Cat Trick (11 page)

“A mystery,” I said. “I like those.”

“I’ve noticed that,” he said with a laugh.

We talked about his plans for the house for a while. I set my mug down on the wide
deck boards and rubbed my left arm.

“Your wrist hurts,” Marcus said, dropping his feet and straightening up in the chair.

“A little bit,” I said. “I think we’re going to get some rain.” I’d broken my left
wrist just over a year ago, and since then I’d become pretty good at predicting the
weather based on how it felt.

I stretched and slid my feet back into my shoes. “I should get going. Owen could have
Fred the Funky Chicken parts all over the kitchen by now.”

Marcus got the box of comic books and carried it out to the truck for me. “Thank you
for those,” I said, tipping my head toward the carton on the passenger seat. “And
for dinner. Will you come and have dinner with me—and the fur balls? Maybe next week?”

“I’d like that,” he said. “I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”

He smiled, and I thought about standing on my tiptoes, grabbing the collar of his
shirt and pulling him down for a kiss. While I was thinking about it—and having a
little internal debate with myself—he leaned down and kissed me.

His mouth was warm, his lips were soft and for a second—which was about how long the
kiss lasted—I forgot how to breathe. Aside from kissing my dad on the cheek and Ethan
on the top of his head—mostly because it bugged the heck out of him—I hadn’t kissed
a man since Andrew. Andrew whom I’d thought I’d marry until we had a fight and he
went on a two-week fishing trip and came back married to someone else.

I’d forgotten how much I liked kissing.

Marcus trailed one hand along my shoulder and then he took a step backward. “Good
night, Kathleen,” he said.

“Good night, Marcus,” I said.

I got in the truck, started it and concentrated on backing slowly and carefully out
of the driveway. Marcus raised a hand, and I did the same as I drove away. I didn’t
think at all about backing him up against the door of the truck and kissing him until
he was the one who couldn’t breathe.

No, I didn’t.

Hercules and Owen were sitting by the back door when I stepped into the kitchen, almost
as though they’d been waiting for me to come home.

“Hello. How was your evening?” I said.

They exchanged glances and then looked at me, cocking their heads to the left at the
same time, like the movement had been choreographed. They trailed me as I hung up
my jacket and carried the box of comic books into the living room. I sat down in the
big chair and set the comics on the footstool.

Herc narrowed his green eyes and studied the cardboard carton. I patted my lap. “Come
up,” I said. “You know you want to.” He jumped up onto my lap and stepped carefully
onto the end of the footstool. Then he stood on his back legs so he could poke his
nose inside the box.

“Batman,” I said.

The furry black-and-white face surfaced, and it looked like he was frowning. “No,”
I said. “Batman, not bat like the one who chased you across the backyard.” He made
a small sound and his head disappeared back under the cardboard flap.

Owen had run out of patience by then. He didn’t wait for an invitation. He launched
himself onto my lap, then leaned over and gave the carton a poke with one paw. Hercules
meowed his annoyance, his head still inside.

“Stop that,” I said sternly to Owen.

He gave a snippy meow of his own; then he turned around, settled himself and stared
at me.

“What do you want?” I asked. “A full rundown of my evening?”

“Rroww,” he rumbled.

“You’re worse than Maggie,” I said, running my fingers through my hair. “Okay, Marcus
made stir-fried chicken with noodles. It was very good.”

Owen waited a moment, then pawed at my left leg. Cat for “And then what?”

“We had Eric’s chocolate pudding cake for dessert.”

He licked his lips, but his gaze didn’t move from my face.

I scratched behind his ears and he started to purr. I leaned a little closer. “And
you were right. That was a button you dug up this morning.” He ducked his head for
a moment, giving me a sideways glance with one eye. “Yes, I know, modesty prevents
you from saying, ‘I told you so.’”

I yawned. “Then Marcus gave me that box of comic books.” I gave the cats a brief summary
of all the deals that had led to Marcus ending up with the old Batman comics. Neither
one seemed very interested.

“And that was pretty much it.” I linked my fingers together and stretched my arms
out in front of me. “Oh, and he kissed me.”

Owen had just turned to take another look at what his brother was doing. He swung
around and almost fell off my lap. Hercules jerked his head out of the box so quickly
he banged it on the cardboard flap. Clearly they knew what the word “kissed” meant.

