Cat Trick

by Sofie Kelly

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  Maggie was curled into the opposite corner of the sofa. “I just moved his head, maybe an inch or so down and about the same amount to the side.”

  I leaned forward. “It’s almost like he’s smiling at me now.”

  “I know,” she said. She grinned and took a sip of her hot chocolate.

  “Mags, do you know much about Legacy Tours?” I asked.

  “A little,” she said. “Why?”

  I hesitated. “This stays between us?”

  Her expression turned serious. She put one hand over her heart. “Of course.”

  “Harry Taylor—Junior—asked me to poke around a little and see if I could maybe figure out what happened to Mike.”

  “Why?”

  I leaned back against the arm of the couch. “Because his sister, Elizabeth, is friends with Wren Magnusson, and Wren’s pretty much the only person who really feels bad about Mike Glazer’s death.”

  “And if Elizabeth is upset, then so is Harry Senior.”

  “He’s a good person. I couldn’t say no.”

  Maggie shook her head and gave me a half smile.

  I shrugged. “Okay, I could have said no, but I care about Harry. He feels like family to me.”

  “You care about Harry. Harry cares about Elizabeth. Elizabeth cares about Wren. It’s getting complicated, Kath.”

  “If I find out anything, anything, the information goes to Marcus.” I took another sip from my cup.

  Maggie wrinkled her nose at me. “So I’d be wasting my time telling you what a bad idea this is.”

  “Pretty much,” I said.

  She pulled her feet up so she was sitting cross-legged. “Okay. Most of what I know about Legacy Tours comes from Liam. You know that they specialize in putting together travel packages for corporate clients.”

  I nodded. “I did a little research. I know that Alex and Christopher Scott started the company and they brought Mike in about three years ago.”

  Maggie propped her cup on one knee. “Did you know that the company was having financial problems at the time?”

  I sat up a little straighter. “No.”

  “Legacy wasn’t the only company Liam considered for this tour pitch. He checked every one of them very carefully. He knows someone who works for one of the big banks in Chicago. Liam found out that before Mike became a partner, Legacy had a high expense-to-revenue ratio, but in the last eighteen months things had turned around.”

  She peered into her cup, frowned and got up for another marshmallow. Then she settled back on the sofa again. “I know the major reason Liam thought Legacy was the best choice for this whole tour idea was because Mike Glazer had grown up here, but I also know it was important to him that Mike was a good businessman.”

  My foot was going to sleep. I stretched out my leg and rolled my ankle in slow circles. “I found an article online that hinted that Mike was taking kickbacks from some of the businesses he was dealing with.”

  Maggie nodded and took another drink. “It’s probably the same article Liam found. I know he spoke to the writer. He said all the guy had were rumors and loose talk.”

  “Did you know that either Alex or Christopher Scott was here the day Mike died?” I asked.

  “Are you sure?”

  I shifted against the arm of the sofa. “Positive. I spoke to whichever one of them it was at the library.”

  Maggie started nodding her head. “I remember Liam saying that Alex was getting an award from some service organization. There was a big dinner in Minneapolis. It’s only an hour’s drive. He probably came to see Mike about something.”

  I made a face and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. If Alex Scott had been at a dinner in Minneapolis, he couldn’t have been here when Mike Glazer died. But maybe his twin could have been.

  “Kathleen, you don’t really think it was one of Mike’s partners who killed him, do you?” Maggie asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It sure would be a nice, simple solution though, wouldn’t it?”

  She nodded, lacing her fingers around her cup. “It would,” she said. “But it seems to me that when someone dies around here, there’s nothing nice or simple about it.”

  11

  Marcus came into the library about nine thirty the next morning. Mary was working at the circulation desk. She gave me a sly smile as I walked over to meet him.

  “Hi,” he said. “Do you have a few minutes?”

  I noticed he was carrying a small paper bag from Eric’s, and I could smell cinnamon.

  “I do,” I said. “How about a cup of coffee?”

  He smiled. “That would be good.”

  I turned to Mary. “Susan is reshelving books and Mia’s helping her. Do you need anything?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said. Then she turned to look at Marcus, gesturing to the bag he was holding. “Did you bring enough to share with the class, Detective? Or just sweets for the sweet?”

  His eyes shifted from me to Mary. “Excuse me?” he said.

  “Never mind,” I said to Mary. “I smell cinnamon and just a hint of vanilla, which most likely means there are cinnamon rolls in that bag. Cinnamon rolls that Eric made from the ‘secret’ recipe that you gave him and that neither one of you will share with anyone else.” I made a face at her, and she looked back at me all wide-eyed, nurturing grandma. “And now that I’m thinking of it, you smelled like cinnamon and vanilla when you got here this morning.” I crossed my arms over my chest, so I probably looked like every caricature of the stern librarian. “Do you have anything upstairs in your bag that you’d like to share with the rest of us?”

  Mary cocked her head to one side and gave Marcus a sweet albeit slightly fake smile, eyes sparking with mischief. “Enjoy your coffee, Detective,” she said.

  I inclined my head toward the stairs. “C’mon up to my office,” I said to Marcus.

  “What was that about?” he asked, as we started up the stairs to the second floor.

