Cat Trick (19 page)

Roma folded her arms over her chest. “Eric’s sausage-filled panzerotti are not a suitable
treat for cats.”

With exquisite timing, Owen yowled his objections. Even Roma laughed. Then she shook
a few of the star-shaped bits of cat kibble onto the floor near the cats’ food dishes
and took a couple of steps back. Hercules gave her a long, thoughtful look. Then he
went over to the pile and sniffed. “Salmon,” Roma said helpfully.

Owen’s gray ears twitched. I could see the tension in his small furry body.

Hercules looked back over his shoulder at Roma. Then he took a cautious bite. The
second bite wasn’t nearly as restrained. The third bite was actually more like shoving
his face in the small pile. He sighed with happiness.

Roma smiled. “Hercules doesn’t seem to think they need salt,” she said to Maggie.
She looked at Owen and held out the box. “Would you like to try them?”

His expression was pained. On the one hand, there was a box of fish-flavored cat food.
On the other hand, the hand holding the box belonged to Roma, the woman who poked
him with needles and tried to cut off his access to sausage panzerotti and frozen
yogurt.

“Here,” Maggie said. “Try this one.”

She held out the little star she’d palmed in her hand and then let it drop to the
floor in front of Owen. He looked uncertainly at it, sniffed it and then gave it a
careful lick. It disappeared from the floor faster than if I’d sucked it up with the
vacuum.

Roma dumped a few more bits onto the floor in front of him.

“I think your friend just got two paws-up,” I said to her, setting the salad bowl
on the table.

Roma pulled out a chair and sat down as I filled the plates, handing one to her and
another to Maggie, before setting my own on the table.

Mags took a bite, gave me a blissful smile and waved her fork approvingly at me.

“This is good,” Roma said after her first taste. “Could I have the recipe?”

“Absolutely,” I said. Owen had come to sit next to Maggie’s chair, the way he always
did when she had dinner with us. Hercules was next to the refrigerator, washing his
paws. Maybe I’d gotten lucky and the little cat food drama had made Roma forget about
me kissing Marcus.

She turned to Maggie, fork poised over her plate. “So how was your week?” she asked.
“I know Kathleen was kissing Marcus. What have you been doing?”

Or maybe it hadn’t.

For a moment Maggie was as still as a stone statue. Then she squealed, flinging both
hands in the air like she was about to do a victory dance in the end zone. “Finally,”
she exclaimed. “I was beginning to think I was going to have to ask Rebecca if there
were any kissing potions in those old notebooks of her mother’s.” She peered at me
across the table. “When did you kiss him? And why didn’t you tell me?” Her gaze flicked
over to Roma. “And how did you find out?”

Roma shrugged. “I asked. She turned the cutest shade of red.” She gestured to me with
her fork. “Just the way she’s doing now. It was a dead giveaway.”

Maggie nodded. “I know. She used to do that all the time whenever I’d say Marcus was
just perfect for her. That’s how I knew she liked him, no matter what she said.”

“I can hear the two of you, you know,” I said.

Mags nodded. “We know.” She speared a couple of potatoes, popped them in her mouth
and then leaned her elbows on the table, propping her chin on her interlaced fingers.
“So?” she said after she’d chewed and swallowed.

“Marcus kissed me. I kissed him back. That’s it,” I said. “He didn’t throw me over
his shoulder and swing back to his tree house like Tarzan.” It didn’t seem like a
good time to mention that we’d argued this morning. Again. Maybe I would invite him
over to try Roma’s wine and this time I’d kiss him.

“I’ve never thought that sounded very comfortable,” Roma said, wrinkling her nose,
not unlike the way Owen did when he was inspecting his food. “Hanging upside down
over someone’s back and whipping through the trees—I think I just might get motion
sickness.” She made a backward motion with her hands. “I like a nice dip.”

“Mmm, yeah.” Maggie nodded slowly. “But it’s very easy to overextend one’s back, and
there is more than half a foot difference in height between Kathleen and Marcus.”

The two of them stared at me. “You’re wasting your time,” I said. “I don’t kiss and
tell.” They exchanged shrugs and picked up their forks again. “But if I did,” I continued,
“I’d say, ‘Wow!’”

They both howled with laughter.

