Софи Келли - Hooked On A Feline

“He’s good. I talked to him a couple of nights ago. He says he’s coming for a visit in a couple of weeks.”

“Let me know if Elly May commits to a time,” Burtis said. “We haven’t been on a tear in a while.” He grinned.

Lita shook her head. “One of us had better have bail money,” she said to me.

I laughed. The last time Elliot Gordon had been in town, he and Burtis had taken a walk down memory lane with a few too many Jäger Bombs. The evening had ended with them serenading patrons in the lounge at the St. James Hotel with their version of “Sweet Home Alabama.” The crowd had actually seemed to enjoy the music. Management, not so much.

Burtis and Marcus were haggling about the benches now.

“I saw the two of you at the service,” Lita said. “Mike and I are . . . were cousins about four times removed.”

Lita was related in one way or another to pretty much everyone in Mayville Heights. Her mother’s family and her father’s family were among the first non–Native American settlers in the area. As Rebecca had once explained it to me, “Half the town is cousin to Lita on her father’s side and the other half is related through her mother.”

“So you’re connected to the Finnamores?” I asked.

She nodded. “If you go back far enough, some of the branches of our family trees intertwine.” She glanced over at the men still debating who should get the benches. “Does Marcus have any suspects yet?”

I shook my head. “He wouldn’t tell me if he did, but I don’t think so.”

“I hate the thought that someone broke into the house to rob it and then killed Mike. We like to think something like that would only happen in a big city, not in Mayville Heights, but past events show that’s not true.”

She gave me a knowing look, probably because I’d gotten tied up in more than one suspicious death since I’d arrived in town. I let it pass without comment.

“It’s almost like that family is cursed.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“It’s only been a few months since Leitha died.”

I remembered how Mike had explained that the older woman was his great-aunt the first time he’d come into the library to start digging into the family’s history.

“The Finnamores tend to die too soon,” she continued. “That’s why there’s so little of the family left now. Leitha hated that there were so few children. She was proud of being a Finnamore. The thought that the line could die out gave her a lot of grief.”

“She always introduced herself as Leitha Finnamore Anderson,” I said.

“She claimed the Finnamores could trace their ancestry back to the Mayflower .”

I nodded. “I’m not giving away any secrets because Mike was telling everyone. It appears from what he unearthed that that much is true, but instead of being on the ship for religious reasons, it seemed their ancestor was in fact just a hired hand who eventually ended up with a family in England and one here in the colonies.”

Lita gave a wry smile. “That would have burned Leitha’s biscuits if she’d known. That family line meant everything to her. She hated that Mike had been married and divorced twice and hadn’t had any children. He used to try to get a rise out of her by saying he didn’t have any kids that he knew of.”

That sounded like Mike. “And Jonas has no children, either,” I said.

“Well, Jonas is not a biological Finnamore,” Lita said. “He’s the child of Nathan St. James Quinn from his first marriage, although Mary-Margaret Finnamore Quinn was his mother in every way.”

“St. James like the hotel?”

Lita nodded. “Yes. Nathan’s family owned it for years until it was sold. The family built the hotel.” She glanced over at Marcus and Burtis, who still seemed to be debating who was going to end up with the benches.

“This is going to be a while,” Lita said. “There’s a guy at the end of this row selling donuts. I’m going to go get half a dozen. Do you want to come with me?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

The donuts were cinnamon spice, with and without sugar. I got half a dozen to take to work with me on Monday. When Lita and I got back, Marcus and Burtis were each buying one of the benches from the owner of the stall.

I smiled at Lita. “As Shakespeare would say, ‘All’s well that ends well.’ ”

We managed to get the bench onto the truck, off the truck and around into the backyard with a little physics (me) and a lot of muscle (Marcus). Those cast-iron ends were much heavier than I’d expected. Micah jumped up on the slatted seat, seemed to frown at the garish color and then, after she’d sniffed it and walked the length of the bench, meowed her approval.

I headed out to Harrison’s for supper a couple of hours later, taking along some tomatoes from my garden and some cheese-and-ham biscuits that Rebecca had given me the recipe for. The old man lived in a small house on his son’s property. He must have been watching for me because he and Boris, his dog, were standing at the door when I climbed out of the truck. Boris, with his chocolate velvet eyes, came over to meet me. I bent down to talk to him before walking over to join Harrison. I knew no matter how well I washed my hands when I got home, the cats would smell Boris on me and I’d be in the doghouse, so to speak. The dog actually belonged to Harry but spent a lot of time with Harrison. He was gentle and quiet and I didn’t like to think about what one of them would do without the other.

“I’m glad you made it,” Harrison said.

“I’m glad you invited me.” I gave him a hug and handed over the tomatoes and biscuits.

“Which are these?” he asked, eyeing the container of cherry tomatoes.

I’d been growing several varieties of heirloom tomatoes this year, letting Harrison try each one.

“These are sungold,” I said. “They have a lovely sweet flavor. There are way, way more of them than I expected. And the biscuits are ham and cheese.” I smiled. “Rebecca’s mother’s recipe.”

He smiled. “Thank you. This will be my lunch tomorrow. Or maybe my breakfast. A man can eat only so much oatmeal and flaxseeds.” I knew Peggy had been trying to get Harrison to eat healthier. He grumbled about it, but she’d had more success than his sons or Elizabeth.

We moved inside, Boris leading the way.

“We’re dining alfresco,” Harrison said.

“Does that mean I get to see the screened porch?” I asked. Harry and his younger brother, Larry, had been working on the addition to the house in their spare time.

The old man smiled and nodded. “You’re my first guest.”

I smiled back at him. “I’m honored.”

We moved through the house to the screened porch at the back. It was beautifully built—no surprise. The boys had their father’s talent for carpentry. A set of wide steps led down to a small stone patio and Harry was there at the grill. He raised a hand in hello and I waved back.

“When he heard you were coming out, he insisted on grilling and you know what my boy’s like when he makes up his mind,” Harrison said.

“I have a little experience with the Taylor family stubbornness.”

His blue eyes twinkled. “Are you suggesting he gets that from me?”

“Apples and trees, Harrison,” I said. “Apples and trees.”

There was a small table set for three. I knew Harry often ate with his dad when his kids were off with their friends or their mother, his ex-wife. I was glad he was joining us. I also knew there was a possibility I’d get tag-teamed by the two of them about Mike Bishop’s death.

Harrison pointed to a couple of wicker chairs with deep green seats and back cushions. “Have a seat,” he said. “Peggy picked those chairs, so I promise you they’re comfortable. She said the two I wanted to use out here were older than Moses.”