Cat Trick (14 page)

“How about we eat first?” she said. She led the way back into the kitchen, where she’d
left a small cooler on the round wooden table in front of the window overlooking the
backyard.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Rebecca gave you the table and chairs.”

Roma nodded, opening the lid of the cooler. “She said Old Harry made them for Everett’s
mother—he turned the legs on a hand lathe—and the table belonged here. Eddie said
he’ll refinish it for me.”

“Is there anything he can’t do?” I teased.

Her cheeks turned pink. “No,” she said with a smile, setting salad and a corn bread
muffin in front of me. “He’s just about perfect. Well, except for the spiders.” She
handed me a napkin roll of utensils and took a thermos and a couple of cups out of
the cooler.

“Spiders?” I said. “What does he do? Raise them as a hobby?” I took a bite of my salad.
It was good: turkey, apple and dried cranberries mixed with lettuce and carrots and
tossed with a citrus dressing.

Roma gave a snort of laughter. “No. I’m pretty sure he has a bit of a phobia about
them.”

“Why?” I asked, breaking my muffin in half.

Roma hooked her chair with a foot and pulled it closer so she could sit down. “Because
I caught him stomping on something in one of the upstairs bedrooms. He said he was
trying to push a nail back into one of the floorboards.”

“Maybe he was,” I offered. “Or maybe he’s auditioning for the road company of
Riverdance
and didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

She shot me a skeptical look and picked up her fork. “Of course. That sounds so much
like Eddie.”

The thought of Eddie Sweeney—all six foot four inches of muscled hockey player—being
afraid of a little spider made me smile. He was so perfect in every other way; he
cooked, apparently he could refinish furniture, he was a star hockey player for the
Minnesota Wild and a romantic boyfriend, plus he looked like he should be on the cover
of
GQ
, not
Sports Illustrated
.

“Have you talked to Marcus?” Roma asked.

“We’re taking it really slowly,” I said. “We’ve had dinner a couple of times, but
that’s all.” Except for a kiss that had made me forget, momentarily, the thirteen
times table, my own name and how to breathe. But I didn’t say that out loud.

“Good to know,” she said. “But I meant, have you talked to him about Mike Glazer?”

“I think he’s waiting for something official on the cause of death,” I said.

She frowned, chewing on her bottom lip.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “Probably.” She reached for the thermos and poured iced tea for
both of us.

“Tell me.”

“I feel like an old busybody.”

“You’re not an old busybody,” I said. Roma knew more about what was going on around
town than most people did. Half the town was in and out of her clinic with their pets
and she still made house calls, but she kept what she heard and saw to herself. “C’mon.
What is it?”

She exhaled slowly. “Okay. Last Wednesday night, I was late getting out of the clinic,
and Eddie’s at training camp, so I decided to have supper at Eric’s. I parked the
truck and I walked down to the corner first to mail a letter. When I turned around,
Mike Glazer was outside the restaurant and he was arguing with Liam, Maggie’s boyfriend
or whatever he is.”

“I know,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘you know’?”

“Claire was working that night. Liam was so distracted by whatever happened out on
the sidewalk that he left his coffee mug behind. She gave it to me to give to Maggie.”

“Did Claire hear what they were saying?” Roma asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, I did. They were pretty loud, and I felt awkward about just walking up to them,
so I stepped into the alley.” She ran a finger up and down the side of her glass.
“I wish I hadn’t, because even from there I heard Liam tell Mike to leave town—except
he didn’t put it quite that nicely. He told Mike to forget about the food tasting
and the art show—everything—it was all over.”

“You think he was serious?” I asked.

“Very.” Roma traced a scratch on the tabletop with two fingers. “He said if he saw
Mike on the street, he might just forget what the brakes on his truck were for.”

“And the next morning . . .”

“Mike Glazer was dead.”

“Roma, you need to tell this to Marcus,” I said.

She brushed a strand of dark hair off her cheek and sighed. “I know. I was trying
to convince myself that what Liam said didn’t mean anything. People say things like
that all the time when they’re angry.”

“I know that,” I said. “And I’m not saying that I think Liam had anything to do with
Mike Glazer’s death. It’s Marcus’s job to figure that out.”

