Софи Келли - A Tale Оf Two Kitties

Ella said good-bye and walked back over to the counter, where Nic was waiting with a large take-out bag.

Roma looked at us, her expression a mix of excitement and a bit of shock. “I’m actually getting married,” she said.

I laughed. “What did you think all that lace was about?”

“What color are you thinking about?” Maggie asked, leaning forward for another look at Ella’s sketch.

I caught Nic’s eye as Maggie and Roma talked about blush versus ecru. I pointed at the carafe of hot chocolate and he nodded. I glanced at the napkin Ella had left on the table. Roma’s dress was going to be beautiful. She was going to be beautiful. I wished every problem could be solved so easily.

• • •

Hercules moved back and forth between the bedroom and the bathroom as I was getting ready the next morning, which I didn’t seem to be doing fast enough for him. Spending some time with Mia on Sunday night seemed to have motivated him to help figure out who had killed Leo Janes and he clearly wanted to keep going. He sat in front of the closet making grumbling sounds in the back of his throat and when I pulled my head out he was gone. I guessed that he’d given up and gone to wait for me in the kitchen.

When I got downstairs I found him sitting on top of my messenger bag, which I’d left on one of the kitchen chairs. Since Hercules knew my laptop was inside, I wondered if he was suggesting we needed to do some more research.

I had called Simon after I’d gotten home from dress shopping to share what Mary had told me. “I’m sorry,” I’d said. “It doesn’t really help, does it?”

“It was a long shot,” Simon said. “Thanks for trying. Maybe the PI will be able to track down the so-called witness or maybe he’ll come up with something else.”

It occurred to me that I hadn’t told Simon about my conversation with Celia Hunter. “Simon, did your father ever mention a woman named Celia Hunter to you?” I asked.

“The name doesn’t ring a bell,” he said. “Why? Who is she?”

“She was a friend of your mother. She’s here in Mayville Heights.” I hesitated. “She came to talk to your father.”

“Does she know he’s dead?” he said, his voice tightening.

I was in the big wing chair in the living room. I stretched my legs out on the footstool, which Owen took as an invitation to jump up and sprawl over them. “Yes,” I said. “She talked to him a couple of times before he died.”

“Do you think she has anything to do with this kick Dad was on to find out more about my mother’s accident?”

I rubbed my shoulder with my free hand, wishing I could see his face. It was hard to read him when I couldn’t see his expression. “Not directly. I don’t see how she could have been the source of whatever information he came across. But she did have a letter from your mother.” I let out a breath. “You know that they found some mail along with that cache of old photos when they took down that wall at the post office?”

“Kathleen, are you saying there was a letter from my mother in that mail?” He sounded skeptical and I didn’t blame him.

“According to Celia Hunter, and it wouldn’t be that difficult to check.” Owen had rolled onto his back and his back paws were moving through the air like some sort of low-impact aerobic workout. “She’s going to be here for a few more days,” I said. “If you want to read the letter she offered to show it to you.”

I heard him exhale. “Yes,” he said. “Do you have a phone number for her?”

“She’s staying at the St. James.”

“I’ll call her,” Simon said. “Thank you. I seem to be saying that a lot to you.”

“My mother would say it’s a sign you have good manners,” I’d said, lightly. I’d hesitated for a moment. “If you want company call me. Either way, please let me know what happens.”

“I will,” he’d said. “Good night.”

Now, Hercules meowed loudly from his perch on top of my bag. Owen had other priorities. He was sitting next to his food dish and he meowed just as loudly as his brother had in case I’d somehow forgotten it was breakfast time. Hercules, however, could be determinedly single-minded when it suited him. He jumped down from the chair and sat directly in front of me, staring up at me with serious green eyes. But Owen was not going to let anything get between him and his first meal of the day. He meowed a second time, a bit louder than he had the first time. Hercules turned to glare at his brother, his tail flicking restlessly across the floor. There almost seemed to be a challenge in his gaze. It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Owen immediately dropped his head and began nudging his dish across the floor toward me. As far as he was concerned everything else could wait until he’d eaten. Hercules stayed where he was. If Owen wanted to get to me and his breakfast, he was going to have to go through his black-and-white sibling. I could see where this was heading.

“That’s enough,” I said.

They didn’t even look at me. Owen was glaring at Hercules through slitted golden eyes. Hercules was unmoving, except for his lashing tail, like an ebony-and-alabaster statue.

I brought my hand, palm flat down, on the table. Hercules jumped at the sound. Owen’s head came up, catching the edge of his dish. Unfortunately he’d been pushing his water bowl across the floor, not his food dish. There wasn’t very much water in the bowl, but what there was splashed in his face. He yowled in outrage and began to vigorously shake his head.

I grabbed a dishtowel and hurried around the table. “Let me see,” I said getting down beside him on the floor. I’d heard Mary use the expression, “Mad as a wet hen,” but it seemed to me that “Mad as a wet cat” was a better description of someone truly outraged. I put a hand on Owen’s back as he continued to shake his head. “Let me see,” I repeated. I wiped his face with the towel. His wet fur was sticking up and there was a sullen expression on his face.

“Are you all right?” I asked, using a dry edge of the towel to smooth down his fur, being extra careful around his ear. His pride was clearly wounded but other than that he seemed fine. The contents of the dish had hit him but the bowl itself hadn’t.

I wiped up the water, got breakfast for both cats and a bowl of granola with almond milk and fruit for myself. Owen muttered to himself the entire time he was eating. Hercules glanced in his brother’s direction a couple of times but wisely kept his distance.

When I finished my own breakfast I cut the last sardine in the fridge in half and gave a piece to each cat. “I’m sorry,” I said to Owen. “That little incident with the water was partly my fault. I did hit the table a little harder than I meant to.”

Suddenly I thought of Harry Taylor smacking the top of the rain barrel after Leo Janes had walked away from him that day out by the gazebo. Could Harry be connected in some way to that piece of information Leo had discovered? I had no reason to think he was, but Harry wasn’t acting like himself, and it wasn’t as though I had anywhere else to start.

I checked my watch. Talking to Harry would have to wait. I was meeting Marcus out at Wisteria Hill to feed the feral cat colony that called the old carriage house on the property home. Roma was assisting on an early surgery in Red Wing and I’d volunteered Marcus and me to take care of the cats’ breakfast.

• • •

Marcus was waiting for me, leaning against his SUV, as I crested the top of Roma’s driveway. He gave me a quick kiss. “Good morning,” he said with a warm smile.

“Umm, good morning to you, too,” I said. I gestured at the house. “Roma left everything we need in the porch. I have her key.”