Софи Келли - Cat Trick

“Yes, I do know that,” I said. “I think Mike suffocated in some way.” I held up my free hand. “And before you say you can’t tell me whether or not I’m right, I wasn’t asking.” I was holding on so tightly to the bag with the dishes and cat food, I could feel the strap cutting into my palm. “Marcus, I think someone jammed that knife down in the dirt on purpose, so it would be found, so it would direct attention away from the person who killed Mike and on to someone else.”

He didn’t say anything, and his mouth was pulled into a thin, tight line.

“I know,” I said. “It’s not any of my business.” It always came back to that. And maybe there wasn’t any way to come to a compromise. I turned and started down the path.

Marcus caught up with me as I was setting the canvas carryall on the seat of the truck. Roma was just coming up the driveway. She waved and I raised a hand in hello.

“I don’t want to argue with you over this,” he said. His hands were jammed in his pockets. “It’s stupid.”

“Yes, it is,” I agreed, shifting my keys from one hand to the other. “So I’m not going to. I’m just going to go. I don’t want to say something that’ll just make this worse.”

I climbed in, fastened my seat belt and started the truck. Marcus took a couple of steps backward. I bumped my way down the rutted driveway. I didn’t look back over my shoulder. I didn’t check the rearview mirror.

Even though it was my morning off, I ended up going into the library early. Owen had disappeared into Rebecca’s backyard and Hercules was sitting on the bench under the maple tree, eyeing the butter-yellow leaves over his head, watching for the grackle. I wasn’t sure how to resolve things with Marcus other than to distance myself from his case, and I couldn’t do that. I’d given Harry my promise that I’d see what I could find out and I wasn’t going to go back on it.

I pulled into my parking spot at the library and stretched across the bench seat to retrieve my purse, which had dropped down onto the passenger-floor mat. When I straightened up, I caught sight of Lita, Everett Henderson’s assistant, standing by her car, two rows over in the small lot. She was talking to Burtis Chapman. He said something and Lita smiled. Then she reached over and touched his cheek.

I froze and then, because I was so shocked at seeing such an intimate gesture between those two, I did the next stupidest thing I could think off: I dove down onto the seat, out of sight. I lay there for a minute, face against the woolen blanket that covered the old vinyl upholstery, thinking this was a lot like the time Maggie had dragged me along to hijack Roma and her SUV because she had the idea the three of us could be Charlie’s Angels. It turned out we hadn’t been nearly as skilled at subterfuge as we’d thought.

Slowly, I sat up again, hoping neither Lita nor Burtis had seen my swan dive onto the bench seat of the truck. There was no sign of Lita or her little car. I didn’t see Burtis either.

I grabbed my purse and briefcase and locked the truck. Were Burtis and Lita a couple? I wondered. Maybe I’d misinterpreted that small gesture between them. The two of them, as my father liked to say, were as different as chalk and cheese.

Inside, Mia was working the circulation desk, with Mary supervising. “Good morning,” Mary said. “You’re early.”

I patted my briefcase. “I brought brownies.”

“Did I ever tell you I like you best?” she said.

I laughed. “I think you did the last time I brought brownies.”

Mary smiled. “There’s coffee upstairs.” She reached under the counter. “And this parcel came for you.” She handed me a small padded envelope.

I recognized my mother’s handwriting. “Thanks,” I said. I started for the stairs just as Burtis came around the end of a shelving unit.

“Hello, Kathleen,” he said. “You’re just the person I need.”

“How can I help?” I asked.

He smiled, which made him seem a lot less intimidating. “I was looking for a DVD,” he said. “Computer says it’s here, but I can’t find it.”

“People pull the cases out and then put them back in the wrong place,” I said. “Let me see if I can find it.” I started for the shelves where we kept the DVD collection. “What movie was it?” I asked.

“ Pale Rider ,” Burtis said. “Clint Eastwood. You seen it?”

I cleared my throat. “Twice. It’s a good movie.”

I’d probably seen every movie Clint Eastwood had ever been in or directed at least once, thanks to Maggie. She was a big fan of the actor-slash-director, and we’d spent a lot of Friday nights the previous winter watching the DVDs with Owen and Hercules. I think Maggie had turned Hercules into a fan as well. He’d watch the TV screen intently, meowing and pawing the air at the most suspenseful moments, much to Maggie’s delight.

The thing was, I happened to know that Maggie and Herc weren’t the only huge Eastwood fans in town.

Lita was maybe the biggest fan. Maybe I hadn’t mistaken what I’d seen after all.

The missing DVD case was at the end of a row, three shelves above where the titles beginning with the letter P were shelved. I pulled it out and handed it to Burtis. “Thank you,” he said. “You’d think people would put things back where they found ’em.”

“Most people do,” I said.

“My mother—rest her soul—always said, ‘There’s a place for everything and everything in its place.’” He smiled again. “She had a way of looking at you that didn’t make you want to argue.”

It occurred to me that some people would say the same thing about Burtis.

We started for the front of the library. “You decided if you’re going to stay with us yet, Kathleen?” he asked.

“I’m still thinking about it,” I said.

He looked around. “All this wouldn’t have happened without you. I know it was Everett Henderson’s money, but you’re the one who made sure the work was done. You turned the library back into an important part of this town. I hope we don’t lose you.”

For a moment I was speechless. “Thank you, Burtis,” I finally managed to get out. “That means a lot.”

“I’m just telling the truth,” he said, “but you’re welcome. And don’t forget that invitation to breakfast still stands. Lot better way to start your day than finding a dead man.”

“You heard?” I said.

“I did. I get around. I hear a lot of things, like maybe that Glazer boy’s death wasn’t an accident. I hate to think him dying is going to mess up the idea of bringing some tour business into town.” Nothing in his expression gave away what he was thinking.

I gave him a long, steady look. “Burtis, you of all people ought to know that when you’re trying to get your hook into something, you need to use the right bait.”

He laughed, a deep rumble that seemed to start way down in his steel-toed work boots and roll around his barrel chest. “I’ll remember that.” His face grew serious. “It’s still the truth, though. The longer the police have Glazer’s death ‘under investigation,’ the less likely it is that anyone is going to want to start bringing tourists here. And the town really could use that money coming in.”

I pushed a strand of hair off my face. “I don’t know how Mike died,” I said. Not officially I didn’t.

Burtis studied my face. “But I’m betting you have your suspicions.” He raised a hand before I could respond. “I’m not askin’ you to tell me. All I’m saying is you seem to have a knack for getting yourself mixed up in this kind of thing and maybe this time it would be better if you took a step back. Glazer pretty much pissed off everyone he had anything to do with from the moment he came back to town. He didn’t know when to shut up. So maybe somebody showed him. And I’m not saying that was right, but it happens.”