“Don’t get too excited,” I told them. “It was just one kiss.”

The cats exchanged a look then, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have almost
thought they seemed pleased.

9

I
was sweeping the porch stairs the next morning while Owen did his morning survey of
our yard and Rebecca’s and Hercules perched on the top step and watched for the grackle.
Harry Taylor—Young Harry—came around the side of the house. I smiled at him. “Hi,
Harry,” I said.

“Good morning, Kathleen.” He smiled back at me. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” I said, leaning the broom against the railing. “What is it?”

“I need a favor.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“You might want to hear what it is first,” he said. His expression was serious, and
it struck me that maybe the favor had something to do with his father, Harrison Taylor
Senior.

Harry must have seen something in my expression, because he held up a hand. “Don’t
worry. The old man’s fine. When I left, he was making bread with Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth was Harry’s half sister, the product of a relationship Harrison had had
while his wife was dying. They’d met for the first time just a few months ago.

“But the favor does kind of have something to do with him,” Harry said. He swiped
a hand over his chin.

I put a hand on my chest. “You know how I feel about your dad. Anything I can do for
him, I will.”

“Okay. See if you can figure out what happened to Mike Glazer—who killed him—because
it’s pretty clear someone did.”

“The police are investigating that, Harry,” I said.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his blue windbreaker and shifted from one foot
to the other. “The police were investigating Agatha Shepherd’s death, but if it hadn’t
been for you, the old man never would have gotten those papers that helped us find
Elizabeth.”

I shook my head. “That was mostly just being in the right place at the right time,”
I said.

“More like the wrong place, Kathleen. You almost got blown to pieces.”

“But I didn’t,” I said. “Harry, I’m not a cop. And why do you care so much about what
happened to Mike Glazer? And why would your father?”

“Elizabeth.” He exhaled slowly. “Have you met Wren Magnusson?”

“At the library.”

“Boris had a run-in with a porcupine a while back. Elizabeth came with me when I took
him down to Roma.”

I winced and shot Hercules a warning look not to make any editorial comment. He didn’t
like Harrison’s German shepherd any more than Owen did, even though the big dog was
gentle and even-tempered. Herc glared back at me and then became very interested in
one of his feet.

“Wren was at the clinic. The two of them hit it off. They’re both crazy about animals.
Thing is, Wren used to be close to the Glazers.”

“I heard.”

“She’s upset. So’s Elizabeth, and that makes the old man upset. There’s talk that
Glazer’s death wasn’t an accident. Paper said it’s under investigation.”

“There’s always talk going around town about something,” I said.

“Kathleen, people tell you things,” Harry said. “You’re the one who figured out how
Tom Karlsson ended up buried out at Wisteria Hill. You figured out who killed him.”
He put one foot up on the bottom step. “Look, I’m not asking you to sneak around behind
Marcus Gordon’s back. I know there’s something starting between the two of you. Just
ask a few questions and tell him what you find out, whatever the heck that ends up
to be. That’s all I’m asking. Please.”

It was a very bad idea. I wasn’t a police officer. I was a librarian with a couple
of inquisitive cats that had questionable magical abilities. I’d told Marcus that
I’d stay out of his investigation. I wasn’t sure he’d understand. And I really wanted
to repeat that kiss from last night.

I knew I had to tell Harry no, but when I opened my mouth what came out was “Yes.”

The cats let the alarm clock wake me up on Monday morning. When I reached over to
shut it off, there was Hercules, sitting by the door.

“I’m awake,” I told him, rolling over onto my back. I knew he was likely to stay there
until I was actually out of the bed. “Where’s your brother?” I asked.

Herc looked over his shoulder toward the hallway. Owen was probably downstairs in
the kitchen, not so patiently waiting for breakfast. I threw the blankets back and
got up. I wasn’t going to find any insights staring at the ceiling.

I was right. Owen was in the kitchen, sitting right beside his dishes.

“I’m not late,” I told him as I put out food and water for both cats. “You’re up early.”
He ignored me. Owen wasn’t really a morning person.