  “A little meddling,” I said, feeling my face get warm. While we were emptying the book drop before the library opened, Mary had asked if Marcus and I were a couple now. “We’re taking it slowly,” I’d told her.

  “Well, if you decide you want to speed things up a little, I could teach you a few things,” she’d said. She’d pantomimed pulling off a glove with her teeth while I stood there, dumbstruck. Then she’d winked and wheeled the cart over to the checkout desk.

  “Because we had dinner together at Eric’s,” he said.

  I nodded as I unlocked my office door. “Have a seat and I’ll get the coffee,” I said.

  He held up the brown paper bag. “You were right, by the way: Eric’s cinnamon rolls. They’re still warm.” He rolled his eyes. “I suppose this will have people talking, too.”

  “Probably,” I said.

  A slow smile stretched across his face as he shrugged out of his jacket. “It’s a good thing no one saw us in the driveway then,” he said, his eyes locked on mine.

  For a moment I just stood there, looking at him and indulging in a Walter Mitty–esque fantasy in which I backed Marcus up against my desk and kissed him until his knees wobbled.

  I shook my head to get rid of the picture. Okay, not something I should even be thinking about doing in the library in the middle of a workday. Or in the middle of any day, for that matter.

  I gestured over my shoulder and cleared my throat. “I’ll, uh . . . I’ll be right back.”

  When I came back with our coffee, I found Marcus standing beside my desk holding the picture frame that had been sitting next to my phone. He looked up at me. “This is your family.”

  I smiled. “It is.” I set the cups down on the desktop and leaned over to look at the photograph. My friend Lise had taken it when I was back in Boston during the summer. We’d been down on the Common, throwing around a foam football and generally acting like goofy kids. In the photo, Sara and I were tackling Ethan, trying to get the ball whil
e Mom and Dad cheered us on. We were laughing, the sun was sparkling, and looking at the picture, I felt a small ache of homesickness.

  “Sara and Ethan are twins, right?” Marcus asked.

  I nodded. “I think I told you that my parents were married, divorced and then they got married again. After the divorce, they started seeing each other—no one knew—and then all of a sudden Ethan and Sara were on the way. I was a teenager. I was mortified.” He handed me the frame, and I set the picture back on the desk again. “Mom said she decided it didn’t matter how crazy my father made her; she was just happier with him than without him.”

  Marcus picked up his coffee, and I gestured to one of the two chairs in front of my desk.

  “I just realized that I don’t know if you have any brothers or sisters,” I said.

  “I have one sister,” he said. “She’s younger.”

  I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. I reached for my own cup and sat down. He took the two buns out of the paper bag and set them on the plate I’d brought in.

  “So what’s up?” I asked.

  “What makes you think something’s up?” he asked. “Maybe I just wanted to bring you a cinnamon roll. You’ve brought me coffee lots of times.”

  I leaned over and broke off a piece of one of the buns. It was so good. Better than any cinnamon roll I made. I’d never been able to duplicate Mary and Eric’s secret recipe, and when I asked Mary why that recipe was always so much better, she’d just grin and say, “Because we make them with love.” I always made mine with a couple of cats eyeballing my every move.

  “I have gotten you coffee lots of time,” I said. “I just brought you that cup.” I gestured to the mug in his big hands. “And the cinnamon roll is delicious. Thank you. Now, what’s up?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “You were right. The button Owen found came from a jacket that belongs to one of Mike’s partners—Alex Scott.”

  “He was here in Mayville Heights the day Mike died. I saw him at the library, and he spoke to me on his way out at Eric’s. Do you remember?”

  Marcus nodded. “But he wasn’t actually in town when Glazer died.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. He was in Minneapolis at a benefit dinner. There are photos and video online.”

  That’s what Maggie had said. Marcus was good. “Alex and Christopher Scott are identical twins,” I said. “One of them could have been at that benefit and the other could have been here.”

  “They were both there.”

  “Maybe one brother was pretending to be both brothers while the other was here.” It sounded silly even to me.

  Marcus pointed at my laptop. “Could I borrow your computer for a second?”

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  He went around the desk and leaned over the keyboard. After a minute, he beckoned to me. I went to stand beside him. An image of Alex and Christopher Scott, grinning and soaked with sweat, arms around each other’s shoulders, filled the screen.

  The two men were the spitting image of each other, down to their close-cropped hair and stubbled chins—except one of them had an elaborate dragon tattoo curling around his right arm.

  Marcus held up a finger. “Hang on.” He brought up another photo. This one, I guessed, had been taken at the benefit in Minneapolis. One of the two Scott brothers was standing with three other people, a drink in his hand. He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket, and the cuffs of his white shirt had been rolled back. There was no tattoo.

  “That’s Alex,” Marcus said. “And this”—he clicked the mouse pad—“is Christopher Scott.”

  It could have been the same person. Christopher Scott was wearing the same dark pants and white shirt. His sleeves weren’t rolled back, but I could see a bit of the dragon tattoo beyond the edge of his shirt cuff.

  “So much for wrapping up the case in a nice, neat package.” I moved back around the desk.

