Софи Келли - A Tale Оf Two Kitties

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head.

“Where were you?” he asked.

“Do you have Leo Janes’s cell phone?”

“Yes,” Marcus said, his eyes darting sideways at me briefly.

I remembered what Celia had said about Leo getting a call on his cell just as she was leaving the apartment. “Did he get a phone call a short time before he died?”

“I can’t tell you that, Kathleen,” he said, his expression and voice shifting into what I called “cop mode.”

“Did the person Leo spoke to tell you that someone was leaving his apartment at the time of the call?”

Marcus put on his blinker and pulled over to the curb. He put the SUV in park and turned to me. “You know something. What is it?”

“When Mia and I got to the building that night I saw a silk scarf on the walkway. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. I thought it was Rebecca’s. It wasn’t, she just has one that’s very similar.”

He nodded.

“Later, I realized the first time I’d gone over to Rebecca’s I’d passed a woman coming out of the building and she was wearing the scarf.” I held up a hand. “I know this doesn’t make much sense.”

He folded his arms over his chest and shifted a little in his seat. “Keep going,” he said.

“I saw her, while Maggie was looking at those picture frames. I went and spoke to her. Her name is Celia Hunter. She was a friend of Leo’s wife. She was with Leo not long before he died.”

He pulled one hand over his mouth. “Why didn’t she get in touch with us when she heard he was dead?”

I reached over and brushed a bit of dried leaf from his sleeve.

“She said she didn’t think it was important. Remember, not everyone knows Leo was murdered. And by the way, how did you get Bridget to sit on that?”

“It wasn’t me,” Marcus said. “I think the prosecuting attorney made some kind of deal with her.”

“I told Celia she needed to talk to you and she said she’d come to the station in the morning.”

“She’s from out of town,” he said.

I nodded.

I could see his mind working. “Describe her to me.”

“She’s around sixty, gray hair about this long.” I tapped my jawline with my index fingers. “She’s maybe five feet tall but no more.”

He didn’t write anything down but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t remember.

I blew out a breath, lifting my bangs in the air. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the scarf. It didn’t occur to me that it might have belonged to anyone other than Rebecca.”

He smiled. “It’s all right. You said this woman admitted it was hers?”

“Uh-huh.”

Marcus started the SUV again. “It’s not evidence. It could have been on the ground for days. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” I said as he pulled away from the curb.

“It wasn’t her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I snugged up my seat belt. “How do you know?”

He glanced at me again. “This stays between us.”

“Absolutely.”

“I have the medical examiner’s report, and the person who hit Leo with that heavy piece of sculpture was strong and tall. I don’t think Leo obligingly bent down for his killer.”

“And there was nothing there he could have been sitting on,” I finished, remembering what the room had looked like when I’d found Leo’s body.

Marcus put on his blinker and turned onto Mountain Road. I realized that the medical examiner’s report may have eliminated Celia, but it didn’t do anything for Simon.

chapter 8

Marcus made chicken with apples and leeks for supper and my favorite, Eric’s chocolate pudding cake, for dessert. “You’re a really good cook,” I told him, licking the back of my spoon after having a second helping.

He smiled. “You might be a little biased.”

“I don’t think so,” I said solemnly. I leaned across the edge of the table to kiss him.

His phone rang.

I made a face. “No,” I groaned.

Marcus’s lips brushed mine. “Remember where we were.” He picked up the phone and immediately his expression changed. “What happened?” he said.

It was police business, I realized. I got up and started clearing the table. Owen was sitting to the right of Marcus’s chair, fastidiously washing his face. Hercules had gone into the living room once he figured out he wasn’t getting any pudding cake.

Marcus said, “Okay,” several times. His mouth pulled to one side. “No, no, I’m on my way,” he finally said. He ended the call and turned to look at me. “I’m sorry, Kathleen. This has to do with a case.”

Leo Janes’s case? I wondered. Marcus stood up and pulled me into his arms. “Rain check?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” I said.

He gestured at the sink. “I’m sorry to leave you with the dishes.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Owen doesn’t mind lending a paw.” The cat held up one front foot and gave me a puzzled look.

Marcus laughed. Then he grabbed his coat. I kissed him and he was gone.

Owen didn’t actually help with the dishes, but he did sit at my feet and keep me company while I did them.

Once everything was dried and put away I set my laptop on the kitchen table. “Want to help me look up a couple of things?” I asked. He tipped his head to one side, seeming to consider the idea, then he yawned, stretched and disappeared. As in I couldn’t see him anymore. “You could have just said no,” I said.

Hercules poked his head around the living room doorway then. “Mrr,” he said inquiringly.

“I was talking to your brother,” I said, hooking a chair with one foot.

“Mrr,” he said again.

“Do you want to help me look up a couple of things?” I asked.

He almost seemed to shrug, then he made his way over to me. I picked him up, sat down and let the cat get settled on my lap. “Claws,” I reminded him when his poking got a bit too pointed.

Once Hercules was settled, I turned on the computer. He looked over at the chair where Marcus had been sitting. Then he looked over his shoulder at me. “Work,” I said. The answer seemed to satisfy him. He put one paw on the edge of the table and turned all his attention to the laptop screen.

I’d read a bit about Meredith Janes’s accident but I wanted to know more. The accident had been big news in the Chicago area and there were a number of articles besides the original one I’d read.

I didn’t learn anything new. I read three different newspaper articles but in the end there wasn’t anything suspicious about Meredith Janes’s death. It was nothing more than a very sad accident. One article had several photos of the stretch of road where her car had gone over the embankment, including one of a clearly distraught Victor Janes, his face drawn and gaunt.

“Okay, this is a dead end,” I said to the cat. I stretched one arm up in the air and rolled my head from side to side to work out the kinks in my neck. Just then my cell phone rang. It was lying on the table and I reached for it. At the same time Hercules craned his neck as if he was trying to see the screen and find out who was calling. It was Simon. “Hi, Simon,” I said.

“Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need a favor.”

Simon was the kind of person who didn’t ask for favors. “Sure. What is it?”

“Mia is working on some project for one of her classes. She’s out at the Taylors’. I’m supposed to pick her up in about half an hour but—” I heard him exhale. “I’m at my office. Someone tried to break in. Harry was having a beer when I dropped her off so he can’t drive her.”