by Laurie Cass
I told Eddie all about it that night as I emptied the contents of my dresser into a cardboard box. He gave me a blank look that clearly meant he thought I had my priorities messed up, then walked out into the hallway and thud-thud-thudded down the wooden stairs.
“What do cats know about graphic design, anyway?” I asked, and finished packing without the help of my cat. Packing was at this point a near imperative, because my aunt’s spring-cleaning crew would descend on the boardinghouse first thing Monday morning. It was a little early for them to show up, but their schedule was crowded this year and this was the best slot available for my aunt. She’d said I could stay for the duration, but I’d rather endure a few chilly nights on the houseboat than endure the sounds and astringent smells of a thorough housecleaning.
I’d scheduled myself to work all Saturday because of various staff members taking spring vacations, so I didn’t have time to move the last of my things down to the marina until Sunday. The very last things I put in my car were a small suitcase, my backpack, and Eddie’s cat carrier.
Aunt Frances stood on the sidewalk, her arms wrapped tight around her since she hadn’t put on a coat and her light cardigan wasn’t enough to keep out the chill.
“Are you sure you’re going to be warm enough down there?” she asked, rubbing her hands over her upper arms.
“Just because you’re cold because you’re not dressed properly doesn’t mean I’m going to get hypothermia.” I buckled Eddie and his carrier into the front seat and shut the car door. “I have a space heater, Eddie has a fur coat, and it’s supposed to warm up in a few days. We’ll be fine.”
“If you get cold, you have to promise you’ll come back until it gets warmer.”
“Promise,” I said, giving her a hug.
“You’re a good girl,” she murmured, hugging back.
I gave her a last squeeze and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Leave the worrying to my mother. She’s a lot better at it than either of us. Might as well give the job to the best-qualified candidate, don’t you think?”
Aunt Frances laughed and waved—“Bye, Eddie!”—as I backed out of the driveway. When I reached the road and braked to put the transmission into drive, I glanced up the drive to my aunt. She was still standing there, arms tight around her, only now she looked . . . well, sad.
I sat there in the middle of the street, unsure. Aunt Frances had lived alone for years before I moved north, so I’d never once thought about how lonely she might be when I left in the summers. Sure, the boarders would arrive in a few weeks, but it could be a long few weeks for her. Maybe I should stay. I owed her so much; enduring a cleaning crew was nothing compared to all she’d done for me. Yes. I would stay. I would keep her company until—
Aunt Frances looked up and past me. Her face lit up with a wide, happy smile and she called out something I couldn’t hear.
I turned my head to see the object of her happiness. It was Otto, striding down the sidewalk, heading straight toward my aunt.
My foot came off the brake. “What do you think of that, Eddie?” I asked, smiling. “We’re barely out of the house and her boyfriend comes over. Kind of makes you think we were cramping her style, doesn’t it?”
Eddie bonked his head against the side of the carrier and flopped down.
“No comment? Well, I can understand that. Your little kitty feelings are hurt. You thought you were Aunt Frances’s best beau, didn’t you?”
“Mrr,” he said somewhat sulkily.
Shaking my head, I flicked on the blinker and turned left. There were days when I really did wonder if he knew what I was saying.
Eddie and I arrived at the marina in short order. I left everything behind except the carrier, and it was me and my cat who walked down the wide wooden dock and stepped aboard my summer residence, which was the cutest little houseboat possible.
Made primarily of plywood long ago in a Chilson backyard, it boasted one bedroom with two bunks, a tiny bathroom, and a small kitchen with a dining area. As much as I loved the tidy interior spaces, I loved the view from the outside deck even more. The sheer pleasure of being able to see Janay Lake on my doorstep morning, noon, or night was worth the work of moving twice a year.
I set the carrier on the dining bench and opened the door. “We’re home, Eddie.”
“Mrr,” he said, and zoomed out of the carrier, down the steps, and onto the bed, where he would get cat hair on the comforter before I’d slept in it even once.
