A Tale of Two Kitties

by Sofie Kelly

  “Yes,” I said. “A brother and sister.”

  “Would you sell them out? Would you put them in jail?”

  “Neither one of them would ever put me in the position to have to even think about that,” I said. I made a mental promise that when I got out of this I was going to call both Sara and Ethan and tell them just how much I loved them. I imagined Ethan laughing and saying, “Yeah, yeah, big sister. I love you, too.”

  “Aren’t you perfect,” Victor said.

  “No. I’m not,” I said. “But I can promise you I would have made a different choice. And you still have the chance to make a different one now.”

  “You aren’t leaving me any reasonable choice. Neither did Leo. I’m not going to jail. Leo backed me into a corner. I had to kill him. Don’t think I won’t kill you.”

  I heard a strangled sound behind me, like a half-choked-off sob. I turned to find Mia standing there. One hand was pressed over her mouth as tears ran down her face.

  Victor was faster than I was. Even as I started to say, “Run,” he grabbed her shoulder, yanked her body against his chest and snaked his arm around her neck.

  I held up my hands. “Let her go,” I said. “You have me. You don’t need her.” I kept my eyes locked on Mia, trying to somehow let her know that we would get out of this. At the same time I took a couple of steps closer to them while I had the chance.

  “Stop!” Victor said sharply.

  I stopped moving. “Okay.” I dropped my hands to my sides.

  There was a large atlas of the world on the low shelf next to me and a wire rack of paperbacks level with my shoulder by the end. Behind Victor and Mia was a higher set of shelves. I noticed the end book on the shelf just above his head was moving. Now I knew where Owen was. And now I had a plan. All I needed was for Mia to move the right way when the time came, away from Victor, away from me and toward the door.

  On the end of the low shelf beside me I caught a glimpse of a fire-safety poster and I knew what to do.

  “Give me your cell phone,” Victor said.

  “Why?” I asked, trying to keep my tone even and neutral. At the same time I folded one arm across my midsection and laid my index finger against the arm of my sweater.

  One.

  Victor tightened his arm around Mia’s neck. I added my middle finger.

  Two.

  “You don’t need to hurt Mia,” I said.

  “Then give me the damn phone.” I hoped Mia had noticed. I hoped she knew something was about to happen.

  “All right,” I said. And my ring finger.

  Three.

  I made a movement as though I was going to give him my phone, then I grabbed the wire book stand and swung it at him. At the same time I yelled, “Stop! Drop! And roll!” as loudly as I could.

  The words echoed around the library. Mia went limp, dropping out of Victor’s grasp onto the floor, where she rolled to the left just the way she had when we’d practiced with the kids. At the same time Owen materialized and launched himself onto Victor’s back, digging in with four sets of claws. It was all the distraction I needed.

  I picked up the heavy atlas and swung it with every ounce of strength I had. It made very satisfying contact with the side of Victor Janes’s head, a little karmic justice. His eyes rolled back and he fell backward onto the floor.

  “Run!” I yelled to Mia, pushing her toward the front entrance. Then I grabbed Owen and ran after her.

  chapter 18

  Once we were outside I put an arm around Mia and kept her moving toward my truck. As soon as we were next to it I called 911. Then I gave Mia the phone so she could call her father. I unlocked the driver’s door of the truck and set Owen on the seat. He shook himself and gave me a self-satisfied look.

  “You’re my furry hero,” I said, leaning my face close to his for a moment.

  “Mrr,” he said, nuzzling my cheek.

  I straightened up and turned to Mia. Her face was streaked with tears and there was dirt on her sweater from rolling on the floor.

  “You did great,” I said, putting my hands on her shoulders. I had to stop and swallow back the surge of emotions that suddenly hit me. “What were you doing in the building? I thought you and your father were in Minneapolis?”

  “We came back a bit early. I realized that I’d left my sociology textbook here. I came in to get it just before you closed and then I got a text and I got held up.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I saw your fingers,” she said.

  I smiled. “I knew you would.”

  “And when you yelled, ‘Stop, drop and roll,’ I didn’t even think. I just did it.”

  I nodded. “That’s what I was hoping.”

  She looked over at the door. “He killed Grandpa.”

  I folded her into my arms. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “What if he gets up before the police get here?” she asked.

  I let go of her with one arm and reached into the bed of the truck to pull out one of the hockey sticks. Given how hard I’d hit Victor with that atlas I didn’t think he was going to be getting up very quickly, but if he did, I was going to be ready.

  “If he does,” I said, “I’m going to show him my slap shot.” I heard the sirens then. I kept Mia against my side with one arm and held my hockey stick with the other.

  It was only minutes before the first police car pulled to a stop in front of the building. Marcus’s SUV fishtailed to the curb right behind it. He got out, said something to the uniformed officer and then came striding across the grass to us.

  “Are you all right?” he said, putting a hand on my arm and studying my face.

  “I’m okay,” I said, giving him a small smile. It was so good to see his face.

