Софи Келли - Cat Trick

“I saw it,” he said, “but thanks for calling me.”

I didn’t want him to hang up before I’d said everything I wanted to say. It was time to tango. “And I wanted you to know that I’ll stay out of your case, assuming there even is one.”

“I appreciate that,” he said. There was silence for a moment; then he added, “Does that mean you’re not going to bring me coffee?”

I laughed. “Not necessarily.”

“Kathleen, I know this is short notice, but would you like to have supper with me tomorrow night?”

Two furry faces were watching me around the kitchen doorframe.

“I would,” I said.

“Full disclosure: I’m cooking.”

“As long as you’re not planning on making something with sardines in hot sauce, I think I’ll be okay,” I said.

It was Marcus’s turn to laugh. “So does that mean that there won’t be any cats joining us?”

“Yes, it definitely does.” I glanced over at the doorway again. Owen and Hercules had disappeared.

“About six thirty?”

“I’ll see you then,” I said. “Have a good day.”

“You too, Kathleen,” he said, and he was gone.

I went back to finish my breakfast. Owen and Hercules were sitting beside my chair like two adorable, well-behaved cats.

“I’m not fooled,” I said, picking up my spoon. “I know you heard enough to figure out that Marcus invited me for dinner, and I’m not taking either one of you.”

“Rrrow,” Hercules said. It seemed he wasn’t happy that Owen had been to Marcus’s house and he hadn’t. Or he might have been trying to point out the piece of yogurt-covered apple that had just fallen off my spoon onto the floor.

“Nice try,” I mumbled around a mouthful of granola. “But it’s not as though your brother had a five-course meal when he was visiting Marcus.” I glanced down at Owen, who was still in well-behaved mode. “And it’s not like he’ll be visiting again anytime soon. Emphasis on soon.”

Hercules poked the chunk of apple with a paw and then made a cranky face when he ended up with yogurt on his fur. He held up the sticky paw and glared at me, a sour expression on his face.

“It’s only a bit of yogurt,” I said. “From soy milk. Look.” I held up my spoon and licked the back of the bowl. “Lick it off your foot. You might like it. Abigail made it.”

He looked uncertainly at his paw, glanced over at the sink and then focused on me.

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I’m not washing your feet again.”

He made annoyed noises in his throat. I figured he was probably muttering “Bite me” in cat. Then tentatively, he licked his paw. Then he licked it again. Then he looked up at me and made a hacking sound, like he was about to bring up a fur ball—or that tiny dab of yogurt.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I said in exasperation. I stood up, went over to the cupboard and got the container of stinky crackers. “Here. Maybe this will get rid of the taste.”

Owen meowed, reminding me—as if I could forget—that he was here, too. “Yes, you can have one, too,” I said, leaning over to set the sardine cracker on the floor in front of him.

I went back to my breakfast, and it occurred to me that if I could keep Owen and Hercules from popping up—literally—somewhere they weren’t supposed to be and outing themselves and their talents to the world, I should be able to keep a police investigation from coming between Marcus and me.

Usually on Fridays I didn’t go down to the library until noon, but I’d changed shifts with Mary because of the upcoming food tasting, and since she hadn’t called, I was assuming she still wanted the time.

Eric dropped off Susan just as I was unlocking the library doors. “Hi, Kathleen,” the twins yelled, waving from the backseat. I waved back as Susan hurried up the stairs.

“Did you hear?” she asked.

“Hear what?” I said as I keyed in the code on the alarm pad.

“If you have to ask, then you didn’t.” She smiled. “The pitch to Legacy is still a go. One of the Scott brothers is coming for the tasting and the art show.”

“That’s good news,” I said.

“Yeah, it is,” Susan said, unzipping her jacket as she followed me inside. “Most of the work is already done. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Given that Mike Glazer’s body had been found in one of the tents that was going to be used as part of the presentation to Legacy Tours, I was pretty confident that the worst had already happened. “I forgot to ask you,” I said, switching on the downstairs lights. “What’s Eric making for the tasting?”

Susan grinned at me. “Three kinds of pudding cake—chocolate, apple spice, and lemon—and little mini muffins—cheddar and spinach, cinnamon streusel, blueberry, and ham and Swiss.”

I groaned. “You’re making me hungry.”

“Eric said you’d say that.” Susan held up her fabric tote. “That’s why he sent a little care package.” She held the top of the bag open, and I looked inside. It was actually a big care package, assuming all the food was staying at the library.

“Your husband is wonderful,” I said.

“Yeah, he is pretty great,” she agreed as we headed for the stairs. “He snores, but I kick, so it all works out.”

I dropped my things in my office while she headed for the staff room. The coffee was started, and Susan was putting a selection of muffins on a glass plate when I got there. There was a metal crochet hook skewered through her updo.

“Susan, why do you have a crochet hook in your hair?” I asked.

She pushed her dark-framed glasses up on her nose and put two mugs on the table. “I couldn’t exactly leave it lying around the house,” she said. “The boys would put someone’s eye out with it.”

She was right about that. The twins were scary smart. Literally. They generally used their smarts to do something involving heights and electrical appliances.

“I didn’t know you crocheted,” I said.

Susan gave a snort of laughter. “I don’t. Abigail is trying to teach me how to make a scarf, but let’s just say it’s not going well and leave it at that.”

I looked at her, eyebrows raised. She sighed and inclined her head toward her bag, hanging on the back of a chair at the end of the table. “Take a look,” she said.

I set the bag on the table, reached inside and pulled out a tangle of soft, cranberry-colored yarn that filled both my hands. “It’s not that bad,” I said. “All you need to do is wind this into a ball and you can start your scarf.”

She turned from the counter, coffeepot in her hand. “Kathleen, that is the scarf.”

My cheeks reddened. “Oh. Well, it’s soft.”

Susan filled my mug and pushed it toward me. “It’s a mess.”

“It’s not that bad,” I said, turning the clump of wool over in my hands. “It’s just kind of twisty.”

She filled her own cup and put the pot back. “It’s supposed to be that way. It’s one of those spiral scarves—you know, with a ruffled edge.” She made a circular motion with one finger.

“Well, at least you got that part right,” I said.

Susan started to laugh. “Honestly, Kathleen, I appreciate the fact that you always say something nice, but that is not a spiral scarf. It’s not any kind of scarf. It’s a tangle of yarn that might make a good bird’s nest, but that’s about it.”

I handed the scarf back to her and she stuffed it back in her bag. “Maybe you’d be better at knitting,” I suggested, eyeing the muffins, wondering which one I should try first.

“Maybe I’d be better at buying a scarf,” she said. She pointed at the plate. “Try that one. It’s ham and Swiss. I think you’ll like it.”

I bit into the muffin and made a little moan of happiness. “Could we just keep the doors locked and maybe stay here and eat muffins all morning?”