Софи Райан - Telling Tails

I smiled. His hands were massive and his handshake was strong but not crushing. “I am,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McNamara.”

“Call me Clayton, child,” he said. “‘Mister’ makes me feel old. Now, I am old, but I don’t like to be reminded about it.”

“You know my grandmother?” I said.

He pulled off his Patriots cap and smoothed a hand over his bald head. “Yes, I do. She broke my heart.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I think there’s a story here I’ve never heard.”

“Me neither,” Glenn said.

“It was a long time ago,” Clayton said. “Isabel was my first love. But first love is a fickle thing. I caught her kissing another man.”

It seemed as though Gram had a past I knew nothing about.

Clayton fitted his hat back on his head. “Though to be fair the other man did have two peanut butter cookies in his lunchbox.” He grinned at us. “And we were six.”

I laughed. “You went to school together.”

He nodded. “First through twelfth grade. How is Isabel? I hear she’s been on her honeymoon for most of the last year.”

“She has,” I said. “I just talked to her a couple of days ago. She’ll be home in about a month.”

“Next time you talk to her, please give her my best.”

“I will,” I said.

He looked at Elvis and held out a hand. It was bigger than my head. “Hello, puss,” he said. Elvis sniffed his fingers and then looked up at the big man and murped hello.

“How did he get the scar on his nose?” Clayton asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, stroking the top of the cat’s head. “He had it when I got him. There are a couple of more scars that are covered by his fur. The vet said the other guy probably looks worse.”

“He’s a good mouser.” It wasn’t really a question.

I nodded. “He is. He lived down along the harbor front for several weeks before he came to live with me. He wasn’t exactly scrawny.”

Elvis turned and looked at the little house. And then, to everyone’s amusement, he licked his whiskers.

Clayton stroked his long, shaggy beard. He may have had no hair on the top of his head, but he more than made up for it with the beard. “I’m thinking it may be a squirrel that’s in that back bedroom. I did have the window open one day without the screen, but it doesn’t make a lick of difference to Beth. She’s scared witless of anything like that.” He pointed at the house diagonally across the street. “That was the Williams house when Beth was a kid. Dillon Williams had a pet rat.”

Beside me Glenn was nodding wordlessly.

“Beth was five. It bit her.” Clayton held up the little finger on his right hand. “Took the tip right off the end of her finger.”

“Whatever’s in there, Elvis can get it,” I said.

“Let’s get to it, then,” the old man said. He led the way into the house. Mac was right. The place was piled, but it was clean. It was just that there wasn’t a bare surface anywhere. I followed the two men up to the second floor.

There were two bedrooms up there, one tucked under the peak of the roof on each side of the house. Clayton opened the bedroom door on the right. Like the rest of the house, it was piled with furniture. A double bed, a tall chest of drawers, a mirrored dresser, an armoire with double doors, a full-size rocking chair and heaps of women’s clothing filled the room.

I set Elvis down on the floor just inside the door. He immediately began to sniff the air. “Go for it,” I said. He started picking his way across the floor. “We should keep this door closed,” I told Glenn.

“Okay,” he said. “But how are we going to know if he catches anything?”

“We’ll know. Trust me,” I said.

The cat was already heading for the small closet in the far corner like a feline with a purpose. I closed the door.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Clayton asked.

“I should stay close by,” I said, gesturing at the door.

“Not a problem,” he said. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying a mug of coffee up these stairs.”

“Then, yes, thank you,” I said.

“How do you take it?”

“Cream and sugar, please.”

He turned to Glenn. “You, too?”

Glenn nodded. “Do you need any help?”

“I’ll ask if I do,” Clayton said. “Stay here and keep Sarah company.” He made his way back down the stairs, turning left at the bottom.

“He makes a good cup of coffee,” Glenn offered. “I’ve always been a bit afraid to ask him what he puts in it, though.” He looked around and sighed. “I don’t know how on earth Beth thinks we can get this place organized in a week.”

“I don’t know if it would help, but we take things on consignment at the shop.”

He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “How would you feel about my backing a truck up to the front door, putting about half the stuff in this house inside it and driving it down to your store?”

I shrugged. “Fine with me.”

Glenn laughed. “Be careful. I might just do it.”

I heard a thump behind us. I turned and looked at the door. There were no other sounds. “Not yet,” I said. I turned my attention back to Glenn. “I’m serious,” I said. “If we can help, let me know.” I smiled at him. “I’ll give you the friends-and-family discount.”

“That’s no way to run a business,” he said.

“Yeah, kind of the same as giving away bread.” I raised an eyebrow. Glenn just smiled and shook his head.

It wasn’t common knowledge, but I knew that Glenn had been the first to step up when the elementary school had begun their hot-lunch program. My grandmother had been one of the organizers. Glenn had offered to supply rolls for the program one day a week, and when Lily’s Bakery had closed he’d also stepped in to fill the gap.

Clayton came back with a big mug of coffee for each of us. Glenn was right. His uncle made a good cup of coffee. “I’ll be out at the woodpile if you need me,” the old man said.

Glenn took his coffee and sat down on the top stair, leaning his back against the wall. I sat down next to him. He took a sip of his coffee and glanced over at the closed bedroom door.

“Don’t worry. Elvis will catch whatever critter is in there,” I said.

“How did you end up with the cat?” Glenn asked. “You said he was wandering around the harbor front before you got him.”

“Sam,” I said, wrapping both hands around my mug. “The band was doing their Elvis Presley medley and he noticed there was a black cat just inside the front door. He swore the cat stayed there for the entire set.”

“Good taste,” Glenn said.

“The next morning Sam was out in the alley putting a bunch of cardboard boxes in the recycling bin, and there’s the same cat. Sam named him Elvis and fed him breakfast.” I took another sip of my coffee. “No one seemed to know who Elvis belonged to. He showed up at the pub every few days and Sam fed him, but no one ever came looking for him. I took a guitar down one morning to get Sam’s opinion. Elvis was there having breakfast.”

I smiled, remembering how I’d asked Sam, “Why Elvis?”

Sam had shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to like the Stones, so naming him Mick was kinda out of the question.”

“How did you go from having breakfast with a cat to owning a cat?” Glenn asked. He held up a hand. “Not that I’m judging.”

“Personally, I think it was a conspiracy,” I said. “The two of them walked me out and the next thing I knew Elvis was in my truck and Sam was giving me a sales pitch on why I needed a cat.”

He laughed. “Well, from my perspective it’s working out well.”

“Mine, too,” I said. “Now I’m not the person who walks around her house talking to herself. I’m the woman who talks to her cat.”