“About those letters, I’ve been wanting to tell you …”
“I have copies, if you need them.”
“Actually, I kind of … wrote those letters myself. I didn’t want to bother Beverly when I had to leave there in such a hurry because of Coop. Then it just seemed more efficient to do the others myself.”
Phony reference letters. Efficient. Sometimes the truth seemed to get ever more flexible with Willow. Although flexibility with the truth seemed to be everywhere, not only with Willow.
“I may not stay until they sell the house anyway,” Willow said. “I’m thinking I’ll go down to Florida and stay with Grandma for a while. A long time ago we talked about opening a little café or coffee shop together.”
“That’s a wonderful idea! The way you can cook, you’ll make a fortune.” And a continent between Willow and Coop would be a smart move. “How soon?”
“I can’t leave for a while. I have to collect some money I have coming first.”
“You mean a paycheck from Cheryl?”
“Not that. Big money!” For a moment, with the sparkle in Willow’s eyes, Cate thought she was going to share some exciting information about the money, but then she turned cagey. “I just have to wait a few days.”
“This doesn’t have something to do with Coop, does it?” Cate had never been convinced Willow’s feelings for Coop were quite as dead as she claimed.
“Coop? What makes you think I’d ever want anything to do with Coop again?”
Okay, maybe what she’d been thinking was unfair. “Maybe because I’m, um, thinking about getting in touch with the guy I was engaged to once. Actually, he got in touch with me.”
She paused. Was she being foolish for even hesitating about seeing Kyle again? Kyle was no Coop. He had his flaws, sure. The Cappuccino Conflict had been about as mature as five-year-olds squabbling over a rubber duckie. Even more immature was the way the original argument had escalated into arguments popping out about everything from where they should live after getting married to who their friends should be, Kyle’s new car and Cate’s old one, even which TV shows they should watch.
“What did he have to say?”
“It was his mother who called me. He wants to see me this weekend.”
“He had his mommy call?”
Mitch had sounded derisive, as if this were something no real man would do. Willow just sounded incredulous. Cate had doubts about this herself. But now she found herself responding with the same defensiveness.
“I see it as a thoughtful gesture,” she said.
“Yeah, I guess it could be. So are you going to get back together with him?”
“I’ve met this other guy. Although we’re kind of … on the outs.”
Willow swung her legs to the side of the lounge chair so she could face Cate. She clapped her hands. “Cate, I had no idea you had such an interesting love life!”
“It’s not a love life. It’s just a couple of guys I know.”
“This guy who wants to see you, he’s the one you thought God intended you to spend the rest of your life with?”
“Yeah. Kyle Collier.”
“And the other guy?” Willow asked.
“Mitch Berenski. I met him at Beverly’s. He was painting the inside of her house. Beverly thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Me in particular.”
“How come she never produced a guy like that for me?”
The thought occurred to Cate that if Willow hadn’t left the job working for Beverly, maybe she would have met Mitch. “Well, he acts like I’m some kind of incompetent, helpless female. Always thinking he has to jump in and rescue me.”
“Hey, Superman was a rescue-type guy. Sounds good to me. Coop rescued me once, when I got mad at him and jumped off the edge of a dock into the river.” When Cate frowned at that comment, Willow shrugged. “Maybe neither one of them is right for you. Maybe God has in mind someone else entirely. The world is full of men.”
“But why would he send Kyle back into my life if he didn’t mean for us to get back together?”
“Maybe he sent the guy back so you could let go of something you should have let go of a long time ago. Like I dyed my hair jet black for a while. I thought it was so dramatic looking, kind of Cleopatra-ish. I kept it that way until Coop told me I looked more like Davy Crockett in a bearskin cap.”
Cate got a little tangled in a story that combined Cleopatra and Davy Crockett, and she was uneasy with these frequent mentions of Coop, but the hair fiasco did point out that you could hang on too long to something that was wrong to begin with. Mitch had sensed an “unavailability” about her. She’d wondered herself if she’d dated those guys from Creeps-R-Us because her subconscious was stubbornly holding out for Kyle. Now Kyle was back …
Did God want her to grab onto him again?
Or let him go for good?
Did God have some plan for her with Mitch?