I sighed a happy sigh. Home was indeed a good place to be.
Three hours later, I’d finished unpacking and hauled all the flattened cardboard boxes down to the storage bin that went with my slip.
After texting Tucker—Eddie and I are all moved in. Miss you!—and receiving a quick Don’t get 2 cold up there see u soon in return, I came in the houseboat’s door and stood in the small kitchen, surveying my home for the next few months.
“What do you think, pal?”
Eddie was already in one of his favorite spots from last summer, the back of the bench seat that was half of my dining area. He’d already prowled around the whole place a dozen times, sniffing and stretching and poking into things that he had no reason to poke into. Behind the small dresser I used as a nightstand, for one. Underneath the small kitchen sink, for another. Now he was lying, meat-loaf-shaped, on the seat back, looking over the houseboat as if he were the ruler of all.
“You’re not the king, you know,” I told him. “This is a partnership, remember?”
Which reminded me of the odd partnership Adam and Henry had shared, making maple syrup and who knew what else? I’d told Adam I would try to help, to do some research. But useful research requires a pointed question; otherwise it’s only information-gathering.
“Which is usually interesting,” I said, “but not always immediately useful.”
Eddie stretched out one paw and rested his chin on the seat.
“Yeah, I know. It’s up to me to figure out the right questions.” I slid onto the bench opposite Eddie. “How about this? Let’s assume . . . I know, you don’t like assuming, but work with me on this. For right now, let’s assume that Henry was killed by the same person who tried to run over Adam. What could a lifelong resident of Tonedagana County have in common with a newcomer with no family roots in Michigan who is more than twenty years younger?”
My cat’s response was a heavy sigh.
“Okay, maybe that’s not the right question.” I thought a minute. “Here’s another one. Henry was an insurance agent for a company in Petoskey before he retired. Adam is an accountant who works remotely for companies in Chicago. What could tie them together?”
Eddie moved his other front leg. Now both of them were stretched out in front of him. Supercat.
“The only thing they seem to have in common is a lack of friends. Adam hasn’t been here long enough, and Henry didn’t seem to have any.” At the library, Donna had told me that when Henry’s wife was alive they’d been very social, but since her death he’d retreated more and more. “I just don’t see how that could matter to—”
Eddie stood and, without a backward glance, jumped down. I turned to watch as he stalked through the kitchen, down the few steps, and into the bedroom. He jumped up and out of view. This didn’t bother me until I heard a rustling sound that I didn’t recognize.
And then I suddenly did.
I bolted off the seat, ran through the kitchen, jumped over the steps in a single bound, and was in the bedroom in seconds, trying to reach my cat before he destroyed the library books I’d laid on the spare bed.
“Eddie! Leave that alone!”
My cat turned. Blinked straight at me. And sat down right on top of a book Stephen had handed me to read. “Funny,” I said, pulling the copy of 101 Ways to Improve Your Communication Skills Instantly out from underneath him. “If you’re nice, I’ll read it out loud to you at dinner. That way we’ll both learn something.”
Eddie stared at me for a long moment. Then he
jumped down and marched into the back of my tiny closet.
“If you’re going to be like that,” I said, “I’m going to the restaurant. Kristen likes me just the way I am, poor communication skills and all.”
From out of the closet came a muffled “Mrr.”
“The cat food dish is where it always is,” I told him. “On the floor next to the kitchen sink.”
“Mrr.”
“You’re welcome,” I said and, smiling, headed out for a night of watching Kristen cook. And with any luck, I’d also come up with some ideas for a reason someone might want to kill two men who were different in almost every way.
Chapter 6
The next morning I woke up with the feel of cat fur against my right ear. “Eddie,” I said, “I love you dearly, and I’m pretty sure you have kind feelings for me, but do you really have to be this close?”