“You’re right,” Roma said, picking up her fork again. “I’ll call him after lunch.”
She leaned an elbow on the table and propped her chin on her hand. “Let’s talk about
something else. So, you’ve had two dinners with Marcus.” Her eyebrows went up on “two.”
“Just exactly how slowly are you two taking it?”

“Very, very slowly,” I said, making a face at her. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“What would you like to happen?” This time she wiggled her eyebrows at me.

“I would like to eat my lunch,” I said, feeling my face get red.

She laughed, and I knew that when she and Maggie found out Marcus had kissed me, they
were going to giggle like a couple of sixth graders.

We finished lunch—there was rice pudding with peaches for dessert—and then Roma walked
me around the yard and told me about her plans for the outside of the old house. As
we came around the side of the carriage house, she stopped suddenly and put a hand
on my arm. “See that?” she asked, pointing to the old lilac hedge. The long grass
moved, and I saw what looked like a flash of ginger fur.

“Is that another cat?” I asked.

She nodded. “I don’t know if it’s feral or someone abandoned it, but this is the third
time I’ve seen it.” She started walking again. “It’s a little marmalade tabby, about
half-grown. I’ve been calling it Micah.”

“For the biblical prophet?” I asked.

“More for the mineral. It was the way the cat’s fur seemed to glisten in the sun.”
She gave a half shrug and looked a little embarrassed. “Eddie likes to collect rocks.”

We walked back to the driveway. “I’m so glad you’re going to be living out here,”
I said as the two of us stood by my truck. “I’m glad the cats will be safe. And if
I can do anything, anything to help, please ask.”

“Can you paint?” she asked.

“Roller, brush and sprayer.” I held up one, two and then three fingers.

“You’re hired,” she said with a laugh.

“Anytime,” I said. I hugged her. “Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you at class tonight.”

Roma waved as I started down the rutted driveway—the first outdoor project on her
list. In the rearview mirror, I saw her pull out her cell phone and I hoped that was
because she was calling Marcus. I had meant what I’d said to her. Just because Liam
had told Mike if he saw him again he might forget what the brakes on his truck were
for didn’t mean that Liam had had anything to do with Mike’s death.

I spent the afternoon cleaning out the flower beds in the backyard, getting them ready
for the bag of compost Harry had promised to drop off to me. Owen and Hercules helped.

Owen’s idea of helping was to pounce on every dead and dried-up plant I pulled out
of the ground. Hercules took a more paws-off approach, sitting on one of the wooden
Adirondack chairs and meowing comments from time to time.

I was putting my tai chi shoes in my bag and complaining about Cloud Hands to Hercules,
who wasn’t even pretending to listen, when the phone rang after supper. It was Rebecca.

“Hello, Kathleen,” she said. “Are you going to class tonight?”

“I am,” I said. “Would you like a ride?”

“I would, please.” I could hear her smile through the phone. “I was going to walk,
but I’m feeling a little lazy and I don’t want to take my car because I’m meeting
Everett later.”

Rebecca was many things, but lazy wasn’t one of them. I knew if I questioned her,
I’d find out she’d done more all day than I’d done in the past three days. “I’m leaving
in about ten minutes,” I said. “I can come around and pick you up.”

“You don’t need to do that,” she said. “I’ll come through the back. It’ll give me
a chance to see the boys.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

I went back into the kitchen and wasn’t at all surprised to see “the boys” waiting
by the back door, Owen giving his face a quick wash so he’d look presentable for Rebecca.
They followed me into the porch.

Rebecca was making her way across the backyard. Even with arthritis, she moved like
a much younger woman, a combination, she said, of good genes and regular tai chi practice.
She was wearing gray yoga pants and a gray sweater over a rose-colored T-shirt and
carrying a wildly colored, crazy-quilted tote bag.

“Thank you for giving me a ride,” she said as reached the back steps.

“Anytime,” I said.

“Everett and I are trying to decide on a wedding date,” she said. “After class, we’re
going to sit down with our calendars.” She rolled her eyes just a little when she
said “calendars.”

“Are you thinking next spring?” I asked.

She smiled at Owen and Hercules, who both gave her adoring looks, then looked at me.
“To tell the truth, Kathleen, all I’m thinking is, Let’s get on with it.”

