Софи Келли - A Midwinter's Tail

The warmth was soaking into my own fingers, thawing them out a little. I took a long drink of coffee and then shifted sideways. “There’s something I wanted to tell you that I found about Dayna Chapman.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“Did you know that she was a witness in a robbery about six years ago?”

He nodded, head bent over his cup. “The pawnshop. Yeah, I knew.”

“The owner, the man who was shot, did you know his son is here in Mayville Heights?”

His blue eyes narrowed, just slightly, and the muscles along his jawline tightened. Again, it was barely noticeable. Most people probably wouldn’t have noticed it, but I knew every angle of Marcus’s face, every line.

“What makes you think so?” he asked.

I had another sip of coffee before I answered. “You didn’t know,” I said. “Did you?”

After a moment he shook his head. “Why are you so sure about this?”

“The owner’s name was Nicolas Sutton Sr.,” I said. “The guy who works for Eric, the new artist in the co-op, the one who did the chocolate boxes for the fundraiser, is Nic Sutton. He came from Minneapolis.” I exhaled softly. “I might be wrong.”

“I’ll check it out,” he said. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Nic bumped into Dayna at the party,” I said. “She gave him the brush-off. I didn’t think anything of it until I discovered that they have a connection.”

Marcus pulled his free hand back through his hair. He did that when he had a lot on his mind. “Sometimes it’s just a small world,” he said. “But I’ll check that out, too.”

I checked my watch. “We should get going,” I said.

He drained the last of his coffee and handed me the cup. “Thanks.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant for the coffee or the information.

“Can you get one of the cages from the clinic when you go to see Smokey?” Marcus asked as we headed down the driveway. “We could bring it up tomorrow and see if we can catch Micah.”

“I can do that,” I said. “I should bring something a little more enticing than regular cat food, though.”

We spent the rest of the drive home debating the merits of cooked chicken versus sardines, settling in the end on the little fish, mainly because of the enthusiasm Owen and Hercules had for them.

Marcus pulled into my driveway, put the SUV in park and leaned over to kiss my cheek. “Have a good day, Kath,” he said.

I smiled. “You, too.”

“Let me know what you find out,” he added.

I frowned uncertainly at him.

He held up one hand. “I know you’re not going to stay out of this, so I’m not going to waste my time telling you to. If you come up with anything, call me. Deal?”

I nodded. It felt a little odd not to be arguing about this.

I slid out of the SUV and headed for the back porch with my thermos and the bag of cat food dishes. It seemed to me that I had two pretty much impossible tasks—capture a small and extremely skittish cat and figure out who killed Dayna Chapman. I had the feeling that catching Micah was going to be a heck of a lot easier than catching Dayna Chapman’s killer.

16

I couldn’t do anything with my hair, probably because it had been smashed down weird under my hat. I finally got it lying more or less smoothly in a ponytail. Hercules sat by the bed and watched. Owen, as usual, had disappeared somewhere.

Since I was running behind and more than a little frustrated by my hair, I decided to stop into Eric’s for a breakfast sandwich and some soup to warm up for lunch.

“I’ll talk to Maggie tonight at tai chi and see what I can find out about Nic,” I said to Hercules as I pulled on my boots.

He gave me a blank look.

“I’m sorry. I forgot,” I said. “I didn’t tell you what I found online.” I shook my head and reached for my woolen beret. “Nic Sutton might have known Dayna Chapman. I don’t have time to bring you up to date. Ask your brother.”

I leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Have a good day,” I said.

I locked the door and headed around the house for my truck thinking if anyone ever did hear me talking to the boys, they really would think I was a few marbles short of a game.

It was a busy morning at the library with both the seniors and the preschool story time. Harry had come in with the tree, a beautiful, bushy fir, about nine thirty. Abigail and I had helped him get it set in the stand, although Harry did most of the work.

“Would you like me to start with the lights after story time?” Abigail asked as we stood back to get a good look at the tree.

“Yes, please,” I said. “The boxes are in my office. I have to take the budget estimates over to Lita, but I’ll help you once I get back.”

She smiled and bumped me gently with her shoulder. “I don’t mind. I like decorating.”

“Good,” I said. “Come and do my house. All I have is a wreath on the front door and it’s plastic.”

She put her hands on her hips. “I’m pretty sure we can have you put in stocks down on the Riverwalk for that.”

“It was a plastic wreath or the head of a Fred the Funky Chicken, and putting a yellow chicken head on my front door just didn’t say peace and goodwill to me.” I grinned back at her. “Seriously, though, I spent so much time on the fundraiser, holiday decorations just kind of fell by the wayside.”

Abigail nodded. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about Reading Buddies?”

I twisted my watch around my arm. “Yes and no.”

“Which means?” she prompted.

“It means by the time we take care of the expenses for the fundraiser, we’ll have enough money to keep the program going until spring—if we’re careful and creative. We can’t really do anything with the holidays just a few weeks away, so I’ll wait until January and then we’ll start trying to come up with some new ideas for getting the money.”

She nodded. “That works for me.”

I looked at my watch. “I need to get over to see Lita,” I said.

Abigail made a shooing motion with one hand. “Go ahead. I’ll start on the tree first chance I get.”

I smiled. “Thanks.” I started for the stairs.

“Hey, Kathleen,” she called after me.

I stopped and turned around.

“I’m serious,” she said. “I’m good at decorating. I could come over this weekend and give you a hand.”

As far as Christmas decorations went, my house looked as if it belonged to Ebenezer Scrooge. I nodded and pressed my palms together. “Yes. Thank you. I’ll make brownies.”

Lita had a fresh pot of coffee made when I got to Henderson Holdings. The fact that everyone in town seemed to know that I liked a good cup of coffee—or a not so good one—made me feel even more certain that I’d made the right choice when I decided to stay despite the occasional pangs of homesickness.

We went quickly through the budget estimates I’d put together. When we got to the bottom of the last page, I put my pen down and picked up my coffee. “Thanks for your help,” I said to Lita. “I’ll get the final copy to you by Monday.”

“That’s fine,” she said. She seemed a little distracted. The bright red-and-silver scarf at her neck wasn’t bright enough to hide the fact that she looked as though she hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep.

“How’s Burtis?” I asked.

Lita gave me an approximation of a smile. “All right,” she said. “He told me the two of you had breakfast.” She straightened the papers in front of her and then she looked up at me. “Kathleen, I think the police suspect him.”

“Why?” I asked. “Has something happened?”

“They’ve questioned him twice.”

“He was married to Dayna.”

She gave me a tight smile. “I’ve lived here all my life, Kathleen. I know what people think about Burtis. And I know what they say behind his back.”