Лори Касс - Cat With A Clue

My dream bubble popped so loudly I almost flinched. “So Mitchell’s wasn’t anything special.”

“Special to him, maybe.” Rafe drained the last of his beer and tossed it over his shoulder onto the porch, where it rolled around and hit a number of other empties. “With Mitchell, who knows?”

Who knew, indeed?

Speaking of things I didn’t know, I remembered that I’d meant to ask Rafe about Cal DeKeyser’s nickname. “Is there some guy named Deke that’s famous in hockey?”

Rafe, who was in the act of opening the cooler, paused to look back at me. “What are you talking about?”

“Cal DeKeyser. I heard that people called him Deke, because of his last name and because he played a lot of hockey. Who’s Deke?”

“So much learning,” Rafe said, sighing and shaking his head, “but so little knowledge where it really counts. Deke isn’t a person, it’s a technique. When you fake out a guy and skate around him, that’s a deke.”

“Weird word.”

He shrugged. “They say it’s short for decoy, but who knows? Most of us who worked at Benton’s were calling Cal by his nickname within a couple of weeks.”

“Did Steve Guilder ever work at Benton’s?” I asked.

“Don’t know for sure, but it’s a good bet. That’s where he and Andrea first hit it off, right after she and what’s-his-name broke up.”

“Which what’s-his-name is that?” I asked idly, not really caring, though I was yet again astounded at the depth and breadth of Rafe’s knowledge of Chilson gossip.

“That Paul what’s-his-name. Attorney.”

I sat up straight. “Paul Utley?”

“Yeah, that’s the guy. Do you know him?”

“We’ve met,” I said, my mind whirling in tiny circles. Andrea had probably known about the value of Wildflowers through a client. She had probably known about its existence because she was related to the family and been in and out of the house a hundred times as a kid. Paul, as the DeKeysers’ attorney, might have known of the book’s existence while making that inventory of the house he’d mentioned in Rianne’s office.

So the question was, had Paul and Andrea still been in contact? Could she have told him about the book? Could they have been in cahoots to steal it and he had, instead, killed her?

Rafe leaned over and tapped my head. “What’s going on in that curly-haired brain of yours?”

His hand lingered on my hair for a moment, and I felt that odd shiver again.

“You’re always thinking,” he said quietly. “That’s one of the things I like best about you.”

This time the shiver went deep into my bones.

Rafe cleared his throat and pulled away. “Of course, there are things I don’t like about you, too.”

The shiver vanished and was replaced by an uncomfortable feeling in my middle. Was it possible that I cared what Rafe thought about me? “Like what?” My question came out a little squeaky.

“Your taste in cars, for one,” he said.

“I don’t care about cars.”

“Like I said.”

I smiled into the dark.

“So, you going to tell me what you were thinking about?” he asked.

Too much, actually. Books and theft and murder, and now I was wondering if Andrea and Paul had been having an affair. Sighing, I got up and dusted off my behind. “Nothing much. I should get back and make sure Eddie hasn’t figured out how to get into the microwave.” The microwave was one of the few places truly safe from Eddie’s reach, and was where I stored the bread.

“Want me to walk you home?” Rafe asked.

I squinted at him. “What would you do if I said yes?”

“Die of shock, probably.” He grinned. “How about if I sit here and watch you walk over. If I see a suspicious character, I’ll heave this at him.” He held up his beer can.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said. A stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless. “See you later.”

When I reached the dock, I could see Eric standing on the end of his boat, casting a fishing line into the water.

“Catch anything?” I asked.

“Nah.” He reeled his line in slowly. “Niswander over there was making so much noise that I swear he scared all the fish.”

Either that or the lake bed in a marina wasn’t the best fish habitat. “When I left for dinner, he and Skeeter were sitting on his front porch, looking like they were stuck there for the night.”

“That would have been nice.” Eric whipped his fishing rod back and cast out again with a long, slow ratcheting noise. “They spent the past two hours on their hands and knees, sanding that porch with hand sanders. Horribly whiny things. Sound like dentist drills.”

I laughed. “Well, they’re probably done now.”

“Oh, it’ll be something else tomorrow.” He watched his bobber for a moment, then started reeling in again. “Is Niswander ever going to finish that place? Chris Ballou said he’s been working on it for three years.”

“Whatever you do,” I said, “don’t ask him. Do that and next thing you know, he’ll dragoon you into helping. If he’s sanding the porch now, painting will be next.”

“Painting? Now, that’s a job for a surgeon. With hands as steady as mine, you don’t need any of that so-called painter’s tape.” He reeled in fast and clipped the hook to his fishing rod. He plopped his rod across the arms of a chair and stepped off the boat and onto the dock. “See you later, Minnie.”

And he was off, headed in Rafe’s direction. Thirty seconds later, I heard two male voices, and the pop of another beer can.

I shook my head and opened the houseboat’s front door. “If you had thumbs,” I asked my cat, “would you spend all evening on Rafe’s porch, hanging out with the guys?” Not that Rafe had done that, technically, but he’d certainly given a fine imitation of a man who would eschew things that needed to be done for the sake of beer.

“Mrr,” Eddie said, simultaneously yawning and stretching.

He was on the dashboard again, and I suspected he’d fallen asleep while watching the seagulls swoop around the marina.

“So, I was a little disappointed,” I told Eddie, “learning the truth behind the story of Mitchell’s award from his Mr. Wahlstrom. And I was also disappointed that Kristen didn’t have any insight into who killed Andrea. I mean, the why is pretty clear—well, to me, anyway—but the who of it isn’t coming.”

I flopped myself onto the dining bench. “If someone killed Andrea to keep her away from Chastain’s Wildflowers , hurt Pam while rifling through her store”—the thought made me jump off the bench and walk around the kitchen, fists clenched and jaw tight—“and is willing to set a library on fire and risk the entire building and everything in it, what else is that someone willing to do to get that book?”

Eddie looked straight at me and yawned again.

“Yes, I know I’m boring you.” I stopped my pacing about and patted him between the ears. “But do you really have to make it so obvious that I’m not nearly as interesting as I think I am?”

“Mrr.”

“Gotcha.” What he’d said, I had no idea, but agreeing with Eddie was usually the best course of action for both of us.

At that point, my furry friend thumped off the dashboard, pawed at the front door, and let himself out.

“Hey! Don’t you dare—”

But he was already gone, out into the night.

“Rotten cat,” I muttered, although it was my own fault for not making sure I’d shut the door tight behind me. I opened a kitchen drawer, snatched out a small flashlight, and headed after my furloughing feline. “Where are you, Eddie? Here, kitty, kitty!”

“Mrr.”

He hadn’t sounded far away, but sounds carried across water like nothing else. It wasn’t unusual for us to hear a dog barking from the other side of Janay Lake, a mile and a half off. “Eddie?” I shone the flashlight over the front deck, picking out all his usual haunts. Not on the chair, not on the table, not behind the flower pot, not—