this to Marcus,” I said.

  She brushed a strand of dark hair off her cheek and sighed. “I know. I was trying to convince myself that what Liam said didn’t mean anything. People say things like that all the time when they’re angry.”

  “I know that,” I said. “And I’m not saying that I think Liam had anything to do with Mike Glazer’s death. It’s Marcus’s job to figure that out.”

  “You’re right,” Roma said, picking up her fork again. “I’ll call him after lunch.” She leaned an elbow on the table and propped her chin on her hand. “Let’s talk about something else. So, you’ve had two dinners with Marcus.” Her eyebrows went up on “two.” “Just exactly how slowly are you two taking it?”

  “Very, very slowly,” I said, making a face at her. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  “What would you like to happen?” This time she wiggled her eyebrows at me.

  “I would like to eat my lunch,” I said, feeling my face get red.

  She laughed, and I knew that when she and Maggie found out Marcus had kissed me, they were going to giggle like a couple of sixth graders.

  We finished lunch—there was rice pudding with peaches for dessert—and then Roma walked me around the yard and told me about her plans for the outside of the old house. As we came around the side of the carriage house, she stopped suddenly and put a hand on my arm. “See that?” she asked, pointing to the old lilac hedge. The long grass moved, and I saw what looked like a flash of ginger fur.

  “Is that another cat?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I don’t know if it’s feral or someone abandoned it, but this is the third time I’ve seen it.” She started walking again. “It’s a little marmalade tabby, about half-grown. I’ve been calling it Micah.”

  “For the biblical prophet?” I asked.

  “More for the mineral. It was the way the cat’s fur seemed to glisten in the sun.” She gave a half shrug and looked a little embarrassed. “Eddie likes to collect rocks.”

  We walked back to the driveway. “I’m so glad you’re going to be living out here,” I said as the two of us stood by my truck. “I’m glad the cats will be safe. And if I can do anything, anything to help, please ask.”

  “Can you paint?” she asked.

  “Roller, brush and sprayer.” I held up one, two and then three fingers.

  “You’re hired,” she said with a laugh.

  “Anytime,” I said. I hugged her. “Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you at class tonight.”

  Roma waved as I started down the rutted driveway—the first outdoor project on her list. In the rearview mirror, I saw her pull out her cell phone and I hoped that was because she was calling Marcus. I had meant what I’d said to her. Just because Liam had told Mike if he saw him again he might forget what the brakes on his truck were for didn’t mean that Liam had had anything to do with Mike’s death.

  I spent the afternoon cleaning out the flower beds in the backyard, getting them ready for the bag of compost Harry had promised to drop off to me. Owen and Hercules helped.

  Owen’s idea of helping was to pounce on every dead and dried-up plant I pulled out of the ground. Hercules took a more paws-off approach, sitting on one of the wooden Adirondack chairs and meowing comments from time to time.

  I was putting my tai chi shoes in my bag and complaining about Cloud Hands to Hercules, who wasn’t even pretending to listen, when the phone rang after supper. It was Rebecca.

  “Hello, Kathleen,” she said. “Are you going to class tonight?”

  “I am,” I said. “Would you like a ride?”

  “I would, please.” I could hear her smile through the phone. “I was going to walk, but I’m feeling a little lazy and I don’t want to take my car because I’m meeting Everett later.”

  Rebecca was many things, but lazy wasn’t one of them. I knew if I questioned her, I’d find out she’d done more all day than I’d done in the past three days. “I’m leaving in about ten minutes,” I said. “I can come around and pick you up.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” she said. “I’ll come through the back. It’ll give me a chance to see the boys.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

  I went back into the kitchen and wasn’t at all surprised to see “the boys” waiting by the back door, Owen giving his face a quick wash so he’d look presentable for Rebecca. They followed me into the porch.

  Rebecca was making her way across the backyard. Even with arthritis, she moved like a much younger woman, a combination, she said, of good genes and regular tai chi practice. She was wearing gray yoga pants and a gray sweater over a rose-colored T-shirt and carrying a wildly colored, crazy-quilted tote bag.

