A Tale of Two Kitties

by Sofie Kelly

  “Then maybe you can give me some guidance.” She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Once I got here I had second thoughts about showing Leo the letter Meredith had sent me all those years ago. I, uh, I was afraid it might be painful for Leo so the first time I visited him I didn’t mention it. I just said I was here and wanted to say hello.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just nodded. “The second time I went to see him I had the letter with me but Leo obviously had something on his mind. He was distracted. He looked at his watch a couple of times and then he apologized. He said he was waiting for a phone call. I told him we could get together another time. I was at the door when his cell phone rang. He asked the person on the other end to hold on and then he said he’d call me in a day or two and we could have lunch. I left. That was the day he died.”

  She sighed. “This is my long-winded way of saying that I never did show Leo the letter. I’d be happy to let Simon read what his mother wrote but I don’t want to cause him any more grief than he already has to deal with.”

  “What are you asking?” I said.

  “I know this is a lot to ask when you don’t know me, but would you be willing to read the letter and tell me if I should show it to Simon?”

  I smoothed a hand back over my hair. “I don’t think I’m qualified to make that decision for Simon,” I said.

  “I understand,” she said.

  “I think you should get in touch with him. You could tell him what it says in general terms, then he could decide if he wanted to read it himself.”

  She nodded. “That’s a good idea.” She glanced at her watch. “I should be able to make it to the library tomorrow or Tuesday.”

  I glanced around again and still couldn’t see Marcus. “Celia, do you mind if I ask if you’ve spoken to the police?”

  Her eyes narrowed and she looked puzzled. “No. Why would I talk to the police?”

  “Because you’re one of the last people Leo saw the night he died.”

  For a moment she didn’t say anything and she seemed focused on something beyond me. Then her attention came back to me. “I assumed Leo had a heart attack, but that’s not what happened, is it? Somebody . . . Leo didn’t die of natural causes, did he?”

  The fact that Leo Janes had been murdered wasn’t a secret, but it wasn’t common knowledge yet, either. Surprising, because that sort of news usually made it around town pretty quickly.

  “The police are still looking into that,” I said. “You might know something that can help them and not realize it.”

  Celia nodded. “Of course. I’ll go to the police station first thing in the morning.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.”

  “I’m glad you came to speak to me,” she said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  She turned and headed toward the street. I walked back to Maggie, who had two boxes of frames at her feet and was just getting some money from the stall owner. She turned to me, smiled and handed me a ten-dollar bill. “Two boxes for thirty dollars,” she said, “and I think I could have gotten him down a little more. No one is lining up to buy these.”

  She bent down and picked up one of the boxes and I got the other. “Guy who owns the stall doesn’t have to drag these two boxes home and I saved a little money—everyone is a little happy and a little had.”

  I smiled at the expression. I’d heard Burtis use it before. Brady’s father had several small businesses, most of which were legal. No matter what Maggie said about her relationship with Brady Chapman, I knew they were becoming important parts of each other’s lives.

  “Did you find anything interesting?” she asked.

  “In a way, yes,” I said, thinking about my conversation with Celia Hunter.

  She glanced over at me. “You didn’t buy anything?”

  “It wasn’t that kind of interesting.”

  Maggie shrugged. She was probably the only person I knew who would accept that kind of an answer.

  “If we can find Brady I can get his keys and put these in his truck,” she said.

  “Do you know where that arcade game was?” I asked. The box of frames was heavier than it looked.

  Maggie stopped, took a couple of steps to the side to get out of people’s way and looked around. Her green eyes narrowed and her mouth moved as she muttered to herself. “Over there,” she said, “just to the left of the place with the copper birdbaths.”

  We headed across the parking lot and suddenly I caught sight of Brady. He was shaking hands with someone I didn’t recognize. “Mags, I see Brady,” I said. “I think he bought the PAC-MAN game.”

  “I knew he would,” she said. “You should have seen his face when he first saw it.” She smiled. “He has the money, and how often can you buy happiness?”

  I pretended to think about the question. “That depends on how often Eric has chocolate pudding cake on the menu.”

  She laughed. “Okay, so some of us can buy it more easily than others.”

  Brady had bought the arcade PAC-MAN machine. He and Marcus had grabbed Larry Taylor, who happened to be walking by, and the three of them got the game loaded onto Brady’s truck, strapped in with some bungee cords of Larry’s.

  “We’ll take these boxes,” Marcus said, taking the carton from Maggie’s arms. “Where do you want them? Home or at Riverarts?”

  “Thank you,” Mags said. “Studio, please.”

  We followed Brady’s truck over to the former school and put the two boxes of frames up in her studio.

  “Do you need some help to get that thing off the truck?” Marcus asked Brady when we were back on the street again.

  Brady shook his head. “There will be lots of bodies at the house—that’s where I’m taking it.”

  Maggie told me she’d call me in the morning to set up a time to start measuring some of the photos.

