Софи Келли - Final Catcall

I tried not to think about Hannah or Abigail and their connections to Hugh Davis. There wasn’t anything I could do, so I vowed to follow my advice to Marcus and stay out of it.

I was up early the next morning to meet Ruby at River Arts and see her painting of Hercules. When I came downstairs he was sitting underneath the carrier bag.

I folded my arms and looked at him. “What are you doing?”

He looked up at the bag and then over at the back door.

“If you’re coming with me you need to have breakfast,” I said, picking up his and Owen’s water dishes.

He got up and walked over to the back door.

“I told you I’m not buying you a breakfast sandwich. You’re a cat. Cats eat cat food.”

He walked right through the door into the porch.

“Oh, like that’s going to work,” I called after him.

Owen came in then and rubbed against my leg.

“Hey, Fuzz Face,” I said, bending down to scratch the top of his head.

I got his breakfast and set the dishes in their place by the refrigerator. He looked around the room and checked under the table.

“He’s out in the porch,” I said.

Owen cocked his head to one side.

I measured coffee into the machine. “He’s sulking.”

He studied the back door for a moment—thoughtfully, it seemed to me. Then he dropped his head and started sniffing his food.

Once the coffee was ready I poured myself a cup and went out to the porch. Hercules was on the bench, looking into the yard. One ear twitched, but other than that he gave no indication he knew I was in the room.

“Ruby will probably have some of those kitty treats,” I said.

He jumped down and headed for his breakfast, pausing only to give me a look best described as patronizing as he passed me. I shook my head and followed him into the kitchen. Nobody had cats like mine. Sometimes they really were like little people in fur suits. Manipulative little people.

Ruby was waiting for me at the back door of the River Arts building. She smiled when she caught sight of the cat bag. “You brought Hercules,” she said, her eyes lighting up.

I shrugged. “I know it sounds weird, but I swear he knew I was coming to see you. He was sitting by the carrier when I came down this morning.”

“It doesn’t sound weird to me.” She leaned toward the mesh panel on the top of the bag. “Bonjour, mon petit,” she said.

From inside the bag he made a little murp.

Okay, so it appeared Hercules knew how to speak French, too.

Ruby took us up to her studio. The painting was on one of her easels, turned away from the door. I unzipped the carrier and Hercules climbed out, walked to the far side of the table and sat down. He looked expectantly at Ruby.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, just in case she was talking to me, even though I was fairly sure she wasn’t.

She swung the easel around and for a moment I was speechless. “Oh, Ruby, it’s incredible,” I said when I found my voice again. I hugged her and she beamed with pleasure. “I want to jump up and down and squeal,” I said, grinning back at her.

She’d painted Hercules in shades of purple from deepest indigo to a pale lavender. He was sitting up, head tipped slightly to one side. It looked just like him—except for the purple.

The cat himself was studying his likeness, squinting and leaning forward. “Well,” I asked. “What do you think?”

“Merow!” he said loudly, with much enthusiasm.

“We give it two paws up,” I said to Ruby.

Right on cue Hercules held up a paw and looked at me.

Ruby folded her arms over her chest and laughed. “Could I give him a treat?” she asked.

“Would there actually be any point in me saying no?”

She twisted her mouth to one side. “Not really. There are two of us to one of you. I think we could outvote you.”

“You have five minutes,” I said sternly to Hercules, holding up one hand, fingers spread apart. “Then we have to get to the library.”

“You’re not going to make him shelve books all morning, are you?” she asked in mock outrage, hands on her hips.

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “Hercules is too short to shelve books. He’s going to update the card catalogue. You should see how fast those little black-and-white paws can move across a keyboard.”

Ruby laughed and reached for the bag of cat treats, already approved by Roma. Hercules gave me a look that said I wasn’t nearly as funny as I thought I was.

Susan was waiting at the bottom of the steps when I got to the library. She grinned when she saw the cat carrier bag slung over my shoulder. “Is it Bring Your Cat to Work Day already?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I forgot to get you a card.”

I made a face at her.

She gestured at the bag. “Owen or Hercules?”

“Hercules,” I said. I unlocked the front doors and turned off the alarm. “We were over at River Arts with Ruby.”

“How’s the painting coming?” Susan asked as we climbed the stairs.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “I hope it makes a lot of money for Cat People. They do good work.”

“Me too,” she said. “That’s really nice of Ruby to do the paintings for the auction.”

A muffled meow came from the cat carrier.

“And it was nice of you to pose for her, Hercules,” Susan said with a grin.

I took the cat to my office, where he jumped up onto my desk, sat down on the budget projections for next year and started to wash his face.

A few minutes after nine a woman came in, stopping just inside the doors. She looked around, smiling at the building. I was about to walk over and say hello when she caught sight of me and smiled even wider. She started toward me, still smiling as though she knew me. I didn’t know her, but I felt as though I should. Something about her was very familiar. She was tall and slender with auburn hair brushing her shoulders, and side-swept bangs. She looked to be in her early forties.

“You’re Kathleen, aren’t you?” she said.

“Yes, I am,” I said.

She nodded her head slightly. “You look like your mom, but you have John’s smile.” She held out her hand. “I’m Chloe Miller. I worked with your dad a couple of times.”

Now I knew who she was. Chloe Miller had been on a nighttime drama a few years back called Vengeance , playing the main character’s mother in flashbacks. I’d stopped at my parents’ house unannounced one Wednesday night and found my mother—who claimed she only watched PBS—glued to the TV. I confessed I was recording the show on my DVR at my apartment. A couple of weeks later I discovered that my little brother, Ethan, was a big fan as well.

The three of us started watching the show together every Wednesday night and then speculating about what was going to happen next for the following seven days. My dad and Ethan’s twin, Sara, thought we’d taken leave of our senses.

“I was a big fan of Vengeance ,” I said. “I’m glad to meet you.”

“When Ben told me you were the librarian here I had to come say hello. I hope that’s okay.”

“Absolutely,” I said with a smile. “Are you here for the New Horizons festival?”

She nodded. “I am. I had another commitment and couldn’t get here until last night.” She looked around again. “The building is beautiful. How old is it?”

“We celebrated its centennial this past spring.” I couldn’t keep a touch of pride out of my voice.

“It’s a Carnegie library, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Yes, it is.”

“I thought so,” she said. “I spent a year in Scotland doing theater and I actually got to visit the very first Carnegie library, in Dunfermline.”

“I think I’m a little jealous.”