Софи Келли - Cat Trick

“That’s Hercules, right?” she asked.

“Yes, it is,” I said. The cat came about halfway into the room, sat down and studied Taylor.

She put the strap of her purse over her shoulder and leaned forward, hands on her thighs, to smile at him. “Hi, Hercules,” she said.

“Merow,” he answered, whiskers twitching.

She looked back at me. “Hercules was the son of Zeus, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was,” I said. The fact that I’d been thinking mostly about actor Kevin Sorbo when I’d named Herc really wasn’t relevant.

“Yeah, we did Greek myths last year in English,” she said. She straightened up, turned and took the books from me.

“I like your purse,” I said. It was a brown leather bucket bag with a braided leather strap and four rows of what looked to be wooden buttons around the top edge.

Taylor slid a hand over the caramel-colored leather. “It’s from the nineteen eighties, as far as I can tell,” she said. “I just got it today and I didn’t have time to do any research, but for ten dollars I figured it was okay.”

“It’s in great shape,” I said. “Where did you find it?”

“My dad has a building up on the highway where he rents storage space.”

I nodded.

“Someone’s been clearing out one of the units for the past couple of weeks, and she has some great stuff from back in the seventies and eighties.” She shrugged and the strap of her bag slipped down her shoulder a little. “The first time I asked her about maybe buying a couple of the bags she said no, because they were her mother’s, but then today she said if I still wanted the bags I could have them.” She frowned. “I kind of felt like maybe I was cheating her, you know, because all she wanted was ten dollars for this one and a little black evening clutch purse, but Wren said no, she didn’t want any of the stuff anymore.”

“Wren Magnusson?” I said.

Taylor was smiling again at Hercules, who had moved a little closer to us. “Uh-huh,” she said. “The stuff all belonged to her mother. You wouldn’t believe some of the things that she’d kept—platform shoes, hot pants, elastic belts. There was a big old trunk and even a pair of roller skates. Wren just packed most of the stuff in big garbage bags and took it to Goodwill.” She turned to look at me again. “I should get going,” she said. “Thank you again for getting the books for me. I’ll see you at class on Tuesday.”

I walked her out, and when I turned around, Hercules was behind me. I dropped onto the bench and pushed my bangs off my forehead. He jumped up and sat beside me. Uncertainty was gnawing at a point just under my breastbone.

I looked at Herc. “You heard what Taylor said. Wren might as well have just given her those two purses. All she asked for was ten dollars. And she did give Mary some of her mother’s jewelry. Not to mention she took the rest of her mom’s stuff to Goodwill.”

He didn’t say anything. He just nudged my hand with his head. I started absently stroking his fur. Maybe the fact that Wren was giving away things that had been important to her meant nothing. Maybe it meant that she wanted a clean slate so she could move on with her life. Or maybe . . . maybe it meant she didn’t want to move on . . . didn’t want to go on.

I closed my eyes and went back over the conversation I’d had with Wren when she and Elizabeth were here. Her sadness over Mike Glazer’s death had been genuine. I was certain of that. I remembered her asking if I thought he’d suffered. And then I remembered what else she’d said: I hate thinking he just lay there alone for hours.

I opened my eyes. Hercules was watching me. “Mike’s body was in a chair,” I said. “So why did Wren say she hated to think he’d lain there alone for hours?”

I remembered feeling for a pulse against Mike’s skin, cold and waxy under my fingers. I remembered seeing the injury to the back of his head. “As though he’d fallen backward and hit his head,” I said aloud to Hercules. My stomach tightened, and I could feel a lump pressing in the middle of my chest. I swallowed a couple of times, but it didn’t move.

“Wren was there,” I said slowly. The problem was, Wren had an alibi. “Except she was supposed to be out on the highway with a flat. Remember what Maggie said? Liam rescued Wren.”

Hercules watched me, his green eyes fixed unmoving on my face. I thought about Wren’s expression, her body language and her words each time I’d seen her. I thought about her genuine grief over Mike’s death and how she’d been giving away her mother’s things. Each little piece fit with the next. The only explanation I could come up with was that Liam was covering for her. But why?

I thought about it, pulling the question apart in my head. “I need to check on something,” I told Hercules. He followed me into the kitchen. All it took was a visit to a couple of social-networking sites and I had my answers.

“She was there. She thinks she killed Mike.” I could feel the last cup of coffee I’d had, burning at the back of my throat. “Somehow, she found out that Mike had something to do with his brother’s death. Someone said something, or—” Taylor’s words echoed in my head: There was a big old trunk and even a pair of roller skates .

“She found her mother’s journals,” I said to the cat. “She knew. She went to see Mike. Something happened and she thinks she killed him and . . . and she can’t live with that.”

My cell phone was on the counter. I punched in Mary’s number. She’d know how to find Wren.

The line was busy.

I raked my fingers through my hair. Elizabeth would probably know where Wren was. I took a deep breath and called Harry Taylor. All I got was his voice mail.

“Why isn’t anyone answering their phone?” I asked Hercules, sinking onto one of the kitchen chairs.

The cat had been sitting patiently at my feet. Now he stood up on his back legs and put a paw on my cell.

“What?” I said.

He made a noise that sounded a lot like a sigh of frustration. Then I got it. I had Harry’s cell phone number.

I found my address book in one of the inside pockets of my briefcase. I sat on the floor and tried Harry’s number. Hercules climbed onto my lap, gazing intently at the phone.

“Harry, it’s Kathleen,” I said when he answered.

“Hi, Kathleen,” he said, and there was an edge of caution in his voice. I’d never called his cell before. “Everything all right?”

For a moment I thought about saying yes. I wasn’t certain Wren had seen Mike the night he died. I wasn’t sure she thought she was responsible for his death. The way the pieces all fit together, that’s how it looked to me, but maybe there was another way to look at them. The problem was I couldn’t find it.

“I . . . I don’t know. Is Elizabeth with you?”

“Sorry, no,” he said. “I’m not at the house. And, anyway, she’s not either. She went to pick up Wren Magnusson. They’re having supper at Eric’s. Wren has to go back to Minneapolis tomorrow. Her brother needs her there for something.”

My stomach twisted itself into a knot. Wren’s brother wasn’t in Minneapolis. Mary had told me he was working in Alaska until the end of the month.

“Can you meet me at Eric’s?” I asked.

“I can,” he said. “I’m up on the bluff, so I’ll be a while. What’s going on?”

I told him my suspicions about Wren. “I might be wrong.”

“You don’t think you are.”

“No, Harry, I don’t,” I said, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see me.

“I don’t think you are, either,” he said. “Go. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

I called Maggie next, pulling on my shoes as the phone rang against my ear.