Kelly Sofie - Curiosity Thrilled The Cat

“Not a thing,” Rebecca said. “Thank you. Ami should be back from the theater in a couple of hours, and I thought we could have lunch out here.”

“The theater? Does that mean they’re going ahead with the festival?”

Rebecca shrugged and picked up a flowered tablecloth she’d set on the bench seat by the steps. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

I grabbed an end of the fabric and helped unfold the cloth. Hercules climbed onto the railing to supervise.

“The board called a meeting with all the performers,” Rebecca said. “I don’t think anything’s been decided yet.”

We spread the cloth over the table and Rebecca smoothed out the wrinkles. The breeze caught a corner of the material and blew it up over the tabletop.

I looked around. “Rebecca, where are your corner weights?” I asked.

“Oh. They’re in the shed,” she said, pointing to the small outbuilding in the far corner of the yard.

“I’ll get them,” I said, starting down the steps.

“They’re on the shelf under the window,” she called after me.

I snagged the broom as I passed it so I could put it away.

Rebecca’s garden shed, painted the same gray-blue as the house, looked like a tiny cottage, somewhere the three bears or Hansel and Gretel might live. The door was open. I stepped inside, blinking to adjust to the change in light. I set the broom behind the door and turned to the window. The weights were on the shelf, just as Rebecca had said.

Tablecloth weights were Maggie’s creation—whimsical pottery elves, fairies or gargoyles, hanging from a cord with a clip at the other end. The idea was to attach one to each corner of a tablecloth. The weight was enough to keep the breeze from blowing the edge of a picnic cloth into the potato salad on all but the windiest days.

I scooped up Rebecca’s weights—four grinning, zaftig and slightly lecherous-looking winged fairies—and turned around.

My eyes had completely adjusted to the dim light in the shed, so it was impossible to miss Owen, standing with his paws on the top edge of the recycling bin just to the right of the door. He had a piece of paper in his mouth.

“Owen!” I snapped. He turned at the sound of my voice. “What are you doing? Put that back!” I kept my voice low so Rebecca wouldn’t hear.

Owen dropped to all four paws, the sheet of paper still in his mouth.

I jerked my head toward the bin and took a couple of steps toward him. “Put it back!” I said, my voice sharp with warning. “Now.”

Owen looked at the recycling box, craning his neck to see the cardboard and paper stacked to the top.

And then he bolted.

I lunged, but I didn’t have a hope of grabbing him. I couldn’t catch what I couldn’t see. At the same moment Owen had run he’d also . . . vanished, faded out in less than a second.

I slumped against the doorframe of the shed. I had one cat that could walk through walls and another that could disappear—and also seemed to be developing into a kleptomaniac. My cat was turning into a cat burglar.

I rubbed the back of my neck. This would be funny if it were happening to someone else.

I was still holding on to Rebecca’s weights. I didn’t have time to obsess, figure out why my cats had superpowers and, in the case of Owen, flagrant disregard for the law. I didn’t even have time to figure out where Owen was. And any more deep breaths and I was going to hyperventilate and pass out on the floor of Rebecca’s shed. So I tucked my hair behind my ears and went back to the gazebo.

“You found them,” she said.

“I’ll fasten them for you,” I said. I dropped to one knee by the table. While I attached the fairies to the cloth I did a quick scan of what I could see of the yard beyond the steps to the gazebo. I didn’t catch so much as a glimpse of gray fur or even a piece of disembodied paper bouncing around the yard. I switched to the other side of the table and hung those weights, as well, before standing up to see if the cloth was hanging properly.

“That’s perfect. Thank you,” Rebecca said, smoothing out a small wrinkle in the cloth. “Why don’t you come over later and join us?” she asked. “I made lemon meringue pie.”

I sighed loudly, making my bangs flutter against my forehead. “I love your lemon meringue pie. But I have to be at the library early today.”

“Then at least take a piece home.”

How could I say no? “I’ll get a couple of chairs for you from the shed,” I said.

Rebecca made a dismissive gesture with her good hand. “You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“I don’t mind. And for a piece of your lemon pie, I’d walk down to the library to get you chairs.”

She laughed. “All right, then. I’ll go get you a piece of that pie.”

Owen wasn’t in the shed. At least I couldn’t see him. I did a quick check of the backyard. I didn’t see the cat anywhere, which, I realized, didn’t mean he wasn’t around.

Tucking a chair under each arm, I headed back to the gazebo, still watching for the cat. Maybe he’d gone home. I looked over into my own yard. I didn’t see Owen, but I did see Maggie. “Mags,” I called. She turned, grinning when she saw me and holding up a brown paper bag.

I was guessing she’d brought the blueberries she’d promised me. She ducked through the gap in the hedge and walked over to where I was standing.

“Blueberries?” I asked.

“Picked this morning.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I have muffins in the house. Just let me open up these chairs for Rebecca.”

“I’ll give you a hand,” Maggie said, setting the sack of berries above her on the wide gazebo railing and taking one of the folding wooden chairs from me.

We set the chairs on opposite sides of the table. Maggie stood, mesmerized, looking up at the cedar timbers above her head. “This is beautiful,” she said, continuing to stare at the gazebo roof. “Look at the joints, the symmetry.” Maggie tended to look at everything from the perspective of an artist.

She ran her hand down one of the long posts that supported the roof of the structure. “I bet Harry built this.”

“Actually, it was his father.” Rebecca spoke from behind us.

I hadn’t heard her come out of the house. She was holding a plastic food container. Based on the size, there had to be more than one piece of pie inside.

“Hello, Maggie,” Rebecca said. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“It is beautiful. And so is your gazebo,” Maggie said.

Rebecca reached out to pat the railing with one hand. “Thank you. But Harrison—Old Harry—deserves the credit. I told him what I wanted and he built it.”

“No plan?” I asked.

Rebecca shook her head. “He said he could see the gazebo in his mind’s eye and all he had to do was put the pieces together.”

Maggie was looking up again. “Incredible,” she murmured. Then she looked down at Rebecca. Her face grew serious and she pressed her lips together. “Rebecca, I owe you an apology,” she began. “I was rude to you at the last class, asking personal questions about your herbal remedies.” Her cheeks were tinged with pink and she clasped her hands in front of her like a child.

“And I acted like a sour, suspicious old woman,” Rebecca said. “I’d be happy to tell you more about my mother and her medicines . . . if you’re still interested.”

Maggie’s face lit up. “Yes, I’m interested.”

“Mother’s notebooks are in the attic.” Rebecca looked back at the house. “If you don’t mind some dust and cobwebs, you can look around up there for them.”

“Dust, cobwebs, giant spiders—I don’t mind,” Maggie said eagerly.

They put their heads together and quickly agreed on Sunday afternoon. I heard Maggie mention blueberries and Rebecca say something about pie. Neither of them noticed a floating piece of paper go bobbing by the gazebo steps.