Curiosity Thrilled the Cat (34 page)

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Authors: Sofie Kelly

BOOK: Curiosity Thrilled the Cat
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“Way to go, Fuzz Face,” Maggie whispered to Owen when I got to the part about Owen landing on Will’s head.
“You hit him with a pan?” Marcus asked when I explained how I’d hit Will with the cinnamon rolls.
“No, I hit him with the actual rolls,” I said.
He rubbed a hand down the side of his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s kind of hard to believe you could knock someone out with overcooked bread.”
“Well, I did,” I said, stiffly.
Just then Harry came out of the kitchen. “Excuse me,” he said to Marcus. “Do you need anything more from me?”
He shook his head. “No. You can leave.”
Harry looked at me. “Kathleen, is there anything else I can do for you?”
For the first time all evening I wasn’t sure what to say. I swallowed a couple of times. “I don’t know how to thank you, Harry,” I finally managed.
He ducked his head, clearly embarrassed. “I’m glad I was close,” he said. “If there’s anything you need, you know how to find me.” He gave me a smile and was gone.
I finished explaining what had happened.
Hercules got a fist-pump salute when Maggie heard how he’d gotten Harry’s attention.
“Tell me about these accidents at the library,” Marcus said.
“You know about the problem with the outlet,” I said. I explained about the roll of plastic falling from the staging, how I’d almost been badly burned with the radiator, and I told him about the mice in my office. I couldn’t help yawning by the time I got to the last details. I was cold and tired, and the last of the adrenaline rush was gone.
“That’s enough for tonight,” he said.
I held up a hand to stop him. “There’s something else you should know,” I said. “Will saw Easton at the library the night he died. I think Easton saw Will doing something to the wiring. I think he might have . . . shut Easton up.”
“What?” Maggie exclaimed.
“Will told you that?” I couldn’t read the expression on Marcus’s face.
“He did,” I said.
“Okay. I’ll check it out. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.” He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something more, but didn’t.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” I said, handing back his jacket.
“That’s my job.” He hesitated in the doorway. “You shouldn’t have any more problems tonight, but if you do”—he pulled a card out of his pocket, wrote something on the back and took one step back into the porch to hand it to me—“that’s my cell number. If you need anything, please use it.” He lifted a hand in good-bye and was gone.
“He likes you,” Maggie said.
“Of course he does,” I said, giving her the eyebrow, because that was all the sarcasm I could muster.
“Do you think Will killed Easton?” Roma asked.
“It’s starting to look that way.”
Maggie shook her head. “Because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time? I wouldn’t have guessed that.” She reached for Rebecca’s sweater. “Are you still cold?” she asked.
“That’s not dry,” I said.“And remember it’s Rebecca’s.”
“What are you doing with Rebecca’s sweater?” she asked.
“She forgot it yesterday when I took her to pick up Ami. I washed it because Owen chewed on the sleeve. In his defense, it smelled like catnip.”
“Catnip?”
“I think it was in her poultice.”
Maggie shrugged. “I suppose it could have been. It’s just usually used for cuts and that kind of thing, at least as far as I know.”
She held out a hand. “I’m staying all night,” she said.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t want to be by myself and I knew Mags would fuss over me, which, truth be told, I could use a little of. Maggie looked at the cats. “Okay, hop down, guys. We’re moving into the living room.”
I got to my feet and the ice pack slid off my back onto the bench. Roma rescued it. “I have to clean up the kitchen first,” I said.
“Of course you don’t,” Roma said.
I ended up on the sofa in the living room. Roma cleaned up the kitchen while Maggie made me hot chocolate and peanut butter toast. I didn’t care how warm it was outside. It made me feel better to wrap my hands around the warm mug. She even made peanut butter toast for the cats, cutting it up into tiny bites and serving it on a plate, one for each cat.
“I can’t keep this ice pack on my shoulder,” I told Maggie as it slid down my back for the third time.
She pulled the lavender scarf from around her neck. “Lean forward,” she said. She draped the scarf across my body like Miss America’s sash, slid the cold pack in place and tied the ends of fabric at my collarbone. “How’s that?”
I moved gingerly from side to side, but the scarf and the ice pack stayed put.
