Софи Келли - A Tale Оf Two Kitties

We walked across the gravel parking area, collected the cats’ dishes along with food and water and then headed for the carriage house.

“How did the shopping go last night?” Marcus asked.

“Good,” I said. “And that’s all I’m telling you because Eddie isn’t allowed to know what the dress is like. Apparently it’s bad luck.”

Marcus laughed. “I didn’t think Roma cared about those old superstitions.”

I grinned back at him. “It’s not Roma. It’s Maggie.”

We made our way around the side of the weathered old building. Marcus pushed the heavy wooden door open and we stepped inside. I waited a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.

It was because of Marcus that Roma had discovered that there was a feral cat colony out at the old estate. He’d found an injured Desmond and taken the big black tom to her clinic. Desmond was the clinic’s cat although he spent more time at Roma’s house than at the clinic these days. He had one eye and was missing part of an ear. Even though he wasn’t that big, his appearance and his attitude made him seem larger and very imposing. He’d backed more than one unruly dog under a clinic chair.

After Marcus had shown up with Desmond, Roma had gone out to Wisteria Hill to see if there were any more cats. She’d discovered nine in total. Now there were just seven. It had taken multiple attempts to capture them all. Roma had taken the cats back to the clinic, where they had been neutered. Then they had been returned to Wisteria Hill with Everett Henderson’s tacit, if not expressed, approval.

There was no sign of any of the cats now, which was typical. I looked around for any indication that anything was amiss but saw nothing. I remembered how surprised I’d been to learn Roma hadn’t tried to find homes for the cats.

“They’re not used to people,” she’d explained. “And they wouldn’t adapt well to living with them.”

Marcus and I set out the food and water and then retreated back by the door to wait. I leaned against his chest and he wrapped his arms around me, the warmth of his body keeping me warm.

After several minutes I heard a sound down near the feeding station. “Lucy,” I whispered.

The little calico cat may not have been the largest in the small colony, but she was its leader. She moved into view, sniffing the air, then she turned in our direction.

“Good morning, Lucy,” I said in a low voice.

Lucy and I had a connection I couldn’t explain. She’d come closer to me than she would to anyone else and sometimes it even seemed like she understood what I was saying to her. Roma believed it was because Lucy trusted me for some unknown reason, the same way Owen and Hercules had put their trust in me the day I’d come across them up here as tiny kittens. I sometimes wondered if Lucy, like the boys, had some kind of special ability and that was why we had connected.

The little cat moved closer to us, stopped and meowed softly. Then she made her way to the feeding station.

“You’re welcome, Lucy,” I whispered.

The rest of the colony made its way out to eat then. We both looked each cat over carefully for any sign that it was unhealthy or injured in any way.

“They all look good,” Marcus said softly against my ear.

After the cats had eaten they made their way back to their shelters. Lucy stopped to look in our direction before she disappeared again. Once the cats were gone, Marcus and I cleaned up the feeding station and set out more fresh water. Then we collected the empty food dishes and everything else and made our way back outside again.

“So how did breakfast with Burtis go?” Marcus asked as we started around the side carriage house.

“Delicious,” I said. “I have to ask Peggy what’s in the fried potatoes besides onion and dill.”

“Bacon fat,” he said. “Lots of bacon fat.”

I bumped him with my hip. “How did you know I had breakfast with Burtis?”

He squared his shoulders. “Have you forgotten you’re dating an ace detective?”

I put a hand on his shoulder and came up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “No, I have not,” I said.

Marcus laughed. “You’re not the only one who talks to Burtis, you know.”

“What did he tell you?” I asked.

Marcus shifted the empty water jugs to his other hand as we started for Roma’s side porch. “Probably no more than he told you: It’s not what a person has done that makes them intimidating, it’s what our mind thinks they’ve done.”

I nodded. “I realize it’s what Hitchcock said: ‘There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.’”

He nodded.

“So is Elias Braeden a suspect?” I asked as I fished Roma’s key out of my pocket.

Marcus raked his free hand back through his hair. “As far as I’m concerned just about everyone is a suspect right now.”

We put everything back in the porch and I followed Marcus down the driveway and back into town. He waved as he drove past Mountain Road and I turned down the hill.

Harry was at the library when I pulled into the parking lot, shoveling leaf mulch into a wheelbarrow from a large bin on the back of his truck. I’d known there was a good chance he would be. He had told me he was bringing some mulch for the bed at the back of the library where the rain chain had been vandalized and water had washed away much of the soil and mulch already there.

“Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “I thought I’d get an early start at this.”

“That’s fine with me,” I said. “I’m going to put the coffee on. Why don’t you come in later and have a cup?”

He rubbed his gloved hands together. “Thanks. That sounds good.”

“It was good of your father to help Mia with her project,” I said. “With Leo dead she didn’t really have many people to ask.”

“The old man likes kids,” Harry said. “And Lord knows he’s got enough stories about this town.” As I’d noticed before, once I mentioned Leo’s name Harry seemed to tense; the muscles in his neck looked like thick ropes.

“I better get back at it,” he said. “And I will take you up on that coffee later.”

I nodded and headed for the front steps. Harry wasn’t quite avoiding me, but it was close.

• • •

Midmorning I was talking to the leader of the senior quilters about a Christmas exhibit of their quilts when Patricia suddenly stopped midsentence and touched my arm. “Kathleen, either Abigail has taken up semaphore or she’s trying to get your attention.”

I looked over at the front desk. Abigail held up a hand and then pointed at the phone. “Excuse me for a minute,” I said to Patricia. I walked over to the desk.

“It’s Harrison Taylor for you on line one,” Abigail said. “And I thought maybe you needed a break. Patricia can talk your ear off.”

“Thanks,” I said. “She’s not really that bad. She just likes to get every detail nailed down.”

“Nailed down, stapled, glued and cemented,” Abigail said with a grin.

I reached for the phone. “Good morning, Harrison,” I said.

“Good morning, Kathleen,” he replied. “How are things at the library?”

“They’re going well,” I said. “Your son came and repaired that washed-out flower bed at the back of the building and someone brought in four books that were due eight years ago.”

“Did you make him or her pay a fine?” Harrison asked.

“I thought about it,” I said, turning so I could lean back against the desk. “Then I realized one of the books may be a first edition of Clement Moore’s The Night Before Christmas with illustrations by William Wallace Denslow.”

“I take it that’s a good thing.”

“The book could be worth several thousand dollars to the right collector.”