Paws and Effect (5 page)

Once we were inside my office, with the door closed, I set the carryall on the floor. Owen jumped out, shook himself and hopped onto my desk, where he looked expectantly at me.

I folded my arms over my chest and tried to keep my expression stern. “Just because Rebecca thinks you should have a treat doesn't mean I do.”

He continued to eye me without making a sound.

“You were supposed to stay in the bag.”

He blinked but nothing else changed.

“You were lucky,” I continued. “Instead of finding that drawing you could have damaged those journals.”

Once again I was arguing with a cat and it was a completely one-sided argument. I really should have known better.

I sat on the edge of the desk next to him and stroked his soft, gray fur. And gave voice to the incredibly ridiculous idea that had been buzzing in my brain. “Did you know that drawing was there?” Those journals had been part of a display at the library and they'd been at my house before that. No. It was too far-fetched to believe that Owen had remembered something he'd seen in one of them.

I closed my eyes for a moment and shook my head.
Yes, Owen seemed to understand most if not all of what was said to him. And there was his ability to become invisible, which was far-fetched by anyone's definition of the word, but for him to be able to remember what had been in that book would mean he had some kind of incredible memory and had understood what had been going on.

I opened my eyes to find Owen looking quizzically at me. I couldn't really explain why the idea of a cat with an almost photographic memory seemed ridiculous but one who could disappear at will was a lot more believable. It just was.

I got the cat settled in my office, brushed his hair off my sweater, grateful that it was dark gray so the bits I missed wouldn't show, and decided to go back downstairs to see what was going on. My cell phone buzzed then, making Owen, who had jumped down onto my desk chair so he could poke his nose inside my bag, jump back and almost end up on the floor. He did a little undignified dance before righting himself.

I retrieved my phone and the little bag of cat crackers I kept in one of the inside pockets of the tote. I was guessing that was what he'd been after.

It was Marcus calling. “Hi, I got your message,” he said, an edge of weariness in his voice.

“Are you all right?” I asked. I leaned against the desk and fished two crackers out of the bag, handing them over to Owen, who immediately set them on the seat of my chair so he could examine them because that was what he did with his food.

“I'm sorry about this morning, about Travis, for not telling you about them.” I heard him blow out a breath. “I'm sorry about everything.”

“It's okay,” I said. “Really.”

“Could we have supper tonight since you don't have tai chi? I could fill in some of the blanks for you.”

“I'd like that but I switched my shift, remember?”

He groaned. “I forgot. You're working late.” I heard voices in the background. “Hang on a second, Kathleen,” he said.

I waited for maybe thirty seconds and he was back. “Did you bring any dinner with you?” he asked.

I hadn't, I realized. The soup and the muffins were my lunch. “No,” I admitted.

“I could get something from Eric's and stop by for a few minutes. That way I could at least see you.”

I wanted to see him. I wanted to make sure he knew Travis's words hadn't changed how I felt about him. It didn't matter what had happened between him and Dani all those years ago. “That would be wonderful,” I said.

“Did you see John when you left?” Marcus asked. “I was wondering where he went.”

“He's here. He's downstairs checking out the herbarium with Maggie and Rebecca.”

He laughed. “You work fast. I should have guessed you'd help him. Thanks.”

“I don't want this development to happen any more than your friends do,” I said. “And John actually might have found something.”

“That would be good.”

After we ended the call I decided to go back downstairs and see what was happening. “You're staying in here,” I told Owen, who had moved from the chair to the desk, where he sat carefully washing his face. “If you so much as stick a whisker outside the door there will be consequences.” He paused for a moment with a paw in midair, seeming to consider my words, and then he went back to his ablutions. It was hard to make consequences seem like more than an idle threat to someone who could become invisible on a whim.

Maggie was just coming up the stairs. “Hi,” she said. “I'm heading over to the shop for a little while.” The artists' co-op that Maggie was past president of had a small store and workspace a few blocks over.

