Софи Келли - Paws Аnd Effect

“Like I said, I can be there in about an hour.” Marcus raised his voice slightly. I’d seen the challenge in his blue eyes before.

“I don’t want to make this embarrassing for either one of us,” Detective Foster said, keeping his voice low. “Don’t put me in that position.”

Marcus pushed back his chair and stood up. I could feel the anger coming off him.

At the other end of the room Eric came around the counter.

“C’mon, man,” Foster said softly. “Just come with me.” His eyes flicked in my direction for a moment. Behind us the door to the café opened again and I caught a glimpse of a white-haired man.

“I’m sorry about dinner, Kathleen,” Marcus said. His eyes never left the other man’s face.

“It’s all right,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse. “Go.”

“My client isn’t going anywhere,” a voice said. It belonged to the white-haired man who had just walked in. The color drained from Marcus’s face. “Don’t say a word,” the man told him.

“And who might you be?” Detective Foster asked.

The smile he got was a mix of arrogance and condescension. “Elliot Gordon, attorney at law. What do you want with my son?”

8

“Kathleen, meet my father,” Marcus said.

“Is my son under arrest?” Elliot Gordon asked the detective as though Marcus hadn’t spoken. He either didn’t see or ignored the hand I held out.

“I just need to ask him a few questions,” Foster said. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, feet apart, and though he was a bit shorter in stature than Marcus and his father, his solid frame seemed to command more of the space.

“I’m fine,” Marcus said. His face gave nothing away but one of his hands was clenched tightly into a fist. “This is just routine.”

Elliot Gordon continued to keep his eyes fixed on the Red Wing detective, who met his gaze with what seemed to me to be just a touch of amusement. This staring thing seemed to be a Gordon family trait. “Doesn’t matter. You still need a lawyer.”

“Then I’ll get a lawyer,” Marcus said. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Brady, it’s Marcus,” he said. “Can you meet me at the police station?” He listened for a moment. “Now.” Then, “Thanks,” and ended the call. He looked at Detective Foster and shrugged. “Let’s go.”

The detective turned to me. “I’m sorry for disrupting your dinner,” he said. He inclined his head in Elliot Gordon’s direction. “Mr. Gordon.”

Marcus stretched out his hand and caught mine. “It’s okay, Kathleen,” he said. “I’ll call you later.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

They started for the door. “Go home,” I heard Marcus say softly to his father, the words tight and clipped as he moved past the older man.

If the words hurt, and I didn’t see how they couldn’t have, nothing in Elliot Gordon’s expression gave it away. Detective Foster and Marcus headed for the door and as soon as they stepped outside Elliot Gordon followed. I was left standing by our table alone.

Eric walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. “You all right, Kathleen?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” I said, nodding slowly. I turned my head to look at him. He looked skeptical. “No, I am. Really. And I’m sorry all of this happened here.” I gestured with one hand.

“It’s none of my business, but Marcus isn’t under arrest, is he?” Eric glanced back at the counter. “I know the woman who was killed at Long Lake was a friend of his.”

Eric had had a couple of run-ins with the police in his younger days, back before he stopped drinking. He would have realized that Bryan Foster was a police officer

“No,” I said, not feeling one hundred percent certain I was right. “Just questions.”

“Try not to worry about it,” he said. “No one who knows Marcus is going to believe he killed anyone.”

“Thanks,” I said. I wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. I looked over at our table.

“Want me to get your food and box it up for you?” Eric asked.

My appetite had disappeared. “No thanks. Just give me the bill.”

He gave me a small smile and shook his head. “It’s on me.”

“No, Eric, you can’t,” I said.

The smile got a little bigger. “Yeah, I can,” he said cocking one eyebrow at me. “I own the place.”

I made myself smile back at him. “Thank you.”

He glanced over at the counter again and held up one finger to Nic, who nodded. Then he turned back to me. “If you need anything you call, got it?”

“I got it,” I said. I grabbed my jacket and purse and headed out to the truck.

I didn’t know what to do next. I tried Hope but all I got was her voice mail. Clearly her “friend” hadn’t told her what he planned to do, otherwise Hope would have warned Marcus.

And what was Marcus’s father doing in town? I knew Marcus would never have called him. The two of them had a strained relationship. Marcus didn’t have a single photo of his father in his house, which is why I hadn’t realized who Elliot Gordon was when he walked into the café.

More questions without any answers.

* * *

There was no sign of Owen or Hercules when I got home. “Hello,” I called. After a minute I heard an answering meow. Owen. I put a mug of milk in the microwave and a piece of bread in the toaster. I knew the sound of the toaster would bring him.

“Mrr?” he said, crossing the floor to me. I stretched one arm behind my head. “Long story,” I said. I bent down and picked him up.

He leaned in close to my face and peered at me. The microwave beeped then. “Give me a second,” I said, scratching the top of his head and then setting him down on one of the kitchen chairs. Once I had a cup of hot chocolate and some toast with lots of peanut butter I scooped up Owen, sat down and settled him on my lap.

He looked pointedly at my plate. “Fine,” I said, breaking off a tiny bite for him, because I really was trying to heed Roma’s admonition about not feeding either cat people food.

I told Owen what had happened at Eric’s Place while we ate. Then I filled him in on my visit with Oren. “I have no idea what to do next.”

There was a knock at the back door. Owen leaned sideways, looking toward the porch, then looked pointedly at me. “Yes, I suppose I could go answer the door,” I said.

I set him on the chair again and headed for the porch. Hope was standing on my back steps. “I got your message,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Detective Foster came into Eric’s and took Marcus down to the station for questioning.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and swore softly. “I’m sorry, Kathleen,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. I gestured at the kitchen door. “Come in.”

“I can’t,” she said. “Remember I told you Marcus said he went for a walk during that hour he can’t account for?”

I nodded.

“He said he was down on the waterfront. Thorsten says a couple of those old warehouses have security cameras. I’m hoping to find some footage that’ll show Marcus was where he says he was.”

I told her what Oren had told me about his cousin. “Did Oren say where the guy went the last time he took off to Florida?” Hope asked.

“Clearwater Beach.”

“I’ll see if I can get the local police to keep an eye out for his van.”

“You’re supposed to be off the case.”

She shrugged. “I’m supposed to make my bed every morning and not drink so much coffee and neither one of those things is going to happen, either.” There was something defiant about the way she stood there, hands jammed in her pockets, shoulders squared.

“Just don’t put your own career in jeopardy, please,” I said.