by Sofie Kelly
“So am I,” I said. I smiled, remembering Roma standing up in the middle of my kitchen and proposing to Eddie in front of half our friends. “‘I love it when a plan comes together.’”
Marcus sent me a quick sideways glance. “Shakespeare amended for this century?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Hannibal Smith from The A-Team.” Hercules and I were watching the eighties action-adventure show online. The cat was a big fan of B. A. Baracus, played to perfection by Mr. T. I wasn’t sure if it was the hair, the jewelry or the attitude.
I set the big stainless-steel thermos I’d brought with me at my feet.
“Is that coffee?” Marcus asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“The way to my heart.”
“I thought my blueberry pancakes were the way to your heart.”
“Those, too,” he said with a smile. He yawned then. “I’m sorry. It’s not the company.”
“Late night?”
He nodded, flicking on his blinker.
“Miranda Moore’s murder?”
“Among other things.”
“Do you think it’s possible that the person who killed her was really after Emme Finley?” I asked.
“You know I can’t answer that,” he said, eyes never leaving the road.
I stared out the windshield for a minute. “Will you at least tell me what killed her? You know Bridget is going to find out and it will be in the paper in a day or so anyway.” Bridget was the publisher of the Mayville Heights Chronicle, and she had a way of ferreting out details the police would just as soon stayed quiet.
I watched the muscles tighten in his jaw for a moment as he clenched his teeth. His mouth moved and then he said simply, “She was shot.”
“Shot?” I repeated.
Marcus nodded. “At close range. Two shots. A .38. Please, Kathleen, keep that to yourself.”
“I won’t say a word,” I promised.
Miranda had been shot.
Up close.
It sounded so cold. So personal.
Marcus pulled into the parking area to the left of Roma’s house and shut off the SUV. We got out and retrieved the cats’ food and dishes from Roma’s porch and walked around the old carriage house to the side door.
Because the Wisteria Hill cats were feral, they weren’t socialized, although over time they had all learned to associate Roma and her regular volunteers with food. After we put out the food and water at their feeding station, Marcus and I retreated back by the door and waited. I leaned against him and he put one arm around me.
“Do you think Roma will eventually tear this building down?” he asked, his voice low and warm by my ear.
I tipped my head so I could look at him. “I never thought about it,” I said. The building was old and ravaged by water and time. Everything at Wisteria Hill had slipped into disrepair in the years the old estate had been abandoned. Roma had done a lot of work on the house and the yard. I’d never asked her what she had planned for the carriage house.
I looked around the space now. There were an old rain barrel in one corner and a large coil of rope nearby. The space was hot in the summer and freezing in the winter, and part of the roof leaked. Still, I had a bit of a soft spot for the old building. When Marcus and I were first getting to know each other we’d had some of our best getting-to-know-you conversations in this very spot.
After several minutes Lucy made her way out to the feeding station. She was the smallest of the cats but she was also the matriarch of the group.
“Hi, Lucy,” I said softly.
The little cat turned when she heard my voice. Lucy and I had developed a bond in the time I’d been coming out to help feed the cats. Although I’d never been able to touch her, Lucy would come closer to me than she would to anyone else. Now she made her way across the wooden floor, stopping just a few feet in front of Marcus and me.
I hadn’t seen Lucy and the other cats in the colony in several weeks. After Roma had bought Wisteria Hill from Everett she didn’t need her volunteers as much.
“Merow,” Lucy said, and it seemed to me there was a hint of reproach in the sound.
I leaned toward her just a little. “I know, it’s been a while since I came out to see you,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
She looked at me for a long moment. “Mrrr,” she said softly. Then she turned and headed for the feeding station.
“I think you’ve been forgiven,” Marcus whispered.
The other cats began to come out slowly then. We checked each one, looking for any indications they might be hurt or sick, but they all looked well, even Smokey, the oldest of the group.
After the cats had eaten and left, Marcus put out fresh water while I gathered the dishes. We put everything back in the porch and walked over to the SUV. I grabbed the thermos and poured us each a cup of coffee.
“What’s your day look like?” he asked.
“I have to see if I can find the rest of our skeleton,” I said.
“Excuse me?” One eyebrow went up.
“Abigail and I have been going through the Halloween decorations. Do you remember that plastic skeleton we dressed as a wizard last year?”
Marcus nodded as he took a sip of his coffee.
“Well, it’s missing a tibia, a scapula and a couple of phalanges. Other than looking for those pieces, there’s nothing special on my agenda.”
“How about I bring lunch?” He lifted his face up to the warm morning sunshine.
“I’d like that,” I said. I was about to ask if he’d come up with a theory about whether or not Miranda’s death had been a case of mistaken identity, when his phone went off. He answered it, walking several steps away from me. Police business.
He talked briefly, then ended the call. “I’m sorry,” he said, walking back to me. “We have to head back. I have a meeting with the prosecuting attorney in forty-five minutes.”