  “Thank you for giving me a ride,” she said as reached the back steps.

  “Anytime,” I said.

  “Everett and I are trying to decide on a wedding date,” she said. “After class, we’re going to sit down with our calendars.” She rolled her eyes just a little when she said “calendars.”

  “Are you thinking next spring?” I asked.

  She smiled at Owen and Hercules, who both gave her adoring looks, then looked at me. “To tell the truth, Kathleen, all I’m thinking is, Let’s get on with it.”

  I laughed.

  “Do I sound like—what’s the word—a ‘bridezilla’?”

  I shook my head. “No. I think you’re the opposite of a bridezilla.”

  “Everett is determined that we’re going to have a ‘wedding.’ I’d be happy with just Ami and the boys and a few close friends like you.” She shook her head. “Sometimes that man can be unbelievably stubborn.”

  “He loves you,” I said.

  She smiled again and it lit up her entire face. “I know,” she said, a tinge of pink coming to her cheeks. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  I couldn’t help grinning back at her. “Yes, it is.” I gestured toward the kitchen. “I just have to get my keys and my bag.”

  “Take your time, my dear,” Rebecca said, setting her tote on the window bench. “I’ll just catch up with Owen and Hercules.”

  I went back into the kitchen, stuffed a towel and my water bottle in with my shoes and wallet and got my keys from my purse. Liam’s coffee mug was in the bottom of the bag. I made sure both cats had a drink and then I went back out into the porch. Rebecca was sitting on the bench, hands folded in her lap, talking to Herc and Owen, who seemed to be listening intently. Both cats were purring like twin diesel engines.

  I held the kitchen door open. “Time to say good night,” I told them.

  Rebecca got to her feet. “Come over for tea some morning,” she said.

  Owen meowed with his usual exuberance. He knew tea with Rebecca usually meant a catnip chicken. He was so busy looking back at her over his shoulder that he almost walked into the doorframe. He pulled up short and shook himself. Hercules looked from Owen to me, and I thought I saw an almost imperceptible head shake.

  I locked both doors, and Rebecca and I walked around to the truck. “I like your bag,” I said as we backed out of the driveway.

  “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” she said, smoothing the fabric with one hand. “I kind of got it under false pretenses.”

  “You?” I shot her a quick glance. “I don’t believe that.”

  “It’s a piece from the art show,” Rebecca said. “I was helping Ruby unpack everything last week, and I fell in love with it the moment I saw it. Ella King made it.”

  “She does beautiful work,” I said.

  “Yes, she does. When it looked as though the show and the food tasting were going to be canceled, Ruby let me buy the bag, but I wonder if I should let her have it again now that everything is back on.”

  “It’s probably not the only bag Ella made, but why don’t you ask Ruby.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she said. “That’
s what I’ll do.” She rubbed her right wrist.

  “Is your arm bothering you?” I asked. My own wrist felt fine now. I stopped at the bottom of the hill and waited for a couple of cars to go by.

  “Just a little,” Rebecca said. “I was helping Mary this afternoon. We were ironing all the backdrops for the booths in the two tents. Mary had ironed every single one of them last week and hung them on a couple of racks in the tent, but of course the police had to look through them and they got wrinkled again. I think I’m a bit out of practice. I don’t iron many things these days.” She laced her fingers in her lap. “That was so sad about Michael.”

  I turned right, glancing over at her as I did. “You knew him?”

  “Heavens, yes,” she said. “I gave Michael his first haircut and every one after that until the family left Mayville Heights. He was so full of life.” Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw her hold up one hand. “And yes, Kathleen, I’ve heard what people have been saying around town about Michael—that he was rude and insulting and no one really wanted to work with him.” She sighed softly. “All I can say is, that’s not the young man I knew.”

  “What was he like when you knew him, when he was younger?” I asked, looking ahead for a parking spot.

