A Tale of Two Kitties

by Sofie Kelly

  “Mrr,” he replied. Translation: “Good.”

  “Where’s your brother?”

  Herc turned toward the kitchen door.

  “Roma wants to check his ear one more time,” I said.

  He put a paw over his face.

  I laughed. “Yeah, I know how he’s going to react.”

  I got up, unlocked the door and stepped into the kitchen. Owen was just making his way in from the living room. I set my things on the table and bent down to pick him up. “How would you like to go see Rebecca?” I asked. “She hurt her knee and she’s housebound.”

  “Merow,” he said.

  “I thought we could take her some of those oatmeal cookies. There are a couple of dozen in the freezer.”

  He licked his whiskers. Okay, that was a yes.

  “And we’re going to stop and let Roma take a look at your ear,” I said, running the words all together. It didn’t matter how fast I said them, however; Owen knew exactly what I’d said. He immediately started to try to wiggle his way out of my arms.

  I set him down on the floor. “No, it’s all right,” I said. “You don’t have to go.” I went over to the sink, washed my hands and then went to the freezer to get out the cookies.

  Owen eyed me suspiciously.

  I put the cookies in one of my canvas carryalls, picked up my purse and keys again and started for the door. “I’ll give Rebecca your love,” I said. As I stepped out into the porch Owen edged past me. He headed straight for the back door, making little grumbling sounds all the way. Apparently we were going to see Roma after all.

  I stopped to give Hercules a scratch on the top of his head. He almost seemed to be smiling at me. “I’ll see you later,” I said.

  • • •

  Roma was waiting at the clinic. She quickly checked Owen’s ear, and while he wasn’t a model patient he wasn’t any more difficult than usual.

  “We’re going to see Rebecca,” I told Roma, explaining about Rebecca’s injury.

  “Give her a hug from me and tell her I’ll be over to see her tomorrow,” Roma said.

  I’d called Rebecca before we’d left the house to see if she’d like a furry visitor. “I’d love one,” she’d said. “I keep telling Everett that I’m fine but he’s not listening.” She’d raised her voice at the end of the sentence, I’m guessing because she intended her husband to hear what she’d said.

  “She’s stubborn, Kathleen,” Everett had said in the background.

  I’d laughed. “Owen and I will see you in a little while.”

  Victor Janes was just heading up the walkway when I got to Everett’s big brick house. He stopped when he realized it was me and waited for me to join him. I had told Marcus I’d stay away from the man, but I didn’t want to give him any hint that I suspected he was responsible for Leo’s death. I wondered how he could stay in that apartment after what I thought he’d done.

  “Hello, Kathleen,” Victor said. He was bundled up in a heavy barn jacket with a navy-and-wine-colored wool scarf looped and knotted at his neck.

  “Good evening, Victor,” I said.

  “You’re here to see Rebecca, I’m guessing.”

  I nodded. “I brought her some cookies.”

  He held the door open for me and I stepped into the entryway. “Come in with me,” he said, reaching in his pocket for his keys. “It’ll save Everett a trip down the stairs.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  He opened the door and once again indicated that I should go ahead of him. “Have a good evening,” he said. He turned toward his brother’s apartment.

  “You too,” I said.

  Owen had stayed silent and out of sight during the entire encounter with Victor but once the apartment door closed he poked his head out of the top of the fabric bag and looked at me. He wrinkled his nose and then looked down the stairs.

  “I know,” I said softly. “Victor Janes smells like Biggie Burgers.”

  Back before Roma had gotten insistent that I stop letting the cats eat people food, Owen had had half of his one and only Biggie Burger. When he heard the words he still got a blissed-out look on his face.

  Rebecca was settled on the sofa in the living room with her knee resting on a pillow and a large cold pack wrapped around it. Owen jumped out of the bag and made a beeline across the room to her. “Hello, Kathleen,” she said before leaning forward a little to talk to the cat.

  “How is she?” I said to Everett.

  “Stubborn and argumentative,” he replied, rubbing his stubbled chin with one hand. “I wanted to hire a nurse but you’d think I was suggesting locking her up.”

  “I think for her it’s the same thing,” I said with a smile.

  Owen and Rebecca had a great visit. She fussed over him; he sympathized with her. I left with a promise that I’d be back tomorrow after tai chi. Owen climbed into the bag without argument.

  When we got to the bottom of the stairs he poked his head out for a look around but stayed put. It wasn’t until I stepped outside that the bag wriggled against my leg. I moved to grab him but he was already half out. He jumped down to the walkway and disappeared around a large evergreen shrub.

  “Owen!” I hissed.

  No answer. Why was I wasting time? He wasn’t going to answer and he wasn’t going to come back. It would be faster to just go after him.

  The yard of the big brick house wasn’t very large, not a surprise given how close we were to the downtown. There was a small outbuilding by the back entrance. I found Owen pawing at the door.

  “Okay, what are you doing?” I said, folding my arms over my chest and glaring at him.

  He looked at the door and he looked at me.

  “It’s probably where they keep the garbage cans,” I said. “There’s nothing in there for you.”

