Софи Келли - Paws Аnd Effect

“What did Brady say?”

“He thinks it was a fishing expedition. Right now all they have is what looks to be part of my key chain under her body and a so-called gap in my alibi.” He set down his fork. “There have to be thousands of those key chains out there.”

“Twenty-one thousand, five hundred,” I said around a mouthful of bacon, egg and tomato-soaked toast.

He laughed. “I should have known you’d know that.”

I reached for my coffee. “Would it bother you if I went to talk to Travis and John? They spent more time with Dani in the last few weeks than anyone else. They might know if she’d had any problems with anyone.”

His smile faded and his expression became more guarded. “I’m not sure either one of them will talk to you. Maybe John, but not Travis for sure.”

“But I thought things were better between you two.”

“They were for a while, but as far as Travis is concerned things were good until Dani and I reconnected. He said he knew I didn’t have anything to do with her death but he just couldn’t stand the sight of my face.”

I got up and put my arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry. He’s just saying those things because he’s hurt.” I kissed him and sat back down again. “I keep meaning to ask you: How long did your dad live here when he was a kid?”

“He was about twelve when his family moved here and they were still living here when he left for college at seventeen. I don’t think my grandparents moved until the year after that.”

I took another bite of my sandwich. I could feel two sets of kitty eyes watching my every move even though Marcus had already given both of them a tiny bit of bacon. “He never came back here to live after that?”

Reaching for his coffee, Marcus shook his head. “No. We came here in the summer for a lot of years when I was a kid. If you go past the marina and stay on Main Street there are half a dozen little houses near the water.”

“I know where you mean.”

“You could rent those in the summertime back then. That’s where we’d stay. Always in the very last one.” He smiled at the memory. “There were two little bedrooms under the eaves with a shared closet between them. Hannah and I would open our closet doors and we could lie in bed and talk to each other.”

He got up for more coffee, refilling my cup before he topped up his own. “We’d come for three weeks. My father would take the middle week off but at some point he’d have to go back to the office, maybe for the day, maybe for the rest of the week. It never changed.”

I ate the last bite of my sandwich and then pulled up both feet so I could rest my chin on my knees. “Did you ever actually consider going to law school?”

His mouth twisted to one side for a moment. “Yes,” he said.

“So what happened?”

“I told you that he wanted me to go to law school and go into practice with him and I didn’t want to.”

I nodded.

“I didn’t tell you why.”

I reached for my coffee. “So tell me now,” I said.

“I took Business Ethics and Leadership in my third year. The professor had started offering these workshops on financial literacy for student athletes—on his own time, for nothing; he wasn’t making a cent. I volunteered to help, and before you tell me what a great guy that makes me, I got extra credit for it.”

“Okay.”

Again Marcus smiled at something he’d remembered. “A prosecutor from the district attorney’s office came and talked about get-rich-quick investments that people who suddenly have a lot of money can get caught up in. After, we went out for a beer. I talked to the guy for two hours about what he did.”

I smiled across the table at him. “You were hooked.”

Marcus nodded. “I was twenty-one. Putting the bad guys behind bars seemed like a pretty great way to make a living.”

“You dad didn’t agree.”

“No, he didn’t.” He turned his mug in slow circles on the table. “He told me I could work in the prosecutor’s office for a year. I could make connections that would help when I joined him. I didn’t want to make connections. I wanted to make the world a better place and, yes, I know how idealistic that sounds.”

“Idealism isn’t bad,” I said.

Marcus gave me a wry smile. “Tell that to my father. I knew if I went into law I’d always be Elliot Gordon’s son—never my own man. So I decided to be a police officer. He took it as a personal slight. The Christmas after I graduated from the police academy he gave me a study kit for the LSATs. He said I was wasting my potential.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry,” I said softly.

“You know what’s funny?” He leaned down to give each cat a couple of fish-shaped treats that he must have palmed when he got up for more coffee.

“What?”

“In a way I owe my father. If he hadn’t reacted the way he did over me wanting to work in the DA’s office I probably never would have become a police officer, and I think I’m better at that than I would have been as a lawyer.”

I smiled. “I think you would have been a good lawyer. I think you would have been good at anything you set your mind to.”

“And you’re not biased,” he teased.

“I’m not,” I said with mock seriousness. “I’m just looking at the facts the way any good reference librarian would.”

Marcus laughed.

“You know what else is funny?” I asked. “The fact that you didn’t even try to hide what you were doing.” I tipped my head in the direction of the boys, who were both happily eating.

“A little treat isn’t going to hurt them.” Owen lifted his head, looked at me and gave a sharp meow as if to say, “What he said.”

“No, but Roma might if she finds out how often you give them a little treat. She swings a mean broom.”

Marcus shook his head at me. “I want a rematch. I still say Roma cheated.”

He was referring to a broom hockey match to benefit the animal shelter that both he and Roma had played in during last year’s Winterfest. Marcus had captained one team and Brady Chapman the other. Roma—who was on Brady’s team—had swept in the winning goal and managed to trip Marcus with the other end of her broom in the last seconds of the game.

“Roma did not cheat,” I said, getting up to take my dishes to the sink. “Your legs are too long for broom hockey.”

He reached out and snagged me with one arm, pulling me down onto his lap. “My legs are too long?” he said. “Really? And what else is wrong with me?”

I frowned and pretended to think about it. “Your shoulders are too broad,” I said, putting both hands on them. “Your hair is too thick.” I reached up with one hand and pulled my fingers through his dark waves. “And your lips are too kissy.”

He leaned in and kissed me. “Umm, I can see that you’re suffering,” he said.

A loud meow came from the floor at our feet. “You don’t need any more treats,” I said.

Owen—because it had been him voicing his opinion—meowed again. “Let me rephrase. You’re not getting any more treats.” I kissed Marcus one more time. “You neither. I need to get ready for work.” I stood up and set my dishes on the counter. “Are you going to help Eddie this morning?” I asked.

Marcus got to his feet as well. “I’m going to go see my father. Maybe I can convince him to go home.”

“Maybe,” I said. I didn’t think it was likely. “In his defense I think he really does want to help.”

Marcus pulled a hand back through his hair. “He can’t seem to understand that I don’t always want that help. It’s hard to get out of the man’s shadow, because he casts such a big one.”

10

About five minutes after Marcus left Abigail called. “I found a great glow-in-the-dark skeleton I thought we could hang in the gazebo for Spookarama. Do you want me to bring it with me?”