I laughed.

“Do I sound like—what’s the word—a ‘bridezilla’?”

I shook my head. “No. I think you’re the opposite of a bridezilla.”

“Everett is determined that we’re going to have a ‘wedding.’ I’d be happy with just
Ami and the boys and a few close friends like you.” She shook her head. “Sometimes
that man can be unbelievably stubborn.”

“He loves you,” I said.

She smiled again and it lit up her entire face. “I know,” she said, a tinge of pink
coming to her cheeks. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

I couldn’t help grinning back at her. “Yes, it is.” I gestured toward the kitchen.
“I just have to get my keys and my bag.”

“Take your time, my dear,” Rebecca said, setting her tote on the window bench. “I’ll
just catch up with Owen and Hercules.”

I went back into the kitchen, stuffed a towel and my water bottle in with my shoes
and wallet and got my keys from my purse. Liam’s coffee mug was in the bottom of the
bag. I made sure both cats had a drink and then I went back out into the porch. Rebecca
was sitting on the bench, hands folded in her lap, talking to Herc and Owen, who seemed
to be listening intently. Both cats were purring like twin diesel engines.

I held the kitchen door open. “Time to say good night,” I told them.

Rebecca got to her feet. “Come over for tea some morning,” she said.

Owen meowed with his usual exuberance. He knew tea with Rebecca usually meant a catnip
chicken. He was so busy looking back at her over his shoulder that he almost walked
into the doorframe. He pulled up short and shook himself. Hercules looked from Owen
to me, and I thought I saw an almost imperceptible head shake.

I locked both doors, and Rebecca and I walked around to the truck. “I like your bag,”
I said as we backed out of the driveway.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” she said, smoothing the fabric with one hand. “I kind
of got it under false pretenses.”

“You?” I shot her a quick glance. “I don’t believe that.”

“It’s a piece from the art show,” Rebecca said. “I was helping Ruby unpack everything
last week, and I fell in love with it the moment I saw it. Ella King made it.”

“She does beautiful work,” I said.

“Yes, she does. When it looked as though the show and the food tasting were going
to be canceled, Ruby let me buy the bag, but I wonder if I should let her have it
again now that everything is back on.”

“It’s probably not the only bag Ella made, but why don’t you ask Ruby.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said. “That’s what I’ll do.” She rubbed her right wrist.

“Is your arm bothering you?” I asked. My own wrist felt fine now. I stopped at the
bottom of the hill and waited for a couple of cars to go by.

“Just a little,” Rebecca said. “I was helping Mary this afternoon. We were ironing
all the backdrops for the booths in the two tents. Mary had ironed every single one
of them last week and hung them on a couple of racks in the tent, but of course the
police had to look through them and they got wrinkled again. I think I’m a bit out
of practice. I don’t iron many things these days.” She laced her fingers in her lap.
“That was so sad about Michael.”

I turned right, glancing over at her as I did. “You knew him?”

“Heavens, yes,” she said. “I gave Michael his first haircut and every one after that
until the family left Mayville Heights. He was so full of life.” Out of the corner
of my eyes, I saw her hold up one hand. “And yes, Kathleen, I’ve heard what people
have been saying around town about Michael—that he was rude and insulting and no one
really wanted to work with him.” She sighed softly. “All I can say is, that’s not
the young man I knew.”

“What was he like when you knew him, when he was younger?” I asked, looking ahead
for a parking spot.

“Full of life,” Rebecca said. “He could hardly sit still in the chair for me to cut
his hair—not because he had a problem paying attention. It was just that he was so
full of energy and there were so many things he wanted to do. He was on the ski patrol.
He helped his old coach at every track-and-field event the little ones at the elementary
school had.”

I spied an empty parking space, big enough for the truck, a couple of doors down from
the tai chi studio and backed into it.

“You’ve probably heard what happened to Michael’s brother,” Rebecca said.

I nodded.

“He was different after that. But then, how could he not be?” She looked at me, her
blue eyes warm and kind, as always. “But I think that young man who was so full of
life was still somewhere inside. Maybe if Michael had had a little more time here,
he would have come out.”