Софи Райан: The Whole Cat Аnd Caboodle

“Okay, so maybe I did,” she said. “But, c’mon, he gets lonely hanging out in the store all day.”

The cat jumped out of the box, shook himself and came to sit in front of me, all green-eyed innocence. “Don’t think I don’t know your part in all this,” I said, glaring at him and folding my arms across my chest. In the few months I’d had the cat I’d learned he wasn’t above doing his Sad Kitty routine to get what he wanted. It had even worked on me a couple of times—okay, maybe six or seven times—before I got wise. “Avery, Elvis is a cat. His life is eat, sleep in the sunshine and get scratched behind his ears.”

Elvis gave a short, sharp meow and narrowed his gaze at me.

“And be the enforcer when it comes to mice, birds, bats and the occasional Junebug. You shouldn’t have brought him.”

Avery jammed her hands in the pockets of her black jeans. “You take him with you lots of times.”

“That’s different. That’s work.”

“So is this,” she immediately countered, bending down to pick up the cat.

“How is this work?” I said.

“Public relations. People meet Elvis. They like him. They come to the store. It’s good for business.”

The cat actually leaned his furry face against Avery’s cheek and half closed his eyes. She gave me her sweetest smile.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I muttered. I knew when I was beaten. “He’s your responsibility,” I said sternly. I narrowed my eyes at the cat. “Stay out of the paint.”

Elvis closed his eyes and shook his head, almost as though he’d understood what I’d said and was offended at the suggestion that he’d get paint on his sleek black fur.

I headed out to the truck to get the paint and the trash cans we’d be using to mix the color wash, since Avery had her hands full. The sun was streaming through the wall of windows that made up the east side of the old factory, making checkerboard squares of light on the plank floor of the hallway. Legacy Place had been the Gardner Chocolate factory—“A little bite of bliss in a little gold box”—until the company’s new manufacturing plant had been built just on the outskirts of North Harbor.

The building had had a number of incarnations in the next twenty years, and then about three years ago the Gardner family had renovated the space into a much-needed apartment complex for seniors. The fact that it all happened at the same time that a tabloid had published photos of Hank Gardner, the CEO of the company, boogying at a club with an exotic dancer while wearing a certain item of her clothing as earmuffs was just coincidence. (Gardner had explained it all by saying, “It was January and my ears were cold.”)

The chocolate factory and tourism were the main industries in town and that made for an eclectic mix of people that was part of North Harbor’s appeal. There were musicians, artists, sailors and fishermen, small business owners, factory workers, young people and senior citizens.

I glanced in at the art class as I passed by the room. Mr. Peterson was dressed—thankfully—in a long-sleeved, navy blue golf shirt, gray pants hiked up almost to his armpits and running shoes. He was posed on a stool in the middle of the room, circled on three sides by easels.

Avery had found a chair somewhere and Elvis was perched on it, holding court when I returned with the paint. I set her to work opening the cans and did a quick head count. Eight women had signed up for the class. We were missing someone. I scanned the room. “Does anyone know where Maddie is?” I asked when I realized one of my gram’s longtime friends hadn’t shown up yet.

“Probably with her new boyfriend,” someone said. The speaker was a tiny woman, more petite than Rose, wearing a flowing shirt covered with blue and green parrots.

“Maddie has a boyfriend?” I said.

“Uh-huh. She’s smitten,” Liz said, pulling a men’s faded chambray shirt over her tunic. Liz dressed for every occasion. I’d never seen her in a sweatshirt or yoga pants, unlike most of the other women her age.

Charlotte took a sip of her tea. “Elizabeth is right. Maddie’s like a young girl when he’s around.” She handed me a cookie.

I couldn’t picture sensible, practical Maddie getting giggly over a man. On the other hand, I hadn’t seen her in a long time.

“I was looking forward to seeing her today,” I said. “When I was little, Gram and I would walk to Maddie’s house for lemonade in the summertime. She had an incredible garden behind her house. Gram said there were fairies living there and I was always trying to find them.” I took a bite of the cookie.

Charlotte smiled. “That’s Maddie. She was born with a green thumb.”

Liz nodded her agreement. “I got a poinsettia plant at Christmastime. The thing turned brown—I don’t know what the heck happened to it—but Maddie pulled it out of my kitchen garbage can and brought the darned thing back from the dead.”

“You probably forgot to water it,” Rose said.

“No, I didn’t,” Liz retorted as she fastened the snaps on her paint-streaked shirt. “I definitely remember I gave it the last of the coffee a couple of times.”

Rose sighed. “Well, I don’t think that was a good idea.”

Liz made a dismissive gesture with one hand. Her nails were painted a deep royal purple. “Clearly, since the danged thing turned brown.”

Charlotte shook her head. With her height and perfect posture she might not have fit every grandmother stereotype, but she had a huge, loving heart. She and my own grandmother had been friends since they were girls. “Maddie met her beau, Arthur, at a fund-raiser for the Botanic Garden. She’s still in the rose-colored-glasses stage when it comes to him. She probably just got caught up in whatever his latest plans are and forgot to call you.”

“Arthur?” I said slowly.

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “Arthur Fenety.”

Arthur Fenety.

Maddie was seeing the man who had brought in the silver tea set and then wanted to buy it back a day later. The man I’d thought was a little too smooth, a little too charming.

And it was really none of my business.

Avery had the paint cans open and had brought in a couple of big buckets of water. I looked at my watch. It was almost twelve o’clock. Time to get started. Maybe Maddie would arrive in a few minutes.

The ladies were eager to learn. I explained how to make the color wash by diluting the paint. Then we tested the depth of the color on some scrap wood. We got started by dipping the legs—which I’d detached from the underside of each little table—using a brush to pull the color upward and create a faded effect.

I was glad I’d brought Avery along. She had a great eye for color, she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty and she might have had an opinion on well, pretty much everything, but a lot of her insights were dead-on. Elvis stayed on his seat, watching intently but happy to be away from the paint.

The hour-long class was over before I knew it. A couple of times I couldn’t help glancing over at the door from the hall, hoping Maddie might show up late, but she didn’t.

When the class ended, Avery helped me pack everything and prop up the color-washed table pieces so that they weren’t lying on the drop cloths as the paint finished drying. There was nothing happening in the room for the rest of the day, so we’d be able to pick up the completely dry tables in the morning and the ladies could retrieve them from the shop later in the week. We carried the rest of our supplies back out to the truck. Mr. P., whose posing duties had ended at the same time as the workshop, held open the door to the parking lot. The only spot I’d been able to find was at the far end of the space—the parking area of the office building next door was being paved and their clients were using the Legacy Place lot—so I tried to carry as much as I could in each trip.