Софи Келли - Faux Paw

“I’m going to the library if I hear back from Marcus this morning,” I said.

That got me another murp, but he didn’t even slow down.

I finished my breakfast, threw a load of bedding in the washer and then sat at the table, making a list of things I wanted from the Farmers’ Market, with Hercules settled on my lap. “Do you think the Jam Lady will have any marmalade?” I asked.

The cat’s whiskers twitched. He liked the occasional dab of marmalade on a sardine cracker, information we didn’t share with Roma.

I pulled on my hoodie and got my cloth shopping bags from the hall closet. Hercules followed me out into the porch and watched while I tied my sneakers. He looked a little at loose ends to me.

“You want to come for a ride in the truck?” I asked, canting my head in the direction of the driveway and feeling a little foolish as I said the words. At least half of a cat’s life was spent lying around at loose ends, as far as I could see.

He had been washing the white fur on his chest. He lifted his head, shook himself and then went to sit by the outside door. That was a yes.

I stood in the middle of the backyard and called Owen several times. There was no sign of him. Hercules meowed at me from the steps. “I know,” I said. “He’s probably over at Rebecca’s mooching a treat. Let’s go.”

I found a parking spot on the street not too far from the market. “I won’t be very long,” I told the cat, grabbing a bag from the floor on the passenger side of the truck. He stretched out on the seat.

“Maybe we’ll go to Tubby’s when I’m done,” I said, “as long as you promise not to tell Roma—or your brother.” I wasn’t really sure who would be more annoyed to find out I’d let Hercules have a taste of Tubby’s bestselling strawberry frozen yogurt: the cat or the vet.

I’d long since come to the conclusion that not only were the boys not exactly ordinary house cats; they didn’t have the digestive systems of regular cats, either. But I didn’t want to take any chances on their health, so when Roma had gotten after me about feeding them people food, I’d gotten a lot stricter about what they ate.

Hercules looked at me and at the same time crossed one paw over the other. Was that cat for “cross my heart”? It was good enough for me.

I got some onions, a dozen brown eggs, the marmalade and some spring lettuce and onions from the greenhouse Taylor King’s parents kept. I was just about to head back to the truck when I bumped—literally—into Diana Holmes. I was surprised to see the owner—or to be exact, half owner—of the Weston drawing. I hadn’t had any contact with her since Margo’s death.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching down to pick up the bag of lettuce she’d knocked from my hand. “I had my eye on a red velvet cupcake and wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” She was wearing a long, slim black-and-white-patterned skirt with a white cotton sweater and a short jean jacket. I felt a little underdressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt.

“It’s all right,” I said. “I’ve been distracted by Georgia’s cupcakes more than once myself.” I took my lettuce from her and put it back in my shopping bag. “I didn’t realize you were still in town.”

Diana smiled with more politeness than genuine warmth. “Marshall has been discussing some business with Everett Henderson. He decided to stay for a few more days. It’s such a lovely little town, even with everything that happened, I thought I’d do the same.”

“I’m sorry about the Weston drawing being stolen,” I said.

She nodded. “So am I. It was my father’s favorite piece in his collection.”

It seemed to me I could see a glimpse of real sadness in her expression for a moment.

“I’m trying not to lose sight of what’s really important,” she continued. “The drawing is . . . a thing. And it was insured. I just want the police to find whoever killed Margo Walsh.”

“So do I,” I said.

“Have you heard anything?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No. But Mayville Heights has an excellent police department. They’ll find whoever did this.”

“That’s good to hear.” She gave me the polite smile again. “It was nice to see you, Kathleen,” she said. “Enjoy your weekend.”

I walked back to the truck, wondering what kind of business Everett was doing with Marshall Holmes.

I put the shopping bags on the floor of the passenger side. Hercules leaned over to sniff each one and then straightened up and looked at me.

“Yes, we’re going to Tubby’s,” I said.

I parked by the waterfront and Hercules and I sat in the truck with the windows rolled partway down and enjoyed a small cup of creamy, icy strawberry frozen yogurt. I got Hercules his own flat-paddle wooden spoon and gave him a couple of tastes. Then he curled up on the seat next to me with a sigh of contentment. He was so relaxed that when my phone buzzed on the seat next to him he started and almost fell onto the floor.

I put one hand on his back and picked up the cell with the other. It was Marcus.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“I’m at Tubby’s, sitting in the truck with Hercules eating frozen yogurt.”

“Why? Was Owen busy?”

“As a matter of fact, he was,” I said. Hercules turned his head to lick a tiny smear of yogurt off the side of my thumb.

Marcus laughed, the sound tickling my ear as it came through the phone. “Do you still want to clear the book drop?” he asked.

“Please,” I said.

“I can meet you at the library in about fifteen minutes.”

That didn’t give me time to take Hercules home. “The only problem is, like I said, I have Hercules with me.” The cat looked up at me and narrowed his green eyes as though he didn’t like be referred to as a problem.

“That’s not a problem,” Marcus said. “He can’t hurt anything. We’ve wrapped up everything we want to do in the building. We’re releasing it back to you. You could probably reopen on Monday.”

I leaned against the back of the seat as relief flooded my body. “I’m going to need to get the cleaners in, and there are stacks of books to reshelve. And I’ll have to call Gavin to see if we can get the artwork moved on Monday. Maybe we should wait and reopen Tuesday.” I rummaged in my purse, looking for a pen and the notebook I usually carried.

“Kathleen, take a breath,” Marcus said.

“What?” I said.

“Take a breath,” he repeated. “You don’t have to do everything at once.”

“You’re right,” I said. “How about Hercules and I come and meet you and we’ll go from there?”

“I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he said.

Hercules sat up, took a couple of passes at his face with a paw and then looked expectantly at me.

Marcus was waiting by his SUV in the library parking lot. I popped Hercules into the spare shopping bag I’d brought with me and got out of the truck. I knew there was no point in leaving him in the truck when he didn’t want to stay there. He’d just climb out through the door—literally—and how would I explain that to Marcus?

“Hi,” I said as we walked over to him.

“Hi,” he said, leaning down to kiss me. “Hey, Hercules,” he said to the little black-and-white cat, who was poking his head out of the top of the bag.

“Merow,” the cat said.

Marcus let us into the building, and before I could take more than a few steps toward the checkout desk, Hercules jumped out of the bag, shook himself and looked around. “No, no, no,” I said, reaching for him. “You need to stay with me.”

Marcus turned to look at me. “It’s okay, Kathleen,” he said. “We’re finished in here. He can’t hurt anything.”