She looked at my office door. “How's Owen?”

“He's fine,” I said. “Sitting in the middle of my desk as though it's his office.”

She smiled. “I can't believe he knocked over the one journal with the one drawing that might be able to stop this whole development.”

“Me neither,” I said.

Maggie narrowed her green eyes at me. “So Marcus went to school with John and a couple of other people who are working with this environmental coalition?”

I nodded, hoping she couldn't read anything in my face. Maggie knew me well. “Dani—Danielle—and Travis.”

“John is looking to see if there's a sample of that plant in the herbarium. Abigail found the index. Either way, I'm going to talk to Roma and tomorrow I'll
take him out to Wisteria Hill.” She smiled at me. “Everything is going to work out. I have a good feeling.”

“I hope you're right,” I said as we started down the stairs. I didn't share that feeling.

It was a busy day at the library. John and Abigail found a sample of Rhodiola integrifolia preserved in the herbarium, more evidence, hopefully, that he and Maggie were on the right track.

John left the library mid-afternoon. I was putting away magazines in the children's section after updating the software on our public access computers when he came to tell me he was done for the day.

“I'll be back in the morning, if that's all right,” he said. “I need to make some calls and do a little more research. Rebecca has a couple more books for me to look at.” He hesitated. “And I want to check on Travis.”

“If there's anything else we can do, please give Abigail or me a call,” I said. “I'll be here until closing.”

“I will for sure.” He shifted the strap of his messenger bag higher on his shoulder. “Thank you for everything, and I don't mean just for letting me look at your herbarium. You introduced me to Maggie and Rebecca and it may be a little unorthodox, but thanks to your cat I might have a way to stop the resort in its tracks.”

I gave him a wry smile. “Maybe we could keep the cat thing just between us.”

He laughed. “No problem, Kathleen. I'll see you tomorrow.”

*   *   *

I had a quick meeting over at Henderson Holdings late in the afternoon. The library had been awarded a
grant to be used on books and programs for our children's department. I wanted to go over my plans for the money with Everett's assistant, Lita, before I made my presentation to the library board at their November meeting.

When I got to the office Lita was standing in her open doorway, talking to a man I didn't recognize. I hung back, waiting for her to finish the conversation. She smiled when she caught sight of me and waved me over. “I'll give Everett the new figures,” I heard her say as I joined them.

“I appreciate that,” the man said, giving her a wide smile.

“Kathleen, this is Ernie Kingsley,” Lita said.

Ernie Kingsley, the main investor and driving force behind the development proposal for Long Lake.

She gestured at me. “Ernie, meet Kathleen Paulson. She runs our library.”

Kingsley was a heavyset man of average height with a ruddy complexion and keen brown eyes behind his horn-rimmed glasses. He had a strong handshake and a TAG Heuer stainless steel watch on his wrist. “Nice to meet you, Kathleen,” he said.

“You as well, Mr. Kingsley,” I replied.

“Tell Everett to call me,” he said to Lita. He glanced at his watch. “I need to get going. I have another meeting to get to.”

“I'll pass on the message,” she said.

Kingsley nodded and left.

“C'mon in,” Lita said. “Would you like a cup of
coffee? I would.” She moved toward the credenza where she kept a coffeemaker and several pottery mugs.

“So that's the man who's either the worst or the best thing that's ever happened to this area,” I said, dropping my briefcase on one of the chairs in front of Lita's desk.

“Yes, that's Ernie,” she said, reaching for the coffeepot.

“What's he like?” I asked.

She didn't answer right away. Instead she poured two cups of coffee and handed one to me. I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

“I'm trying to think of an answer that won't incriminate me,” she said, wrinkling her nose at me.

I smiled at her. “Never mind,” I said. “I think you've answered my question.”

*   *   *

Abigail was at the circulation desk when I got back to the library. She held up a middle-grade chapter book. “What is this?” she asked, pointing to something sticky on the front cover.

“Marshmallow Fluff,” I said. “Tommy Justason brought it back, didn't he?”