Other than starting up a quiet purr, he didn’t reply. Just then the alarm clock started beeping. I reached outside the cocoon of covers to turn it off and was suddenly wide-awake. Of its own volition, my arm made a quick retreat to the warmth it had previously been enjoying. No wonder Eddie was wrapped up around my only exposed skin—it was freezing out there!
If it was actually freezing, I could have some serious issues with frozen pipes and engines and who knew what, but last night’s forecast hadn’t called for anything close to thirty-two degrees. However, I didn’t like leaving the space heater on overnight, and the forty-three-degree low they’d called for last night was a lot lower than the sixty-five degrees I was used to up in the boardinghouse.
Eddie and I snuggled together until the alarm went off a second time. I reached out to slap it off. “You with the fur coat,” I said to my cat. “How about getting up and turning on the space heater in the bathroom?”
“Mrr,” he said sleepily.
“You’re not moving,” I said, pointing out the oh so obvious.
He burrowed deeper.
“Okay, I can see that I’m going to have to do this all by myself.” I took a deep breath and, like ripping off a bandage, tossed back the covers and jumped out of bed. The cold hit hard and it took an act of supreme courage not to jump right back into where I’d been.
“I’m up,” I told Eddie, my skin prickling as I quickly pulled on fleece sweatpants and sweatshirt over my pajamas. “How about you?”
He opened one eye and stared at me with it. I could almost feel the thought coming out of his little kitty brain: humans do the darnedest things.
“With you, pal,” I said, my teeth chattering. “I am definitely with you.” I fled for the bathroom, knowing that my upcoming shower wouldn’t last long enough to thoroughly warm me. My houseboat was wonderful in many ways, but the size of its water heater was on the highly inadequate side. Eddie was right; humans—at least this human—weren’t always very smart.
• • •
“Morning, sunshine,” Holly said, pushing a cartful of books past the reference desk. “Say, didn’t you move to the marina this weekend? Bet it was cold down there this morning.”
“It wasn’t so bad.” After all, once I arrived at the library, it had only taken an hour and three cups of coffee to stop my shivering. “A little cold is good for the soul,” I said virtuously.
She snorted. “Right. And eating peas will turn my hair curly.”
I looked at her shiny, smooth hair. The overly curly black locks I’d been handed at birth had been the bane of my existence for years. “My mom told me that eating bread crusts would make my hair go straight.”
A tall woman with dark blond hair and a quiet smile had come near the desk while we’d been talking. She nodded and said, “My mom told me I’d get sick if I ate chocolate chip cookie dough.”
Holly smiled at Irene Deering. “Did you?”
“Only time was when I grabbed half the batch and ate it in the attic before anyone found me.”
We laughed, Holly moved on with her cart, and Irene stood in front of the desk. “Do you have a minute?” she asked.
“I live to serve. Ask away.” Then a worrying thought struck me. “Is Adam doing okay?”
“He’s fine. And thanks again for your help the other day. I don’t know what we would have done without you. No, don’t wave away my thanks,” she said. “I’m going to show my appreciation whether you like it or not.”
“Not,” I said.
“Well, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done. It means the world to us.”
Whatever. I squirmed. “How’s Adam doing with those books I dropped off?”
She smiled. “Already done with most of them, if you can believe it.”
I started to stand. “Then you’re here to get some more. I have just the—” But she was shaking her head. I sat down and saw the tension around her mouth. Noted the rigidity of her thin shoulders. “What’s the matter, Irene?”
She swallowed. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
My heart went out to her. Of course she was scared. Her husband had just had emergency heart surgery and then had almost been killed. Who wouldn’t be scared? “It’ll be okay,” I said softly. “Adam will get better; he’s young and strong and will come out of this fine. And the police will figure out who—”
She was shaking her head again. “It’s not that. Well, it is, but I’m scared it’s all my fault.”
The idea sounded ridiculous, but I didn’t laugh. “How could that be?” I asked.
