Faux Paw: A Magical Cats Mystery (21 page)

“He loves you,” Maggie said. “I think he wanted to do something big to show you how much.”

“I didn’t want to make a fool of him,” Roma said quietly.

“It’s okay. You didn’t,” I assured her.

She looked at me. “Then everyone thinks I said yes.”

“What everyone thinks isn’t important.”

Maggie nodded. “We’ll figure that out later.”

It was quiet at Eric’s. Nic was behind the counter. I guessed that Eric was in the kitchen.

Nic turned and smiled at us. “You can sit anywhere,” he called, gesturing to the room with one hand.

“Thanks,” I said. “Would you bring us a pot of hot chocolate?”

He nodded.

Maggie chose a table against the end wall. Roma took off her jacket, sat down and slumped against the back of the chair. She looked at both of us. “What am I going to do?” she asked, pain evident in her eyes.

“Nothing,” Maggie said. Her blond curls were damp and she shook her head. “Leave the universe to its own devices for a little while.”

I hung my jacket on the back of my chair and took a seat. “Maggie’s right,” I said. “You don’t have to do anything right now.”

“What do I say to Eddie?” She looked stricken at the idea that she’d hurt him. The way she felt about the man was all over her face. Anyone could see it. The proverbial blind man could see it.

“You tell him you need more time,” I said. “And then you take as much as you need.”

Roma twisted the silver ring she always wore around her finger. “Time is the problem. There’s too much of it between Eddie and me.”

“He doesn’t care about that,” Maggie said.

“‘Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds,’” I said softly. I’d been thinking the words and had said them out loud before I realized it.

“Shakespeare?” Roma asked.

I nodded.

“The words are beautiful, but it doesn’t change anything.” She looked past me out to the rain-soaked street.

Nic came over with three mugs and a couple of stainless steel carafes. He filled the mugs from one jug and set the other in the middle of the table.

“If you need anything else, let me know,” he said.

Roma looked at her cup, ran a finger around the rim and then picked it up. She looked at us. “I know you’re both right,” she said. “I know Eddie doesn’t care that I’m older than he is. He even says he doesn’t care about more children. But I care.”

I leaned forward. “What can we do?” I asked.

She almost smiled. “You’re already doing it.”

Marcus walked in about five minutes later. He stood just inside the door and looked in our direction.

“I’ll get this,” I said.

I walked over to him. He looked contrite.

“You mad?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. Well, maybe I was for about thirty seconds. That’s what you were trying to tell me earlier, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Eddie wanted it to be a surprise. But the more I thought about it, I didn’t want to keep secrets from you.”

I smiled at him. “I’m sorry I called you a guy.”

“I am a guy,” he said. “I thought Eddie’s idea was romantic.”

“Maybe in different circumstances,” I said.

“How’s Roma?” he asked.

I glanced over at her. “Upset. Worried about Eddie.”

Marcus shook his head. “He loves her, Kathleen. I’m certain about that.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with that,” I said.

“He’s not going to give up.”

“I didn’t think he would.”

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He held out the keys to the SUV. “Here. Take Roma home.”

“How are you going to get home?”

“I can get a ride with someone. Don’t worry. I’ll pick up the car in the morning.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He looked over at Maggie. “Brady’s outside.”

“I’ll tell Maggie,” I said. I caught his arm and gave it a squeeze before I walked back to the table.

“Mags, Brady is outside,” I said.

Roma looked up at her. “Go,” she said. “I’m all right.”

Maggie smiled at her. “No,” she said. “I’m going to go talk to him for a minute but I’ll be right back.”

“Maggie,” Roma began.

Maggie shook her head and smiled again. “No,” she repeated. Then she got up and headed for the door.

“I should go find Eddie,” Roma said.

I shook my head as I reached for my mug. “Eddie’s fine. You should have a bowl of pudding cake.”

“Pudding cake?” she said, frowning at me.

I took a sip of my cocoa. It was still hot. “‘Duct tape or chocolate can fix pretty much anything,’ is what you say, and I don’t think this is a duct tape kind of problem.”

That got me a small smile. “You’re right about that.”

I leaned back in my chair and caught Nic’s attention. He came around the counter and headed in our direction. “What can I get you, Kathleen?” he asked.

“Is there any of Eric’s pudding cake in the kitchen?” I asked.

He smiled. “There might be. I can check.”

“Would you, please?” I asked.

“Sure thing,” he said. “Three bowls if there is?”

“Please,” I said. I knew Maggie would never say no to Eric’s pudding cake.

Nic headed for the kitchen.

“Do you understand why I can’t say yes to Eddie?” Roma asked. “He was playing in the minor leagues when Sydney was little and he missed so much of that time with her. He told me once that he wished he could have a do-over. I’m just too old for that.”