  He turned to Mia. “What about you? You okay?”

  She nodded. “Kathleen saved us,” she said.

  Owen meowed loudly from the seat behind us. He wasn’t about to let his contribution not be acknowledged.

  Mia turned and smiled at him. “And Owen, too.”

  “Victor . . . killed his brother,” I said.

  “I know,” Marcus said. “I just got off the phone with his health insurance provider. We finally got a judge to give us a subpoena.”

  Suddenly I understood why Leo had wanted to talk to Harry’s ex-wife. “He’s not sick.”

  Marcus shook his head. “No, he isn’t.” He glanced over at the building. The paramedics had arrived and were on their way inside.

  “Go,” I said. “We’re all right.”

  “We can take care of ourselves,” Mia said, squaring her shoulders.

  “I can see that,” Marcus said. “Just stay here. I’ll be back.” He leaned over and kissed me and then started for the door.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Simon’s SUV pull to the curb. He got out and looked around. I raised a hand and he started toward us. “Your dad’s here,” I said to Mia.

  Her face lit up. I kissed the top of her head and she ran to meet him. Owen walked his way over the seat to me and rubbed against my side. I leaned the hockey stick against the side of the truck and reached down to stroke his fur. My legs were trembling but I reminded myself that we were all safe and that was all that mattered.

  Marcus came back out in a couple of minutes and had me walk him through what had happened from the moment Owen and I arrived at Everett’s apartment. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “My phone died. That’s why you couldn’t get me.”

  I put a hand on his arm. “It’s all right,” I said. “I broke my own rule about staff leaving together.”

  I looked over at the building. Victor had already been taken to the hospital. I’d hit him pretty hard and I wasn’t the slightest bit sorry. “I know where the key is,” I said.

  Marcus frowned. “You mean the one Leo got in the mail?”

  I no
dded. “At least I’m pretty sure I do. Send someone over to look at the clock in the hallway at Everett’s building. My dad has a clock like it and he keeps the key to wind it in a little envelope taped to the back. Rebecca does the same thing. I think Leo slipped his key in as well when he realized his brother was on the way.”

  Marcus nodded. “I’ll send a car over.”

  “Is it all right if I go home now?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll be there once I get things wrapped up here. It might be a while.”

  “I don’t care,” I said. I reached up to kiss him. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he said. I watched him walk over to Simon and Mia.

  Mia kissed her father on the cheek and started back over to me. As she got closer I realized she was carrying two take-out cups. She handed one to me. “Hot chocolate from Eric’s,” she said. She shrugged. “I don’t know how Dad got it delivered over here.”

  I took the cup from her. “And I don’t think I really care.” I took a sip. The hot chocolate was hot and rich and warmed me all the way down to my toes. “How are you really?” I said to Mia.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean, I’m glad Uncle Victor’s been arrested, but Grandpa is still dead and it looks like Uncle Victor had something to do with my dad’s mother being dead, too.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I wish knowing the truth could somehow change things.”

  Mia turned and looked back over her shoulder at her father and Marcus still talking. “You really love him, don’t you?” she asked.

  I nodded. “I do.” I couldn’t help smiling.

  She turned back to me. “I was kind of hoping if you spent enough time with my dad maybe you could fall in love with him instead and then”—she swallowed hard—“you could be my mom.”

  I couldn’t speak for a moment, overcome with a wave of emotions. A tear slid down her cheek and I reached over and brushed it away, and then I pulled her into my arms again.

  “It would be an honor to be your mom,” I said. “But I promise you that no matter what, no matter where you are, I will always be your friend. You can call me anytime. You can show up at my door anytime. If you need me all you have to do is yell.”

  She nodded with her head against my shoulder and I wished that there were some way to give her what she wanted, to at least give her part of a happy ending. But there wasn’t.

  I spent a few more minutes with Mia and then I walked her over to Simon.

  “‘Thank you’ seems pretty damned inadequate,” he said to me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I seemed to be saying that a lot. “I wish it hadn’t been Victor.”

  “You and me both.”

  I took Mia’s face in my hands. “Go home, soak in the bathtub, drink more hot chocolate and if you need to talk call me anytime, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Simon gave her a hug. “Go sit in the car,” he said. “I just want to talk to Kathleen a minute.”

  She nodded and started for the vehicle, both hands wrapped around her hot chocolate.

  Simon turned to me. “That private investigator called on my way over here. He found the witness, the woman walking her dog the night of . . . of my mother’s accident. She told him she saw a car following—chasing—my mother’s car. She got a decent look at the driver.”

  “Victor,” I said.

  “Yes.” His expression tightened. “Too little, too late.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’ll help make the case against him. I know it doesn’t make up for what you lost . . .” I didn’t finish the sentence.

  “It’s something,” Simon said.

  I looked over at his car. “You should take Mia home.”

  Simon caught my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you,” he said.

  I nodded wordlessly and walked back to the truck.

  • • •

  When we got home I opened a can of sardines and gave Owen the entire can. Hercules wandered in from somewhere. He gave me a puzzled look.