  “Thanks for taking this project on,” I said, giving her a hug.

  “I’m excited about it,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”

  Marcus headed up the hill. I replayed the conversation with Celia Hunter in my head. I was so focused on my thoughts I didn’t realize he’d spoken to me.

  “Sorry,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Where were you?” he asked.

  “Do you have Leo Janes’s cell phone?”

  “Yes,” Marcus said, his eyes darting sideways at me briefly.

  I remembered what Celia had said about Leo getting a call on his cell just as she was leaving the apartment. “Did he get a phone call a short time before he died?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Kathleen,” he said, his expression and voice shifting into what I called “cop mode.”

  “Did the person Leo spoke to tell you that someone was leaving his apartment at the time of the call?”

  Marcus put on his blinker and pulled over to the curb. He put the SUV in park and turned to me. “You know something. What is it?”

  “When Mia and I got to the building that night I saw a silk scarf on the walkway. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. I thought it was Rebecca’s. It wasn’t, she just has one that’s very similar.”

  He nodded.

  “Later, I realized the first time I’d gone over to Rebecca’s I’d passed a woman coming out of the building and she was wearing the scarf.” I held up a hand. “I know this doesn’t make much sense.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and shifted a little in his seat. “Keep going,” he said.

  “I saw her, while Maggie was looking at those picture frames. I went and spoke to her. Her name is Celia Hunter. She was a friend of Leo’s wife. She was with Leo not long before he died.”

  He pulled one hand over his mouth. “Why didn’t she get in touch with us when she heard he was dead?”

  I reached over and brushed a bit of dried leaf from his sleeve.

 
“She said she didn’t think it was important. Remember, not everyone knows Leo was murdered. And by the way, how did you get Bridget to sit on that?”

  “It wasn’t me,” Marcus said. “I think the prosecuting attorney made some kind of deal with her.”

  “I told Celia she needed to talk to you and she said she’d come to the station in the morning.”

  “She’s from out of town,” he said.

  I nodded.

  I could see his mind working. “Describe her to me.”

  “She’s around sixty, gray hair about this long.” I tapped my jawline with my index fingers. “She’s maybe five feet tall but no more.”

  He didn’t write anything down but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t remember.

  I blew out a breath, lifting my bangs in the air. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the scarf. It didn’t occur to me that it might have belonged to anyone other than Rebecca.”

  He smiled. “It’s all right. You said this woman admitted it was hers?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Marcus started the SUV again. “It’s not evidence. It could have been on the ground for days. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Are you sure?” I said as he pulled away from the curb.

  “It wasn’t her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  I snugged up my seat belt. “How do you know?”

  He glanced at me again. “This stays between us.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I have the medical examiner’s report, and the person who hit Leo with that heavy piece of sculpture was strong and tall. I don’t think Leo obligingly bent down for his killer.”

  “And there was nothing there he could have been sitting on,” I finished, remembering what the room had looked like when I’d found Leo’s body.

  Marcus put on his blinker and turned onto Mountain Road. I realized that the medical examiner’s report may have eliminated Celia, but it didn’t do anything for Simon.

  chapter 8

  Marcus made chicken with apples and leeks for supper and my favorite, Eric’s chocolate pudding cake, for dessert. “You’re a really good cook,” I told him, licking the back of my spoon after having a second helping.

  He smiled. “You might be a little biased.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said solemnly. I leaned across the edge of the table to kiss him.

  His phone rang.

  I made a face. “No,” I groaned.

  Marcus’s lips brushed mine. “Remember where we were.” He picked up the phone and immediately his expression changed. “What happened?” he said.

  It was police business, I realized. I got up and started clearing the table. Owen was sitting to the right of Marcus’s chair, fastidiously washing his face. Hercules had gone into the living room once he figured out he wasn’t getting any pudding cake.

  Marcus said, “Okay,” several times. His mouth pulled to one side. “No, no, I’m on my way,” he finally said. He ended the call and turned to look at me. “I’m sorry, Kathleen. This has to do with a case.”

  Leo Janes’s case? I wondered. Marcus stood up and pulled me into his arms. “Rain check?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  He gestured at the sink. “I’m sorry to leave you with the dishes.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “Owen doesn’t mind lending a paw.” The cat held up one front foot and gave me a puzzled look.

  Marcus laughed. Then he grabbed his coat. I kissed him and he was gone.

  Owen didn’t actually help with the dishes, but he did sit at my feet and keep me company while I did them.

  Once everything was dried and put away I set my laptop on the kitchen table. “Want to help me look up a couple of things?” I asked. He tipped his head to one side, seeming to consider the idea, then he yawned, stretched and disappeared. As in I couldn’t see him anymore. “You could have just said no,” I said.

  Hercules poked his head around the living room doorway then. “Mrr,” he said inquiringly.

  “I was talking to your brother,” I said, hooking a chair with one foot.

  “Mrr,” he said again.

  “Do you want to help me look up a couple of things?” I asked.