“Now why don’t we talk about your love life?” I said to Maggie.

“Sure,” she said, “except I don’t have one.”

“What do you call Liam?” I asked.

“Cute as a bug’s ear?” Roma said. Maggie and I both looked at her. “Just because I
have Eddie doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate cute.”

Maggie nodded. “Liam is a sweet man, but all we are is friends.” She squared her shoulders
and held her head high. “I want what you and Marcus have.”

I frowned across the table. “What do we have?”

“Passion,” she said. “It’s the difference between a plain brownie and one with nuts
and chocolate frosting. I want the nuts and the chocolate frosting.”

“You are nuts,” I said. “Marcus and I don’t have passion.”

Laughing, Roma shook her head. “Wisteria Hill? This morning? Something was going on
between the two of you, although it didn’t look like something that was going to end
with Marcus flipping you over his shoulder and swinging through the trees.”

“That wasn’t passion. That’s this case—Mike Glazer’s death. I just kind of stumbled
into it.” Hercules lifted his head and meowed softly. “And it really wasn’t me. It
was Hercules.”

The cat went back to washing his paws now that he’d been acknowledged. Owen, on the
other hand, immediately moved into Roma’s line of sight, lifting a paw almost as though
he were saying “I did something too
.
”

“And Owen, too,” I added.

Roma’s head was bent over her plate. She didn’t even look up. “I know I’m going to
be sorry I asked this,” she said, “but what do you mean ‘and Owen too’?”

Before I could answer, the cat did. He stalked over to Roma’s chair, looked up and
meowed at her. Then he sat down and looked expectantly across the table at me. Clearly
it was my job to fill in the details.

I gestured at the little gray tabby. “Owen found something that could have been a
clue, but it turned out not to be.”

“I’m not even going to ask how that happened,” Roma said.

Mags smiled at Owen and gave him a thumbs-up. Then she straightened up in her chair.
“I don’t suppose these two could figure out what happened.” She shook her head and
sighed. “I’m sorry. That isn’t very nice of me. Mike’s dead and I’m thinking about
the tour pitch.”

“Is it really that big a deal?” Roma asked.

“It could be,” Maggie said. “At least that’s what Liam believes. You know how quiet
it is around here in the fall. Anything that could bring in tourists has to be good.
He and Mary and Ruby, a couple of people from the hotel, Thorsten—they’ve put so much
time and energy into this pitch.”

“I think you do like Liam,” I said teasingly.

She rolled her eyes. “Not in the way you mean. It’s just for fun between us. Liam
likes to rescue damsels in distress and I’m not really the damsel type.” I saw her
hand move and knew she’d just managed to slip Owen something from her plate. “For
instance, last Thursday I’m meeting him for lunch at Fern’s, and as I’m coming from
the parking lot, I see him with Wren Magnusson of all people, heads together, talking
about something.” She gave her own head a little shake. “Turns out she’d had a flat
the night before and Liam had stopped to help. Then, of course, Liam being Liam, when
he saw her the next day, he had to make sure she’d gotten a new tire. He’s always
doing things like that.”

“He sounds like a nice guy,” I said.

Maggie wiped a dab of sauce off the side of her mouth with her napkin. “He’s got a
big heart,” she said. “I wouldn’t want him to be any different.” She gestured at Roma
with the napkin. “It’s just that when Roma walks into a room, she’s the only person
Eddie sees.”

Roma grinned and her cheeks got pink.

“And you and Marcus, I swear, the two of you could be standing in the middle of a
hurricane and all you’d notice is each other.” She shot me a warning look. “Don’t
say it’s not true, because the entire town thinks you two should just get on with
it and admit you’re nuts about each other.”

“Well, Mary did offer to teach me a few things,” I said.

“What kind of things?” Roma asked, her voice edged with suspicion.

I did a little shimmy in my seat and copied Mary’s tugging-off-the-glove motion.

Roma covered her eyes. “Way more information than I need,” she said.

“Did you say yes?” Maggie asked, a teasing gleam in her eyes.

My cheeks were burning. “No, I didn’t,” I said. “Time to change the subject.”

“Kathleen, have you decided what you’re going to tell Everett?” Roma asked, pushing
back her empty plate.

