Софи Келли - Cat Trick

“People have killed for less,” I said to Hercules. “And that would explain why Mike’s briefcase disappeared.” It also explained the way Mike Glazer had been killed. Holding something over someone’s face until they stopped breathing would take strength—it would also take a lot of anger.

“Both Scott brothers were at that fund-raising dinner in Minneapolis,” I said to Herc. “And yes, it is a very nice coincidence that they happened to be just an hour away when their partner was killed. But how could they be there and here at the same time?”

Hercules touched the screen with his paw as though he were pointing to Sara’s e-mail.

“Okay, I’ll read Sara’s e-mail,” I said. “I don’t have any other ideas.”

Sara had sent some of the photos from the video shoot. My favorite image was the guys looking like clean-cut members of a boy band in white shirts with the sleeves pushed back, vests, loosened skinny ties and not a sign of piercings, tattoos or even stubble. The shot of them in their ruffled pirate shirts was pretty funny, too. I remembered what she’d said about seeing way more of the guys than she’d ever wanted to: Best way to cover up all their ink was to airbrush. It did a great job, but none of those guys were on my list of men I wanted to see without their shirts.

Hercules cocked his head to one side. His whiskers twitched as though he were waiting for me to make the connection. And just like that, I figured it out.

I closed my e-mail and used a search engine to bring up all the photos I could find from the dinner in Minneapolis. I checked each one carefully. It wasn’t what I was seeing on the screen that told me who had killed Mike Glazer; it was what I wasn’t seeing.

There were no images of Alex and Christopher Scott together. In the dozens and dozens of pictures from that night, not once had the brothers been photographed together. Because both of them hadn’t been there.

It was a pretty outrageous plan, Christopher covering up his tattoo and pretending to be Alex for part of the evening. On the other hand, they were identical twins and it couldn’t have been the first time they had impersonated each other.

“They planned it,” I said to Hercules. I thought about the frosting spatula belonging to Georgia Tepper that had been shoved down into the dirt by the edge of the tent. “Do you think that making it look like Georgia was involved somehow was part of the plan too?”

He narrowed his eyes and considered the question. Marcus had said the company Georgia’s former father-in-law worked for was a longtime client of Legacy Tours. Had Alex Scott recognized Georgia and figured she’d be a good person to frame? My stomach turned over at the thought.

“Maggie said that Liam and Alex were going to do a walk-through of the tents before tomorrow’s tasting and art show,” I said. “What if he’s going to plant some other piece of so-called evidence to implicate Georgia?”

Owen meowed loudly. He was already on his way to the living room.

I stood up and set Hercules down. “We have to call Maggie and see if she and Liam can stall Alex until I can get in touch with Marcus.”

I called Marcus’s cell phone first, hoping I’d get him and not his voice mail, but I didn’t. He must have still been talking to Wren. I left a short message and then I tried Maggie. She didn’t answer at her apartment, and when I tried her cell, I got that voice mail too.

“Where is everybody?” I asked, pulling a hand back through my hair. Owen and Hercules didn’t seem to have any more idea than I did.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Georgia, saying maybe it was time for her and her little girl to move on. If any more “evidence” turned up, I felt certain she’d bolt. She’d leave Mayville Heights, where she had a good life, and run. She wouldn’t wait to see how things worked out. I’d already seen that in her eyes.

I looked down at the two furry faces staring up at me. “Marcus would say I don’t know anything,” I said. “Not for sure.” So why did I feel so certain? I had no real proof the Scott brothers had killed Mike. I had no proof that Georgia would go on the run again. Still, I knew I was right. I was as certain about my instincts as Marcus always was about his facts.

“Marcus said being a police officer is part of who he is,” I said to the boys. “This is who I am. He’ll understand that.”

I got up, grabbed my purse and my keys and stepped into my shoes. Owen and Hercules were right behind me. They followed me out into the porch, and I decided to let them come with me. It wasn’t any crazier than anything else I was about to do.

I opened the driver’s-side door of the truck and lifted Hercules onto the seat. Owen jumped up on his own. I got in, started the engine and looked over at them sitting quietly beside me with what seemed to me to be a fierce look of determination on both of their furry faces. I was about to confront a potential murderer with just a couple of small cats for backup.

I looked at the house through the windshield. I could have gone back inside and waited for Marcus to call me. I could have gone down to the police station and waited for him.

But I didn’t.

23

Maggie’s bug was angled nose-in at the curb along the boardwalk, in front of the two tents. There was no sign of her or Liam. Or Alex Scott.

“Stay here,” I told the cats. I got out of the truck, locked the door and headed for the nearest tent, where I could see lights inside.

Larry Taylor had finished rigging the lighting, so the inside of the tent was as bright as day. The booths were all in place, following an S-shaped curve. Maggie was about a quarter of the way down the line, just past Sweet Things, which was Georgia’s booth. Alex Scott was with her. There was no sign of Liam. This wasn’t how I’d wanted things to go.

Maggie smiled when she saw me. “Hi,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

I shrugged, hoping I didn’t look as anxious as I felt. “I knew there was a lot to get done tonight. I just came to see if you needed any help.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You’ve met Alex, haven’t you?”

“A couple of times, but not officially,” I said. I walked over to them and held out my hand. “Hi, Alex. I’m Kathleen Paulson,” I said.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he said. He was wearing jeans, a dove gray shirt and a dark blue jacket. He turned to Maggie. “Kathleen gave me directions at the library and she suggested the little café down the street.” His gaze moved back to me and he gave me a practiced smile. “The food was excellent, by the way. Thank you.”

He was handsome and charming, but I knew that was just the outside man. If you peeled off the manners and the expensive clothes, underneath there was something dark and slimy.

“You’re welcome,” I said. I glanced around the tent. “Where’s Liam?”

“There was something Marcus needed him to take care of,” Maggie said. “It couldn’t wait, so I offered to meet Alex and show him around.”

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Alex wasn’t going to plant something to throw suspicion on Georgia. Or maybe he hadn’t had a chance with Maggie right beside him. Maybe I could walk around with the two of them and everything would be fine.

I took a few steps backward and gestured at the Sweet Things booth. “Maggie, who did the sign for Sweet Things?” I asked. “It’s wonderful.”

It actually was. The artist had created a stylized line drawing of a cupcake with a cherry on top, the bottom edge of the cupcake turning into the words “Sweet Things,” written in pink script.

“Ruby did that,” Maggie said. “She did the signs we’re going to use outside and over at the art show too.”