Or was Mitch just a speed bump in her life?
“Would you rush to get Kyle back if this Mitch guy wasn’t in the picture?” Willow asked.
Cate mentally eased Mitch out of the picture. But maybe he was already out. Actually, he’d never been that much in. So, did she want to see Kyle this weekend? Well …
“I’m not sure I should be taking advice from you,” Cate muttered.
“Well, thanks a lot!” Willow scooted around and leaned back in the chair. “Here I’m trying to use my vast experience to help you, and you don’t even appreciate it.”
“Sorry.”
“But you could be right. What do I know? It’s not as if anything in my love life is going down in history as the Romance of the Century.” Willow sighed and grabbed another cookie. “Or even Romance of the Week.”
“Maybe you’ll meet someone wonderful down in Florida.”
“Hey, you think?” Willow’s blue eyes brightened. “I’m not sure I can tell a creep from a wonderful guy, though. I’ve been wrong more often than right. But I still don’t think you should rush back into anything with Kyle.”
“And you base this on … ?” Cate challenged.
“Maybe it’s a message from God to you through me.” Willow tilted her head and stared at the overhead leaves. “Or maybe it’s more like Grandma and one of her sayings: ‘Even a stopped clock is right twice a day,’ and this is one of the times I’m right.”
Maybe she’d call Mrs. Collier this evening. Or she could play Kyle’s game and have Rebecca call him.
And say what?
Before she left, Willow stopped by the bedroom to give Octavia the kind of roughhouse petting she liked. Willow said she’d call when the coast was clear and Cate could come pick up the cat food.
Later that afternoon, Octavia perched on the desktop in Uncle Joe’s office while Cate was looking through the file on the next assignment he’d given her. The cat moved over to the phone, looked at it expectantly, and a second later it rang.
“No way,” Cate said, not realizing she’d already picked up the phone when she said, “Coincidence.”
“Coincidence?” an unfamiliar voice on the other end repeated.
Cate decided not to explain that she was talking to her deaf cat, who had this uncanny ability to—
Then she broke off that thought. No uncanny ability involved. Just coincidence. So now, in her most professional manner, she said, “Belmont Investigations, Cate Kinkaid speaking.”
“This is Roger Ledbetter, from Winkler, Ledbetter, and Agrossi, Attorneys-at-Law—”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Belmont isn’t currently accepting new clients, but if you’d like him to contact you later—”
“No, it’s you to whom I need to speak,” he said.
Cate hadn’t dealt much with lawyers, but she recognized a voice of authority when she heard one. A voice ominously pinpointing her. Cheryl had done what she’d threatened. She’d called in the big legal guns about Cate’s refusal to return Octavia.
“You’re Amelia Robinson’s lawyer?”
“I am executor of her es
tate, yes. I understand that you have in your possession a certain white cat by the name of …” Pause while Mr. Ledbetter rustled papers. “Octavia.”
Cate resisted an urge to say, “Yes, would you like to speak with her?” Instead, in her most noncommittal tone, she said, “Yes, I do.” She reached out and gave Octavia’s white fur a reassuring ruffling.
“Mrs. Calhoun says that you removed the cat from her aunt’s home—”
Cate’s determination to be cool, calm, and professional evaporated, and her words came out in an indignant yelp. “I didn’t ‘remove’ her, Cheryl gave her to me! She wanted to get rid of her. She was going to take her to the pound.”
“I see.” Pause, as he no doubt collected powerful legal phrases to hurl at her. Pro bono. Corpus delicti. Habeas corpus.
Unequipped with legal phrases of her own, Cate settled for simple stubbornness instead. “And I intend to keep her.”
“Mrs. Calhoun does not, at this point, have authority to make disposition of any portion of Amelia’s estate. The cat is part of that estate. The will must go through the proper process of probate.”
A lot of words to say … what? You’ve got the cat and you’re in big trouble? “But Cheryl inherits everything, doesn’t she? Including Octavia?”
“I am not at liberty to disclose details of the will, but as executor I must abide by its terms. It is my duty to conserve assets of the estate and distribute them properly.”
Conserve assets. Like not letting one stray white cat escape his clutches?
