Paws and Effect (7 page)

He swallowed hard, pushing down some emotion. “I love you, too,” he said.

I walked Marcus downstairs and after he left Susan came around the desk to me. “I heard about Marcus's friend,” she said, touching my arm. “I'm so sorry. If there's anything you need to do we can hold down the fort here. I can call Mia in.”

News spread quickly in Mayville Heights, but I could see the genuine concern in her eyes and once again I realized how lucky I was to be in the small town with people who genuinely cared about me. As much as I sometimes missed my family back in Boston, Mayville Heights was my home now.

I had to clear my throat before I could answer her. “Thank you, Susan,” I said. “There isn't anything I can do right now, but I might take you up on your offer later.”

She nodded and then wrapped me in a quick and unexpected hug before going back to the desk. I went upstairs to my office and once the door was closed didn't even try to stop the tears from sliding down my face.

I drove out to Marcus's house about four thirty with a crock of soup and two dozen of Rebecca's whole-wheat donuts. Hercules had had another gazebo
“meeting” with Everett, and Rebecca had walked him home. “Please tell Marcus we're thinking about him,” she'd said. “Everett asked me to pass on his sympathies and to tell you that if Marcus or his friends need anything please let him know.”

“Thank you,” I said, wrapping her in a hug and thinking how such a simple gesture made me feel a little better, giving or receiving. “I think they just need some time.”

Rebecca nodded. “It isn't just that they all lost a friend—which is devastating enough—they've also lost another connection to a time in their lives when everything seemed possible.”

“How did you get so smart?” I asked her.

Rebecca laughed. “I've been around long enough to pick up a thing or two—plus I drink a glass of warm water with lemon every morning.”

“I'll keep both of those in mind,” I said.

Micah was sitting on the swing on Marcus's back deck when I came around the side of his small house. She jumped down and meowed as though she'd been waiting for me, all her attention fixed on the bag of donuts. Owen had been the same way, clearly disgruntled because I wasn't leaving any of them behind for him. To express his displeasure he'd disappeared from the kitchen—literally—and I'd been extra careful when I got in the truck in case he decided on another stealth ride.

“Donuts are not for cats,” I said firmly. Micah wrinkled her whiskers at me. She was much politer about
expressing her unhappiness with me than Owen was. “I did bring you something, though,” I said, patting the pocket of my sweater.

She made a soft sound of happiness and rubbed her face against my leg. The back door opened then.

“Hi,” Marcus said. “I thought I heard someone out here.” He'd changed into a gray sweatshirt and jeans.

“Hi,” I said. “Micah and I were just talking about donuts.”

“Cats aren't supposed to eat donuts,” he said.

“And you've never broken that rule with my cats,” I said. I handed him the canvas bag I was holding. “These are from Rebecca. And Everett offered his help if there's anything you or John and Travis need.”

“That's really nice of them,” he said as Micah and I followed him inside. “I don't think there's anything that needs to be done. Once the medical examiner releases her . . . body, the family is planning a service. And I think there's also going to be another one in Chicago for the people she worked with.” He put the donuts on the counter and took the soup crock from me. “John talked to Dani's brother. He'll get in touch when their plans are finalized.”

“That's good,” I said.

Marcus looked around the kitchen. “I feel I should be doing something.”

“Like what?” I asked. I took off my sweater and hung it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

“That's the thing,” he said, swiping a hand over his neck. “I don't know. Hope is taking the lead on this.”

“So let her,” I said, reaching for his hand and pulling him toward me. “Let the world turn without you for a little while.”

Marcus and I had half the soup for supper and I put the rest in his refrigerator. John and Travis showed up about seven o'clock.

“Hey, Kathleen,” John said. He'd changed into a white shirt with his jeans. He looked tired but his emotions seemed to be under control. I gave him a quick hug and he managed a small smile.

Travis, on the other hand, looked broken. There was dark stubble on his cheeks and his face was drawn as though he'd lost weight in the brief amount of time since I'd last seen him.

“Travis, I'm so sorry,” I said.

His mouth moved but at first no words came out. Then he said, “Kathleen, I owe you an apology. The last time I saw you I . . . I was an asshole.”

“You don't need to apologize,” I said. His behavior at the restaurant didn't seem like such a big deal now.

His eyes met mine. They were sad behind his glasses, and there were lines on his face I hadn't noticed yesterday. “I do,” he said. “I can't apologize to Dani. Please let me say the words to you.”

I nodded. I couldn't speak. My throat was tight.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “If I could do it again . . .” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I'd behave . . . differently. Better.”

I managed to find my voice. “Thank you,” I said.

Marcus made coffee and I put half of Rebecca's donuts out on a plate. The conversation was strained
and awkward at first. I filled John in on what Maggie and Brady had found, which was nothing so far.

“Dominic called me back,” John said. “That's Dani's brother,” he added as an aside to me. “The service will probably be the end of next week. It will be by invitation only. I told him all three of us wanted to come.” He let out a breath. “He said he'd put us on the list.”

We sat in silence for a moment. Then Travis spoke. “She'd hate it. It'll be all pomp and circumstance and nothing that she wants.”

Marcus nodded.

John looked down at the table. “She wanted ‘Livin' La Vida Loca,' remember?”

“It's her favorite song,” Travis said. He managed what I was guessing passed for a smile for him at the moment. “That night she got us drunk she said that's what she wanted played at her funeral and she wanted us to come and dance with our walkers.” He put both hands flat on the table and stared down at them.

They needed to talk about her. They needed to remember and grieve and do it together. I needed to keep the conversation going.

“She got
you
drunk?” I asked.

“Yeah,” John said. “
She
got us drunk.” He shifted in his chair to look at me. “She could drink a lumberjack under the table.”

