Sofie Kelly - Copycat Killing - A Magical Cats Mystery

I thanked her and hung up. Everything in Mayville depended on how much rain we got. I rubbed my left wrist. It was a bit sore from falling down the embankment, but it didn’t have the bone-deep ache that usually meant rain.

I turned on the computer at the front desk and signed in to the system. I’d been keeping up with e-mail from my laptop at home so there wasn’t much to deal with. Then, because I was curious, I pulled up the archives for the Mayville Heights Chronicle and read the article about the disappearance of Roma’s father.

It wasn’t much of a story. Thomas Karlsson’s car had been found abandoned and out of gas. There was no sign of foul play. There were more lines in the brief article about his glory days playing high school baseball than there were about him going missing.

Since there wasn’t really anything else I needed to do at the library, I decided to walk over to Eric’s Place and get some coffee and something to eat. Breakfast had been a long time ago.

There was a black, extended cab pickup truck parked parallel to the yellow sawhorses out on the street when I came down the library steps. As I got closer to it the driver’s window rolled down and Burtis Chapman stuck his head out.

“Morning,” he said. “I’m lookin’ for Harry Junior. Don’t suppose he’s at the library?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen him.”

Burtis was a big block of a man—with wide shoulders and a barrel chest. I had no idea how old he was; his face was lined and weathered and the few tufts of hair sticking out from under his Minnesota Twins cap were snow white. He was whip smart and extremely well read I knew. But he wasn’t above playing the hick from rural Minnesota if it suited his purposes.

“What happened to your head?” he asked, tipping his at mine.

Without thinking I put my hand up to my forehead and winced. When was I going to learn to not do that? “I was out at Wisteria Hill,” I said. “The bank let go underneath me.”

“Out behind the old carriage house, I’ll bet.”

I nodded. “How did you know?”

He gave a snort of laughter. “Spent some time in those woods in my younger days. Whole area’s swampy. Never did drain well. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

He reached over and started the truck. “Well, if you see Harry, tell him I’m lookin’ for him.”

“I will,” I said.

“You be careful out at the old house,” he said. “Real easy to get hurt in those woods.” He put the truck in gear, backed up and pulled away. I headed for the café.

I wondered why Burtis was looking for Harry Junior. Burtis was the kind of person who was always looking to make a deal of some kind. I’d heard hints that at one time he’d worked for Idris Blackthorne, Ruby’s grandfather who’d been the area bootlegger. He had at least half a dozen little businesses, everything from selling hardwood to renting commercial tents for weddings and parties. In another week or two Burtis would be selling fiddleheads out of the back of that truck of his.

Eric was in his usual spot behind the counter at the restaurant. The place was almost empty. Having half of the downtown blocked off couldn’t be good for his business. He picked up the coffeepot when he saw me come in and reached for a cup. I slid onto a stool and he set the mug in front of me.

“You read my mind, Eric,” I said. “Thank you.” I added cream and sugar. The coffee was hot and strong, just the way I liked it.

Eric studied my scabby forehead. “Have you been doing more rodent tossing or have you moved on to some other sport?”

I gave him a wry smile. “I was out at Wisteria Hill yesterday and the slope up behind the carriage house let go. The ground’s just so wet the water’s not draining away.”

“You’re okay?”

I nodded. “I am, thanks. I’m probably going to be one giant bruise for a while, though.”

“How about a brownie?” Eric asked. “Chocolate has medicinal qualities.”

I leaned my elbows on the counter. “Tempting. But I was thinking about a breakfast sandwich.” I looked at my watch. “Even though it’s not exactly breakfast time.”

He held up a finger. “Are you feeling adventurous?”

I smiled sweetly at him. “No.”

He gave me a bemused look and headed for the kitchen.

“What if I don’t like whatever you’re thinking about making?” I teased. There wasn’t much chance of that happening. Eric was an excellent cook.

“You will,” he said as the door swung shut behind him.

And I did. By the time I’d finished the sandwich Eric had made for me—fried tomatoes and bacon on toasted homemade sourdough bread—and had another cup of coffee I felt better. I wasn’t as damp, as sore, or as tired.

“That was good,” I said, pushing my plate away.

“I’m thinking of adding it to the menu,” Eric said. “Susan gave it a thumbs-up. Now you.”

Eric liked to tinker with the menu at the café. His wife, Susan, was always his first tester, and because she worked at the library, sometimes the rest of us were as well.

“Would you tell Susan it looks like at least another day before we reopen?” I said.

He nodded. “I will. The boys aren’t happy about the library being closed. So Abigail promised to come over and give them their own private story time.”

That sounded like Abigail, and it reminded me that I needed to call the rest of the staff and let them know we were going to be closed a little longer.

I paid Eric for my sandwich and coffee, getting a cup to go for myself and after a moment’s hesitation, one for Marcus.

I figured there would be an officer at the door to the co-op, but as I got closer I saw Marcus himself, on the sidewalk beside his vehicle.

I held up the coffee and he smiled. “This is getting to be a habit,” he said, as I reached the SUV and handed him the paper cup.

When conductor Gregor Easton had been killed, Marcus and I had had more than one cup of coffee as he tried to figure out if I was involved in the conductor’s death. And we’d shared a fair number of thermoses of coffee and hot chocolate out at Wisteria Hill while feeding the cats.

He took a long drink. “A good habit, by the way. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

“You didn’t come to check up on things, did you?” he asked, gesturing at the building.

“Me?” I said, giving him a look that was all wide-eyed innocence. I took a sip from my own coffee.

He let that pass with nothing more than slightly raised eyebrows. “Since you’re here, you could answer a few questions for me,” he said.

“All right.” I shifted from one foot to the other.

Marcus’s eyes flicked down to my ankle. “Did you call your doctor yet?” he asked.

“Not yet. I will,” I said.

He exhaled a lot more loudly than he needed to. It sounded like a low growl in the back of his throat. Then he said, “Tell me about finding the body.”

I didn’t mind the change of subject. I closed my eyes for a moment and pulled out the image of the basement stairs and Jaeger’s partly submerged body. “Maggie unlocked the door. She saw him first. She started down the steps. They were wet. She slipped partway down. I grabbed her.”

“Then what?”

I explained about making my way down the stairs, feeling for a pulse, leaving the basement and calling 911.

“What time did you get down here?” Marcus asked.

I glanced at my watch and calculated backward in my head. “After ten thirty,” I said. “Probably more like ten forty-five.”

He nodded, sipping his coffee. Out of the corner of my eye I could see people moving around inside the co-op store. I couldn’t tell what they were doing.