  “It doesn’t usually work that way,” Marcus said, leaning against the side of my desk.

  “There’s something else you should know,” I said, breaking off another bite of the cinnamon roll before I sat down again. I knew Roma had spoken to him, but I didn’t want to keep secrets.

  “What is it?”

  “Liam Stone had an argument with Mike on the sidewalk in front of Eric’s Place. I’m not saying I think he had anything to do with what happened to Mike; I’m just trying—”

  “—not to interfere in my case?” he finished. He gave me a smile that made his blue eyes crinkle. “I know about the argument. Roma called me, and more than one person heard them.” He looked expectantly at me.

  “What?” I said.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me that really you think Liam had nothing to do with Glazer’s death?”

  I shook my head and took another sip from my mug. “No.”

  “No?”

  “I don’t know who killed Mike,” I said, setting my cup back on the desk. “I like Liam, but I don’t know him that well.” I smiled sweetly at Marcus. “So I’m not going to waste a perfectly good argument.” I held out the plastic top to the mug he was holding. “Here.”

  “What is it?” he said, taking it from me.

  “The lid. It’s a travel mug. You can take the rest of your coffee with you.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?” He couldn’t quite stop the beginnings of a smile from pulling at his mouth.

  “No,” I said. “But in the last couple of minutes you’ve scratched your arm twice so you could check your watch.”

  He stared at me for a minute. He rarely blushed, but there was a flush of pink on the tops of his cheekbones. “I only scratched it once,” he said finally. “The second time I was pushing my sleeve back.” The smile got loose completely then. “I do have to go, though.”

  He leaned across the desk and broke the second cinnamon roll in half. Then he snapped the lid on the coffee mug, setting the bun half on top. Straightening up, he took a couple of steps closer to me. He was so close, I could feel the warmth coming off his body. “Thank you for the coffee, Kathleen,” he said.

  My mouth was dry and I had to swallow before I answered. “You’re welcome,” I said. “Thank you for the cinnamon roll.”

  We stood there for a long moment, looking at each other, just a little bit closer than we probably should have been standing, and maybe in another minute or so I really would have backed him against the desk and given him a good romance-novel kissing, but I didn’t get the chance because Mary cleared her throat in the doorway. Marcus immediately took a step backward and we both turned to look at her.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said.

  She didn’t look sorry. She looked like a smug little elf. All she needed was a pair of curly-toed shoes.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “There’s a bit of a problem with a book delivery.”

  “I didn’t order any books,” I said.

  Mary nodded. “I know. That’s the problem. Delivery guy says he has six boxes of books for us.”

  “I have to get back to work,” Marcus said.

  I smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  He raised his cup and eased by Mary, smiling at her as he passed. I grabbed my keys and locked my office door while Mary waited, the same smug elvish grin on her face.

  “I really am sorry I interrupted you two,” she said as we started down the stairs. “I hope it wasn’t an important conversation.” She put a little stress on the word “important.”

  “I’m ignoring you,” I said darkly, keeping my eyes forward.

  She gave a snort of laughter. “That never works, Kathleen.” She scampered down the last four steps ahead of me. At the bottom, she looked back at me over her shoulder and gave me a saucy wink.

  The day of the annual library book sale, at the beginning of the summer, Susan had shown up wearing her favorite Younger, Stronger, Faster T-shirt. Mary had taken off her sweater to show off her own shirt. It said, O
ld, Sneaky and Stubborn. At least three people had tried to buy it from her.

  It took me a while to straighten out the mix-up with the book delivery. The last two boxes were going out the door as Elizabeth came in. She raised a hand when she caught sight of me and walked over to the circulation desk.

  “Hi, Kathleen,” she said. “Is it possible to request a book for Harrison? I don’t have his library card.”

  “What would he like?” I said.

  “He’s already halfway through the book we picked up for him. I thought maybe I’d request the next one in the series for him.”

  “I already did,” I said.

  “Thank you,” she said, giving me a small smile. “I guess you know him pretty well.”

  “He’s one of my best readers.”

  She tucked her hands into the front kangaroo pocket of her red sweatshirt. “Thank you for letting us meet your cats the other night. Wren loved them.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “Come back and visit anytime. They love people who make a fuss over them.”

  Elizabeth’s expression grew serious. “And thank you for answering Wren’s questions about”—she stopped and stared at her feet for a moment—“about finding Mike Glazer.”

  I hesitated; then I reached out and laid my hand on her arm. “I hope it helped.”

  She nodded. “It did. It’s been really hard for her. Everyone says he was a jerk.” She shrugged. “Maybe he was. I don’t know. All I know is that Wren was really happy to be going to see him, and when she found out he was dead, she almost passed out from the shock.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I know the police are working on the case. Maybe they’ll come up with some answers that will at least put her mind at rest.”

  She made a face. “It said in the paper that his death is still under investigation. Isn’t that just a polite way of saying they think someone killed him but they don’t want to actually admit that for some reason?”

  I chose my words carefully. “I think they need to look at all the evidence before they say anything.”

  “This not knowing is eating a hole in Wren,” Elizabeth said. “First her mother dies and now this. It’s not fair. I just wish somebody would figure out something.”