As I reached for the oatmeal in the refrigerator, it struck me that one of Eric’s
breakfast sandwiches would taste pretty good. And if I was going to ask some questions
about Mike Glazer’s death, the diner was a good place to start.

Claire was pouring coffee for a couple at a table by the window when I walked into
the restaurant. “You can sit anywhere, Kathleen,” she said, smiling at me.

Eric was behind the counter, and I walked over to say hello. He had a cup of coffee
poured before I even sat down on one of the shiny silver stools.

“Good morning,” he said, setting the heavy china mug in front of me. He was wearing
his normally close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair a little longer and it suited him.

“Good morning and thank you,” I said, reaching for the cream and sugar.

Eric waited while I added both to my cup, stirred and took a long drink.

“Mmm, that’s good,” I said with a sigh of satisfaction.

“What can I get you?” he asked. “An omelet, maybe? I have some nice orange peppers.”

I propped my elbows on the counter. “I was thinking about one of your breakfast sandwiches.”

“Good choice,” Claire said as she passed behind Eric with her half-empty coffeepot.

He smiled and headed back to the kitchen. “It’ll just be a couple of minutes.”

I was wondering how to bring up the subject of Mike Glazer’s death as Claire set a
napkin-wrapped bundle of utensils by my right elbow. She gave me a thoughtful look
and then said, “Kathleen, is it true that you found Mr. Glazer’s body?” Her face flushed.
“That was a tacky question, wasn’t it?”

“It’s okay,” I said. “And yes, I did find his body.” I didn’t bother adding the part
about my cat finding it first.

“The guy was obnoxious, but”—she gave a little shudder—“no one deserves to die all
alone like that.”

I nodded, remembering how the body was slumped in the plastic chair in the dim light
of the tent. “It seems like he rubbed some people the wrong way,” I said, reaching
for my coffee.

“More like everybody.” She shot a quick glance past me to make sure the other customers
weren’t trying to get her attention. “He wasn’t in here five minutes and he was telling
Eric how he needed to change the menu and update the decor.”

I looked around. “What’s wrong with the decor?”

Claire gave a snort of laughter. “He thought we should go for a Parisian bistro look.”

“In Minnesota?”

She reached for the coffeepot and topped up my cup. “If people want a Parisian café,
they’ll go to Paris. Tourists who come here are looking for a small-town restaurant
with comfort food they recognize.”

Eric came out of the kitchen then. “You must be talking about Mike Glazer,” he said,
as he slid a heavy plate in front of me. I could smell bacon, tomatoes and maybe a
little thyme. The thick-cut sourdough bread had been pan-toasted—crisp and golden
on the outside and soaked with tomatoes and spices on the inside.

I took a large bite and sighed with happiness. How could Mike have found fault with
this?

Claire grinned at me and headed for the table by the window with the pot.

“I take it Claire was telling you about Glazer’s suggestions,” Eric said.

“Parisian bistro?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “He also thought we should get rid of all the
‘old-fashioned’ stuff on the menu, like the chocolate pudding cake.”

“Did he have any idea how popular that is?”

Eric shrugged. “Wasn’t interested. I made that recipe three times a day during the
music festival last month. It was almost eighty degrees outside and the tourists were
still ordering it.” He gave me a sideways smile. “By the way, how was last night’s
batch?”

“Good,” I said.

His smile widened, and I knew I’d just been hooked in a fishing expedition. “Susan
was positive it was you Marcus Gordon was trying to impress. As my grandmother used
to say, are you and the detective keeping company?”

“No comment,” I said, bending my head over my plate. “And tell your wife she’s going
to be dusting every single shelf in the library today.”

Eric laughed and gestured to my half-empty plate. “Would you like anything else?”

I shook my head. “No, thank you.” I took another bite of the sandwich while Eric started
a new pot of coffee.

“Are you still going to do the food tasting?” I asked.

“We are,” he said. He turned to look at me over one shoulder. “If Liam and his group
can pull this together, it could be good for the town. And I know it sounds awful,
but it’ll be a lot less of a hassle without Glazer.”

I reached for my cup. “Do you think it was just the small-town boy trying to show
off his big-city polish?”

“It’s possible. Not such a good idea, if you ask me, considering he might have been
leaving the big city.”

“What do you mean?”