“Better. Thank you.” The beaded ends of the material tickled my chin. I pressed them down out of the way. The fabric was incredibly soft. “Did Ami make this for you?” I asked.
“She did. I told her how much I liked the one she made for Rebecca and the next day she came back with this one for me.” She smoothed down one stray bead. “Now, stay put while I make you some more cocoa.”
She headed back to the kitchen, trailed by Owen and Hercules, sniffing around for more toast for themselves.
I leaned back against the cushions and thought about Will Redfern. I could almost feel sorry for him. Then I remembered Gregor Easton’s body slumped over the piano at the Stratton. I remembered that drywall knife Will had in his pocket and how he’d planned to dump the cats out at Wisteria Hill, and the feeling pretty much passed.
Maggie spent the rest of the evening catering to the cats and me. “If they hack up something I’m getting you the mop,” I warned her when I caught her sneaking each of them more peanut butter.
She just laughed. She’d called Everett, postponing our meeting, so we spent the evening watching silly sitcoms on TV. A couple of times I noticed a police car cruise by the house.
Marcus Gordon’s doing,
I guessed. Sometimes he made it hard to dislike him.
I soaked for a long time in the bathtub and figured I’d be unconscious once my head hit the pillow, but I couldn’t sleep. My shoulder ached. My wrist hurt and my mind wouldn’t slow down, let alone shut off. Finally I eased out of bed, settled more or less comfortably in a chair by the window and opened my laptop.
And there it was. The e-mail from Phoebe Michaels with the photo of Gregor Easton’s seminar class from Oberlin, on the grass outside a lecture hall. Phoebe had listed all the names in her e-mail, working clockwise around the circle.
I found the face right away. And another that surprised me. I had to check the names twice.
Maggie’s scarf was over the arm of the chair. I ran my hand over the soft fabric, putting together the pieces of what I knew. Tab A into slot A. I knew the how. I was pretty sure I knew the why. And I knew the who. I knew who had killed Gregor Easton. And it wasn’t Will Redfern.
24
Cross Hands
I
n the morning I called Susan and asked if she could open the library and take my morning shift. She already knew about my encounter with Will.
“You’re really okay?” she asked.
“I really am.”
“Good,” she said. “Take your time coming in.”
It was harder to convince Maggie to go home.
“I’m all right,” I said, thinking how many times I’d said that in the last week. “Mags, Will is in jail for assault. There’s a police car driving by every time I look out the window, and I have Owen and Hercules.” I hugged her with my good arm. “And if it’ll make you feel better I’ll make more cinnamon rolls.”
She left after we agreed she’d bring food from Eric’s and we’d have supper before the special episode of
Gotta Dance
.
I sat at the table with my coffee, both cats at my feet. I told them what I’d figured out. They listened or at least pretended to. I thought maybe saying it out loud might make my reasoning fall apart. But it all still made sense.
I washed the dishes, and spent a lot of time fiddling with my hair. I was stalling.
I hesitated before I stepped into the porch, flashing back to seeing Will standing there. The cats were waiting by the door. I took a couple of deep breaths and a couple more. Hercules meowed at me. I was going to hyperventilate if I didn’t stop with the deep breaths. I squared my shoulders and stepped into my gardening clogs.
“Let’s go,” I said, heading outside with Herc and Owen at my heels. Over in Rebecca’s yard, Rebecca, Violet and Roma were sitting in the gazebo, having coffee. I started across the grass. It wasn’t how I’d planned to do this, but maybe it would be better.
Rebecca caught sight of me and waved. Roma stood up. As I came up the gazebo steps she moved around the table to meet me.
“How’s your arm?” she asked.
“Sore,” I admitted. I knew she wouldn’t believe me if I told her I was fine.
“May I?”
I held out my arm. I was wearing a long-sleeved cotton shirt. Roma pushed back the unbuttoned cuff and examined my bruised wrist. The swelling had gone down a little and the bruises now formed a pattern from where Will’s fingers had been on my arm.
“What about the shoulder?” Roma said.
I made a face. “It’s okay,” I said. “It hurts, but I think it looks worse than it feels.” I held up my other hand. “And, yes, I’m going to the clinic.”