  “Full of life,” Rebecca said. “He could hardly sit still in the chair for me to cut his hair—not because he had a problem paying attention. It was just that he was so full of energy and there were so many things he wanted to do. He was on the ski patrol. He helped his old coach at every track-and-field event the little ones at the elementary school had.”

  I spied an empty parking space, big enough for the truck, a couple of doors down from the tai chi studio and backed into it.

  “You’ve probably heard what happened to Michael’s brother,” Rebecca said.

  I nodded.

  “He was different after that. But then, how could he not be?” She looked at me, her blue eyes warm and kind, as always. “But I think that young man who was so full of life was still somewhere inside. Maybe if Michael had had a little more time here, he would have come out.”

  I reached over and patted her arm. “That’s a nice thought,” I said.

  When we got out of the truck, Ruby was coming up the sidewalk, and we waited by the door for her. Her hair was in three ponytails sticking out from her head at odd angles. “Hi,” she said. She gestured to her hair. “Thank you for the conditioner,” she said to Rebecca. “I can’t believe how soft my hair is.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome,” Rebecca said. She held up her bag. “Now that the show is on again do you want this back?”

  Ruby shook her head, making her little ponytails bounce. “No. I have more of Ella’s bags. What I want is for you to make sure you have that bag with you at the show and that you tell people you like it.” She frowned at Rebecca. “You do like it, right?”

  “Heavens, yes,” Rebecca said. They started up the stairs, discussing the merits of Ella King’s tote bags. I followed them.

  Rebecca saw the best in everyone and everything. That was one of the many things I liked about her. But she was also a very good judge of people, and if she said that Mike Glazer was a good person at heart, I had to believe she’d seen some goodness in him.

  Maggie had decided we were going to spend the class working on our weak areas. I knew for me that would be Cloud Hands. After the warm-up, we spread out and she moved from one person to the next, watching, encouraging, making small adjustments. By the time we finished the form at the end of the class, my T-shirt was blotched with patches of sweat.

  “Your Cloud Hands look better,” Maggie said, holding her arms out and shaking them as she walked over to me.

  “Seriously?” I said.

  “I wouldn’t say they did if they didn’t.” She pulled both hands back through her blond hair. “Could you give me a ride?” she asked. “I have three bags of cotton stuffing in my office, and I don’t really want to carry them.”

  “Sure,” I said. “That reminds me. I have Liam’s coffee mug in my bag.”

  “Why?” The bridge of her nose wrinkled as she frowned at me.

  “Because he left it at Eric’s and hasn’t been back. Claire gave it to me to give to you.”

  “He’s had a lot on his mind,” Maggie said with an offhand shrug. “Thanks for bringing it.”

  I didn’t see any point in bringing up the argument Liam had had with Mike. Maggie had a lot on her mind, too. “What are you going to do with three bags of stuffing?” I asked instead. “Are you working on another piece like Eddie?”

  Maggie’s life-size Eddie Sweeney had been part of last winter’s Winterfest display at the community center. And he’d indirectly been the reason Roma and the real Eddie had started going out. The last time I’d been at Maggie’s apartment, Eddie had been sitting in her living room with his skates propped on a footstool.

  Maggie grinned and gave her head a little shake. “Don’t tell Roma, but I’m actually working on Eddie. He needs a little bodywork”—she patted her hips with both hands—“if you know what I mean. Eddie—the real one—wants stuffed Eddie as a housewarming gift for Roma.”

  “Aww, that’s so romantic,” I said, using the sleeve of my shirt to wipe sweat off the side of my neck.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Maggie said as we started for her office. She bumped me with her hip. “Kind of like offering to put the pieces of an old rocking chair together for someone.”

  I shot her a daggers look. She held up both hands as though she were surrendering. “I’m just saying,” she said.

  We carried the three bags of cotton stuffing out to the truck. Mags put two of them in the middle of the bench seat and fastened the lap belt around them. The third bag she jammed down by her feet.

