Софи Келли - A Tale Оf Two Kitties

He looked so much like his brother and yet I never would have confused the two. Where all the lines on Leo’s face had seemed to go up so that it looked as though he was smiling even when he hadn’t been, Victor, I’d noticed, had a bit of a dissatisfied expression on his face, like a toddler who had just been told no. As soon as I had the thought I felt guilty. Victor seemed to bring out that emotion in me, guilt because I didn’t like him, guilt because, for a moment I’d actually entertained the thought that he’d killed his brother. The man had a serious illness and had just lost his only sibling. Why wouldn’t he feel unhappy with the world?

I was about to move past him into the store when he put a hand on my arm. “Kathleen, would you have a moment?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said.

We moved away from the doorway.

“Simon told me you were the one who found my brother,” Victor said.

An image of Leo Janes’s body slumped on the floor flashed across my mind. I swallowed and nodded.

“I don’t want to cause you any more distress than you’ve already been through, but I’m wondering if you can . . . tell me what you saw.”

I hesitated. What was there to tell him? I’d seen Leo dead, blood on the back of his head.

Victor pressed his lips together for a moment. I noticed his complexion seemed pale. “Kathleen, I know it sounds gruesome, but Leo was my twin and we always had a connection, even during all the years we didn’t speak. I had this feeling that something was wrong that night.” He shook his head. “I keep thinking that if I hadn’t ignored it . . . maybe Leo would still be alive. Please. Whatever you tell me can’t be worse than what I’ve been imagining.”

“There isn’t really much to tell you,” I said slowly, trying to choose my words with care. “Your brother was on the floor and I don’t think he suffered. I think his death was . . . quick.”

Victor exhaled slowly. “I was hoping that somehow he’d left me a message. I know that doesn’t make sense.”

I shook my head. The conversation was making me very uncomfortable and it was hard not to back away. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t see any kind of note or message.”

“Well, you’ve put my mind at ease, at least,” he said, reaching out to touch my arm again. “I wouldn’t want Leo to have suffered. Thank you.”

I nodded.

He headed down the sidewalk and I turned in the direction of the library. I didn’t feel like going into the bookstore anymore. I felt bad for Victor Janes. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose Sara or Ethan. But it was hard to like him, unlike Leo, who had made me smile from the first moment I met him. I wondered if my opinion of Victor was colored by what I knew about his relationship with Simon’s mother and how much pain that had caused Simon. I didn’t like thinking I was that judgmental, but maybe I was.

• • •

When I got home after work Hercules was waiting for me on the back steps. “Hey, handsome,” I said, leaning over to stroke his fur. The top of his head was warm from the afternoon sun. “What are you doing out here?”

He looked up at the sky. “Ah, yes, grackle patrol,” I said. “Isn’t that over for the season?”

Hercules looked at me as though he were surprised I was asking. I held up one hand. “Sorry,” I said. “I just thought the grackle would have flown south by now. Though, now that I think about it, I’m not sure they do fly south.”

I unlocked the door and Hercules followed me inside. “Where’s your brother?” I asked. I glanced over at the basement door. “Down in his lair in the cellar?”

Hercules looked up at the ceiling.

Owen was upstairs somewhere, probably poking around in my closet. “I better not find a chicken head in my new boots,” I said.

“Mrr,” Hercules replied, which likely meant “Don’t count on it.”

By the time I’d changed into jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt the chicken soup I’d left simmering in the slow cooker was done. I put it in the refrigerator after having a taste—and sharing it with the boys. I was going to have supper with Marcus but that wasn’t for another hour and a half. I was restless, unsettled by what I’d learned from Sandra Godfrey and still a little uncomfortable about that encounter with Victor.

“I’m going to vacuum,” I announced to Owen. He was headed for the basement but changed course and made his way toward the back door instead. I let him into the porch and then opened the door to the backyard.

Hercules was already sitting on the footstool in the living room, eyes fixed on my iPod dock. I got the vacuum cleaner out then slipped my iPod in the dock and started our favorite playlist.

Hercules bopped his head from side to side and I vacuumed as we sang along to the music of Mr. Barry Manilow, which always managed to put both of us in a good mood. Owen, not so much. We did rousing versions of “Copacabana” and “Daybreak” complete with a little choreography, and by the time we were halfway through “I Made It Through the Rain” I felt better.

Once the entire house had been vacuumed I shut off the iPod and made some hot chocolate. I sat at the table with Hercules on my lap and told him what I’d learned from Sandra. I’d set my messenger bag and my keys on the table when I’d come in and now Hercules reached up and batted the keys onto the floor. He looked at me.

“You’re a little heavy-handed with the symbolism,” I said. “But you’re right. We need to find that key.”

chapter 15

As she often was, Micah was waiting for me on Marcus’s back deck. She seemed to share the same prescience that I’d seen in Owen. Her whiskers twitched and she sniffed at the canvas bag I was carrying.

“Chicken soup,” I said. “He’ll probably let you taste it.”

She made a satisfied “Mrr,” jumped down and led the way over to the back door.

Marcus was at the sink, washing lettuce. For a moment I just enjoyed looking at him. I thought about what Mary had once said about him: “I know what really matters about a person is what’s inside, and he is a good man inside, but that candy shell outside looks pretty dang delicious!” I had to admit she was right.

Micah meowed loudly then, as if to announce me, and Marcus looked up and smiled. “Hi,” he said. He dropped the lettuce into the strainer and wrapped me in a slightly wet hug. His mouth covered mine and I forgot all about his wet hand on the back of my neck.

I forgot about pretty much everything.

He finally let me go and I noticed that his face was as flushed as mine felt. “I have to stop doing that if we want supper,” he said. “And we do want supper, right?”

“Yes?” I said. The fact that I’d answered as a question made him laugh. I set my bag on the chair, lifted out the two Mason jars of chicken soup and handed them to him. “For lunch next week,” I said.

“Chicken noodle?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

I nodded.

“Thanks.” He dropped a kiss on the top of my head as he moved to put them in the fridge.

For the first time I noticed that the small table in the middle of the room had been set with extra care, a tablecloth instead of placemats, and four fat pillar candles. “This is beautiful,” I said. “Is this for me?”

“It is,” he said, moving back to the sink to finish washing the lettuce. “Given the past couple of weeks I thought maybe you could use a little romance.”

“I definitely could,” I said as I slipped out of my jacket.

“Good. We have about forty minutes until we eat, which means we have about forty minutes to talk about the case.” He glanced at me. “I know that you want to.”