She smiled. “Good.” She gestured to the table. “Sit down. Take my chair. I’ll get another one.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Roma, would you get Kathleen a cup from the kitchen, please?” Rebecca called after her.
“I will,” Roma said.
Rebecca turned to me. “We heard about Will. Did he hurt you?”
“Just some bruises,” I said. “I managed to hit him with . . . something, and then Harry showed up.”
“I’m glad to see you’re all right,” Violet said. “Is it true Will wanted to scare you into leaving town?”
I nodded. “He was involved with the previous librarian.”
“Ingrid?” Rebecca said.
“Yes. He wanted Ingrid to get her job back.”
Violet took a sip from her coffee and set the cup on the table. “But she wasn’t fired. She resigned.”
“That didn’t matter to Will. He thought if he could get me to leave, Everett would ask Ingrid to return to her old job.”
“Ingrid’s leaving for Canada—Montreal—at the end of the month,” Violet said.
Roma returned with a chair for her and a cup for me. Rebecca reached across the table for the pot and poured me some coffee. “Maybe that’s why Will was getting desperate,” she said. “Ingrid is a very nice woman, but she’s not the type to make a man—”
“—fall into the deep end?” Roma finished.
“Yes,” Violet said.
“Love and loyalty will drive people to do things you’d never expect them to do,” I said, wrapping my hands around my mug so the others wouldn’t see them shaking.
“That’s true,” Rebecca agreed.
“That’s why Gregor Easton died,” I said.
Violet looked at me. “I beg your pardon, Kathleen?” she said.
“Love and loyalty. That’s what killed Easton.” I looked at Violet. “Your loyalty to Rebecca.” I turned to look at the older woman. “And your love for Ami.”
Rebecca folded her hands in her lap. “Yes,” she said.
Roma and Violet both started to talk. Rebecca looked at both of them. “Stop,” she said. “It’s time to tell the truth.” She seemed so calm. “How did you figure it out?”
I turned to Violet. “Gregor Easton was Douglas Gregory Williams,” I said. “You were in his class at Oberlin.”
She said nothing.
“I found a charm, a silver musical note, on the floor at the Stratton. It was yours.”
“It may have been,” she said.
“I thought it was a musical note hanging from a silver circle, but it was hanging from an O, for Oberlin.”
“I did lose my note charm,” she said. “Somewhere.”
I continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “The problem was the only person I could connect to Easton and Oberlin was Oren. I talked to Phoebe Michaels and there was no other connection. It seemed like a dead end. Then she said she thought she had a photo of the group. She sent a copy of it to me yesterday. Along with the names of everyone in the picture.”
For the moment I focused all my attention on Violet. “I should have made the connection the first time Phoebe told me the names of the women in the class—maybe I would have, if I’d seen them written out. Your house is called Llŷn House. It’s Welsh, just like your name.”
A touch of a smile appeared on Violet’s face. “Yes, it is. That’s not exactly a secret.”
“It’s not exactly common knowledge, either,” I said. “Violet is your middle name. Your first name is Gynwafar.”
I pulled a folded piece of paper from my pocket and smoothed it flat on the table. “There you are,” I said, pointing to a young and smiling Violet. She leaned forward to study the image.
“Were we ever that young?” she said softly.
I moved my finger one face to the right and turned to Rebecca. “And there you are. Gwyn’s friend, Phoebe told me.”
“Yes, that’s me,” Rebecca said.
“You met Easton when you were visiting Violet.”
“He seemed so sophisticated, so charming,” she said. “He wasn’t.”
“I know what he did,” I said. “When you came home on Tuesday and found out that Easton was here—a last-minute replacement for Zinia Young—and that he’d been favoring Ami, you were afraid he’d take advantage of her somehow. The way he took advantage of you. I know how much you love her. You couldn’t let that happen.”
Rebecca was incredibly composed. “No, I couldn’t,” she agreed.
“You got Easton to meet you by pretending to be me. You overheard me tell Maggie what had happened at the library with Owen.”
Rebecca put both hands on the edge of the table. “I’m so sorry about that. You’re young and pretty. I knew in his arrogance he’d come for you. He’d never have shown up for an old lady.”

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