I dipped a potato wedge in the last bit of sauce on my plate. “There’s a lot to think
about,” I hedged. “I like Mayville Heights, and I can’t imagine not sitting here with
the two of you, or going to tai chi, or being at Eric’s for lunch.”

“So stay,” Maggie said quietly.

“I miss my family,” I said. “I didn’t realize how much until I went back to Boston
to see them. They drive me crazy, but I do love them. And my life was in Boston for
a long time. I have connections and people I care about there, too.”

Roma tipped her head to one side and smiled. “Do what feels right, what makes you
happy. We’ll be friends no matter what you choose.”

Maggie stuck out her fork into the middle of the table.

“If you’re still hungry, there’s more in the pot,” I said.

She made a face. “No. We’re the Three Musketeers. You know, all for one, one for all.”

“I thought we were Charlie’s Angels,” I said.

“This isn’t going to end with you two hijacking my car, is it?” Roma asked.

“You’re both so awful at the symbolic moment,” Maggie said. She wiggled her fork.
“C’mon. All for one.”

I looked at Roma. “She isn’t going to give in until we do this.” I picked up my fork
and stretched across the table so it rested on Maggie’s fork.

Roma looked at the two of us and shook her head; then she picked up her own fork and
leaned forward until the tines were resting on the other two. It would have been far
more dramatic with fencing foils.

“All for one,” Maggie said with a grin.

“And one for all,” Roma and I joined in, laughing.

In that moment, whether or not I should stay seemed so simple.

16

B
oth Harry Taylors—Senior and Junior—came into the library Saturday morning just after
we opened.

I put my arm around the older man’s shoulders and gave him a hug. “It’s so good to
see you,” I said.

“It’s good to be seen,” he said. “I was getting so tired of being cooped up in the
house. I figured I was going to have to use a soup spoon to tunnel my way out when
my keepers were asleep.”

“You can see he’s feeling much better,” his son said dryly, heading over to the desk
to give Mary three hardcover books and a couple of DVDs.

Harrison had just gotten over a second serious middle ear infection that had left
him unsteady on his feet and caused at least one blackout that I knew of. He was using
his cane, but he wasn’t relying on it quite as much as the last time I’d seen him.

“I’m not planning on being a customer of Dan Gunnerson anytime soon,” he said tartly.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” I said, smiling at him. Dan Gunnerson ran Gunnerson’s
Funeral Home.

“I have a few more bulbs I want to put in,” Harry said. “Dad figured he’d come along
and freeload a cup of coffee he shouldn’t really be drinking off of you.”

“First of all, if a cup of coffee once in a while was going to kill me, Gunnerson
would have planted me—probably in some ridiculously overpriced box—years ago,” the
old man said. “And second, Kathleen enjoys my company.” He winked at me. “I’m very
charming.”

The younger Harry shook his head and headed for the door. “He’s all yours, Kathleen,”
he said over his shoulder. “I won’t be long.”

I offered Harrison my arm. “Are you actually allowed to have a cup of coffee?” I asked.

“Depends on how you define ‘allowed,’” he said, as we made our way to the seating
area overlooking the water, at the end of the double row of computer desks.

I narrowed my gaze. “Am I going to get in trouble if I get you one?”

He gave me a sly grin. “Not with me you won’t.” With his snowy beard and mischievous
blue eyes, he looked like Santa Claus without the red suit. And he really was charming.

I got Harry settled in front of the high windows and then went upstairs and got him
half a cup of coffee, partly because I knew he probably shouldn’t be drinking it and
partly because having it downstairs, even away from all the books and the computers,
was against library rules.

He took a long sip from the cup and sighed with pleasure. “Now, that’s a cup of coffee;
a lot better than that decaf stuff the boys and Elizabeth are trying to get me to
drink.” He balanced the stoneware mug on his knee and turned to look at me. There
was a question in his deep blue eyes. I waited for him to ask it.

“So, what have you found out about the Glazer boy’s death?” he said.

I knew there was no point in trying to bluff him. He might have been old, but he was
as sharp mentally as a man half his age.

“How did you know?” I asked, shifting sideways in my chair and crossing my legs.

He took another sip from his cup. “There’s nothing wrong with my hearing, and just
because it looks like I’m asleep doesn’t necessarily mean that I am. So what do you
know?”

