Софи Келли - A Tale Оf Two Kitties

I remembered what Marcus had said when I’d suggested the animosity between the two brothers gave Victor a motive to kill his brother: “He had nothing to gain.” Was that actually true?

Hercules seemed to finish reading before I did. He sat patiently on my lap and I could see him watching me out of the corner of my eye. When I finished I reached over and scratched the place above his nose where his black fur turned to white.

“Fine, you win, smarty pants,” I said.

He licked my chin, cat for “I told you so . ”

I looked at the computer screen again. Marcus had said once that I had the mind-set of a detective. I wanted to know the what and the why about everything. I found myself wondering those things about the photo of Meredith Janes in her ex-husband’s apartment. What was it doing there and why did he have it? And was Victor Janes connected in any way?

Maybe I needed to find out.

chapter 7

Marcus called Sunday morning to tell me the trip to Minneapolis had been a success. Eddie had learned a lot about setting up a hockey school from his former teammate and they’d split a huge platter of wings. I was curled up in the overstuffed chair next to my bed with a book and a certain gray tabby cat sprawled half on my lap, half on my chest.

I thanked him for the bread and the marshmallows. I’d toasted some of the bread at breakfast and there were four marshmallows in the cup of hot chocolate at my left elbow.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Do you want to check out the flea market down at the community center this afternoon? I’m looking for a bench to set by the back door. And no, I didn’t forget that I’m cooking dinner for you.”

Somehow Owen heard the word “dinner,” probably because he had exceptional hearing—when it suited him. He lifted his head and meowed loudly.

“Is that Owen?” Marcus asked.

“Uh-huh,” I said. “He seems to think you should make him supper, too.”

Marcus laughed. “He can have cat food, cat food or cat food. Roma threatened to ban me from ever getting another slice of her apple pie if I don’t watch how much people food he and Hercules are getting. So no more pizza for Owen—at least until pie season is over.”

Owen and Hercules clearly weren’t “ordinary cats” and I suspected they didn’t have ordinary digestive systems, either, but that didn’t mean they should eat like a pair of frat boys on spring break.

“I agree with her, at least on the pizza,” I said. “How would you like to be woken up by a cat with morning pizza breath licking your chin?”

“I’d much rather be woken up by you licking my chin,” he said, and it seemed that I could feel his breath warm against my ear even though that was impossible.

• • •

He picked me up at twelve thirty and we headed downtown to the flea market, which was being held in the community center parking lot. There were a lot more people there than I’d expected. We’d been walking around less than five minutes when I caught sight of Maggie and Brady. I waved but she didn’t see us, so we made our way over to them through the crowd.

“Isn’t this fantastic?” Maggie asked. She was carrying a string bag over one shoulder and I could see a stack of postcards and a child’s Spirograph inside.

“Everything and the kitchen sink,” Brady said, gesturing at a huge stainless-steel sink at a nearby stall. “There’s a guy here from upstate with a PAC-MAN arcade machine.”

“Tabletop or upright?” Marcus asked.

“Upright. I’m thinking about maybe buying it.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow and grinned. “I may have to hit the bank for some rolls of quarters.”

“I haven’t played PAC-MAN in years,” I said.

“I didn’t know you liked arcade games,” Maggie said.

“One year my parents were doing summer stock and there was an arcade next to the theater.” I smiled. “I got pretty good at a couple of games. I have excellent hand-eye coordination.”

Marcus looked at me. “You may have beaten me the first time we played road hockey but there is no way you’re better at PAC-MAN than I am.”

I’d beaten him at our most recent game of road hockey, too, but I didn’t point that out. I shrugged. “Well, if Brady buys the game maybe we’ll find out.”

“Want to go take a look?” Brady asked. Both he and Maggie seemed to be getting a kick out of the conversation.

“Absolutely,” Marcus said, his blue eyes never leaving my face. He had a competitive streak I’d learned about when I’d played road hockey against him at my first Winterfest. And won. When it came to road hockey games with Marcus, I was undefeated.

“I’ll come find you in a little while,” I said, smiling sweetly at him.

Marcus and Brady headed toward the back corner of the lot. “It’s going to be Winterfest all over again, isn’t it?” Maggie asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“You’re really good at that game, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Maggie slipped the strap of her bag up onto her shoulder. “I take it your mother never told you to let the boys win so they’d like you.”

That made me laugh. “Mags, you’ve met my mother,” I said. “Do you really think she’d ever give advice like that?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

We started walking. “She told me to do my best, play fair and never throw a game for a guy. She said, ‘The only person you might annoy is your first ex-husband.’”

Maggie laughed. “That sounds like your mom.”

She led me to a stall along the street side of the parking lot. “Take a look at these,” she said, indicating several large cardboard cartons sitting on the ground in front of the booth.

I took a few steps closer. “Picture frames?” I asked.

She nodded. “I can get one of those boxes for twenty dollars—maybe less. I was thinking I could get everyone at the co-op to take two or three and paint them or whatever and we could use them to frame those photos. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea,” I said. I pulled out my wallet and handed her two twenties. Maggie crouched down and began looking through the boxes, deciding which ones she wanted to buy.

I looked around. I knew it would take a while for Maggie to make up her mind. I couldn’t see Marcus and Brady anywhere but as I turned in a slow circle I did see someone I recognized: the woman I had seen walking in the rain the night Leo Janes was killed, the same woman I’d seen coming out of the building the time I’d gone to pick up Rebecca for tai chi. The scarf I’d found the night of Leo’s murder hadn’t belonged to Rebecca. Maybe it belonged to this woman.

“Mags, I’ll be right back,” I said.

“Okay,” she said, fluttering one hand over her shoulder at me. I knew she’d be busy for a while.

I made my way over to the woman, who was looking at a collection of vintage cookie jars. I tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” I said. “Did you by any chance lose a yellow tie-dyed silk scarf on Hawthorne Street? The night we had all the rain?”

She turned. “I did,” she said. “Don’t tell me you found it?”

“I did,” I said. “It was lying on the ground and I picked it up.” I realized then that I hadn’t introduced myself. “I’m Kathleen Paulson.”

“Celia Hunter.” She was maybe five feet tall without the chunky-heeled, low, brown boots she was wearing. She was a little older than I had guessed when I’d seen her walking. There were fine lines around her eyes and her hair, cut in a sleek, asymmetrical bob was completely gray.

“I’m the head librarian at the library here in town,” I said. “I could leave your scarf at the front desk for you.”