Лори Касс - Cat With A Clue

Utley continued to study me.

“I’ve checked, you know,” I said. “The last time a copy of Chastain’s book sold publicly, it went for almost half a million dollars. There wasn’t much information about its condition, so we’ll have to assume it was pristine. Now, this one was sitting on a sideboard for a hundred years. Not in direct sunlight, which helped keep it from aging, but it wasn’t in a controlled environment, either.”

“There were undoubtedly private sales of the book,” Utley said, still watching me carefully.

“Oh, sure.” I nodded, then did one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life: started walking straight toward him. “But I don’t know enough about private sales to know if the prices would be higher or lower than a public sale.” I raise my eyebrows. “Do you happen to know?”

“No,” he said, moving his knife hand further behind him.

“That’s too bad.” I kept inching slowly forward. “See, what I’ve been trying to figure out is if it makes more sense to sell the pages individually, or if the whole book should be sold at once. Maximizing its value is key.”

“It appears that you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this,” Utley said, sounding amused.

You have no idea, I thought grimly. “Well,” I said, “working in a library pays the bills, but it’s no way to really get ahead, if you know what I mean.”

Utley grunted. “A lot like being a small-town lawyer, then. Unfortunately, my wife doesn’t understand there aren’t many multimillion-dollar class-action suits running around Tonedagana County. The money this book could bring would solve all my problems.”

It burned me that he was blaming his wife for his own greed, but I pushed that away and stepped even closer. “Say, do you mind letting my cat go?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Utley’s smile made my insides clench. “I need some insurance, right, kitty?” He jostled Eddie, and grinned at the low growl. “Kitty needs a little work on her manners.”

I willed Eddie to stay quiet and still. “She’s a he,” I said. “And he still has his claws, so be careful.”

Utley chuckled. Clearly, he didn’t have cats. “Kitty and I are just fine. Aren’t we, kitty?” He jostled Eddie again, who gave a drawn-out hiss. “Now, Minnie, you and I need to get down to business. First off, I have to see the book.”

“Great idea. It’s back there.” I gestured at the back room.

“Excellent.” Utley smiled, and I really wished he hadn’t. “Why don’t you go and get it?”

How stupid did he think I was? If I went first, as soon as I laid hands on Wildflowers , he’d stab me in the back with that scary knife, I’d fall to the floor dead, he’d grab the book, and he’d hightail it out of the museum.

“Sure,” I said, starting to edge past him. “It’s right on top, and—”

“What’s the matter?”

“Look out!” I shouted, pointing behind him.

When Utley instinctively turned his head to see what I was shouting about, his attention was off me, and that was all I needed.

I gave him a stiff two-armed push with all my weight and all my might, and hooked my foot around his ankles, just like I’d been taught in the self-defense class I’d taken last summer.

“Hey!” He flailed his arms, dropping Eddie to the ground.

“Mrr!”

Eddie bolted away.

The knife flashed bright.

I kicked at Utley, aiming for his soft private parts, and he went down hard.

The sharp blade spun away across the floor, and I scrambled over the top of the fallen man, trying to get to the knife, sorry that Plan A hadn’t come together, hoping I’d know what to do with the knife if I got hold of it, knowing that Utley could ruin Plan B by getting to it first. Reaching, clawing, grabbing, praying . . .

“Police!” thundered a large voice. “Get your hands away from that weapon!”

A uniformed city police officer, Joel Stowkowski, the wonderful man who’d told me that no one was going to “get away with breaking into our library,” came down the steps two at a time.

Utley, who was lying flat on his stomach, arm stretching out long for the knife, turned his head. “Officer,” he said, putting on an awkward smile, “this is all a big mistake. I can explain everything.”

“Don’t move,” Joel ordered. As he pulled his handcuffs off his utility belt he glanced over at me. “You all right?”

I nodded a little tentatively, then, when that didn’t seem to set off any fireworks, nodded again with more certainty and slowly got to my feet.

“Need an ambulance?”

I shook my head. “I’m fine.” Which wasn’t the literal truth, since I felt banged-up and grimy, but I would feel much better after a long, hot shower.

Joel ratcheted the handcuffs into place, read Utley his rights, and spoke into his shoulder microphone.

“What took you so long, anyway?” I asked.

“You were doing such a fine job,” Joel said, ignoring the quaver in my voice and hauling a protesting Paul Utley to his feet, “that I didn’t want to interrupt. I saw and heard more than enough to put this guy away. You barely needed my help at all, seems like.”

In the distance, I heard police sirens approaching, and even though Utley was already incapacitated and unlikely to cause anyone any physical harm ever again, the sweet sound let me breathe easier.

The tips of two cat ears popped up from behind a box. “Mrr?”

“Of course, I see you had some help.” Joel pushed Utley toward the stairs. “Well done, Eddie.”

I reached out to pull my cat close and covered his ears. “Don’t let him hear that—it’ll swell up his head even bigger.”

“Mrr,” Eddie said. He put up a token struggle, but then let me hug him tight and kiss the top of his head.

“Mrr to you, too, pal,” I whispered. “Over and over and over again.”

* * *

“You did what?” Kristen asked loudly.

It was the next day. It was still hot, and we were sitting on Rafe’s shaded front porch, catching the breeze off Janay Lake. We’d started out on the marina’s concrete patio, but Rafe had called us over, served us cans of soda, and then took off to play golf with some college buddies.

Chilson, on a hot Sunday afternoon in early July, was drowsy with sleep. The weekend tourists had already left, and everyone else was doing their best to avoid getting hot and sweaty. Well, except Rafe and his friends. I leaned back in his chair and propped my feet up on his porch rail, wondering what it was about men that made them do such things.

“You really ran straight toward a guy holding a knife?” Kristen glared at me. “And don’t use that self-defense-class excuse. How could you do such a stupid thing?”

“It wasn’t as dumb as it sounds,” I said, trying not to sound defensive.

“Yeah? How?”

“Lots of reasons.” I could see her mouth start to open, so I jumped in before she could get going. “When I’d gone upstairs to the front door, I’d propped it wide open. In summer, a Chilson police officer makes a walking round of downtown every hour on the hour. With the door open and the light on in the basement, I knew someone would be coming soon.” To forestall Kristen’s next objection, I added, “And I knew it would be less than an hour, because I could see the time on that downtown clock.”

“That’s one,” Kristen growled.

“Another reason rushing Utley wasn’t as stupid as it sounds is that I’d been watching him closely. His grip on the knife was loose, and I was sure I could knock it out of his hand without too much trouble.” Pretty sure, anyway.

“That’s not lots.” Kristen held up her index finger and her middle finger in what I had a feeling wasn’t the V -for-victory salute. “That’s two, and the second one was marginal at best. To reach the ‘lots’ quantity, you need at least four reasons. Give me two more.”