Софи Келли - Cat Trick

I waited. Owen turned to look at me, and then he jumped down to the floor and headed out of the room. I put the phone back to my own ear.

“Owen’s gone,” I said.

“I know. I told him to go finish his breakfast,” Maggie said. “And I told him I’d see him on Friday.” I’d invited Mags and Roma for supper on Friday night.

“He was purring.”

“The little fur ball is a charmer,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’ll come pick you up,” I said. “I just have to have some breakfast and get my things together. I should be there in about half an hour.”

“Thanks, Kath,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

I went back to the kitchen to make myself a bowl of oatmeal. Owen was happily moving food from his dish to the floor. Hercules had already finished eating and gone somewhere to do cat stuff.

Maggie was waiting out front when I got to her place. “Hi,” she said as she slid onto the front seat. “Did Fuzz Face finish his breakfast?”

I nodded. “He did. He’s probably rolling around on the footstool or the chair right now, trying to get as much cat hair on it as possible.”

She laughed. “That’s one of the things I like about Owen; he has that rebel cat streak.”

I shook a finger at her as I pulled away from the curb. “That’s because you don’t have to vacuum the cat hair off the footstool.”

That just made her laugh harder.

“I talked to my mother last night,” I said.

Maggie immediately sat up straighter. “And?” she prompted.

“And she’s having a good time in Los Angeles. She said her dressing room is huge and the network sends a car for her each morning.”

“Did she at least tell you who she’s sleeping with?”

I shot her a quick look.

Mags waved a hand in the air. “I don’t mean your mother. I mean her character.”

“Sorry.” I shrugged. “She didn’t.”

She slumped back against the seat. “I was kind of hoping she’d go for Billy. They had great chemistry the last time on the show.”

I stopped at the corner and looked both ways before heading through the intersection. “She did tell me who Jack’s going to sleep with,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. That got her attention.

“Who?” she asked.

I told her what my mother had said.

“On Victor’s desk?” I nodded, and she chortled with laughter and all but squirmed in her seat.

She badgered me with questions the rest of the way to the River Arts building. “Next time I talk to Mom, I’ll put you on the phone,” I said as I backed the truck into Maggie’s parking spot behind the building.

“Seriously?” she said.

I nodded.

“Could we call her tomorrow night?”

The look on her face reminded me of Owen when he was trying to wheedle a stinky cracker out of me. “Maybe,” I said, and she gave me a goofy grin of happiness. Maggie’s newly discovered love for the Wild and Wonderful was a lot like her undying affection for Matt Lauer—one of those things that I was never quite going to understand.

I took the truck keys off my key ring. “Here,” I said. “Bring the truck back when you’re finished. I’m at the library all day.”

She hugged me. “Thanks. I should have it back to you by lunchtime.”

I grabbed my briefcase and got out of the truck. “I’ll see you later,” I said with a wave.

I walked down to Main Street and stopped at the corner to look out over the water. It was a gorgeous fall day. The white tents on the green grass against the backdrop of the deep blue water looked like a painting. If I didn’t stay in Mayville Heights, this was one of the many, many things I was going to miss. I wondered if Mike Glazer had missed Mayville. Was that one of the reasons he’d agreed to come and hear Liam’s tour proposal?

I was about to head down the street to the library when the end flap of the closest tent lifted and Oren Kenyon stepped out. I raised a hand in greeting, and he started toward me. There were no cars coming, so I crossed the street and met him on the sidewalk.

“Good morning,” I said.

He gave me a small smile. “Hello, Kathleen,” he said. Oren was tall and rangy with sun-bleached blond hair. His large hands had long, slender fingers, and he was an accomplished pianist as well as a talented carpenter. He turned and looked back over his shoulder at the tent.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Do you have your cell phone with you? I don’t have one.”

“It’s right here.” I pulled the phone out of my pocket.

Oren wiped his hands on his brown work pants and then looked at them. They were streaked with dirt. “Kathleen, would you mind calling the police?” he asked. “I was moving some of the booths—getting them leveled and secured a little better. I found something that might be important. I don’t know.”

“What was it?”

Oren glanced at the tent again. “I thought I saw a glint of something shiny by one of the end tent pegs when I was tying back the sides to let some sun in, so I went to take a look.” He made an apologetic shrug. “Maybe it doesn’t mean anything, but it looks like there’s a knife stuck in the ground.”

“A knife?”

“A butter knife, I think. I’m not sure. It’s small with a thin blade.” His shifted his weight from one side to the other. “Thing is, I tied that line myself and there sure as heck wasn’t any knife in the ground when I did.”

I nodded slowly. “I’ll call Marcus,” I said.

I punched in the number with a strong feeling of déjà vu, thinking maybe I should put Marcus on speed dial. The phone rang half a dozen times before he answered it. I explained where I was and what Oren had found.

He exhaled loudly and mumbled something I didn’t catch. “Okay, I’m on my way.”

“Do you need me to stay here?” I asked. I could hear voices in the background.

“Can you?” he asked.

I looked at my watch. “Yes,” I said. “But I do have to open the library and I’m walking.”

“I won’t be long. I promise,” he said, and then he ended the call.

“Marcus is on his way,” I told Oren, putting my phone back in my pocket.

“Thank you,” he said. He tried to brush more of the dirt off his hands. “I know the police are still investigating Mike Glazer’s death. I don’t know if that knife means anything or not.”

I looked past him at the tent. “Oren, could you show me where it is?” I asked. I held up both hands. “I won’t touch anything.”

“All right,” he said.

I followed him across the grass. He lifted the canvas flap and pointed. “Right there. I’m not sure if you can see it.”

“I see it,” I said. With the other flaps tied open, the tent was flooded with early-morning sun. The light was glinting off the rounded end of what looked like a knife handle, the blade jammed down into the earth, less than a foot away from where Owen had dug up that brass button from Alex Scott’s jacket. How had it gotten there? I’d checked the area very carefully after Owen had discovered the button and there hadn’t been a knife, or anything else, stuck in the grass.

Oren looked at me. “You think it’s a butter knife?”

“Looks like one,” I said. We took a couple of steps away from the tent, and I set my bag on the grass at my feet.

“Doesn’t make a lot of sense. If someone was trying to hide it, they didn’t do a very good job.”

“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” I said, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my hooded sweater. “Maybe that knife has nothing to do with Mike Glazer’s death.”

He gave me an appraising look, eyes narrowed. “Do you really think so?” he asked.