“There are other options,” I said gently.

“I know. But they’re expensive and they take time.”

“And?” I nudged.

She twisted the silver ring she wore around and around her index finger. “I’ve seen what the stress of those other options can do to people. I don’t want that to happen to Eddie and me.” She looked at me. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m on your side no matter what. I’m your friend. When Marcus and I finally got together, which both you and Maggie had thought should happen from the beginning, did you say I told you so?”

“Yes, I did,” she said. “At least twice. Maybe three times.”

“All right. Bad example. My point is, even though you thought I was wrong about Marcus, you and Maggie were always there for me.”

“I don’t want either of you to take sides,” she said, wrapping her fingers around her cup.

“I don’t think we have to,” I said. “But if it comes to that, your side is the one we’re on.”

Maggie came in the door then, shaking herself before she walked over to us. Nic stepped out of the kitchen then, carrying a tray with three bowls of Eric’s chocolate pudding cake.

“You ordered pudding cake?” Maggie said, slipping off her jacket and dropping back onto her seat.

“You did want some, didn’t you?” I asked.

“Absolutely. Chocolate is like a good painting.”

I frowned at her.

“Good for the soul,” she said as Nic set a steaming bowl in front of her.

Once we all had a dish, Maggie stretched out her arm and put her hand, palm down, in the middle of the table. “We’re the three musketeers,” she said.

“We’re not the three musketeers,” Roma said. “That’s just something you made up when you and Kathleen carjacked me so you could follow Will Redfern and find out why he was taking so long to finish the renovations at the library.”

“And we did,” Maggie said, picking up her spoon with her other hand and trying the pudding cake. “Umm, this is good,” she sighed. Then she slapped her hand against the table. I reached over and put my hand on top of hers.

“All for one,” I said.

“Stop trying to make me feel better,” Roma said.

I shook my head. “Sorry. I can’t do that. All for one.”

She looked from me to Mags and her lower lip trembled. “You’re the best friends I’ve ever had,” she said. Then she swallowed hard and laid her hand on top of mine. “And one for all.”

I
drove Maggie home first. She reached forward from the back and hugged Roma in the passenger seat. “‘All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well,’” she said softly.

“Julian of Norwich,” I said. It had been a long time since I’d heard the quote generally attributed to the Christian mystic.

“If you want to talk or just be quiet, call me,” Maggie added.

Roma nodded. “I will.”

I waited until I saw Maggie go inside her apartment building; then I turned to Roma. “Come home with me,” I said. “I’ll loan you a pair of fuzzy pajamas and I promise that Owen and Hercules won’t ask you any annoying questions.”

“I should go home,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

She pulled a hand back through her dark hair. “I don’t know.”

“So come with me.”

“All right,” she finally said with a shrug.

“We’re home,” I called as Roma and I stepped into the kitchen.

After a moment a furry black-and-white head peered around the living room doorway. A moment later a gray tabby head looked around the doorframe on the other side. The cats exchanged a look.

“Merow!” Owen said. Then he disappeared. Luckily, not literally.

Hercules padded into the kitchen.

I took Roma’s jacket, hanging it on one of the hooks by the back door.

“How about some tea?” I asked.

“Is it that the herbal tea Maggie likes?” she asked, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs and sitting down.

I nodded. “It is.”

“Then no, not really.”

I smiled. It was good to see Roma’s sense of humor. “How about another cup of hot chocolate?”

She thought for a moment. “I think that would be good.” She tucked one leg up underneath her and folded her arms over her midsection.

Hercules came and sat next to her chair. He looked up at her, his green eyes narrowed almost as though he was wondering why she was here.

“How was your night?” Roma said to him.

“Mrrr,” he said.

When the milk was heated and the cocoa made, I joined Roma at the table. She stirred her hot chocolate, watching the little whirlpool she made in her cup. “Don’t be mad at Marcus, Kathleen,” she said finally, looking up at me. She almost smiled. “I know he was part of all this. Eddie had to have had someone helping him. They probably did some male version of a pinkie swear.”

“I’m not mad,” I said, dropping a marshmallow in my cup and dunking it with my finger. “You’re right. He did help. And he did try to tell me, right before Harry called about the library.”

We sat in silence for a moment, Hercules watching both of us but keeping his own counsel; then Roma said softly, “He’s a good person.”

I wasn’t sure if she meant Marcus or Eddie.

We sat and talked for a while about everything but Eddie’s proposal. There wasn’t really anything else to say about that.

Roma yawned and covered her mouth with one hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not the company.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “The spare room bed is made up. I’ll find you a pair of pajamas.”

Hercules went ahead of us up the stairs and turned in to the bathroom. He stopped under the wooden cupboard on the wall, looked up and meowed.

