Софи Келли - Cat Trick

“Okay,” Georgia said. She pressed her lips together and then gave me a small smile. “Thank you for . . . for listening and for believing me.”

“If I can help at all, please ask,” I said. I pointed over my shoulder at the library building. “I’m here most of the time when we’re open and Abigail knows how to get in touch with me when I’m not.”

I turned to Abigail. “I’ll see you Monday,” I said. I smiled at Georgia one last time and headed for Eric’s.

It was past one thirty, so the lunch rush was over when I stepped into the café. There were five people at one of the tables by the window, including a couple of artists who had studio space at River Arts. Marcus was sitting alone at a table by the end wall. He looked up when I walked in and smiled. Then he pushed back his chair and got to his feet. My feet had already started walking over to him.

“Hi,” he said.

I couldn’t help smiling back at him. “Hi.”

“Kathleen, I’m sorry,” he said.

I hadn’t been expecting that. “What for?” I asked.

“Could you sit down for a minute?” he asked, gesturing at the table.

I nodded and pulled out the other chair.

Marcus leaned one elbow on the table. “Look,” he said. “I keep saying, ‘Stay out of my case,’ but I do know that you’re not getting mixed up in my investigations on purpose.”

I could see the sincerity in his blue eyes. I owed him the same thing in return. “Sometimes I am,” I said.

His expression changed to surprise. He straightened in the chair and put a hand on each armrest. “Okay. Would you like to explain?”

This time I leaned forward. “Marcus, Harrison Taylor is very important to me,” I said.

He nodded. “I know. You risked your life to get those papers about his daughter.”

For a minute I was back in the old cabin in the woods, smoke slowly seeping into the small, dark basement where I’d been trapped. I swallowed and gave my head a little shake.

Marcus must have seen something in my face. “You all right?” he asked.

I nodded. “I’m okay. I was just thinking how happy I was to see you coming through the snow that day.”

“I was happy to see that you were alive,” he said quietly.

“You know I’d do anything that I could for Harrison, for any of the Taylors.” I cleared my throat. “Harry—Harry Junior—asked me to see what I could find out about Mike Glazer’s death.”

Marcus rubbed a hand across his chin. “You said yes.”

I nodded. “Have you met Wren Magnusson?”

“I’ve spoken to her.”

“She’s friends with Harrison’s daughter, Elizabeth.”

“And Mike’s brother, Gavin, was almost her stepfather.”

“Yes.”

Behind the counter, over Marcus’s shoulder, Claire held up a turkey sandwich and gave me an inquiring look. I nodded and focused on Marcus again. “People tell me things. Maybe it’s because I’m from away and they think their secrets are safe with me. Or maybe it’s because I’m a good listener.” I shrugged. “And I’m pretty decent at spotting a liar. I’ve been watching people pretend to be someone they’re not all my life.” I wished I had a cup or a glass so I’d have something to do with my hands. “Harry didn’t ask me to keep anything I learned from you, and I haven’t.”

Marcus continued to silently watch me. I could tell from the line of his jaw that he was clenching his teeth together.

Claire came over to us with the coffeepot. She poured a cup for me and topped up Marcus’s. “Your sandwich will be ready in a couple of minutes,” she said.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Marcus asked once Claire was back at the counter.

A good question, although I wasn’t sure he was going to like my answer. I folded my hands around my cup, lacing my fingers together. “Because I knew that no matter what you said to me, I was going to see what I could find out. I didn’t want to argue with you and I also didn’t want to ruin this”—I made a back-and-forth motion in the air—“whatever this is between us.”

I studied his face. “Can you accept the fact that I can’t just stand around making stinky cat crackers when people I care about need help?”

“I don’t want you to end up being the one who needs help,” he said. “So can you accept the fact that I’m never going to like you getting involved in a police investigation?”

I played with my knife, sending it spinning on the table like the pointer in a game of chance. “I’m trying,” I said.

He blew out a breath. “So am I.”

Claire appeared then with my sandwich. She topped up my cup, smiled and said, “Enjoy.”

“No secrets, Kathleen,” Marcus said, his voice and expression serious. “No investigating cabins in the woods with only a cat for backup. I’m not going to tell you not to do this, because I know you’re going to ignore me. Just don’t go off playing amateur detective by yourself. You find out something—anything—I want to know.”

I nodded. “Okay.” I picked up half my sandwich. It tasted even better than it smelled and it smelled wonderful. “You don’t seriously think Georgia Tepper killed Mike, do you?” I asked after a couple of big bites.

“You talked to her,” Marcus said. He didn’t seem surprised.

“She was at the library with Abigail.”

He shifted sideways so he could stretch out his long legs. “So you know Georgia Tepper—”

“—is really Paige Wyler. I do.” I pulled a bit of mushroom out of my sandwich and ate it. “I also know she lived in Chicago and the company her father-in-law works for is one of Legacy Tours’ clients.”

Marcus tented the fingers of his right hand over his coffee cup. “It is true, you know; people do tell you things,” he said.

“I also know Georgia was arrested and charged with assault and then the charges were dropped.”

“She threatened her former mother-in-law with a chef’s knife.”

“That I didn’t know,” I said. “But according to Georgia, the former mother-in-law was trying to kidnap Georgia’s little girl. You can’t fault her for protecting her child.”

Marcus shook his head. “That’s why the charges were dropped.” He picked up his cup and drained it. “But you have to admit there’s a similarity: a chef’s knife, a spatula.”

“There’s a big difference between a chef’s knife and a little spatula used for spreading frosting on cupcakes.” I frowned at him. “And Mike Glazer was asphyxiated.” I waved the hand that wasn’t holding the other half of my sandwich at him. “I know you didn’t say that, but I saw the body.”

He folded his arms. “No comment.” That was usually as good as a yes.

“If Georgia was responsible for Mike’s death, then why would she take that spatula and stick it in the ground? It makes no sense. It’s a red herring.”

“This isn’t an Agatha Christie novel, Kathleen,” he said.

“No,” I said. “But it’s the kind of thing that would turn up in one of her books.” I leaned my elbows on the table. “The knife wasn’t there the day Owen found the button from Alex Scott’s jacket. I know you think I can’t be sure of that, but I am. Which means that someone stuck it in the ground later. Why? There’s no reason for Georgia to do that.”

Marcus brushed crumbs off his tie. “There’s no reason for anyone to do that.”

I wiped my fingers on my napkin. “Yes, there is. It’s a diversion. A distraction. It puts the focus on Georgia instead of the real killer.”

“Alleged killer.”

“All right, alleged killer,” I said.

He looked at his watch. “I’m sorry, Kathleen. I have to go.” He got to his feet and grabbed his jacket from the back of his seat. “By the way, your chair’s almost finished,” he said.