Marcus dropped me at home, leaving me with a quick kiss and a promise he’d see me at lunchtime. He was gone before I realized I hadn’t told him about meeting Jack Spector the night before. Then again, for all I knew, maybe he’d already talked to the man himself.
* * *
As promised, Marcus showed up at the library with lunch at about quarter after twelve—pasta salad he had made and s’mores cupcakes from Sweet Thing. And a large coffee from Eric’s.
“Lunch, coffee and a cupcake,” I said, fishing a tiny plump tomato from my salad and popping it in my mouth. “This is really nice.”
Marcus leaned sideways and wiped a bit of poppy seed dressing from the corner of my mouth. “I wanted to say thank you,” he said, with that smile that still left me weak in the knees.
“You’re welcome,” I said. “I’m just not sure for what.”
He straightened up and reached for his own food. “I talked to Hannah a little while ago. She’s on the way to LA to try out for a limited-run part on The Wild and Wonderful.” Hannah was his younger sister, a very talented actress and writer.
“My mother had something to do with that, I’m guessing.”
Marcus nodded. “She shared a video of Hannah with the show’s casting director that you had shared with her.”
“From that outdoor theater festival,” I said, gesturing with my fork. “She played the con artist.”
“That’s the one,” he said. “I already e-mailed your mother to thank her. Now I’m thanking you.”
“I love Georgia’s cupcakes, so thank you for the thank-you.” I stretched up and kissed the side of his jaw.
“Hannah’s going to call you tonight.”
“I can’t wait to talk to her.” I speared a chunk of cucumber with my fork. “And I hope she gets the part.”
“Me too.” Marcus smiled and shook his head. “You know, I can’t remember when Hannah didn’t want to be an actress
. My mother had this big black enamel roast pan. Hannah was maybe two-and-a-half or three. She’d pull that thing out of the cupboard, turn it upside down and stand on it. She’d act out something that most of the time I didn’t understand, and then she’d bow and I’d clap for her. Her first love is always going to be theater, but it’s fun to see her excited about this.”
His words made me think about Emme Finley, which in turn reminded me that while I had told Marcus about seeing Emme arguing with a man in the library parking lot, I hadn’t told him about meeting Jack Spector. And more important, I hadn’t told him I’d agreed to see if I could uncover anything about Miranda’s murder.
I glanced at him. He was studying my face, blue eyes narrowed. “Where did you go?” he asked.
“I was just thinking about Emme,” I said. “The man I saw her arguing with in the library parking lot? His name is Jack Spector. He’s part of Emme’s backup band. I mean, he was part of it. Have you talked to him?”
“I take it you’ve spoken to him,” Marcus said.
I nodded. I gave him a brief rundown of Hercules stowing away in Jack’s car, leaving out the part about the cat walking through two car windows.
He frowned. “Wait a minute. How did he get out of the truck?”
My stomach did a somersault. “What do you mean?” I asked, spearing another tomato with my fork.
“You said he slipped into this guy’s car while he was getting something out of his trunk. But if you were coming out of Eric’s, how did Hercules get out of the truck?”
For a moment I didn’t know what to say. He walked through the windshield? No. This wasn’t the time or the place to tell Marcus about the boys’ superpowers. “He, uh, he must have jumped out when I first got out. I was checking my phone and I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” I shrugged, hoping I didn’t look as guilty as I felt.
Marcus looked at me for a long moment. “You know it was a bad idea to follow a complete stranger like that,” he finally said.
I held up one hand. “I sent Maggie a text telling her what I was doing along with the license plate of the car.” I decided it probably wasn’t a good idea to mention the Save the Bees bumper sticker. “If he’d gone anywhere out of town or that I thought wasn’t safe, I would have called you.”
“So I take it you got Hercules back?”
I nodded. “Jack was just going to the marina. After I retrieved Hercules we started talking. He admitted the argument he’d had with Emme. It was because she was thinking about giving up her plans for college. He didn’t want to see her do that. And he has an alibi.” I explained about Jack mentioning that he’d been sitting in with the band at a bar in St. Paul. “I got the feeling he’s staying around for a couple more days.”
“Rebecca got to you, didn’t she?” Marcus said.
I knew at once what he meant. I nodded. “I should have told you sooner. How did you know?”
“I interviewed Ami. She was very upset. It seemed pretty obvious that she was close to Miranda Moore. And between you and me, we didn’t make much headway with a lot of the festival participants. Some of them just don’t want to talk to us. I can see they don’t trust us.”
“Ami came to see me a couple of days ago,” I said. “I told her no.”
“And Rebecca changed your mind.” A hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “I know how much faith she has in your abilities.”
I set the bowl of half-eaten salad on the desk beside me. “It doesn’t mean she doesn’t have faith in yours,” I said. I studied his face. “Are you upset?”
He shook his head. “No.”
I smiled and took a step toward him.
“Just don’t do anything stupid. Please.”
“Librarian’s honor,” I said, putting a hand over my heart. I took another step toward him, closing the space between us.
“And remember to share,” he added.
“Always,” I agreed. I put both hands flat on his chest, stood on my tiptoes because I was wearing flat sandals, and kissed him.
