Софи Келли: A Night's Tail

I wasn’t wasting any more time in the room. I wanted to be outside, where there was lots of fresh air to breathe and lots of space.

I stepped into the corridor. Owen wriggled out of my grasp and walked down the middle of the hallway as though he were a guest.

“Great. Now you want the whole world to see you,” I said. Somehow he knew that now I wanted him to vanish so he wasn’t going to do it.

I heard voices. “Half a sardine,” I said in desperation. His left ear twitched but he kept walking, both of which I could see because he was still visible.

I took two long steps, leaned forward and swept him up just as a man and woman came around the corner. I smiled pleasantly and said “Good evening” as we passed each other.

Owen squirmed but I had a good grip on him this time. I made it to one of the side doors, went down a flight of stairs and stepped outside. For a moment I just stood in the parking lot taking deep breaths of cool, fresh air. Finally, I speed-walked to the truck, where I deposited Owen on the seat. He refused to look at me.

I leaned sideways. “Next time take the half a sardine,” I told him.

Owen sulked as I pulled out of the parking lot and headed for home. He continued his pout as we drove up Mountain Road. I pictured Melanie’s office. I hoped I’d gotten any cat hair Owen may have left on the scarlet-and-gray blanket.

“Scarlet and gray,” I said aloud. From the corner of my eye I saw the cat finally look at me. “Those are the colors of Saint Edwin University.”

I pictured the school seal in one of the magazines Burtis had loaned me and the Latin words on it: “Virtus, Veritas, Honestas.” Valor, Truth, Honor. Gray background. Red lettering.

“Melanie Davis went to Saint Edwin University,” I said slowly. There was no other logical explanation for the woven blanket and the plaque on the wall. Melanie had told me she had worked with Wallace briefly but she barely knew him. She hadn’t said they’d gone to the same college. Coincidence? Lewis Wallace died in the hotel she managed. There was no way that was a coincidence. It had to mean something. The question was, what?

chapter 13

I didn’t know what to do with what I had figured out. Did I call Marcus? Did I turn around, drive back down the hill and confront Melanie? I knew that Marcus would say the fact that Melanie Davis went to the same university as Lewis Wallace didn’t necessarily mean anything—assuming I was right about that, and I was certain that I was. Even though it was a small campus, there could be hundreds or thousands of students in a given year. Melanie and Lewis Wallace could have both gone to Saint Edwin and never met. But it felt like too much of a coincidence to me. I’d heard Burtis quote Yogi Berra on that subject: “That’s too coincidental to be a coincidence.” Made sense to me.

But if I went to talk to Melanie, what would I say? “I think you went to the same college as Lewis Wallace. I think you knew him better than you’re letting on and I think you may have a connection to his death.” I needed more than that.

I parked in the driveway and climbed out of the truck. Owen jumped down and headed for the back door.

I let him into the house and he went directly to sit in front of the cupboard where I kept the sardines. He stared at me. I folded my arms and stared back.

“Mrr,” he said.

“Why do you think you deserve a sardine?” I asked. “You snuck into the truck, you snuck into the hotel and you snuck into Melanie’s office. That’s a lot of sneaking. And I had to climb up a ventilation shaft. In the dark.” I brushed dirt off the right arm of my jacket. “Carrying you, by the way.”

He swiped a paw over his face.

I nodded. “Yes, I concede that you are very cute, but that has nothing to do with you getting a sardine. What else do you have?”

He continued to stare at me without a meow or a murp or a grumble as though the reason should be obvious. I knew that if he hadn’t snuck into the truck and the hotel and then into Melanie’s office I might not have made the connection that Melanie and Lewis Wallace likely knew each other better than she was letting on. Or at least it would have taken a lot longer. I could have done with not having to climb my way up that narrow brick shaft, though that was on me, not the cat.

It seemed Owen knew that, too. I got out a can of sardines and gave him part of one without comment.

He was just finishing eating it when Ethan came in.

“How far did you walk?” I asked.

He swept a hand over his hair. “I didn’t exactly walk very far. I’ve been over talking to Rebecca.”

That and eating pie, I suspected. His teeth looked a little blue.

He yawned and stretched both arms over his head. “So what were you doing? Did you just come from somewhere?”

My keys were on the table.

“I had to deal with a cookie emergency,” I said.

“As in we don’t have any?”

“No. As in I need about a hundred and fifty for the quilt festival at the library.”

He opened the fridge door and peered inside. “No offense, but just about everything they do in this town has food associated with it.”

I laughed. “You’re right. It’s the unofficial town motto: We have cookies.”

I left Ethan making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a small, furry supervisor. I went into the living room and called Susan, explaining the cookie problem.

“Do you think Eric would be able to make his new maple cookies for the opening of the festival?”

“Crappy timing, Kathleen,” she said. “He’s catering the regional tourism coalition’s breakfast that day. There’s no way he could get all those cookies made and they won’t have the right texture if he makes them in advance and freezes them.”

I exhaled loudly. So much for my solution to the cookie problem.

“Hang on, though,” Susan continued. “I think there’s a chance he would be willing to share his recipe for the cookies with the chef at the St. James. All of Eric’s recipes can stand up to being doubled or tripled.”

“That would work, as long as Eric feels comfortable with someone else using his recipe. Please tell him he doesn’t have to say yes.”

“I’ll tell him,” she said, “but I’m pretty sure he will say yes. I’ll let you know in the morning.”

I thanked her and said good night.

It wasn’t that late but there wasn’t anything else I could do about the cookies or Melanie or talking to Marcus about the cats.

I poked my head around the kitchen doorway. “I’m going to take a bath,” I said to Ethan. Owen had disappeared. Not literally, I hoped.

“You mind if I play a bit?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Go ahead. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I filled the tub with hot water and one of Maggie’s herbal bath remedies for achy muscles. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to lift my arms over my head in the morning.

The sound of Ethan’s guitar playing floated up from downstairs. It had been a long time since I’d listened to him play like this, without having to share the music with anyone else.

Hercules was stretched out on the bath mat. “I hate that he’s going home in a few days,” I said.

The cat gave a soft murp of sympathy.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I was going to do a Scarlett O’Hara and think about that—and everything else—tomorrow.

Susan arrived for her shift in the morning with a copy of the cookie recipe. “Eric said—and this is a direct quote—‘Tell Kathleen I have worked with Patricia Queen before. Here is the recipe, with my sympathy.’”

“Thank you and Eric,” I said, giving her a hug. “And for the record, Patricia isn’t really that difficult.”