  Maggie’s apartment was on the top floor of an old brick building that had been a corset factory at one time. The stairs came out onto a landing with a huge window that flooded the space with light. To the left was a small bathroom and an equally small bedroom.

  Straight ahead, down two steps, was the living space, dark hardwood stretching all the way to the other end of the long room. Maggie’s dark chocolate dining room table and chairs were in the area next to the stairs where the wall jutted inward to make room for a small roof terrace outside.

  An old Oriental rug, which Mags had confided she’d scavenged from the dump and half carried, half dragged home, marked the living room space. There were two deep blue sofas and a square-shaped leather chair in front of the built-in bookshelves with their beveled glass doors. Faux Eddie was in the chair, skates up on the dark blue footstool. Maggie had somehow fastened a copy of the Wall Street Journal to his hockey gloves. From the front it actually looked like a real person sitting there reading the financial news in skates and full hockey gear.

  At the end of the long room there was a small galley kitchen with a dropped hammered-tin ceiling.

  “How about some hot chocolate?” Maggie asked, setting the two bags of stuffing she’d been carrying on one of the sofas and heading for the little kitchen. She set Liam’s coffee mug on the counter.

  “Sounds good,” I said. I put the bag of stuffing I’d been holding next to the other two, sat on the empty sofa and studied Eddie. He really did look like the real thing.

  I watched Maggie move around the tiny kitchen, shifting her weight instead of stretching and overreaching. It made me wonder if eventually all the tai chi practice would have me moving like that. “That’s really nice of you to let Eddie have Eddie,” I said. “I had lunch with Roma out at Wisteria Hill today.”

  Maggie turned from the refrigerator, a container of milk in her hand. “I know,” she said. “Roma called me—before she called Marcus.”

  “She told you about seeing Liam arguing with Mike Glazer.” So she knew after all. I kicked off my shoes and curled my feet up under me.

  “She did. I know he was angry about the way things were working out. Mike was driving everyone crazy.” She shot me a sidelong glance. “That’s wh
y he left his mug at Eric’s, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Claire said he just tossed some money on the table and left before she could catch him.”

  She sighed. “Kath, Liam’s not the kind of person who would hurt someone, let alone kill anyone. People say a lot of things they don’t mean when they’re angry.” She got the marshmallows out of the cupboard over her head. “I got mad at Jimmy Harrison in third grade and told him I was going to stuff him in the toilet and flush him to China.”

  “You didn’t, did you?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “You can’t flush someone to China. And anyway, eight-year-old boys don’t fit in elementary school toilets.”

  “I’m not going to ask how you know that,” I said.

  Maggie just laughed.

  I looked over at Eddie. Straight on, it looked like he was reading the news, but from this angle it seemed as though he were watching me out of the corner of his eye, over the top of the newspaper. “Mags, is Eddie watching me or am I just imagining things?” I asked.

  “Very good,” she said with a smile. “You’re the first person to notice that, or maybe I should say you’re the first person to say you noticed it. Everyone else has just moved to the other end of the sofa.”

  “So you did it on purpose?”

  She picked up one of the heavy pottery mugs and brought it over to me. “It was an experiment. Remember me telling you about the art show I went to in Detroit?”

  “There was a painting—a landscape. You said it made you uncomfortable, but you couldn’t figure out why at first.”

  She nodded. “It turned out there was a person in the image, almost lost in the shadows of the picture. Wherever you stood in the gallery, it felt as though that figure were watching you.” She picked up her own mug. “Close your eyes.”

  I closed them. The feeling I was being stared at seemed stronger now that I couldn’t see Eddie.

  “Don’t look,” Maggie said.

  I folded my fingers tightly around my cup, and after a minute I felt Maggie sit down. “Okay, open your eyes,” she said.

  The first thing I did was turn my head toward Eddie. I had no idea what she’d done, but he wasn’t watching me anymore. That unsettling sensation, like someone’s breath on the back of my neck, slipped away.