He wrapped both arms around me.
“You’re taking this very well,” I said.
“This is the new and improved me,” he teased. Then his expression grew serious. “This is also who you are, Kathleen. I don’t want to change you.” He let me go, reached for his lunch and took one of the chairs in front of my desk. I leaned against the desk again and picked up my coffee.
“Did Ami or Ruby say anything about where Emme went?” Marcus asked, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I’d like to talk to her again. And the ex-boyfriend, for that matter.”
“I don’t think either one of them know,” I said. “I don’t think Emme told anyone—including her sister.”
“You met Nora Finley?”
I nodded around a mouthful of pasta and tomatoes. “Last night when I was with Ruby. She was out for a walk. It wasn’t anything I could put my finger on, but I got the feeling she doesn’t have any idea where her sister is, either.”
“That’s what she told us,” he said.
“You don’t believe her.”
He shrugged. “Nora seems to be very involved in her sister’s life. She’s her personal manager. It’s hard to believe Emme didn’t tell her where she was going.”
“Does Hannah tell you everything that’s happening in her life?” I asked. “Because I know Sara and Ethan don’t tell me.”
“I’m not managing Hannah’s career,” Marcus said. “And don’t you think it’s odd that Nora Finley is still in Mayville Heights and not with her sister?”
“Ruby said that Nora volunteered to help with promotion for the music festival and she wanted to finish what she started.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“You think Emme is with her ex-boyfriend,” I said, jabbing my fork in the air at him. “And I don’t mean the history professor. I mean Derrick Clifton.”
“I didn’t say that.”
He didn’t have to. The way he turned his attention back to his lunch told me I was right.
“Speaking of the professor, have you talked to him yet?”
“Dr. Hardison? Yes.”
I waited for him to say more but he didn’t.
“I take it he doesn’t know where Emme is.”
Marcus shook his head. “He says he doesn’t.”
I speared a chunk of cucumber and another of dill pickle and ate them. “So does he have an alibi for the time of the murder?”
He looked away for a moment, and I knew he was weighing whether or not to answer my question. Then he shifted his gaze back to me. “I may as well tell you, since you can easily find out. Yes. Dr. Hardison has an alibi. He was teaching a class when Miranda Moore was murdered. Not that he had any motive we know of to have killed her anyway.”
He glanced at his watch and made a face. “I’m sorry, Kathleen,” he said. “I have to get back to the station.”
“If I hear anything about where Emme Finley is, I promise I’ll tell you,” I said. “But I don’t think that Ami or Ruby are likely to share anything with me that they don’t want you to know.”
“I’m sorry that you get put in the middle of things when I’m trying to do my job,” he said.
I shook my head. “I put myself there—at least I did this time. And I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
I spent the rest of the afternoon rearranging the magazine and newspaper section. Harry Taylor had refinished the last of the wooden tables as well as the rack where we kept the current paper copies of a variety of newspapers. I noticed that there were mentions of Miranda’s death in the Chicago-area papers, but the focus was more on her connection to Emme Finley than on her life. It made me wonder what it had been like for Miranda to always be standing in her friend’s shadow.
After work I headed home. Hercules was sitting in the sunshine on t
he back step. I reached down to stroke the top of his head. “You’re still in trouble for that little stowaway stunt last night,” I said.
“Merow,” he said. There was nothing repentant about the sound.
“You could at least try to act like you’re sorry,” I said as I unlocked the porch door.
He blinked his green eyes at me and almost seemed to shrug.
I changed my clothes, had supper and headed down to tai chi. Hercules walked me out and settled on the bench by the window. I leaned down to give him a scratch behind his ears before I left. We both knew he wasn’t really in trouble with me at all. If Hercules hadn’t climbed into Jack Spector’s car, I wouldn’t have met the man. Which means I wouldn’t have learned that Emme was thinking of changing her plans or that Miranda had been trying to talk her out of it. I didn’t know if that had anything to do with Miranda’s murder, but I didn’t have anywhere else to start.
There were a lot more people on the street than there would usually be on a Thursday night, and they weren’t all tourists. The music festival always had a good turnout from people who lived in Mayville Heights, too.
Ruby and Maggie were standing over by the tea table when I walked into the studio before class. Ruby immediately set down the mug she was holding and came across the room to me, folding me into a hug.
“What’s that for?” I said. “Were Owen and Hercules especially photogenic last night?”
She grinned. “Actually, they were. I got some great shots. I e-mailed a few to you right before I left the studio. But I wanted to tell you how grateful I am. Rebecca told me that you’re going to see what you can find out about Miranda’s death. It means a lot. Thank you.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said, “but please don’t get your hopes up.” I wished Rebecca hadn’t said anything to Ruby, but the cat was out of the bag now, so to speak.
“Your best is good enough for me,” she said. She was in a much better frame of mind, and I was all too aware that people were counting on me to find answers to questions that might not have any good answers.
We started over to Maggie. “I’m thinking of using Fern’s for the next photo shoot,” Ruby said.