Софи Келли - Faux Paw

“I can’t believe Margo is dead. I just saw her a few hours ago. How could this have happened?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Marcus said. He put his hands on my shoulders. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m okay,” I said. I held up the take-out cup. “Hope brought me a cup of coffee.”

“How did she get here so fast?” he asked. He was already shifting into what I thought of as “police officer mode,” patting his pocket for gloves and scanning the area around the library.

“She was at Eric’s,” I said. We started walking toward the building and I had a flash of memory of the first time I’d made coffee for Marcus. We’d sat at the table in the staff room and he’d questioned me about my connection to Gregor Easton, thinking that maybe I’d been involved in some kind of torrid relationship with the pompous musician.

Marcus caught my smile in the darkness. “What?” he asked.

“I was just remembering the first time we shared a cup of coffee.”

“Best day of my life,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t what I’d expected him to say. For a moment I didn’t have any words, so I just reached over and squeezed his arm.

He put a hand over mine. “Your hands are cold,” he said.

“My mom always says, ‘Cold hands, warm heart.’”

“Funny, I don’t remember her ever saying that. At least to me.” A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “I remember she did tell me what would happen if I ever hurt you, but she didn’t say anything about hands and hearts, just locations where there’s no sunshine.”

My mother was a larger-than-life person who was more likely to be doing Shakespeare in the dining room than making cookies in the kitchen. But I had never doubted her love for my brother, Ethan, my sister, Sara, or me. She was as protective as a mama grizzly would be with her cubs.

Marcus’s lips brushed the top of my head. “I’ll just check in with Hope and you can probably go,” he said.

This time I did go back to the truck, nursing my coffee until Marcus came back. In the end it was more like half an hour before he and Hope said it was okay for me to leave.

“What’s going in the case in the very middle of where the artwork is displayed?” Marcus asked. We were standing at the bottom of the library steps.

“A drawing of a native encampment by Sam Weston,” I said, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. “It’s the focal point of the exhibit.” Then his choice of words sank in. I caught a look passing between him and Hope. “Marcus, what do you mean, ‘What’s going in the case?’ The drawing should be in that case now.”

“It’s not,” Hope said, turning to look at the building.

Marcus ran a hand back through his dark wavy hair, a sure sign that he was troubled by the fact that the Weston drawing wasn’t where it should be. Margo Walsh was dead on my office floor. It wasn’t hard to make a connection between the two.

“Everett should know what’s going on,” I said. Another look passed between Marcus and Hope. It was as if they had some form of silent communication. I’d seen Owen and Hercules do the same thing.

“I’ll call him,” Marcus said.

“All right,” I said.

He took a few steps away from us and pulled out his phone.

Hope gave me a smile that was mostly politeness. “You can go home now, Kathleen.”

I pulled my keys out of my pocket and detached the ones for the building. “This one is for the main doors,” I said, pointing to the largest silver key. “This one is the master for all the inside doors.”

She took the keys and put them in her pocket.

“You’ll need the alarm codes,” I said.

“Tell me what they are,” she said. “I can remember them.”

I recited the sequences for both alarm systems and noticed that Hope was silently repeating them after me. “If you need anything or you have any questions, I’m going right home. You can call me.”

The smile she gave me this time was a little more genuine. “Thanks,” she said. She tipped her head toward the building. “I’m sorry about this.”

I sighed softly. “Me too. Margo didn’t deserve this.”

Hope went back into the building. I turned just as Marcus put his phone back into his pocket. I knew that part of his mind was already turning over the details of the case, and I didn’t want to keep him from his job any longer.

“I’m going to go,” I said.

“Okay.” He raked his hand back through his hair again. “I don’t know how late this is going to go, but I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Tell Everett I’ll be up if he needs to talk to me.”

• • •

Hercules was waiting for me on the porch, sitting on the bench by the window, when I got home. I sat down beside him, leaned my head back against the window frame and closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again Hercules was standing on his back legs, front paws on my chest, looking at me with his head tipped to one side.

“Margo Walsh is dead,” I said. I swallowed down the lump in my throat.

“Merow?” he said.

I thought I heard an inquiry in the sound.

“Do you remember the woman who was here a couple of nights ago?” I asked. “She told you how handsome you looked, like you were wearing a tuxedo.”

Hercules ducked his head. “Mrrr,” he said softly. He’d liked Margo.

It had turned out she was a cat person. She’d been intrigued by my story of how I’d found Owen and Hercules out at Wisteria Hill when they were just kittens, or, to be more exact, how they had found me. She’d spent several minutes talking to each of them and they’d both stayed around once Margo and I had gotten down to work.

I slipped my bag up onto my shoulder again, picked up Hercules and stood up. He leaned in and licked my chin, his way of being sympathetic.

There was no sign of Owen in the kitchen. I set Hercules down and put my things away. I wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. I turned around to see the cat staring at the toaster sitting on the counter.

“That’s a good idea,” I said. I put bread in the toaster and got the milk from the refrigerator. By the time I sat down at the table with a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of peanut butter toast, Owen had appeared, peering around the basement door, whiskers twitching. He walked all the way around the table to get to my left side since Hercules was already sitting on my right.

I pulled a tiny piece for each of them from the toast. I knew Roma would lecture me about feeding them people food, but I rationalized it as being just a bite.

I told the boys what had happened at the library and they both seemed to listen intently. For all I knew it could have been the cat version of listening politely while they were daydreaming about grackles or catnip chickens.

“It has to have something to do with the Weston drawing,” I said.

Owen seemed to frown, as though he disagreed. Then he bent his head and licked a tiny dab of peanut butter from one paw.

Okay, so I didn’t have his full attention. I looked at Hercules. “If the drawing isn’t in the case, where is it?” I asked. “It was the only thing missing. Neither one of the alarms was set. Margo is dead and the drawing is gone. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

“Merow,” he said.

“I know,” I said. “Me neither.”

Everett called at about nine thirty. He was on his way home and asked if we could get together to decide how to handle things.

“Of course,” I said.

“I appreciate this, Kathleen,” he said. “Rebecca said to tell you she has some of the Jam Lady’s marshmallows.”

I laughed grimly. “Rebecca knows me well.”

I changed out of my tai chi clothes into jeans and a white shirt. I gave the boys fresh water and left the light on over the stove.