Kelly Sofie - Curiosity Thrilled The Cat

Owen.

I leaned over and grabbed the paper bag of berries as a cover, so I could make shooing gestures in the direction of the fold of paper, now hanging immobile about six inches off the ground.

“Go!” I whispered.

The paper started around the side of the gazebo, and, I hoped, toward the gap in the hedge. It occurred to me that maybe I should have said, “Appear” instead.

I leaned over the railing. The paper wasn’t moving very fast. “Go!” I whispered again.

“Did you say something, Kathleen?” Rebecca said behind me. Both she and Maggie were looking at me.

I crossed my fingers that Owen was out of sight and then realized that was the problem. “I, uh, just that I have to go,” I stammered. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“You’ve done more than enough, Kathleen. Thank you.” She held out the plastic container. “Don’t forget your pie.”

“Never,” I said, taking the box with my free hand and hugging it against my chest. “If you need anything, if Ami isn’t around”—I pointed at my house—“you know where I am.”

She nodded.

“I’ll see you Sunday,” Maggie said over her shoulder, as she followed me down the steps. Rebecca gave a little wave of acknowledgment.

“What kind of pie?” Maggie asked, eyeing the container as we cut through the hedge.

I was busy scanning the yard for a small gray tabby or a small piece of paper that seemed to be self-propelled.

Nothing.

“What?” I said, then remembered what she’d asked. “Oh. Lemon meringue.”

“I like lemon meringue,” she said.

“Yeah, everyone does,” I said distractedly. Where was Owen? Maybe by the back door, and, I hoped, three-dimensional.

Maggie had been talking and I hadn’t been paying attention, I realized.

“So, you’ll help me?” she said, looking expectantly at me.

“Umm, yeah, of course I will.” I wondered what I’d just agreed to.

Maggie burst out laughing.

“What? What’s so funny?” I asked.

“I just told you that I’m giving up art to become an exotic dancer in Vegas, and you agreed to help me make a costume out of pigeon feathers.”

I felt my face redden.

“What’s with you this morning?”

What could I say? One of my cats is adding new meaning to the term “cat burglar,” Everett mistook my cat for his dead mother’s cat, and, oh, yeah, the police were still asking questions and trying to seduce Owen over to the dark side. Plus, I’d had way, way more caffeine than I should have. I decided just to share the last two things on that list.

Maggie stared at me, decidedly dumbfounded. “The police were here and you gave them breakfast? Again?”

I tried not to cringe. “It was just one police—Detective Gordon—and I didn’t give him breakfast, I gave him coffee.”

She folded her arms across her chest and continued to stare at me.

“And a muffin . . . okay, two muffins, but they were right there on the rack on the counter, and not offering any to him would have been rude.” I stopped to take a breath.

“The man thought you and Gregor Easton were playing musical mattress and you don’t want him to think you’re rude?” Mags shook her head.

I couldn’t help laughing. “Can I help it if I have nice manners?”

Grinning herself, Maggie shook her head at me. “You’re hopeless,” she said. Then her expression got more serious. “What did he want? Aside from a free breakfast.”

I pushed my bangs back off my face. “Well, it looks like I’m moving down on the suspect list.”

“I told you.” Maggie pointed a finger at me. “No one is seriously going to believe you killed someone.”

I saw movement over her shoulder. It was Owen, sitting on my blue Adirondack chair, watching us, still as a statue and just as solid, the piece of paper under one of his paws.

I felt my shoulders loosen a little and I nudged open the screen door. “It helped that both Roma and Rebecca could confirm where I was, at least part of the time. Harry, too.”

I remembered how Detective Gordon had turned down my offer to look through the house to see if I had a timer for my lights. “I have the feeling the police are focusing somewhere else now,” I added.

Maggie nodded with satisfaction. “About time.”

I paused in the doorway. “You want a cup of coffee?” I asked. “And a blueberry muffin?” I gave her the eyebrow. “I have cheese-and-sardine crackers,” I wheedled.

Maggie grimaced, then pasted on a decidedly fake smile. “As tempting as a good cheese-and-sardine cracker can be, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. I’m working an extra shift in the store today. Rats!” She gave a huge, exaggerated sigh before smiling for real. “You going to the market in the morning?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want to have breakfast at Eric’s?”

Breakfast at Eric’s. Homemade cinnamon bread. An omelet with cheese and mushrooms. Granola with gobs of raisins. And I knew a lot of the people involved with the music festival had been hanging out at Eric’s—the menu was eclectic, but very good. I didn’t know if any of them would be around early on a Saturday, but it was worth a shot, and I hadn’t had breakfast at Eric’s in ages. “Okay,” I said.

We settled on a time and Maggie left. I waited until she’d had enough time to make it to the street; then I backtracked to where Owen still sat on my chair like some furry lawn ornament. One paw was still holding down the piece of paper he’d taken from the recycling bin in Rebecca’s shed.

“What is with you?” I said. “First you chew a piece of fringe off Rebecca’s scarf and now you swipe something from her recycling bin.” I reached for the paper, but he kept his paw firmly on it. “If this is some kind of protest because I told Rebecca not to buy you any more catnip, it’s not going to work.” I pulled at the paper again. “Give it here.”

He looked at me, narrowing his golden eyes like he was actually thinking over my request. “If you ever want me to make you another batch of those crackers you’ll move your paw now.”

Owen didn’t even hesitate for effect. He lifted his paw and I picked up the page. It was a photocopy of a piece of sheet music. Written by Gregor Easton. For a moment I half expected to hear the music from The Twilight Zone . First Hercules found something that may have been connected to Easton’s murder, and now Owen. Could they actually be trying to . . . help me? I shook my head. That was crazy. On the other hand, a cat that could disappear kind of defied logic, too.

Owen was watching me. Feeling a little foolish, I looked around to make sure no one else was. “Okay, I’m going to . . . take a big leap and believe that you brought me this for a reason. Why?” I waved the piece of sheet music in front of his face. “Ami is over there all the time and she’s singing in the festival. Nice try, but this doesn’t mean anything.”

Owen made disgruntled muttering sounds low in his throat. I scooped him up with one arm and dropped onto the lawn chair, settling the cat on my lap. “C’mon,” I said, scratching under his chin. “You don’t actually think Ami had something to do with Easton’s death, do you?” I tried to picture Ami, who just last night I’d seen carry a spider out to Rebecca’s gazebo in her china gravy boat instead of squishing it, killing Gregor Easton. Killing anyone.

I looked at the piece of sheet music again. “You know what I don’t understand?” I said to the cat. “Why did someone want Easton dead? He was a stranger. He hadn’t been here long enough to make anyone angry enough to kill him.”

Owen’s response was to knead my stomach with his front paws—“Claws!” I reminded him as one foot snagged skin through my shirt.