Софи Келли - A Case Of Cat And Mouse

“Hercules would be happy to celebrate with two brownies if I’d let him,” I said. I pulled at the neck of my shirt. I was still warm.

“Did you bring your water bottle?” Maggie asked.

I nodded. “It’s in my bag. I’ll get it in a second. I just . . . I need to talk to you about Ray.” I held up my hand. “Not right now. In a day or two when things aren’t quite so busy.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “You found out something, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Mags. I did. I don’t mean to be vague, I just don’t want to tell you now and then take off before I can explain everything. And it’s something Ruby should hear as well.”

“So in a day or two the three of us will sit down and you can tell us what you found out.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “I need to get going.” I was hungry. I had wolfed down my makeshift sandwich on the way down the hill but I was pretty sure I’d used all that energy in class. There was chili in my freezer and soup in my fridge and I was going home to have some of one of them.

Rebecca was sitting on the bench under the coat hooks changing her shoes. “I brought you something,” she said, gesturing at her canvas tote bag.

“For me or for my two furry roommates?” I asked with a teasing smile.

“For you.” She pretended to think about her answer for a moment. “Although . . .”

I laughed. “Next time Roma gets after me about their diet I’m just going to tell her to call you. Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

Rebecca stood up and took a rectangular metal cookie tin from her bag. “I babysat Roma,” she said. “I changed her diapers. She doesn’t scare me.” She smiled and handed me the cookie container.

I eased the lid up on one corner and peered inside. There were two slices of a Swiss roll inside. I looked at Rebecca. “I smell orange and hazelnut and something sweet.”

“It’s probably the honey,” she said. “I was going to make my chocolate raspberry roll, but this was my grandmother’s recipe and I thought it might bring me good luck.”

“Just based on how delicious this smells, I don’t think you need any luck,” I said. My stomach growled loudly.

Rebecca laughed. “Thank you for that vote of confidence,” she said. “Sometimes I want to pinch myself. I can’t believe I made it this far. I can’t believe I made it on the show at all.”

I closed the lid of the cookie can before I was any more tempted to eat both slices of cake here and now. “What makes you say that?” I asked, setting the container on the bench. “You finished in the top three in the regional qualifier.”

Rebecca sat back down and started to tie her shoe. “That was far from a sure thing. In fact, if Dorrie Park hadn’t dropped out, there’s a very good chance that I wouldn’t be on the show right now.”

“She’s the one who left the contest right before the semifinals.”

Rebecca nodded. “Some kind of family emergency. She was a talented baker and extremely creative. She would have placed ahead of me for certain.” She held up a hand before I could object. “That’s not false modesty on my part, Kathleen. I know my own strengths and weaknesses. Ray, Kate and I were the top three bakers but I have no idea in which order we were ranked. If Dorrie had stayed, who knows how things might have worked out?”

I stepped out of my tai chi shoes and stuffed them in my bag. “Well, they worked out well for you and I hope they worked out for her as well.”

“As far I know, they did,” Rebecca said. “One of the crew said Dorrie just got back from Paris.” She glanced at her watch. “Heavens! I need to get going. Everett is waiting.”

“Thank you for the cake,” I said.

She got to her feet again and reached for her own bag. “You’re welcome. Enjoy.”

When I got home Hercules was nowhere to be seen. Owen was in the kitchen sitting at the table. I glared at him and pointed at the floor. “Get down,” I said firmly. This was getting to be a habit. I took a step toward him. He made more grumbling sounds than were strictly necessary but he jumped to the floor and went to have a drink.

I hung up my tai chi bag and picked up the things I’d dumped on the table earlier. After I’d washed my hands and splashed water on my face I got myself a bowl of soup and warmed it in the microwave. I was at the table crumbling crackers into my dish when Marcus called.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m in the middle of . . . something. I’m not going to make it.”

I knew “something” could be a new case, a current case or even an older one that was working it’s way through the system.

“It’s okay,” I said. “One question, though. Does Ray Nightingale have an alibi for the night Kassie was killed?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“He was with Caroline Peters.”

“One of them told you,” Marcus said.

I was nodding even though he couldn’t see me. “Ray did.” I hesitated. “And you need to ask more questions about the lorazepam.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Trust me, you do,” I said.

“No, Kathleen, I really don’t.”

I got it that time. He knew about Stacey. I didn’t know whether she’d told him herself, or Russell had, or he’d found out some other way.

He knew. Why was I surprised? Marcus was good at his job.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really have to go.”

“Stay safe,” I said. “I love you.”

I set the phone on the table and went and got one slice of the Swiss roll from Rebecca’s flowered tin. It tasted even better than it smelled. The cake, with hints of spices, honey and vanilla, was wrapped around a creamy orange-flavored filling with just a hint of nutmeg. I had a feeling Rebecca was going to be the next episode’s Hot Shot of the week as well.

As I licked orange filling from the back of my fork I thought about what Rebecca had told me. How could she not have made it on the show? She had described the young woman who had dropped out of the qualifier as being talented and creative. But so was Rebecca.

Curiosity got the better of me. I got up and got my computer. When I got back to the table, Owen was in my chair.

“That’s my seat,” I said.

“Mrrr,” he replied, blinking his golden eyes at me. I suspected that was his way of saying “finders keepers.”

I set the laptop on the table, scooped up Owen and set him on my lap once I’d reclaimed my place. It didn’t take us long to find an article in the Chronicle about the regional baking contest. I scanned the photo that accompanied the piece. Dorrie—short for Dorian—Park was in the front row between Kate and Rebecca. She looked to be nineteen, maybe twenty. She had black hair twisted into two buns, one on each side of her head, and choppy bangs. The left side of her nose and her left eyebrow were pierced. She wore a black T-shirt under a red-and-black-plaid shirt and black Doc Martens. She was looking directly at the camera and while she wasn’t smiling it seemed to me there was just a tiny hint of something—arrogance maybe—in her dark eyes.

I leaned against the back of my chair and began to stroke Owen’s fur. He laid his head against my chest and looked up at me.

“Rebecca said that if Dorrie hadn’t dropped out she might not have made it onto the show.”

Owen wrinkled his nose.

“I know, that does sound wrong.”

“Mrrr,” he agreed.

“It occurs to me that it’s also possible that if Dorrie Park hadn’t left the contest, Ray wouldn’t have made it onto the show.” Was I too judgmental where Ray was concerned? Too suspicious?

Owen’s whiskers twitched. He looked from me to the computer.

Maybe not.

It wasn’t hard to find Dorrie Park’s social media accounts. They were full of photos from her recent Paris trip. I checked the date of the first photo that had been posted. She’d arrived in Paris less than a week after she’d dropped out of the qualifier.