“Good idea,” I said. Roma was used to me talking to the boys, but she raised her eyebrows at me this time.

“I have some of Rebecca and Maggie’s bath infusions,” I said. “Would you like one for the tub?”

Rebecca’s mother had used a lot of herbal remedies and had acted as an informal nurse in the town when Rebecca was young. Rebecca in turn had learned a lot of her mother’s herbal secrets and had been teaching them to Maggie. They’d made poultices and wraps several times for me, and their tub infusions seemed to help everything from sore muscles to an overloaded mind.

I fished in the cupboard and held out two wraps of cheesecloth tied with string. “What do you think?” I said to Hercules.

His nose twitched as he sniffed at one and then the other.

“Meow!” he said, pawing the air in the direction of the one in my left hand.

“This one gets the paw of approval,” I said. I put two fluffy towels on the wicker stool underneath the cupboard and set the sachet of herbs and flowers on top.

“Thank you, Hercules,” Roma said.

I got her a pair of soft flannel pajamas from my bedroom. They were hot pink, decorated with little gray-and-white images of Bigfoot.

“A present from Ethan,” I said.

“Why did your brother buy you a pair of pajamas with Bigfoot on them?” she asked.

“Because he used to razz me about dating Bigfoot since I was living in the wilderness, according to him.”

Roma smiled.

“I just remind him that I used to change his diapers,” I said. “That always shuts him up.”

“You and Ethan and Sara are still close,” she said, taking the pajamas from me. “Even with you here and them in Boston.”

“I miss them,” I said, “but even if I were still in Boston I probably wouldn’t see them any more than I do now. Ethan’s band has been on the road most of the last six months and Sara has worked on two films.”

“I wanted siblings when I was younger,” Roma said. “Then I’d spend a month with my cousins in the summertime and being an only child didn’t seem so bad.”

“When I found out I was going to have a baby brother and sister, all I felt was mortified. My parents were divorced and there was the undeniable proof that they’d been having sex.” I smiled at the memory of my melodramatic teenage self, deciding that I could never be seen in public again with my mother and father. “And then they brought Ethan and Sara home from the hospital and my mother let me hold them for the first time,” I said.

“And you bonded with them,” Roma said, holding the Bigfoot pajamas to her chest and folding her arms over them.

“Not even close,” I said. “Ethan spit up all over the front of my favorite shirt and at the exact same time Sara did the same on the back of it.” I grinned and raised my eyebrows. “They’ve always been competitive.”

It was good to see Roma laugh. “So what changed?” she asked.

“I’d get up in the middle of the night and sneak in to look at them. I was convinced they’d ruined my life, but I couldn’t stay away from them, either. One night Ethan was awake and I just started talking to him. Then Sara woke up, too. As long as I was talking they didn’t cry. About a week later Mom got up to check on them and found the three of us downstairs watching one of those really bad Japanese Godzilla movies with subtitles on TV.”

I smiled at her. “And I’m going to stop talking,” I said. “Toothbrush and toothpaste in the cupboard on the second shelf. If you need anything else, just yell.”

She nodded. “I will.”

I cleaned up the kitchen while Roma was in the bathtub; then I had a bath myself, sinking down in the water until it was up to my chin. I wondered how Eddie was. I wondered if there was any way Roma would change her mind.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed brushing my hair when my cell phone buzzed. It was Marcus.

“Hi,” he said. “You weren’t sleeping, were you?”

“No,” I said.

“How’s Roma?” he asked.

“Sad, mostly,” I said, standing up and walking over to set the brush on my dresser. “I convinced her to stay here for tonight.”

“I thought you might.”

“How’s Eddie?”

Marcus exhaled softly. “Pretty much the same as Roma. He’s already on his way back to St. Paul. He left about an hour ago.”

I yawned. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Go to bed. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Good night.”

“Good night,” I said.

I woke up at five minutes after two, unsure of why I was awake. I padded out into the hallway in bare feet. The door to the spare bedroom was open. Roma wasn’t in bed.

I was halfway down the stairs when I heard voices. Then I realized it was just one voice, Roma’s. I crept silently to the bottom of the steps and moved across the living room floor until I could see into the kitchen. Roma was at the table, her back to the doorway, one foot up on her chair with her chin resting on her bent knee and her arms wrapped around her leg. Hercules was sitting at her feet.

She was talking to him. And he was listening, his head tilted a bit to one side. It occurred to me that maybe Roma had found exactly the right “person” to talk to who would listen without judgment. I took several steps backward and then I went silently back upstairs.

