Софи Келли - Hooked On A Feline

“I understand,” I said. “I can make copies of the census records for you and you can come in next week and get them. There’s also a copy of a map showing land grants for this part of the state that’s coming from another library in our system. Would you like that as well?”

He nodded. “Yes, I would.”

I told Jonas I’d call when the map arrived so he could make just one trip to pick up everything.

He thanked me again. “I need to get back to Lachlan,” he said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

I watched him make his way over to his nephew and put one arm around the boy’s shoulders. I knew from some of the things Mike had talked about that there was a lot of tragedy in the Finnamore family history. I hated that Mike himself was now part of that.

I looked for Marcus. He was still talking to Everett. I was guessing their conversation had something to do with the girls’ hockey team. There had been rumblings that their funding might be reduced.

The room suddenly felt closed in and clammy. I was only a few steps away from a set of French doors that led out to the overflow parking lot. No one would notice if I stepped outside, so that was what I did.

The rain had stopped. The air was fresh and a little cooler. I remembered that there was a teak bench next to a small flower bed at the end of the building. I’d sit there for a couple of minutes and then go back inside, I decided.

I turned the corner to discover someone was already sitting on the bench. And she was crying.

She looked up at me. Her eyes were red and her makeup had smudged. I pulled a couple of tissues from my bag and handed them to her. She wiped her face. “Thank you,” she said in a shaky voice.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked. “A cup of tea, maybe?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I could swallow it.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “I was carrying around a cup inside just so people would stop offering me a drink.”

She almost managed a smile. “You must have been a friend of Mike’s.”

I nodded. “I like to think so. I’m Kathleen Paulson.”

“You’re the librarian. Mike mentioned you. He said you’d been helping him with the family tree.”

I nodded.

“I’m Tracy,” she said. “I’m Mike’s ex-wife.” She held up a finger. “The first one.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said.

She moved sideways on the bench. “Please, sit.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude.”

She shook her head. “You’re not. I was in there listening to people talk about him and I thought what a kick he’d get out of this—everyone dressed up, sharing stories. You know, I think the only time I ever saw him in a suit was actually at a funeral.”

She’d had just the same thought as me. “You didn’t have a fancy wedding?” I asked.

Tracy’s lips twitched. She seemed to think my question was funny. Mirth gleamed in her dark eyes. It was better than sadness. “Good grief, no!” she said. “We were nineteen and madly in love. We eloped. Turns out, we were really just madly in lust. The marriage didn’t last six months but the friendship did.”

“That sounds like the Mike I knew.”

“Every few months he’d call me or I’d call him, just to catch up. It was nice, having that connection back to when I was a dumb kid.” She smiled. “I just talked to him a couple of weeks ago. He told me all about the research he was doing into his family’s past. He was trying to work out when the so-called Finnamore green eyes entered the family tree. I teach high school biology. I told him he was wasting his time. There are too many factors that influence eye color. It’s not as simple as something like hair texture or whether or not someone thinks cilantro tastes like soap.”

“It does,” I said.

She nodded. “I know.”

We sat in silence for a moment. “I’m going to miss talking to him,” she finally said.

I reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I should get back inside.”

“Me too,” Tracy said. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“You too,” I said.

“Do you want to go over to Fern’s for supper?” Marcus asked as we pulled out of the parking lot about half an hour later. The sky was low and gray and it was raining again. He was dropping me off and then going in to the station for a little while. “A case that’s coming up in court soon,” he’d offered by way of explanation.

“I have spaghetti sauce,” I said.

He shot me a quick sideways glance. “Does one somehow negate the other?”

I shook my head. “No. I can have it tomorrow— Wait. I can’t. I’ll eat it Monday.”

“Is there some rule that says you can’t eat spaghetti on Sundays because I’m pretty sure I’ve broken it more than once?”

I smiled. “No, there isn’t. It’s just that I’m going out to have supper with Harrison tomorrow.”

Marcus didn’t say anything for a moment and he kept his eyes fixed to the road. I let the silence sit between us. “You know why he invited you,” he finally said.

“Yes,” I said. “He likes my company.”

“He thinks you can figure out who killed Mike Bishop.”

“He probably does.”

“What are you going to say?”

I looked over at him. His blue eyes were still looking straight ahead. “I don’t know,” I said.

And I didn’t. I adored Harrison. I considered Harry a friend. I wanted to help them if I could. This wasn’t the first time I’d gotten mixed up with one of Marcus’s case, so I wasn’t sure why I was so uncertain. Why this time felt different. Maybe it was because Mike and I were friends or close to it. His death felt so personal. I wasn’t sure I could be objective.

Marcus sighed softly. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, Kathleen.”

I reached over and touched his arm. “I appreciate that.”

“But I am going to ask you to think carefully about whatever choice you make. This case is deeply personal for a lot of people, including you and me. It’s harder to be objective. It’s harder to set your own feelings to one side. It’s harder not to pick up other people’s pain.” He glanced briefly at me then. “That last part you’re going to have to deal with no matter whether you say yes or no to Harrison.”

We were at the house by then. Marcus pulled into the driveway and put the SUV in park. I undid my seat belt, leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I promise I’ll think carefully about whatever choice I make,” I said.

“I know you will.” He kissed the side of my mouth and smiled at me. “You didn’t give me a yes or no about Fern’s.”

“Yes.” Fern’s meat loaf and mashed potatoes were the ultimate comfort food and that sounded pretty good right about now.

“I’ll call when I’m leaving,” Marcus said. He kissed me a second time.

I got out, opened my umbrella and watched him back out of the driveway before I headed around the side of the house to the back door. Hercules was sitting on the bench in the sun porch. He made a face as I held my half-open umbrella out the door and gave it a shake. I propped it in the corner and sat down next to him.

“Mrr,” he said, cocking his head to one side almost as though he was asking if I was okay.

“I’m all right,” I said, kicking off my shoes. “It was a nice service. Very sad.”

Hercules moved closer, putting his two front paws on my leg. I stroked his fur. I had no idea how much of what I said to them either cat understood—a lot more than the average cat, I was certain. Given what else they could do, it didn’t seem that implausible.

“I think Harrison is going to ask me to try to figure out who killed Mike Bishop.” The cat wrinkled his nose at me as though considering what I’d just said.