There was no one within earshot, but she looked left and right and then edged up to the very front of the desk. “Adam’s an accountant.” She was talking to the countertop, but I nodded anyway. “He’s a very good accountant and he was making a lot of money in Chicago working for a big firm. Now that he’s on his own he doesn’t have many clients, but he’s getting there and someday everything will be fine.”
“Okay,” I said, drawing out the word a little, and not having any idea where this was going.
She blew out a breath. “One of the things Adam does really well is find bookkeeping anomalies. It’s what made his reputation. Companies came to the firm he worked for just to get his opinion.”
I waited for her to go on, because this was clearly leading up to something.
“Anyway,” she said, “a few years ago, Adam turned someone in to the IRS. He’d found evidence of fraud and was obligated by law to report this guy, Seth Wartella, who was ultimately convicted of tax fraud and sent to jail.”
I wanted to ask a question, but I could tell that Irene had started the real part of the story and I didn’t want to interrupt before it was over.
“For a long time I barely thought about it,” she said in a crowded rush. “It was years ago. It was history. It was over and done with and Wartella had never really been in our life; he’d just been a client’s employee that, by law, Adam had to report. Adam testified and I went to watch, but that was it. Wartella had committed tax fraud and embezzled, and went to jail because of it, and none of that was Adam’s fault,” she said in a fierce whisper.
“Of course it wasn’t,” I said. “It would be ridiculous to think otherwise.”
“The only thing is . . .” Irene’s voice was strained. “A couple of Saturdays back, I could swear I saw Seth Wartella.”
“A couple of weeks ago?” I asked, trying to summon a mental calendar.
She nodded. “The same weekend Henry died.”
• • •
Detective Inwood’s pen wrote for a long time before he looked up again. When he did, his gaze settled on me for a brief moment before he went back to Irene. “All right, Mrs. Deering. Please continue.”
Right after Irene had told me about Seth Wartella, I’d called the sheriff’s office and made an appointment with Inwood. “Is this urgent?” he’d asked tiredly. Which wasn’t a good thing, since it was still morning.
“On a scale of one to ten,” I’d said, “with ten being a falling rock about to hit my head, I’d say this is a seven.”
“Come down at noon,” he’d
said, sighing. “I’ll fit you in.”
So here we were, in that old familiar interview room. I’d made the strategic error of letting Irene enter first and I ended up in my regular seat. While we’d waited for the detective, I’d craned my head around, trying to see the ceiling dragon from the point of view of the table’s other side without moving over there, but all I got was a crick in my neck and an odd look from Irene.
Now Irene was sitting up close to the table, staring at her folded hands. “I called the arresting officers,” she said, “and they told me Seth Wartella had been released from prison in January. I didn’t want to tell Adam, because it was right after his heart surgery and I wanted him to focus on getting better, and not worry about Seth.”
The detective eyed her. “Have you told him?”
She nodded. “Last night.”
Inwood wrote, then asked, “Do you have any reason to believe that Mr. Wartella would want to injure your husband?”
She hesitated. “At the trial Wartella denied everything, but the evidence was obvious. He was angry when the verdict came in and I’ll never forget the look he gave Adam.” She hunched her shoulders.
“He never verbally threatened or accosted your husband?” the detective asked.
“Not as far as I know.”
Inwood wrote some more. “All right, Mrs. Deering. Thank you for the information. It’s a pity you didn’t come to us earlier, though.”
“I . . .” Irene’s shoulders hunched a little more. “I was scared,” she said in a small voice. “I just wanted him to go away. And maybe I was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t him that I saw. Maybe it was someone who looked like him.”
This seemed unlikely, since she’d told us Seth Wartella was about five foot five and had bright red hair and ears that stuck out, but I supposed it was possible.
“Possible,” Inwood said, “but unlikely.” He slid his notebook into his shirt pocket. “We’ll be in touch. Ms. Hamilton, I assume you can find your way out?” He nodded to us and left.