  He continued to look at me unblinkingly.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “Mrr,” he said: Maybe we shouldn’t be, but we’re going to.

  There was no sign of anyone else around. I opened the door. Owen squeezed inside and I slipped in as well. There was enough light from a nearby streetlight to see the three garbage cans stacked by the back wall. I lifted the lid of the first one. The empty package of bacon told me it was Everett and Rebecca’s trash. The second can was empty. The third can held orange peels, an empty pomegranate juice container and at the very bottom a take-out bag from Biggie Burgers.

  Owen sat on the top of the empty can and sniffed the air.

  “You were right,” I said. “Victor Janes had a Biggie Burger for supper.” I pulled out the fast food bag. Underneath it, half hidden under another crumpled fast food bag, I saw the edge of something that looked familiar. Heart thumping in my chest, I reached into the garbage again and pulled out a small plastic container. It was empty but I’d seen many similar ones. I knew stage makeup well and I knew the container had held a tinted base. I rummaged in the bottom of the trash container and found another mostly empty tub of white crème color, a bruise-and-abrasions wheel and a half-used black pencil. I could only think of one reason Victor Janes had stage makeup. He wasn’t sick. He was using it to create the illusion that he was.

  I set the containers on top of the adjacent garbage can, pulled out my phone, took several pictures of the makeup and then put everything back. I used hand sanitizer to clean my hands and then I picked up Owen and made my way back to the truck.

  I’d just set the cat on the seat when my phone rang. I climbed in next to him, took a deep breath and got my phone out of my pocket. I recognized the number as the library’s. It was Mary.

  “Bridget hit a deer up on the highway,” she said. Her voice had a shaky edge. “She’s all right but they’re still taking her to the hospital as a precaution. I know she’s a grown adult, but she’s still my baby.”

  “Go,” I said.
r />   “Are you sure?”

  “Go,” I repeated. “I’m just leaving Rebecca and Everett’s. Tell Abigail I’ll be there soon.”

  I looked at Owen. “We have to get back to the library. And then we’re going to have to call Marcus. I think Victor Janes has been lying about being sick, probably as a way to generate sympathy and work his way back into his brother’s life. It was likely the only thing he thought would work after twenty years of estrangement. If he’s lying about that then maybe he’s lying about some other things, too.”

  I had the photos of the makeup on my phone, makeup I felt certain Victor had been using to make himself look gaunt and pale. Would they be enough to convince Marcus that Victor had killed his brother? I started the truck. As soon as I got back to my office I’d find out.

  The parking lot was almost empty when I got to the library. Monday nights were sometimes that way.

  “Hi,” I said to Abigail as I came in the front door. Owen poked his head out of the bag.

  “Merow,” he said.

  She smiled. “Owen, it’s so good of you to finish Mary’s shift for her.”

  He tipped his head to one side and gave her his best cute cat look.

  “You’re such a hambone,” I said. I took him up to my office, gave him a drink and a couple of crackers and went back down to help Abigail. I tried Marcus but the call went to voice mail. “Call me,” I said. “It’s important.”

  My phone rang about an hour later just as I was starting the walk through the building. I’d been expecting it to be Mary or Marcus, but it was Celia Hunter.

  “Hello, Kathleen,” she said. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No,” I said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I’m hoping there’s something I can do for you,” she said.

  “All right.”

  “You mentioned that Leo got a key in the mail.”

  “Yes,” I said, tucking a book back in place on its shelf.

  “I think it’s possible Meredith did send it.”

  “Do you know why?”

  She exhaled softly. “Leo’s father had a large metal strongbox in his house. He was a child of the Great Depression and he didn’t really trust banks. The family didn’t know for certain what was in it until he died. Meredith told me that Leo had suspected his father’s lawyer may have taken things out of the box before it was opened with Leo, Victor and the lawyer present. There was only one key and the lawyer had taken charge of it as the executor when Leo’s father died.”

  Celia paused and cleared her throat. “I keep thinking what if it was Victor, not the lawyer? What if he somehow made a copy of that key? What if Meredith found it? What if she figured out what it was for? Maybe Victor found out and . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to.

  I thanked her for calling and hung up. I remembered what Sandra had said about when Leo had received the letter with the key. One day before he was killed. Victor Janes was looking more and more guilty. I tried Marcus again, and again all I got was voice mail.

  Abigail was ready to go. “I can wait for you,” she said.

  I shook my head. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll let you out now. I have to go upstairs and corral the furball.”

  I unlocked the door, watched Abigail walk to her car then relocked it again. Then I went upstairs to get Owen.

  He trailed me as I shut off the remaining lights and double-checked windows. I wasn’t really paying a lot of attention to what I was doing. I was putting together the case I was going to make to Marcus.

  “Victor Janes doesn’t have cancer,” I said to Owen. “He’s not sick and if he was faking that, maybe he also faked his alibi somehow. I think when Leo got the key in the mail he recognized it and he figured out that Victor stole something—money, probably, and maybe a lot of it—from their father, and I think he guessed that Victor had something to do with Meredith’s death.” I remembered the book on theatrical makeup Leo had requested. “In fact,” I mused, “I think Leo was already getting suspicious that his brother’s illness was just another scam.”

