Kelly Sofie - Curiosity Thrilled The Cat

His smile widened. “In that case, yes, I would,” he said.

I gestured toward the back door. “Come into the kitchen,” I said.

Everett followed me into the house. Both cats had disappeared for the moment. I poured Everett a cup of coffee and got a new cup for myself. We sat at the kitchen table.

“Would you like a muffin?” I asked. “They’re blueberry-poppy seed.”

He shook his head. “I’m allergic to poppy seeds.”

“I’ve heard of peanut and shellfish allergies, but never poppy seeds,” I said.

“It’s in the family.” Everett picked up his mug and took a drink. “Mmmm, you make good coffee.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“So, I heard you found Gregor Easton’s body,” he said. Everett was not the kind of person to dance around things, I’d learned in the few months I’d known him.

“I did.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think you had,” he said. “I hope I haven’t offended you by asking.”

“You haven’t.” I smiled to show I meant it. “And since we’re being frank, I didn’t have an affair with Mr. Easton, either.”

Everett laughed as he put his cup on the table. “Kathleen, you hardly seem the type to be sneaking around, engaging in hanky-panky with a man old enough to be, well, me.”

“You’re not an old man, Everett,” I said.

“Yes, I am,” he said, brown eyes twinkling. “But I do appreciate your flattery.” Then his face turned serious. “Detective Gordon came to see me.”

I should have realized the detective would do that.

“I gave him your references,” he said. “And I told him I checked you out thoroughly and interviewed you myself before you were hired. And I told him I have complete faith in you.”

“I”—my voice stuck in my throat—“I . . . thank you.”

Everett drained his cup and set it on the table again. “Now, tell me how things are at the library.”

I stood up to get us both refills as Hercules came into the kitchen from the porch. For a second I wondered if I’d left the screen door open. Then I remembered doors weren’t exactly a barrier for Hercules. The cat stopped about halfway across the kitchen floor, his attention focused on our visitor.

Everett stared back at the cat. He looked stunned. “Where did that cat come from?” he managed to choke out. He didn’t even look at me—he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the little tuxedo cat who seemed equally interested in the man.

“He’s mine,” I said slowly. “That’s Hercules. Owen is out in the yard somewhere.” I swallowed a mouthful of coffee, almost burning my tongue. “I was out walking, not long after I first arrived here. I stumbled upon Wisteria Hill and I realize I was trespassing, but the garden at the back was so beautiful. That’s where I found Owen and Hercules. They . . . followed me home.” I was babbling.

Hercules got up and walked over to stand in front of Everett, still looking intently at the older man.

“From Wisteria Hill,” Everett said.

“Yes,” I said. I cleared my throat. “Have I done something wrong by keeping them?”

That made Everett finally look at me. He shook his head. “No. No, you haven’t.” He glanced quickly back at Herc. “My mother had a cat. It disappeared when she died. I . . . We searched the house and the grounds for days, but . . .” He let the end of the sentence trail off and shook his head again. “I know it’s not possible—cats don’t live that long—but for a moment . . .” He pulled his hand down over his bearded chin and his gaze went back to Hercules. “Finn,” Everett said, more to himself than to me.

Herc’s ears twitched and he took a step forward. A shiver slid up the back of my neck.

“Here, Finn,” Everett called again, holding out his hand.

Hercules started toward him. I held my breath and it seemed I could hear my own heartbeat thudding double time in my ears.

The cat took another step toward Everett. And then another.

And then he reached under Everett’s chair and snagged something with his paw, completely ignoring the hand extended to him.

I started to breathe again. Leaning forward in my seat, I tried to see what Hercules was hiding. “What is that?” I asked the cat.

He jerked upright at the sound of my voice, almost bumping his head on the underside of the wooden chair. One white-tipped paw still covered whatever he had spotted.

“Let me see,” I said. We had a little stare-down contest.

I won.

Slowly Hercules raised his paw. It was a kitty cracker. It had probably fallen onto the floor when I was taking them off the baking sheet.

“Okay, you can have it,” I said, straightening. “Cat treat,” I said as an aside to Everett.

Hercules was already chewing the little cracker. He took a couple of passes at his face, more to get any stray crumbs than to really get clean, I suspected, and then crossed under the table and came to lean against my leg.

I smiled at Everett, who smiled back at me and picked up his cup. Whatever memories Hercules had stirred up had been put away again. “You have another cat?” he asked.

I nodded, reaching down to scratch the top of Hercules’ head. “Owen. He’s a tabby.”

“Owen?” Everett asked over the top of his mug.

“I was reading A Prayer for Owen Meany —John Irving—when the cats followed me home. Every time I put the book down Owen sat on it. It was either going to be Owen or Irving.” I shrugged. “And he didn’t look like an Irving.” I reached for my coffee.

“And Hercules? From Roman mythology?”

“Uh, yes.” That was sort of true. Herc was named after Hercules, son of Zeus, as portrayed by the delectable Kevin Sorbo. Or as Maggie sometimes called him, Mr. Six-Pack in a Loincloth. Mags didn’t have a proper appreciation for trashy television.

“You were going to tell me how the renovations are going,” Everett said.

Okay. We weren’t talking about the cats anymore.

I brought Everett up-to-date on what had been happening—the wiring problems, the computer room, plans for the yard sale—downplaying my almost being electrocuted and leaving out Owen and Gregor Easton’s encounter altogether.

“Were you hurt?” Everett asked, reaching across the table to pat my arm.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Luckily Roma Davidson was at the library.”

Everett raised an eyebrow and a hint of a smile played around his mouth.

I couldn’t quite help smiling myself. “Yes, I know she’s a vet, and I promise you I’m fine.”

Everett relaxed all the way into a smile and sat back in his chair again. “I have every confidence that Lawrence will fix the problem with the wiring. And I’m confident that Roma took good care of you, even though you’re not her typical patient.” His expression turned serious again. “When Lawrence sends you a bill, send it directly to the office. That shouldn’t have to come out of the renovation budget.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling relieved I wasn’t going to have to squeeze the already stretched budget after all. “I will.”

Everett stood up. “Thank you for the coffee, Kathleen. I have to get back to the office. Is there anything else you need from me?”

For a moment I thought about telling him how Will Redfern kept giving me the runaround, how it seemed sometimes that he didn’t want the library job to get finished. But it seemed like such a childish thing to complain about.

“No,” I said. “I’ll call Lita if I need anything.”

I walked Everett out. He looked around, then crossed the grass to look at the roses, still blooming in the back corner of the yard. “You have a real green thumb, Kathleen,” he said. “These roses have never looked so beautiful.” He bent to smell one of the flowers, white petals edged in pink. “These bushes came from Wisteria Hill, you know. Harry Senior brought them down here. He said it was a sin to let them go wild out at the house.”