“And not be hungover the next day,” Marcus added. “I don't know how she did it.”

“So why exactly did she get you drunk?” I said.

“It was a bet.” John looked in his mug and Marcus immediately got to his feet and reached for the coffeepot. “Dani bet all three of us that she could match us beer for beer and still walk a straight line.”

“She did, too,” Travis said, joining the conversation for the first time. “She has some kind of freaky metabolism. Alcohol never affects her the same way it does most people. None of us could walk that line.” He looked up at Marcus, who was topping up my cup. “
He
kept insisting the line was moving, so he sat on it.”

“It felt like it was moving,” Marcus said, making a face.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Were you on some road?”

Travis shook his head. “We were at the drive-in. It was this retro place. It's not open anymore.” He gestured at the others. “The three of us worked there one summer. Bowling shirts and slicked-back hair.”

“Are there pictures?” I asked, looking directly at Marcus.

“No,” he said.

“Yes,” John said.

Marcus shot John a look. “No,” he repeated.

“Do you still have your key chain?” John asked. He patted his pocket. “Or am I the only one?”

Travis pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and held up the fob. It was a stylized black crescent moon with a dotted white line down the center and a gold star at the top point of the crescent.

Marcus had the same thing on his spare set of keys. “I didn't know that meant something,” I said.

“So you still have it?” John said.

Marcus nodded. “Uh-huh. On my extra keys in the bedroom. I think I have the shirt somewhere as well.” He gestured at the key chain Travis was still holding. “Stuckey's Drive-In. Don't drive by.”

“Drive-in,” all three of them said.

They all smiled at the memory.

“Blast from the Past,” John said. “Remember that?”

Marcus sat down at the table again. “The night before the drive-in closed for the season they did this thing they called Blast from the Past. You could get in for half price if you came in costume, and they showed
American Graffiti
and
Grease
.”

John nodded. “Dani came in a poodle skirt and a pair of those black cat's-eye glasses with the rhinestone things on the ends.” He smiled. “This guy in a leather jacket and a beer belly hanging out kept hitting on her.”

“He asked her, ‘Where have you been all my life, Sweetlips?' She patted his cheek and said, ‘Washing bodies in the cadaver lab.'”

John leaned back in his chair and laughed at the memory. “I'm surprised the guy didn't get whiplash backing away from her.”

We finished our coffee and moved into the living room. The three of them spent the next hour and a half telling me stories about Dani and their college days and I found myself wishing I'd had the chance to get to know her better. When John and Travis left, Travis extended his hand and Marcus shook it. I hoped that the rapprochement between them would continue.

*   *   *

The investigation into Dani's accident continued. Marcus took a day off and went to Chicago for the memorial service held by her friends. John and Travis came back to Mayville Heights with him. They had decided to continue their work against the development.

“It was important to Dani,” John said, standing in the middle of the library, still dressed in the suit he'd worn to the service. “There isn't anything else we can do so we'll do this.”

*   *   *

For the next week it seemed as though nothing was happening. John alternated spending time at the library with wandering around out at Wisteria Hill. Travis was back and forth between Red Wing and Mayville Heights.

Marcus was frustrated by the slow pace of Hope's investigation. “I don't understand why she's shutting me out,” he said as we cleared the table after supper Wednesday night.

We'd had spaghetti and meatballs. Marcus had snuck a meatball to each cat and I'd pretended not to notice.

“The only thing she said is there's some kind of backup at the medical examiner's office.”

“Maybe that's all it is,” I said. “Or maybe she's not telling you anything because Dani was your friend and you really shouldn't be involved in the investigation.”

“That doesn't mean Hope wouldn't tell me what's
going on.” He shook his head. “I know her. The last couple of days she's been avoiding me.”

“Maybe she's just trying to spare you from some of the details of how Dani died.”

“I don't want her to keep that kind of thing from me,” he said. I recognized the stubborn set of his jaw.

“Hope cares about you,” I said.

He dropped a glass in the soapy water I'd filled the sink with.

“I know that,” he said. “I do, but I don't like being shut out. Why can't she just tell me what she knows so far?”

“Whatever it is, she has her reasons, I'm sure.”

He studied me for a few silent seconds. “This is what it's like for other people, isn't it?” he asked.

“I don't know what you mean,” I said.

“About three years ago a young man was killed on the train tracks down by the old warehouses. There isn't any traffic on them now, but there was back then. It turned out he'd been drinking and lost his balance and fell. His mother called me every day of the investigation. Every single day at quarter after nine. And every time I'd tell her that as soon as I had something to share I'd call her.” He looked up at the ceiling for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “And the next morning at nine fifteen my phone would ring. I didn't get it, but I do now.”

I gave him a hug. “You'll get your answers. And you and John and Travis will be able to say a proper good-bye to Dani.”

*   *   *

Thursday turned out to be busier than usual at the library, so I was already running a little late when I pulled into the driveway at home. I discovered Hercules waiting for me on the back steps. He had a black feather in his mouth, the fur on his head was standing on end and his right ear was turned half inside out.

“Did you and that grackle get into it again?” I asked as he followed me into the house.

He spit the feather on the mat where I kept my shoes and gave me what could only be described as a self-satisfied look.

“Let me check the top of your head,” I said. I didn't think he was wounded. The cat and the bird had some kind of arch-nemesis thing going. It was more WWA wrestling fighting than the real thing.

Hercules shook his head. Translation: “I'm fine.” He made a move to go up another step and I leaned down, putting one hand on his back so I could use the other to part the fur on the top of his head and check for any bird-inflicted injuries and then fix his ear. He grumbled while I looked but didn't try to squirm away. “You're fine,” I said. He shot me a look that seemed to suggest he was insulted I had ever suspected otherwise.