Sofie Kelly - Copycat Killing - A Magical Cats Mystery

She stumbled a bit over his name, I noticed. I took another drink of my coffee and waited while she collected her thoughts.

“And you’re right, those were his glory days, his shining moment in the spotlight. Then it was gone. Like that.” Roma snapped her fingers. “It was diapers and bottles and bills.” There was an edge of hurt to her voice that sharpened her words.

I reached across the table and gave her arm a squeeze again.

“My mother told me once that he never took that ring off. He didn’t wear a wedding ring but he always, always wore his class ring.” Her eyes met mine and I could see the pain in them as well. “Those…” She cleared her throat. “It’s him, Kathleen.”

“I think you should call your mother and let her know what’s happened,” I said. “Marcus is going to want to talk to her.”

“You’re right. I’d rather her hear about this first from me.” She looked at her watch. “I need to get back to the clinic.”

We both got to our feet. “Roma are you going to be all right?” I asked.

That got me a smile, albeit a small one. “I’m supposed to be asking you that,” she said.

I smiled back at her. “I’m fine, just some scrapes and my dignity’s a little banged up.”

“Don’t overdo it. Okay?” she said.

“I promise,” I said. “You do the same. If you need anything, if you just want to talk, call me. Anytime. Please.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll probably be taking you up on that.” She hesitated for a moment, and then wrapped her arms around me in a quick hug.

“Marcus will figure this out,” I said.

She nodded. “It’s funny. I’m always telling you what a great guy and a great police officer he is. I guess now I’m going to find out.”

I walked her to the back door. She turned on the top step. “There were always two versions of my father—Tom—what my mother said about him and all the gossip whispered around town. I wanted to believe that he was a decent guy, that he was just young and scared and stupid. Now, I just want the truth, whatever it is.”

I waited until I heard her SUV start in the driveway before I went back into the kitchen. Hercules and Owen were sitting in front of the refrigerator.

“You could have come out and said hello,” I told them as I got myself a fresh cup of coffee. They stared at me, steady and unblinking.

I sat down again at the table. Owen’s whiskers were twitching. He could smell the coffee cake. I broke off a bite and set it down on the floor for him. He scooted over and began sniffing it. “It’s not hemlock, Socrates,” I said. He ignored me.

I broke off another piece of cake for Hercules and held it out to him. Being a lot less finicky than his brother, he just ate the food from my fingers.

I took a long drink from my coffee and propped my leg on the chair again. “Marcus has an anthropologist out at Wisteria Hill, looking at the bones that were unearthed when the hill collapsed,” I said to the cats.

Owen had finally finished checking out his food. He didn’t even look up at me. Hercules was sniffing around to see if there was any more, so all I got from him was an offhand glance.

I speared a piece of cake with my fork. That got both cats’ attention. “This is mine,” I said. They gave me their best pathetic kitty looks. They shouldn’t have worked on me, but they usually did.

“That’s enough,” I said. “Roma is right, you know. I give you two way too much people food.”

When I said Roma’s name they exchanged glances. I took another sip from my mug.

Poor Roma. It really did look like the ring belonged to her biological father. And if it was his…it raised the question: what had happened to him and why had he ended up buried out at Wisteria Hill?

5

Later that afternoon I drove down to the library to check on things. The street and the parking lot were still flooded but the water barely came to the top of my boots—a good sign. Just a couple of days previously it had been knee-level. The building itself was still dry.

I spent the rest of the afternoon working at home, at the kitchen table with Owen and Hercules wandering in from time to time to see if I had anything good to mooch. The library board was planning a huge party to celebrate the building’s one hundredth “birthday” in June. As part of that celebration I had a number of displays planned, showcasing some of the history of Mayville Heights, and the different groups that had used the library over the years. Everyone on staff was working on some kind of project. Maggie had volunteered her services, and several people had promised photos and other memorabilia. My neighbor, Rebecca, had offered to lend me some of her mother’s old journals and drawings. Rebecca’s mother, Ellen Montgomery, had been an expert on herbal remedies, and had taught more than one workshop on the subject at the library.

I soaked for a long time in the bathtub after supper and went to bed before ten o’clock. I was stiff and sore when I woke up the next morning, so I was still drinking my first cup of coffee when the phone rang. I got to my feet and limped into the living room to answer it. It was Maggie.

“Hi,” I said. “I thought you had an artists’ meeting this morning.”

“We’re finished. It didn’t take very long.” she said. She blew out a breath. “I was going to go over to the studio and do some work, but we have orders from the store’s Web site that I really need to get mailed. Plus there’s one package that I need to get from Ruby plus another from Jaeger of all people and I have no idea where all the packing supplies are, and I just heard the forecast. It’s going to rain again tonight.”

I eased down onto the footstool. “What can I do?” I asked. She sounded frazzled so I decided not to tell her what had happened to me out at Wisteria Hill. At least not on the phone.

If she’d heard the details via the Mayville Heights grapevine, “What happened?” would have been the first question out of her mouth. I knew that the downtown business owners had had a meeting of their own and another with the town council. It had probably taken all of yesterday afternoon, which was probably why Maggie wasn’t up on the latest scuttlebutt.

“Do you know any anti-rain dances? Or maybe where there might be a volcano that we could throw a sacrifice, say—I don’t know—Jaeger Merrill into?”

“Sorry,” I said. “But I do have a big roll of bubble wrap and lots of tape at the library.”

“Does that mean the volcano thing is off the table?”

“I take it the meeting this morning didn’t go well?”

“It’s more that Jaeger’s timing on this whole corporate sponsor thing just stinks,” she said. “I’m tired. I need a shower. I’ve been moving boxes and shelving for days now. I’ve been slinging sandbags and bailing the basement and it’s probably all been for nothing because it going to rain. Again.” I could hear the frustration in her voice. “And all Jaeger wants to do is push his agenda to turn the co-op into the Acme Widget Artists’ Co-op, like that’s somehow going to make the rain and the four feet of water in the basement and his leaky window just disappear.”

“So what happened?”

“We took a vote.”

“And?”

“And I knew there were enough people who like things the way they are.” She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. I pictured her with her hand pressed against her chest, eyes closed. “But I don’t think Jaeger’s done. All I did was buy some time.”

“Maybe a bit of time is all you need,” I said. Owen wandered in and sat at my feet. “Once the rain stops, once things dry out a little, everyone’s going to be in a better mood.”

“I hope you’re right,” Maggie said. “With the store closed, Jaeger’s guardian angel with a checkbook idea seems pretty good to at least a couple of people.”