Eric stopped to wash his hands and then came back over to the counter. “Friend of
mine has a restaurant in Chicago. I called him when we knew this pitch to Legacy was
a go. He said there was some talk going around that Glazer’s partners wanted him out
of the company. Nothing specific, mostly just talk.”

Before I could ask if he knew why, Claire came back with an order for the three men—town
workers—who had just come in.

Eric headed for the kitchen. “Have a good day, Kathleen,” he said. “And remember,
Susan’s bringing lunch. Let me know what you think of the soup.”

Claire took my empty plate and I pulled out my wallet to pay for breakfast.

“Kathleen, are you going to be seeing Maggie anytime soon?” she asked.

“Tomorrow night at tai chi class,” I said. “Why?”

“Her boyfriend left his travel mug here last week. I thought he’d be back in, but
I haven’t seen him. Or Maggie.”

“You mean Liam?”

She nodded, reached under the counter and brought up a sleek, shiny stainless-steel
mug with a comma-shaped handle and rubber grip strips. “He probably forgot where he
left it. He was pretty angry after everything. He didn’t even finish his meal.”

I frowned. “What do you mean, ‘after everything’?”

“He was here, at that table.” She pointed to the front window. “Next thing I know,
he’s outside on the sidewalk having some kind of heated conversation with Mike Glazer.
He was right in the guy’s face. When he came back inside, he just tossed some money
on the table, grabbed his jacket and left.” She shrugged. “I think he just forgot
that he’d asked me to fill his mug, and I couldn’t catch him. We’re usually not that
busy on a Wednesday, but we were that night.”

“You’re probably right,” I said. “I can give it to Maggie.”

Claire smiled. “Hang on a sec and I’ll get you a bag.” She moved over to the cash
register, where the take-out bags were stacked on a shelf. “Do you want a take-out
cup to go?” she asked, gesturing at the coffee with her elbow.

“Umm . . . yes, thank you.”

She put the travel mug in a bag, got me a large cup of coffee to go and brought both
over to me. I paid for breakfast, wished Claire a good day and headed out.

I’d left the truck at the library, but I didn’t mind the walk. The sun was shining
for now, although my wrist still insisted it was going to rain later.

I let myself into the building and relocked the door, leaving the alarm off. After
flipping on the downstairs lights, I headed up to my office. It was still early. I
put my things on the desk and hung up my jacket. Then I tucked Liam’s mug in my briefcase
so I’d remember to give it to Maggie.

As I picked up my cup again, I thought about what Claire had said about Liam’s argument
with Mike Glazer. Mike had clearly pushed Liam’s buttons somehow if Liam had left
without finishing his meal or getting his coffee. He worked part-time tending bar
at Harry’s Hat, so he was used to dealing with people who were behaving badly; he
didn’t lose his cool that easily.
I couldn’t catch him,
Claire had said. Then I remembered the rest of the sentence:
We’re
usually not that busy on a Wednesday, but we were that night.

I leaned back against the edge of the desk. Wednesday night was the night Mike Glazer
had been killed. And he’d had an argument with Liam.

No. That didn’t mean Liam had killed him. It wasn’t a cause-and-effect thing. Liam
wasn’t the only person who’d had words with Mike. He wasn’t the only person who didn’t
like the man. Mary had threatened to drop-kick Mike between a couple of lampposts
and I didn’t think she’d killed him.

Plus Liam was the one who’d come up with the idea of pitching a tour built around
Mayville Heights to Legacy Tours in the first place. Why would he kill Mike? It didn’t
make any sense. For all Liam knew, if Mike was dead, that would be the end of any
deal with Legacy.

I looked at my watch. Mary and Abigail would be arriving anytime now and so would
our new co-op student and her teacher. I took one last long drink from my cup and
headed downstairs.

Harry Taylor—Junior, not Senior—came into the library just after eleven o’clock with
Elizabeth.

“I have a couple of books your dad requested,” I said, walking over to meet them by
the circulation desk. I smiled at Elizabeth. “Hi.”

She smiled back and Harry nodded. “Mary called. That’s what we came to get.” He took
a library card out of his shirt pocket and handed it over to Abigail, who was working
checkout; then he turned back to me. “There’re a couple of things I wanted to ask
you.”

“Go ahead,” I said.