Софи Келли - A Night's Tail

“I hope everything works out for you,” I said.

Mary seemed to be sharing some kind of kicking technique with Milo and Ethan. Or maybe it was a dance move. I decided I didn’t want to know.

Ethan tried whatever movement it was that Mary had demonstrated and four books fell off the desk onto the floor.

I laughed. “I swear, one of these days he’s going to fall off the stage when he’s performing.”

Derek grinned. “Who says he hasn’t?” His smile faded as he studied me for a moment. “Kathleen, can I ask you a personal question?”

“I guess so,” I said.

“How did you do it? I mean, being a teenager with two new siblings? Most kids would have resented the heck out of them, but you guys are so tight.”

“Oh, I did resent the heck out of them,” I said. “But they were so little and they’d stop crying for me before they’d stop for anyone else. I used to get up and watch those late, late cheesy horror movies on TV. The two of them were always awake. I’d take them into the living room with me. Which is probably why both Ethan and Sara are night owls now.” I smiled at the memory. “They’re my family. I’d do anything for family.”

Something hardened in Derek’s expression. He nodded. “I know. Me too.”

chapter 12

Burtis showed up at the library right after lunch. He set a small metal box on the circulation desk. “Found something I thought you might be interested in,” he said.

I recognized the box. We used similar ones to store the oldest newspapers in our collection. I lifted the lid. Inside I found three copies of Phil Major’s College Football Preview . Each one was encased in a plastic sleeve, a piece of corrugated cardboard at its back and what I recognized as acid-free tissue separating the front and back covers from the rest of the pages.

I looked up at Burtis. “These magazines are in excellent condition.”

“I got some older than you are,” he said with a grin.

I carefully removed one from the box. “I don’t recognize the magazine.”

“Unless you’re a big ball fan you wouldn’t,” he said. “They do a college football edition and one for the pros. Been puttin’ them out since 1973. Phil Major wrote for Sports Illustrated in the sixties and then went to work for ABC Sports after that. He died about ten years ago. Sports Illustrated bought the magazine and kept the name. I have every issue right up to the most recent two. These three have articles with references to Lewis Wallace back in his college days. I thought they might save you some time.”

I carefully removed one of the magazines from the box. The librarian in me was intrigued even without my desire to know more about Lewis Wallace. “Do you know where he played his college ball?” I asked.

Burtis nodded. “Saint Edwin University. It’s in Pennsylvania. Good football school. Wallace got a degree in business. The boy was a decent player pretty much all four years he was there. Had a couple scouts lookin’ at him in his freshman year but in the end he was just too small. He did stay and even got his degree but he struggled with the academics and had to be tutored to graduate.”

He patted the side of the metal box. “There’s a mention of a cheating incident Wallace was supposedly involved in during sophomore year.” He smiled. “Don’t mean to ruin the ending but it didn’t amount to anything.”

“Thank you, Burtis,” I said. “I’ll be very careful with your magazines and I’ll get them back to you as soon as I can.”

“I know you will,” he said. “I hope you find something to help.”

When I got home that evening, I discovered that Ethan was making spaghetti sauce, Derek was on his phone, Hercules was hiding under that table, Owen smelled like oregano and Milo was standing on a kitchen chair washing the ceiling above my stove.

Milo was the only one who didn’t avoid my gaze. “Trust me, you really don’t want to know,” he said. Since I saw no need for bandages or the fire department, I decided he was right.

After supper Milo and Derek headed to their bed-and-breakfast, and Ethan decided to go for a walk. I’d taken Burtis’s magazines upstairs to my bedroom. I set the storage container on the bed and pointed at the cats. “Stay on the floor,” I said. “These belong to Burtis and I don’t want anything to happen to them. That means no kitty paw prints, no kitty drool and no kitty hair anywhere near these magazines.”

Hercules made disgruntled grumbles and retreated to the closet, probably to rearrange my shoes again. Owen made a show of washing his face even though he’d already done that downstairs. I could see him sneak peeks at me from time to time.

I was on my second article when Marcus called. He was going to be testifying in a case that went back more than two years and the prosecuting attorney was going over every tiny detail with him.

“We’re taking a break,” he said. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I’m glad you called,” I said. “Burtis loaned me several magazines. I’m reading about Lewis Wallace.”

“Have you discovered anything yet?”

I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “Both articles I’ve read so far are pretty short. The most interesting thing was a photo of Lewis Wallace in his freshman year where he looks more like sixteen than nineteen.” Wallace had been standing in front of a large brick building next to a large wall plaque with what I guessed was the college seal featuring the words “Virtus, Veritas, Honestas.”

Marcus lowered his voice. “I’ve been looking into some of the people who lost their businesses to Wallace and his partners, but so far I haven’t come across anyone I think might have murdered the man.”

“If I find anything at all in the last magazine I’ll let you know,” I promised.

I’d just said good night to Marcus and laid my phone down on the bed when Owen launched himself from the floor. The metal storage box went over sideways and though I thought the top was secure, it opened and the third plastic-covered magazine slid onto the bed.

Owen made a wide circle around the box and the magazines and made his way up to the pillows.

“Hey! What did I say?” I asked. Burtis’s magazine seemed to be fine.

“Merow,” the cat replied.

“Exactly!” I retorted. I didn’t have a clue what Owen’s response had been but given the way he was ducking his head and looking everywhere but at me I was pretty sure he knew what he’d done was wrong.

I pointed at the door. “Out,” I said, maybe a bit more dramatically than was needed.

Owen walked to the side of the bed, jumped down and left, complaining all the way. I got up and closed the door, peeking in the closet on the way by to see that Hercules was asleep, curled up on my favorite black pumps.

I picked up the magazine that had fallen out of the storage box and slipped it from the protective cover. It turned out to contain a short article about whether or not college athletes were getting meaningful degrees, or as the author of the piece asked, just a useless piece of paper so they managed to stay academically eligible to play. The article referenced the cheating scandal at Saint Edwin University during the previous football season. Lewis Wallace and two other members of the team had been accused of selling the answers to an accounting final—a required course for many of the players—to their team members, the same way they were alleged to have sold the answers to the midterm. As Burtis had already told me, Wallace turned out not to have been involved.

My phone rang then and I stretched to reach it. It was Melanie Davis.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Kathleen,” she said, “but I have a potential quilt show problem.”