“I’m sorry, but I’m not giving her up. I’m just not. And if you don’t like it, you can … sue me.”
Great going, Cate. You just suggested a hotshot lawyer sue you. What came next on this legal eagle’s schedule? A bombardment of court papers? Stolen cat complaint to the police?
“Are you looking for money, Ms. Kinkaid?” Mr. Ledbetter inquired suddenly. “You want payment for return of the cat?”
The question astonished her. Her indignation ballooned. “Money? No, I do not want money. I am not a cat kidnapper.” Inspiration! “Look, since you’re handling the estate and are concerned about money, how about if I pay you for Octavia? Estates sell things, don’t they?”
“You want to buy the cat?” The dignified attorney sounded taken aback. And, unexpectedly, momentarily human. Then, as if wary but curious, he added, “What’s she worth?”
Cate eyed the blue-eyed cat now regarding her from atop the nearby filing cabinet. “Well, I, um, don’t know. She’s a wonderful friend and companion, so that’s worth a lot. She was a stray, but she might be some fancy breed for all I know. She has beautiful blue eyes. She’s deaf, but she seems able to tell when a phone is going to ring.”
Dumb, dumb, dumb, Cate chastised herself. She should be bringing Octavia’s value down: she’s overweight, lazy, and loud, and you could knit a pair of leg warmers out of all the hair she sheds. Instead she was making her into Super Cat. And making herself sound like an irrational nutcase with the phone thing. At least she hadn’t mentioned the door opening.
“She must be a most extraordinary animal,” the lawyer said. Cate couldn’t tell if he was being facetious or patronizing. “Perhaps quite valuable.”
“I guess I probably can’t pay what she’s really worth,” she muttered.
“I see. But you absolutely refuse to return her?”
“I absolutely refuse,” Cate stated with more confidence than she felt. “But if you’ll set a price on her, I’ll try to come up with the money. Maybe I could make monthly payments?”
He ended the conversation smoothly and noncommittally. “Thank you, Ms. Kinkaid. As executor of the estate, I’ll give your offer careful consideration.”
And no doubt check her credit rating.
“We could run away,” Cate suggested to Octavia after the end of the conversation with the lawyer. “Disappear where they’d never find us.”
Mrrow. Was that asking when? Or how big a supply of cat food Cate intended to take on the trip?
By evening Cate knew she had to call Kyle or he might just show up on her doorstep. And she definitely didn’t want that. Okay, she’d call Mrs. Collier and tell her that this weekend was out, but maybe sometime. That way she wouldn’t have to explain anything to Kyle. Maybe because she wasn’t sure what her explanation was? She got as far as looking up Mrs. Collier’s number on her phone. Then she changed her mind. She wasn’t going to hide behind Mommy. Before she could change her mind again, she punched the number Mrs. Collier had given her for Kyle into her cell phone.
“Kyle Collier here.”
After all these years, there he was. She felt a little light-headed. She didn’t know if she’d have recognized his voice if he hadn’t identified himself. Familiar, but different. More mature? “Hi, Kyle. It’s Cate.”
“Cate, it’s so good to hear from you!”
“Your mother said you’ve moved to a new job in Portland.”
“Yes. I’m really excited about it.” He talked about the new job with the gourmet food company and his apartment with a view of the Willamette River. He didn’t mention his broken relationship with Melanie in Atlanta or ask what Cate was doing now. “We have an awesome line of specialty teas. I remember how much you like to try different kinds. I can bring some along this weekend—”
“About this weekend,” Cate interrupted. She’d intended to say not this weekend, but maybe later, but it came out differently. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
A moment’s silence until he said, “Are you saying not a good idea for this weekend, or not a good idea for any weekend?”
“Any weekend, I think.”
“I see.” He sounded mildly stunned by that reaction. “Any particular reason?”
“Um, no. Just … um, no.” Brilliant dialogue, Cate. Any more um’s and you’ll have a catchy new song: um, um, um. Clap, clap. Um, um, um. She tried to be more articulate. “It didn’t work before, and I don’t think it would work now.”
“I wasn’t asking for a lifetime commitment, Cate. I just thought we might enjoy seeing each other again.”
