Софи Райан - The Whole Cat Аnd Caboodle

“I’ve got things covered here,” he said. “Rose and I can handle the shop. Avery’s outside, washing those plastic chairs you wanted to put in the window. Why don’t you go up to your office to take a break?”

I pulled a hand over my neck and looked at the messages Mac had given me. “I suppose I could return these,” I said.

“Or you could put your feet up and let the world turn without you for five minutes.”

“Okay, that too,” I said.

As I started up the steps Elvis came from the small storage area underneath the stairs. There was a dust ball stuck to one of his ears and a bit of tape on his front left paw.

“What were you doing down there?” I said as he came level with me.

He seemed to shrug and then moved past me on up the steps.

“You’d better not have been poking around in any boxes,” I warned.

He flicked his tail at me. I was pretty sure I knew what that meant.

I unlocked my office door, sank onto my chair and propped my feet on the edge of the desk. Elvis jumped onto my lap and nuzzled my cheek. I reached over and scratched underneath his chin.

“I wish Gram was here,” I said.

My cell phone rang. I reached for it, smiling when I saw who was calling. “Hi, Mom,” I said.

I leaned back, shifting Elvis on my lap.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said. “How’s everything?”

“You talked to Gram,” I said. I pictured her smiling and nodding.

“I did. I can’t believe Maddie Hamilton was arrested. She wouldn’t kill anyone.”

Elvis had stretched out in my lap and was lazily washing his face with a paw.

“Do you remember Josh Evans, Mom?” I asked.

“Was he the little guy in the purple cape who could argue your ear off?”

I laughed. “That’s Josh. The purple cape is gone, and he’s a lawyer now. He’s representing Maddie.”

“Good,” she said. “Is there anything I can do?”

“There might be,” I said. Elvis took one last swipe at his face, then laid his head on my leg and closed his eyes. “Does Dad still have any contacts at the paper?”

My stepfather had been a journalist for many years. Now he taught journalism and writing at Keating State College in New Hampshire.

“He does,” Mom said. “A bunch of them got together a few weeks ago to talk about their glory days.”

“I bet that was fun.”

She laughed. I pictured her sitting out on the patio overlooking the backyard, watching the squirrels defeat Dad’s latest contraption to keep them out of the bird feeder. “Actually it was,” she said. “I finally got the real story about how he got that little scar on his forehead.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to like it,” I said.

She laughed again. “I know you are.” I heard her shift in her seat, probably reaching for a cup of tea.

“So, what do you need to know?” she asked. “I’m assuming that’s why you asked about the paper.”

“Yeah,” I said, picking a clump of black cat hair off my shirt and dropping it onto the floor. Elvis didn’t stir. “It’s a little complicated. Rose and Charlotte and Liz are kind of investigating.”

“You mean the murder?” Mom said.

I sighed. “Yes.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“I know,” I said. “Try convincing them of that. I’m just trying to keep them from getting in too much trouble.”

“What do you need to know?”

I shifted in my seat again and this time Elvis lifted his head and glared at me. I stroked his fur and after a moment he put his head down again.

“Arthur Fenety spent some time in New Hampshire,” I said. “At least one of his wives is there. Anything about Fenety’s background might be useful. And I’ll pass everything on to Josh.”

“I’ll ask your dad when he gets home,” Mom said.

“Tell him thank you,” I said.

“I will,” she said. “I’ll let you get back to work. I love you, pretty girl.”

“Love you, too,” I said.

I ended the call and set the phone next to me on the loveseat. Someone knocked softly on my door.

“Come in,” I called.

Mac stuck his head around the door. “You’re not on the phone,” he said. “That’s good.”

I smiled. “I was, but I was talking to my mom.”

“I brought you a cup of coffee,” he said, coming into the room. He had a cup in each hand.

I took the mug he held out. “Thank you,” I said. “I could use a little kick start of caffeine.”

He leaned against my desk, folding his hands around his own cup.

“Have Charlie’s Angels come up with anything yet?” I asked. I took a long drink from my coffee. It was hot and strong, just the way I liked it.

“Charlie’s Angels?” Mac said, narrowing his gaze at me.

I nodded. “Yeah. Avery kind of gave them the name.”

“New Charlie’s Angels or classic?” he asked.

Elvis sat up and shook himself.

“That’s still up for debate. Although Rose sees herself as Farrah Fawcett.”

“Because?” Mac prompted.

“She has the best hair.”

He laughed. “So that must mean Mr. Peterson is Bosley?”

“He is.”

“And what about you?”

Elvis sniffed the air; then he jumped down and went out into the hallway.

I picked more cat fur off my lap. “I think I’m Charlie.”

He nodded. “I can see that.”

“This isn’t exactly what I envisioned when I hired Rose and Charlotte, you know,” I said.

“I seem to remember you telling me nothing ever happened around here,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Mac, do you ever wish you were back in your old life?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.

“What? And give up all this?”

“I’m serious,” I said.

He smiled. “So am I.” He set his coffee on the edge of the desk, tenting his fingers over the top of the cup. “I can sail for close to half the year. I get to work with my hands. And, c’mon, it’s never boring around here.”

I laughed.

“I don’t want to wear a suit and a tie. And I don’t want to sell stocks and bonds. I want to sell things I can touch. I don’t want to worry about what the Dow is doing. I’d rather see what Rose or Avery are doing.” He made a face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to give a speech.” He pushed away from the desk and straightened up. “I’d better go see how Avery is doing.”

I held up my mug. “Thank you for the coffee,” I said.

Mac smiled. “Anytime,” he said.

I stretched my legs out in front of me. Then I reached for the phone. I really did need to return those messages.

Charlotte came out of the staff room just as I was about to head back downstairs. “Would you like more coffee?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

We walked downstairs together. “I talked to my mom,” I said. “Dad’s going to use his contacts to see if he can get any information about Arthur Fenety.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I just know his death has to be connected to all the women he scammed. Nothing else makes any sense.”

Mac was standing in the middle of the store, talking to two women. When he caught sight of me he beckoned me over. “Sarah, these women are looking for a rectangular table that folds for storage,” he said.

“The only thing we have is the Big Bird table,” I said, referring to the long canary yellow table that we’d had lunch at the day before. “And that hasn’t been restored yet.”

“Could I see it?” the younger of the two women said. She was dressed casually in jeans, boots and a fisherman-knit sweater. She looked enough like the older woman that I guessed they were mother and daughter.

“Of course,” I said. “It’s in the storage room. Come have a look.”