“I'm not sure,” she said. “Let me look.” She turned to the computer. After a minute she smiled. “How did you know that?”

I raised an eyebrow. “It's my librarian superpower.”

“Oh, I want one of those,” Abigail said.

“You already have one,” I said. “Writing great books is your superpower.”

She smiled as her cheeks got pink. “I hope you're right.”

“Set it aside. I'll talk to his mother. This is not the first time Tommy returned a sticky book. Our deal was that if it happened again he had to give me a Saturday morning of work here.”

Abigail set the book on the counter. “What are you going to make him do?” she asked.

“I thought I'd have him help me repair those two boxes of books we have in the workroom.” Tommy Justason was an eight-year-old who loved to read, something that made me very happy. But he treated books like they were disposable. His mother had paid for a chapter book that had ended up in the bathtub, two reference books that had been left in the rain and multiple graphic novels that had been run over by Tommy's bike. “He's not a bad kid,” I continued. “I think a lot of the time his mind is just somewhere else.”

Abigail nodded. “Let me know if I can help.”

“I will,” I said. “Thanks.”

“I almost forgot,” she said, reaching for a pad of paper next to the phone. “I have a message for you. Detective Gordon called.” She gave me a sly smile and wiggled her eyebrows at me.

“Don't tell me he's not bringing my supper after all,” I said.

Abigail just looked at me the way Owen did when we were having a staring contest.

I waited but she didn't say anything. “Umm, aren't you going to give me the message?” I asked.

“I would,” she said, “but you told me not to tell you
that he's not bringing your supper. He said to tell you he's sorry. He has a meeting with the prosecuting attorney.” She handed me the piece of paper. “He sounded sorry.” She wiggled her eyebrows again. “I'm sure he'll make it up to you.”

“No comment,” I said, feeling my cheeks get warm.

“I have hummus,” Abigail offered, grinning at me. I would eat pretty much anything but hummus—which she knew.

“I have sardine cat crackers in my bag,” I countered.

Abigail had once stopped at my house while I was making a batch for Owen and Hercules. “That's a . . . powerful smell,” she'd said, blinking several times as she stood in the middle of my kitchen.

Mary came bustling behind us with an empty cart. “Crackers and dip,” she exclaimed. “Sound's delicious. I'll go up and put the coffee on.”

“Is she messing with us?” Abigail asked as Mary headed up the stairs.

“Probably,” I said with a grin. “But she's also making coffee, so if she wants a sardine cracker who am I to say no?”

I was in my office, working on a list of books I wanted to buy for the children's department with the grant the library had been awarded, when Maggie called just before five. Our tai chi class had been canceled because Oren was painting the studio space. “Are you taking a dinner break?” she asked. “I'm not making a lot of progress here and I don't feel like going home to cook.”

Maggie didn't do a lot of cooking, although she did make incredible pizza. However, every pot, pan and dish in her apartment would be dirty by the time it went in the oven.

“Yes, I'm taking a dinner break,” I said. Owen, who was snoozing in the middle of my desk, lifted his head when he heard me say “dinner.” “I can meet you at Eric's in about an hour.”

“I'll see you there,” she said.

Owen had gotten to his feet and walked over to me. He rubbed his face against the phone. I had no idea how he knew it was Maggie on the other end, but the only time he did that was when I was talking to her.

“Owen sends his love,” I said.

Maggie laughed. “Right back at him.”

Mia, who worked after school and on the weekends was at the front desk when I came downstairs, checking out a couple of teenagers with a stack of graphic novels and a reference book about the Vietnam War. One of the history teachers at the high school insisted that her students use as many books as they did online references for any essays they wrote. For some of the kids it would be the first time they'd been in the library since story time when they were four.

I left the truck in the lot and walked over to Eric's. My timing was perfect because Maggie was just coming up the sidewalk from her studio as I got to the restaurant. I hugged her. “You smell like patchouli,” I said.