I drove Roma home after breakfast, moving Marcus’s SUV out onto the street so I could back the truck out of my driveway. When I got back it was gone and there was a brown paper bag propped on the doorknob of the back door. There was a smiley face drawn on the front with a black marker and one of Eric’s cinnamon rolls inside.

Rebecca called a few minutes after nine o’clock. “I have some information for you,” she said. “Do you have a few minutes?”

“I do,” I said. “Would you like to come over and tell me in person? I have coffee, tea and”—I leaned sideways to look at the counter, realizing as I did that Roma and I had eaten the last of the blueberry scones and I’d demolished Marcus’s cinnamon roll—“sardine cat crackers.”

Rebecca laughed. “As . . . tempting as that sounds, I’m not home. I’m actually downtown in Everett’s pied-à-terre.”

“Ahh, romantic,” I teased.

“Yes, it was,” she said a saucy lilt to her voice.

I could imagine her smile and the twinkle in her eyes. Rebecca and Everett could make the most cynical person out there believe in love and happily ever after.

“So what did you find out?” I asked, pulling my feet up so I was sitting cross-legged on the chair.

“The Holmeses are not the happy family they seemed to be on the outside,” she said.

“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way,” I said.

“Exactly,” Rebecca said. “I think Tolstoy had that right, although I think the unhappy families are that way for the same few reasons.”

“What do you think the reasons were in this case?”

“I think there was only one: money.”

I reached for my coffee. “Charles Holmes’s art collection.”

“Yes. I talked to the wife of one of Everett’s business associates. Clara told me that Marshall Holmes tried to sue his sister over the collection. He thought Diana had used undue influence on their father.”

“You said, ‘tried to sue,’” I said.

“The case was dismissed,” she said. “It seems that before he died Charles had decided to have all the artwork appraised with the idea that he’d divide the collection equally between Marshall and Diana. He died before anything really got started, so the way his will was written, they shared the whole collection.”

“I can see how that caused problems,” I said. I took a sip of my coffee.

“It seems there was enough evidence to show what Charles’s intentions had been,” she said. “Even though Marshall’s lawsuit was dismissed, the judge ordered a complete appraisal of the art at the estate’s expense with the goal being to divide the collection as fairly as possible.”

“So shouldn’t that have solved the problem?”

“Well, dear, you’d think it would,” Rebecca said. “But from what I could gather, it hasn’t. First of all, the appraisal process takes time, not to mention, some of the artwork is out on loan in various exhibits at the moment. And both Marshall and Diana have some limited veto over who’s going to do the actual assessment.”

I took another sip of my coffee and set the cup on the table. “They haven’t started yet, have they?” I asked.

“The only piece that’s been valued is the Weston drawing,” she said. “Charles had that evaluated right before his death.” She made a sound of annoyance. “Both of those young people are very childish in their behavior. On the other hand, this really is something Charles should have settled long before he died.”

I sensed there was a similarity between Marshall and Diana Holmes wrangling over the Weston drawing and Owen and Hercules bickering about the grackle. Nobody wanted to give in first.

“Rebecca, do you think either one of them could have been involved in what happened at the library?” I said.

She sighed softly. “I hate to think it, Kathleen,” she said. “But, yes, it’s possible. Clara told me that both Marshall and Diana are having some—as she put it—cash-flow problems.”

“They’re broke,” I said, stretching sideways and snagging the handle of the coffeepot with two fingers.

“As the proverbial church mouse,” Rebecca countered. “The business and the foundation are doing quite well, but both children have been living way beyond their means for some time.”

“I just have one more question,” I said. “Did your friend happen to mention who did the appraisal of the Weston drawing?” Mentally, I crossed my fingers, remembering Lise’s comment about Edward Mato and the Weston drawing:
“I think he actually might have appraised it at some point.”

“I think she said his last name was Mato. I’m sorry. I don’t remember his first name. I’m not sure Clara even said.”

I did a little fist pump in the air. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Thank you for doing all this for me.”

“Oh, my dear, you’re very welcome,” Rebecca said. “I quite enjoyed it. I think I would have made a very good spy.”

I laughed. “I think you would, too. I’m glad we’re on the same side.”

Rebecca laughed and promised she’d be over soon for tea, and we said good-bye.

I got up and stretched. I didn’t have anything I could really share with Marcus, but I felt confident I was on the right track.

I looked at my watch. Lise should be in her office in Boston. I punched in her number.

“Hey, Kath, what’s up?” she said when she answered.

“I need your help with something,” I said.

“Name it. It’s yours.”

“Your friend, Edward Mato. Do you think he’d talk to me?”

“I don’t see why not,” she said. “Are you looking for more information about that missing drawing?”

“I have a couple of questions about its history,” I said.

“Let me call him and see what he says. Is it okay if I give him your number?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll see if I can track him down.”