  “Trust me, he earned it,” I said.

  I was sitting at the kitchen table with my second mug of hot chocolate when I heard a knock at the back door. It was Simon.

  “Hi,” I said.

  He smiled. “Hi. I can’t stay. Mia is with Denise. But I wanted to give you this.”

  He handed me a small cardboard box. I knew before I took the lid off what I was going to find inside. A man’s gold watch. I’d told him about the poker game and Harrison’s watch. I was surprised he’d shown up with it now.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll make sure Harrison gets this.”

  “You saved Mia’s life,” he said.

  “She did a pretty good job of saving herself,” I said. “She’s smart and resilient and absolutely amazing.”

  “She’s had some good role models.” His eyes were locked on my face and I was suddenly aware of the small amount of space between us. “If I thought I had any shot with you . . . ,” he said, letting the rest of the sentence trail away. “But I don’t, do I?”

  I shook my head slowly. “In a different place or time, but not this one. I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. “You ever need anything and Detective Gordon isn’t around, you better call me,” he said. “And if he’s stupid enough to ever screw things up with you you’ll find me camped on your doorstep.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek and then he turned and left.

  epilogue

  The exhibit, which Maggie simply named “Lost & Found,” opened a week after Thanksgiving. Burtis donated the perfect Christmas tree, tall and straight and so perfectly symmetrical it had no “bad side” to tuck in the corner. Harry set the tree up near the main entrance and the scent of the huge fir filled the library, reminding me of hiking in the woods out at Turtle Lake with Marcus every time I stepped into the building. Once again, Ruby loaned us her collection of vintage ornaments to decorate with. Abigail and I hung twinkling white fairy lights all over the main floor, which transformed the space into a winter wonderland.

  Mary and Peggy Sue from the diner had made dozens and dozens of holiday cookies. “If you want to get lots of people into the building you need food,” Mary had proclaimed two days before the exhibit opened. Before I could say anything, she’d held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.” I knew from the gleam in her eyes that she would.

  Two hours before everyone was supposed to arrive, Mary and Peggy showed up with Mia and Taylor King in tow, and box after box of cookies. There were gingerbread men with icing smiles and candy bow ties; round sugar cookies with frosted snowman faces; and Swedish butter cookies, crisp, buttery rectangles dusted with powered sugar. Mia and Taylor’s job would be to circulate through the crowd, each with a tray of cookies, and I suspected our biggest problem was going to be running out before the evening was over.

  “Thank you,” I said to the two women. I put a hand on my chest and had to swallow down the lump of emotion that had formed because of their generosity.

  Mary patted my arm. “We’re family, Kathleen.” She made a sweeping gesture with one hand that I knew meant she was including the whole library. “We may be a little odd from time to time and we may drive each other crazy once in a while, but when it’s time to get the boat moving we all grab an oar and start rowing.”

  It was one of the strangest metaphors I’d ever heard, but I also knew exactly what she meant. As Leo Janes’s death had shown me once again, family wasn’t really about biology. It was about looking out for one another. Mary was right. We were family in the best sense of the word.

  Maggie and I had temporarily rearranged our computer area, and the end wall of the space had been transformed into a gallery wall. The co-op artists had, as usual, done a spectacular job turning Maggie’s flea-market frames into works of art.
Nic had added reclaimed wood that came from one of the old warehouses by the waterfront to two frames. Ruby had put a selection of the pictures we thought came from the summer camp at Long Lake into small frames she had spray painted black and attached to a bicycle wheel. Several photos of the town, including one of Riverarts when it was still a school, were up for silent auction. And on the wall adjacent to the photos, Maggie had displayed all the letters and cards she’d persuaded the recipients to loan to us.

  Thorsten took his share of gentle ribbing over the card from his old girlfriend and Brady was an equally good sport over the note Burtis had gotten from Brady’s teacher explaining that the eleven-year-old spent too much time daydreaming and not enough concentrating on his schoolwork. He’d laughed and held out both hands as he stood with Maggie and me in front of the letter, protected in a shadowbox frame. “What can I say? She wasn’t wrong.”

  Both Susan and Abigail were moving among the people, stopping to make notes whenever they heard an exclamation of recognition from someone looking at one of the photographs.

  And it looked like we finally had an explanation of sorts for how the photos and pieces of mail had ended up behind the wall at the post office for all those years. Jon Larsen, grandson of the old postmaster, Campbell Larsen, who Harrison had mentioned, had turned up at the library just a day ago. It seemed likely the postmaster had been the one to hide everything.

  “My grandfather got a little obsessed about preserving Mayville Heights’s history,” Jon had explained. “He’d been taking photographs his entire life and as his dementia got worse, he got a lot more secretive about where he put things he thought were important.”

  It turned out that Jon and his siblings had found a similar cache of old pictures and papers behind a wall when they had started to renovate their grandfather’s house after his death.

  I’d thanked him for coming in and giving me what felt like a logical ending to the story.