“Not very much,” I said.

“It wasn’t an accident.” He wasn’t asking a question.

“What makes you say that?” I asked. Had he heard some bit of gossip I’d missed?

“Because if it was, Marcus Gordon would have said so by now.”

I nodded. “No, I don’t think it was an accident.”

Harrison stroked his close-cropped beard. “You think it was someone in town or someone
from away? I hear the boy was pretty much making an ass of himself. More than a couple
of people had words with him.”

I slid my palms over the armrests of my chair. “His two partners were at a fund-raiser
in Minneapolis in front of a couple hundred witnesses. As for the people who had words
with Mike Glazer, Liam Stone was helping someone who’d had a flat tire. That leaves
me with Mary”—I dipped my head toward the circulation desk—“Burtis Chapman and the
woman who’s the new baker over at Fern’s, who doesn’t look like she’s big enough to
kill a grasshopper.”

He gave a snort of laughter. “Mary wouldn’t kill anybody. She might have left him
singin’ soprano, but that’s about it.” He frowned in thought. “Baker over at Fern’s?
Didn’t she do those fancy cupcake things for the reception after the music festival?”

I nodded. “That’s her. Her name’s Georgia.”

Harrison took a long pull from his coffee. He folded his hand around the mug. The
skin on his hand was heavily lined, like a close-up of a street map. “She’s about
the size of a piece of dandelion fluff. I can’t see her killing Glazer. Why would
she want to? Because he didn’t like those little chocolate sprinkles?”

I put both feet on the floor and leaned forward. “Tell me about the Glazers. I know
about the accident that killed Mike’s brother.”

He sighed and fingered his beard again. “That was a terrible thing. If anyone had
predicted that one of the Glazer boys was going to end up dead the way he did, well,
no one would have figured it to be Gavin. It tore that family apart. And now both
boys are dead.” He shifted in his chair. “You know, Kathleen, when you have kids,
you love them for different reasons. Hell, they’re different people. When I met Elizabeth
for the first time—” He patted the left side of his chest. “It was as though a little
part of myself that had been missing had been given back to me. But that didn’t mean
I loved my other children one bit less.”

“It wasn’t that way in Mike’s family,” I said.

Harrison shook his head. “I’m sorry to say it wasn’t. I can’t say I know what it’s
like to lose a child, because I don’t and I hope I never find out. But I know what
it’s like to be without a child, and you just don’t hold that against your other ones.”

“Gavin Glazer was the golden boy.”

“And I guess you could say Michael was young and reckless.” He drained the last of
his coffee. “I had a bit of a reckless streak myself when I was young,” he said, the
twinkle coming back to his blue eyes. “I grew up, and who’s to say young Michael wouldn’t
have done the same thing, except Gavin died, and once he was dead, well, I don’t mean
to criticize, but some people turn the dead into saints.”

“Do you think it was just a coincidence that Mike died here in Mayville Heights?”
I asked.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harry Junior come in the front door; at the same
time, the old man reached for his cane and pushed himself to his feet. I wasn’t sure
if he’d seen his son or somehow just known he was coming. I offered my hand and he
took it, giving it a squeeze.

“I don’t put a lot of stock in coincidences, Kathleen,” he said. He handed me his
cup. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“Ready to go, Dad?” Harry said.

“Would it matter if I said no?” the old man asked.

“Not in the slightest,” Harry said. He smiled at me. “Thanks, Kathleen.”

“Anytime,” I said.

Harrison stopped at the desk where Mary was working. I saw him smile at her and thought—not
for the first time—what a handsome man he must have been in his prime. Even stiffened
with arthritis, he was striking.

“Mary, you make a fine cup of coffee,” I heard him say. “If you weren’t a married
woman, I’d be camped on your doorstep.”

Mary gave him a flirtatious smile. “If I weren’t a married woman, you wouldn’t be
camped out there very long.” She winked. He laughed, and Harry Junior looked back
at me and shook his head.

I took the empty cup and headed upstairs, thinking about what Harrison had said about
coincidences. Was the fact that Mike Glazer had died here, not somewhere else, not
anywhere else, important? Was that the key to figuring out why he’d died and who had
been involved?