Kelly Sofie - Curiosity Thrilled The Cat

Ahead of us, Owen had climbed onto the railing of Rebecca’s gazebo, pointedly ignoring Rebecca, who was calling to him and holding out her hand. I set Hercules on the gazebo steps and walked over to Rebecca. Like me, she was wearing rubber clogs. She had a gardening glove on one hand and she was holding a bouquet of lavender mums. Should I tell her about finding Gregor Easton’s body? I wondered. No. I didn’t want to be one of those people who couldn’t wait to spread bad news, and it wasn’t as though Rebecca would have known Easton.

“Good morning, Kathleen,” she said. “How are the cats?”

“Hi, Rebecca,” I said. “The cats are fine.”

“Do you think Owen would like another catnip chicken?”

“If he has any more catnip he’s going to end up with the munchies and an overwhelming urge to rent 2001: A Space Odyssey .”

Rebecca looked puzzled.

“He’s addicted to catnip. He’s decapitated four chickens and hidden pieces all over the house. He’s a kitty junkie.”

“Maybe he’s stressed,” Rebecca said. “Maybe it just helps him relax a little.”

I looked over at the gazebo. Hercules sat on the railing like an ancient Egyptian cat statue guarding the tomb of the pharaoh. Owen, on the other hand, was stretched out on his belly on the same railing, eyes closed, legs hanging down on either side.

“Thank you for caring about the cats,” I said. “But Owen doesn’t need any more catnip.”

“All right,” Rebecca said, but I saw her glance over at the cats and I knew she’d try to sneak Owen another fix, and who knew what to Hercules.

“Your flowers are beautiful,” I said, to change the subject.

“Would you like them?” Rebecca asked. “I already have two vases in the house.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” She handed me the flowers, and as she did her sleeve slipped back and I saw that her right wrist was bandaged. “Rebecca, is your arthritis acting up again?” I asked. Rebecca used herbal poultices for her arthritis. Her wrists were often wrapped with unbleached cotton strips to hold the poultice in place.

She nodded and smoothed the pale blue sleeve down over the bandage and kept her hand there. “Yes,” she said. She looked a little uncomfortable. “I suppose I sound like an old lady, but I’d rather use something natural than take a lot of drugs.”

“You don’t sound like an old lady,” I said. “There’s a lot of interest these days in natural medicine. At the library where I worked in Boston we had an entire section on alternative medicine—dozens of books on using plants to treat and heal everything from a scrape to serious illnesses. The books were out a lot.”

“Do you miss Boston?” Rebecca asked.

“Sometimes.” I ran my fingers over the rosy-purple flower petals. “My parents are actors, so I’ve lived all over the place. But Boston is where I lived the longest, so it feels like home.”

“Your parents act?” Rebecca said. “Theater?”

I nodded. “And my dad has done various commercials over the years. Other than that they’ve been onstage.”

“Would I have seen your father in anything?” she asked.

Should I tell her he was the middle-aged man shaking it like James Brown in a commercial for medication to treat erectile dysfunction? Or that he was also the golfer telling his friends he could play eighteen holes again, thanks to his disposable undergarments?

“Do you remember the ad for the cereal Flakies—oat bran flakes and plump raisins?” I said, finally. “The leading competitor had the shriveled-up raisins.”

“I do remember that,” Rebecca said, pulling off her glove. “In fact, I’ve eaten the cereal. The announcer had a wonderful deep voice. Was that your father?”

I felt my cheeks getting red. “No, he was one of the shriveled-up raisins.”

Rebecca struggled to keep from smiling, but couldn’t help it. “The raisins were good, too,” she said.

Just then we heard footsteps coming up Rebecca’s gravel driveway. “That’s probably Ami, back from the store,” Rebecca said. “Have you met her? She’s interning at the theater and she’s also one of the lead voices in the festival choir. I’ve known her since she was a little girl.” She smiled. “She has an apartment near the Stratton, but you’ll see her here quite a bit. I’m teaching her to cook before she leaves for college.”

“She’s been in the library a few times,” I said, as Ami Lester came around the side of the house.

She had a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. A loaf of bread wrapped in brown paper and the dark green leaves of a head of romaine poked out of the top of the bag. Her red-blond hair was pulled into a high ponytail and she wore a gray T-shirt with a bust of Mozart silkscreened on the front. Mozart was wearing headphones, and I think his eyes were crossed.

Ami’s eyes were troubled and her face was pale. She stopped beside us and Rebecca touched her shoulder. “Is everything all right, dear?”

Ami swallowed a couple of times. “I, uh . . . I can’t believe it, but Mr. Easton is dead.”

Rebecca’s mouth moved, but at first no sound came out. She dropped the glove she’d been holding. “Dead?” she finally whispered. Her color was worse than Ami’s. I took her arm. “Here. Sit,” I said, easing her down on to the top step.

“I’m sorry,” Ami said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” She looked at me. “You’re the librarian, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m Kathleen.” I pointed at my house. “I just live right there.”

Rebecca reached for Ami’s hand. “You didn’t upset me, dear. You just caught me by surprise,” she said. “It’s not as though I knew Mr. Easton. I just knew of his reputation.” She rubbed her wrist. “Are you sure he’s . . . dead?” Her voice wavered a little.

Ami swung the bag off her shoulder and set it on top of her feet. “Uh-huh. Someone found his—him—early this morning at the theater.”

“I, uh, did,” I said.

They both stared at me.

“You found him—at the Stratton? At the theater?” Rebecca asked weakly. She let go of Ami’s hand. “Oh, Kathleen, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

“What were you doing at the Stratton?” she asked.

“I was looking for Oren.” I picked up the dropped glove and handed it to her.

“But why was he at the theater so early?” Ami said. “We never had early practice, because he said he only worked at a civilized hour.”

“Do the police know what happened?” Rebecca asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“He was old,” Ami said. “I bet he had a heart attack.”

I remembered the injury to Easton’s head. I wasn’t so sure it was a heart attack that had killed him. I felt a brush of fur against my leg. Owen. He sat beside me and looked intently at Rebecca.

“Did you come to check on me?” Rebecca asked him.

Owen meowed softly.

“He’s beautiful,” Ami said. She leaned forward and held out her hand to Owen, who ignored her. He took a few steps closer to Rebecca and meowed softly again.

“I’m fine, Owen,” Rebecca said. “At my age I should be a little more accustomed to people dying.” She stood up and managed a smile for Ami. “Let’s make brunch.” She looked at me. “Kathleen, would you like to join us?”

“Thank you,” I said. “But I have a pile of paperwork I need to start on.” I turned to Ami. “It was nice to see you again.”

“You, too,” she said.

Rebecca took a couple of steps toward me, reached up and laid a hand on my cheek. “My dear, I’m so sorry that you had to be involved in that man’s death.” She was still very pale.