Софи Келли - A Tale Оf Two Kitties

Mags laughed. “We’ll miss you.” She made a tiny notation on the drawing of the wall she’d just made. “You’d make a great mom,” she said.

I frowned at her. “How did you get from Push Hands to I’d make a great mom?”

“You’re trying to figure out who killed Simon’s father because you care about Mia. You’ve gotten really close with her.”

I nodded. “I have. Leo and her father were all she had. Now all she has is Simon. My parents may have been a little out there but I always had them and Sara and Ethan. I can’t imagine life without them.”

Maggie folded the piece of paper. “That’s because you’ve always had them. You’d miss your mother telling you to follow your heart but stand up straight while you’re doing it. You’d miss your dad as the dancing raisin no matter how embarrassing it was.”

Maggie’s father had died when she was four. She almost never talked about him. She smiled. “It’s good that Mia has you to talk to.”

“You wouldn’t believe the things she knows,” I said. “It’s like her head is a giant encyclopedia.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. And I wouldn’t have any experience with someone like that.”

I got to the hotel just before five thirty. Simon was waiting for me just inside the lobby. Melanie Davis was at the front desk and lifted a hand in hello. We’d originally met just a few weeks after she’d taken the manager’s job, when I’d had to collect an intoxicated Burtis and Marcus’s father from the bar, where they were entertaining the customers with their vocal skills.

It was quiet in the bar. Simon chose a table near the windows. He ordered club soda with lime and I had the same. We’d been seated about five minutes when Celia Hunter arrived. She wore a long two-tone charcoal-and-dove-gray cardigan with a matching charcoal sweater underneath and black trousers. She seemed to hesitate for a moment but then she crossed the room to join us.

Simon got to his feet. “Mrs. Hunter, I’m Simon Janes,” he said. “You already know Kathleen.”

Celia took the hand he offered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She turned to me and dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Hello, Kathleen,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“I asked her to join us,” Simon said smoothly, holding a chair for the older woman. He had lovely manners. “I thought you’d feel more comfortable since we’re strangers.” He smiled.

“Well . . . thank you,” Celia said. She took the seat and set a black leather purse on the table. Simon sat down as well. I’d brought Celia’s scarf with me and I handed it across the table to her. “Thank you,” she said. “I intended to get to the library yesterday but the day got away from me.”

She set the scarf next to her purse and turned to Simon. “As I told you on the phone, I don’t want to cause you any more grief, but this is probably one of the last letters your mother wrote and . . . and I thought you might like to see it.”

Simon’s face was unreadable. “I appreciate that,” he said.

Celia opened her purse and pulled out a pale pink envelope. The paper had faded and the side folds were almost worn through. Even hidden behind the wall for so many years, time had taken its toll. The top of the envelope had been slit with a letter opener. Simon pulled out two sheets of folded paper and unfolded them. Silently he read what was written and then handed the two pages to me without a word.

I handled the paper carefully. It was dry and a little brittle, especially the right edge of the second page. I could see how the pages hadn’t been folded evenly. The right edge of the second page hadn’t lined up behind the first and because of the slit in the side of the envelope the edge was more faded and brittle than the rest of the paper.

Dear Celia,

I hope you don’t throw this letter away as soon as you see it’s from me. You probably hate me for what I’ve done, but you couldn’t hate me more than I hate myself. Victor and Leo may look the same but they’re very different men. I thought Victor was exciting, and he seemed to know what I was thinking in a way Leo didn’t, as if he could see into my heart somehow.

I love him. I will see you soon.

Love, Merry

My chest hurt. Nowhere in the letter was there a mention of Simon. I wasn’t so sure this had been a good idea.

I handed the letter back to Simon, who returned it to the envelope and handed that across the table to Celia. “Thank you,” he said.

The older woman pressed her lips together for a moment. She seemed to be struggling with some kind of emotion—sadness, perhaps—coupled with a bit of loyalty to an old friend. “She loved you very much,” she said. “Please don’t doubt that.”

“Have a safe trip home,” Simon said.

She had been dismissed and realized it. She got to her feet, nodded at both of us and made her way to the exit.

Simon turned to me. “Pizza?” he asked. A waiter was already making his way toward us.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“You couldn’t have had time to have dinner before you got here. You must be hungry.” He was all business. “So how about pizza?”

“Umm, all right. Yes,” I said.

Simon gave our order to the waiter. Once the young man was on his way to the kitchen Simon turned his attention to me. “I know you’re worried that . . .” He paused. “I’m all right, Kathleen. That letter didn’t change my opinion of Victor or my mother. It changes nothing.”

“Are you going to keep investigating?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I didn’t kill my father. And I’m going to find out who did.”

chapter 12

Harry showed up at the house about five to eight the next morning. He was going to do some repairs to Rebecca’s gazebo and the raised flower beds at the back of my yard. One of the perks of my job at the library was my little farmhouse. Since Everett owned the property all the yard work was taken care of as well.

I’d pulled my truck out in front of the house so Harry could use the driveway.

“Thanks for letting me park here,” he said. “Oren is still working at Rebecca’s and I’d like to stay out of his way if I can.”

Mariah came around the side of the house carrying a long extension cord and a tool box with a denim backpack that I recognized as being the same one she’d had with her at her grandfather’s over her shoulder. “Hey, Kathleen,” she said.

The high school kids had a day off due to teachers’ meetings.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I said to Harry.

“I’m good, thanks,” he said.

I looked at Mariah. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

She nodded. “Please.”

“C’mon in,” I said beckoning at her. In the kitchen I got one of my stainless-steel travel mugs from the cupboard and poured her a cup. Then I indicated the cream and sugar so she could fix her coffee just the way she liked it.

She added three spoonfuls of sugar. “Dad got me up at six thirty,” she said by way of explanation.

“Owen got me up at six thirty, too,” I said.

Mariah smiled at me over the top of the mug as she took a drink. “Did he tell you getting up early builds character?”

“No,” I said. “I’m pretty sure all he was interested in was breakfast.”

She laughed and held up the cup. “Thank you. I’ll make sure I bring this back,” she said, and headed outside.

I’d just poured myself another cup of coffee when Owen came from the living room, walked purposefully through the kitchen and stopped in front of the door. He meowed loudly. I went over and opened it. He headed for the back door. I knew he wanted to see what Harry was doing. Both cats liked the gazebo. “Stay out of the way,” I reminded him as I let him into the backyard.