Kelly Sofie - Curiosity Thrilled The Cat

I took a sip of coffee, wondering how much I should say. “Easton was at the library earlier in the evening and he may have come back again.”

Roma started coughing. Rebecca reached around and patted her on the back.

“Do you need a glass of water?” Violet asked.

Roma held out a hand. She coughed a couple more times, then sucked in several breaths. “I’m all right,” she gasped. She swallowed a mouthful of coffee and then took a few more deep breaths. “A blueberry went down the wrong way.” She rolled her wrist over and checked her watch. “I really should get back to the clinic and check on the cat,” she said. “Thank you, Violet. Everything was delicious.”

She got to her feet and looked at me. “Kathleen, if I’m not rushing you, we could walk partway together.” She didn’t say please out loud, but I could see it on her face.

“You’re not,” I said. “I need to check on Owen and Hercules. Somebody”—I turned to look at Rebecca—“got Owen another catnip chicken. There are probably chicken parts all over my kitchen.”

“Don’t look at me,” Rebecca said, keeping her head down over the album. “It was Ami.”

Head bowed or not, I could see her smiling. I thanked Violet for dinner and for sharing her photographs. Roma and I said our good nights and headed out. The moon was almost full and the stars sparkled in a way they had never seemed to in the city.

Roma waited until we were out of sight of the house before she spoke. “Kathleen, could I ask you something?” she said.

“Of course,” I said. “What is it?”

“You said Easton was at the library before he died.”

“That’s right,” I said slowly, wondering where she was going.

“You’re sure?”

“Uh-huh. The police have evidence. Why do you ask?”

We turned the corner and started up the hill. She let out a breath and stopped on the sidewalk. “Because I think Oren might be involved in Easton’s death.”

17

Wave Arms Like a Fan

“ What do you mean, you think Oren might be involved?”

“The police talked to him this afternoon.”

“The police talk to a lot of people,” I said.

“This is the second time.”

I was about to say they’d talked to me more than once when I remembered I was also a suspect of sorts.

“That’s not the only thing,” Roma said. “He wasn’t at Fern’s for meat loaf.”

“You’re going to have to explain,” I said.

“Have you ever been to Fern’s diner?” she asked. “It’s a little place down near the marina.”

“Like a fifties diner?”

Roma nodded. “That’s Fern’s. Every Tuesday night is meat loaf night. Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, green beans in the summer, carrots the rest of the time, brown gravy and apple pie.”

“Sounds good.”

“It is. I haven’t missed a meat loaf Tuesday since I came back to Mayville. Oren probably hasn’t missed one in twenty-five years.” She kicked a rock on the ground and sent it skittering along the sidewalk.

“Oren wasn’t there Tuesday night,” I said.

“No.” We started walking again. “And he wasn’t at the theater when you got there the next morning, was he?”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Kathleen, Oren didn’t come home at all Tuesday night,” Roma said, her voice low and troubled.

I brushed away a small cloud of midges fluttering just in front of my face. “How do you know that?” I asked.

“The Kings bought a horse for their daughter. They thought they were getting a deal when they heard the price. What they got was a sick animal. I was out at their place from about one until close to five a.m. The back of their property meets the back of Oren’s.” She tipped her head back to study the sky. “It was a full moon Monday night. I could see Oren’s yard and house almost as clearly as if it were daytime. His truck wasn’t there. He wasn’t there.”

“It doesn’t mean Oren had anything to do with what happened to Gregor Easton.” My shoulder ached, but I didn’t want to rub it in front of Roma.

“If there was nothing off about Easton’s death, the police wouldn’t still be investigating. And it’s not like they have a huge pool of suspects. Did you know that pretty much everyone in the choir was at a birthday party at Eric’s Place that night?”

“I didn’t.”

“I know Marcus. He’s good at what he does.”

She was right. From what I’d seen Detective Gordon was thorough and persistent.

“Easton was at your library. Why does that matter if he died from natural causes? They’re not going to keep looking at a case that wasn’t criminal just so they won’t look incompetent if Access Hollywood shows up.”

She held out both her hands. “And they haven’t.”

“You think the police are investigating because there’s something to investigate,” I said.

“Kathleen, Oren is family. Our moms were cousins. I don’t believe for a moment that he’d hurt anyone, but this looks bad.”

I thought about Oren recognizing Gregor Easton’s real name. And how beautifully he’d played the piano. Those things weren’t coincidences. Oren knew Gregor Easton. How and why he was keeping it a secret, I didn’t know. But I didn’t believe he could have killed the man.

“Roma,” I said. “I don’t know what happened to Mr. Easton, but I don’t believe Oren had anything to do with it.” I held up a finger before she could interrupt. “I may have only been here a few months, but I know Oren well enough to know he wouldn’t deliberately hurt Gregor Easton or anyone else, for that matter. He had no reason. And if there was some kind of accident at the library or the theater he’d get help, not leave someone to die.”

Roma looked away and I waited until she looked back.

“Whatever reason Oren had for being gone all night, it had nothing to do with Easton’s death. I know that.”

Roma looked at me and I met her gaze steadily, because I did believe what I had said. Then she reached out and gave my arm a squeeze. “I’m glad Everett hired you, Kathleen,” she said. “Have a safe walk home.”

She turned left and I headed up the hill. I meant what I’d said. Oren didn’t have it in him to hurt anyone, but he was tied up in this mess somehow. And so was I.

I let myself in the back door and stood in the darkness of the porch for a moment. I needed to talk to Oren before I did anything else. And this was the kind of conversation that had to be had in person—not that I was exactly sure what I was going to say. What would I do? Knock on the door and say, “Hi, Oren. I just came by to ask if you did anything to Gregor Easton”?

Well, maybe not that.

I’d left the light on over the stove in the kitchen. No cats. The laundry basket was on one of the chairs. I’d folded everything before I left, but I hadn’t had time to put anything away. It wasn’t that late. Maybe I’d go for a walk to clear my head. And if I happened to end up near Oren’s place, well, that wouldn’t be so bad. I found a pair of socks in the clean laundry so I could change from sandals to sneaks.

I wrapped up half a dozen brownies to take with me—in case I did happen to see Oren. If I was going to accuse him of hiding something the least I could do was give him a brownie. I got my messenger bag to carry the brownies so they didn’t get too warm in my hand. Then I ran upstairs to change from my skirt to a pair of capris.

When I came back down Hercules was looking in the bag. I shook a finger at him. “Oh, no. No, no. We’re not doing this again.”

He put one paw inside the bag.

“No,” I repeated more insistently.

He lifted his other front paw, studied the bottom of it for a moment, gave it a couple of quick licks and then got into the tote and sat down. I loomed over him.