Reproach. Oh yeah, Kyle had always been good at reproach. And now she felt like a total idiot. As if she had some overblown idea of her own hotness, and all he had in mind was a cup of tea.
She stuck to her decision anyway. If her relationship with Kyle had been God-solid, would their Cappuccino Conflict have exploded the way it had back then? “I don’t think so. But it was nice of you to think of me.”
“We had such plans, Cate.” A long silence from Kyle, as if he was thinking over their past together. “I think the breakup was a big mistake.”
“Maybe it’s the breakup with Melanie that’s a mistake.”
Huff of breath, as if he hadn’t realized this topic would come up. “Melanie is what this is really all about, then?”
Cate felt a splash of dismay. Was it? Was she letting some petty jealousy thing sabotage a wonderful possibility?
“You figure Melanie dumped me, and that’s why I’m running back to you? And now you’re going to give me the brush-off? Well, that isn’t what happened. I finally realized Melanie and I were no more right for each other than you and I were, and I had to get out. How did you know about Melanie anyway?”
“Your mom. My mom.”
“Oh yeah, the good ol’ Mom hotline.”
“You used it to get in touch with me!”
A couple of minutes on the phone, and they were squabbling again. And they didn’t even have a cappuccino machine to get it going. Kyle apparently decided to back off and start again with a new, less confrontational tactic.
“What are you doing now, there in Eugene? Have you gone back to teaching?”
“I’m a private investigator. I’m involved with a murder. I have a blonde wig. I’m buying a deaf cat.”
It took him a bit of time to absorb all that. Finally he said warily, “Are you all right, Cate? You sound … different.”
Was she all right? A high-po
wered lawyer was after her for catnapping. A good-looking knight on a white horse had walked out on her. She was tangled in a hotbed of could-be killers. Which added up to … what?
“I’m fine, Kyle.” She said the words out of reflex, but with some astonishment she realized they were true. In spite of the temporary weirdness of her life, she was fine. But Kyle was obviously feeling down, and she didn’t want to sound as if she were clicking her heels with exuberance, so she toned down her enthusiasm. “I’m looking for a different job. My health is great. My car’s running good. So everything’s fine, it really is.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Kyle said, even though he didn’t sound convinced.
“Kyle, look, I know that back then, down in San Diego, we both thought our relationship was ordained by God. That he choreographed our meeting, and he meant for us to be together. But people make mistakes about God’s will. I think we did. You said it just now. That you and Melanie weren’t any more right for each other than you and I were.”
“I said that?” He sounded surprised.
“You said that.”
“This really was a mistake, wasn’t it?” Kyle said. He actually sighed. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I guess I’ve just been feeling kind of lost and looked for something familiar to grab on to. But don’t tell me to grab on to God,” he added roughly. “I’ve already been through that with my dad.”
Okay, she wouldn’t tell him that, although it was what she was thinking. Neither would she tell him she’d pray for him, because she’d do that, whether he wanted her to or not.
“Actually, I appreciate your contacting me. It’s helping me straighten out my head about some things too.”
15
Yes, her head was straightened out about Kyle. No more letting her subconscious sabotage her present by dragging around something from the past. So, should she call Mitch? Although it wasn’t as if she’d chosen Mitch over Kyle. She’d just un-chosen Kyle.
Two days later, when she was still waffling about calling Mitch, he called her with a brisk rundown on what he’d dug up on the internet about Cheryl and her husband.
Cheryl Calhoun was fifty-six. She’d had two years at the University of Washington and an eighteen-year marriage that ended when the husband divorced her and quickly married another woman. She had a son and daughter, both living back East. Cheryl’s interior decorating business wasn’t going under yet, but neither was it flourishing. Their Springfield home was valued by the county assessor’s office at $625,000, less than what they’d paid for it. Scott Calhoun was fifty-one and had been with the local branch of a national stockbroker firm since coming to Eugene five years ago. He was active in a couple of civic organizations. He had grown children, but Mitch hadn’t been able to pinpoint where they lived. Neither Cheryl nor Scott had anything except minor traffic citations on their police records. They’d been separated briefly a year or so ago, but the court action was dropped. They’d taken a Caribbean cruise together shortly afterward.
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