  I pulled out my phone again. I thought for a moment about trying Simon but he and Mia were still in Minneapolis. I put the phone back in my pocket and turned around.

  Victor Janes was standing there.

  chapter 17

  “I’m sorry, Victor, the library is closed,” I said. I looked down for Owen but he had disappeared.

  Literally.

  “Yes, I know,” Victor said.

  I wrapped my fingers around my keys and began to move toward the door, making a wide path around him. “It’s not a problem. I can let you out.”

  It took about three steps for him to plant himself in front of me. “Don’t waste your time and mine, Kathleen,” he said. “I saw you. You went through the garbage cans.”

  I didn’t see any point in keeping up the pretense. “You killed Leo,” I said. “You use your right hand but you’re ambidextrous like he was. You used your left hand when you hit him even though most of the time you do things right-handed.”

  Victor laughed. It was a harsh sound in the empty library. He looked exactly like his brother but there was no way anyone who had met Leo could confuse the two.

  “So we’re going to play a game of Clue?” he said. “The killer was Uncle Victor in the foyer with a sculpture?”

  “Yes, it was,” I said. The only thing I could think was to stall, to keep him talking. “How did you fake your alibi? You weren’t actually in that chat room.”

  He gave me a smile that made the hairs come up on the back of my neck. “The wonders of modern technology. I have this slick little app that lets me connect with my computer even when I’m somewhere else, like now, for instance. Makes it look like I’m there when I’m not.”

  “You had a second phone, a prepaid one that you got rid of.” I studied his face, looking for even a hint of remorse. I didn’t see any. “It wasn’t a coincidence that the battery on what was supposed to be your only phone overheated that exact day, was it?” I remembered what Avis had said about her old tablet: Heat isn’t good for rechargeable batteries.

  Victor shrugged but didn’t say anything. It was as close to an admission as I was going to get.

  “I don’t understand why you killed your own brother, though.”

  “You can call it sibling rivalry.”

  “You wanted his wife.” I moved my left leg a little to the side. Was Owen still next to me? No.

  Victor smiled. It just made his face more ugly. “I had his wife.”

  I shook my head. “No, you didn’t. Meredith was afraid of you, afraid enough that she was waiting for you to go out of town so she could get away from you. The night she died she was on her way home to her husband and her son. She didn’t want you.”

  “Is this where I’m supposed to get angry and then you take advantage of my emotions to escape?”

  “She was going to tell Leo what you’d done, how you’d stolen money from your own father. That’s why you killed her,” I said. I saw a flash of anger in his eyes.

  “I didn’t kill Meredith,” he said emphatically. “I just wanted to talk to her. That’s all. I wanted her to pull over so I could talk to her. It’s not my fault that she wouldn’t slow down.”

  “She found the key to your father’s strongbox,” I said. “She knew then what you’d done, what kind of person you really were. I’m guessing you almost caught her, so she dropped the key in an envelope and mailed it to Leo. She didn’t want you to find it on her. And she knew she could explain everything when she finally saw him. Except she never did.”

  Victor took a deep breath and seemed to get his emotions under control again. “What I did was take what was mine. What I did was secure a future for the two of us. Which I could have made her understand if she’d just pulled the damn car over!”r />
  “You must have wondered what happened to that key,” I said. “She didn’t have it on her. Then as the weeks went by you must have figured you were safe.” I gave him a smile I didn’t feel. “Then after all this time you saw the story about the mail found in the wall at the post office.”

  There had been a small story about it on the evening news, which had been picked up by the Today show. “You realized Meredith could have mailed the key to Leo and, if he got it, he’d know what you did—everything you did. That’s why you came here. Not to reconcile with your brother. You came to see what he knew.”

  “He changed,” Victor said, and for the briefest moment I thought I saw something—maybe a flash of regret—but it was gone and his face hardened again. He pulled a hand over the back of his neck. “He never used to be able to keep a secret. But he didn’t let on that he’d hired someone to look into Meredith’s accident. I thought . . . I thought we were actually going to be brothers.” It was hard to miss the bitterness in his voice.

  “Leo was trying,” I said. “He invited you to come. He was urging Simon and Mia to give you a chance.”

  “He couldn’t leave the past where it belonged.”

  “You mean that key.” I glanced down at the floor. There was still no sign of Owen. “Your brother knew what it was for.”

  Victor nodded. “But he didn’t know who’d sent it. Not at first. Then he looked at the damn postmark.”

  “And then he knew who had mailed the key. And when.”

  “Why couldn’t he just let it be?” Anger gave his voice a hard edge. “Meredith’s death was an accident and I didn’t take anything from my father’s strongbox that shouldn’t have been mine.”

  He’d found a way to rationalize everything.

  “What happened?” I asked. “I know you didn’t go over there intending to kill Leo.”

  “I didn’t.” His jaw was tight, teeth clenched. “He told me that he was going to give me a choice. I could turn myself in to the police or he’d tell them what he knew.” Victor gave me a long, searching look. “Do you have any siblings, Kathleen?” he asked.