  He almost seemed to shrug, then he made his way over to me. I picked him up, sat down and let the cat get settled on my lap. “Claws,” I reminded him when his poking got a bit too pointed.

  Once Hercules was settled, I turned on the computer. He looked over at the chair where Marcus had been sitting. Then he looked over his shoulder at me. “Work,” I said. The answer seemed to satisfy him. He put one paw on the edge of the table and turned all his attention to the laptop screen.

  I’d read a bit about Meredith Janes’s accident but I wanted to know more. The accident had been big news in the Chicago area and there were a number of articles besides the original one I’d read.

  I didn’t learn anything new. I read three different newspaper articles but in the end there wasn’t anything suspicious about Meredith Janes’s death. It was nothing more than a very sad accident. One article had several photos of the stretch of road where her car had gone over the embankment, including one of a clearly distraught Victor Janes, his face drawn and gaunt.

  “Okay, this is a dead end,” I said to the cat. I stretched one arm up in the air and rolled my head from side to side to work out the kinks in my neck. Just then my cell phone rang. It was lying on the table and I reached for it. At the same time Hercules craned his neck as if he was trying to see the screen and find out who was calling. It was Simon. “Hi, Simon,” I said.

  “Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need a favor.”

  Simon was the kind of person who didn’t ask for favors. “Sure. What is it?”

  “Mia is working on some project for one of her classes. She’s out at the Taylors’. I’m supposed to pick her up in about half an hour but—” I heard him exhale. “I’m at my office. Someone tried to break in. Harry was having a beer when I dropped her off so he can’t drive her.”

  “Are you all right? What about Denise?” I leaned forward in my chair, which got me a glare from the black-and-white eavesdropper on my lap.

  “Denise is fine. So am I. No one was here. The office has a good alarm system. Whoever it was didn’t manage to get in. All they did was damage my door and make a mess in the entrance.” He muttered a swear word under his breath.

  I could hear voices in the background and it occurred to me that the break-in was probably the call Marcus had gotten.

  “I really need to stay here, Kathleen. Is there any chance you could pick Mia up and bring her here?”

  “Of course I can. Text her and let her know I’m coming.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “Normally I’d ask Denise but she’s in Minneapolis. She’s having dental surgery first thing tomorrow.”

  “It’s not a problem, Simon,” I said. “We’ll see you soon.”

  I ended the call. Hercules jumped down from my lap as I closed my web browser. He headed across the floor to the kitchen door. “You’re not coming,” I called after him.

  “Merow,” he said right before the door seemed to shimmer and he walked right through it.

  I shut off the computer, grabbed my purse and my gray hoodie. Hercules was standing in front of the outside door. He looked up at me as I pulled on my sneakers.

  “What part of ‘you’re not coming’ are you having trouble with?” I asked.

  He made a face as if he were seriously considering the question, then he walked through the porch door. I hated when he did that. It was impossible to get the last word.

  Hercules was waiting at the bottom of the steps at the edge of the pool of light cast by the outside fixture. He walked around the side of the house with me.

  “You’re only doing this because you kn
ow I don’t have time to argue with you,” I said. When I looked down at him his green eyes were firmly fixed on what was ahead of him. I was on ignore.

  I unlocked the truck and Hercules jumped onto the seat, walking his way over to the passenger side. He sat down, curling his tail around his feet, and looked out the windshield, satisfied that he’d won the battle.

  I backed out of the driveway, and headed for Harry Taylor’s house. Hercules didn’t make a sound the entire way there. He was content to sit next to me and look out the window. When I pulled the truck in at the side of the big farmhouse he moved to the middle of the seat. I turned to look at him. “I have no idea where Boris is. Unless you want to end up nose to nose with him, stay in the truck.”

  Hercules immediately lay down on the seat. He’d gotten the message.

  Boris was Harry’s German shepherd, although he spent most of his time with Harrison. The big dog was gentle and friendly with a keen intelligence that showed in his brown velvet eyes. I’d called him a pussycat once. Both Owen and Hercules had seemed deeply offended.

  The outside light was on at the side door to the house and I could also see a light on in the kitchen. I knocked and after a moment Harry came to the door. He was wearing a red plaid flannel shirt and gray-framed reading glasses.

  “Hello, Kathleen,” he said. “What are you doing out here?”

  I was colder than I’d expected and I tugged at the drawstring around the neck of the hooded sweatshirt. “Simon asked me to pick up Mia,” I said.

  He frowned. “Everything okay?”

  “Pretty much,” I said. “Someone tried to break into Simon’s office—they didn’t succeed—but he’s with the police so I came to get Mia.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. He’s been through enough. He doesn’t need that.”

  I nodded.

  “The girls are over with the old man,” Harry said, gesturing at his father’s small house at the far left of the cleared area near the trees. “They’re doing some project about the history of the town and he knows more than damn near anyone except for maybe Mary Lowe or Rebecca.”

  “Thanks,” I said.