Faux Paw: A Magical Cats Mystery (3 page)

“I brought you something,” I said quietly. I pulled a small bag of the same sardine kitty treats I made for my own cats out of my pocket. I took two out and held out my hand.

Micah made a soft thank-you meow before leaning over to eat one of the small crackers.

“You’re spoiling my cat,” Marcus said behind me.

I turned around to face him. “Look who’s talking,” I said with a laugh. Marcus had snuck so many “treats” to Owen and Hercules, Roma had finally given him a stern lecture about what constituted “cat food” and what didn’t.

Micah took the other cracker from my hand and I reached over and stroked the top of her head. “And she’s not spoiled. She’s an angel cat.”

As if she’d understood every word I’d just said, Micah leaned her furry face against my cheek. We both looked up at Marcus.

He laughed and shook his head. Then he leaned down and gave me a quick kiss and ran his hand over the little cat’s fur.

I handed him the bag of fish crackers and put Micah down on the floor. She licked crumbs off her whiskers and looked up at Marcus.

“One,” he said, his voice edged with warning.

The cat bobbed her head as if in agreement. I knew he’d give her more than that and so did she.

Marcus opened the bag and fished out two crackers. He bent down and held them out to the cat, who took them both in her mouth and then set them on the floor.

He brushed his hands on his jeans, straightened up and pulled me into his arms for another, longer kiss. I still felt the same rush of giddiness I’d felt the first time he’d kissed me, standing out in the driveway next to my old truck.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Long,” I said, pulling off my jacket and hanging it and my purse over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

Marcus turned to look at the timer on the stove. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

My stomach growled loudly then, as if in answer to his question.

“You skipped lunch again,” he said, reaching for an oversize pair of oven mitts. I noticed that he hadn’t phrased his comment in the form of a question.

“No, I didn’t,” I said, just a little defensively, as I pulled out a chair and sat down. “I had one of Rebecca’s muffins.”

“A muffin is not lunch,” Marcus countered. He opened the oven door, mumbled something and closed it again.

“It was a big muffin.”

He turned to look at me then, and I gave him my best innocent expression. It was the same kind of look Owen gave me, generally when I’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t have been. It worked about as well on Marcus as it did when Owen used it on me.

“Kathleen, this is the third time in the last week and a half that you’ve missed lunch.”

Actually, it was the fourth, but I wasn’t stupid enough to correct him. Micah was at my feet, looking from one to the other of us as though she was following the conversation. For all I knew, maybe she was.

Marcus waved an oven mitt at me. “I’m bringing you lunch tomorrow.”

“Leftover lasagna?” I asked. That was assuming there was any left over by the time I’d finished my supper.

“How did you know I made lasagna?”

“Merow,” Micah said then. She had the same uncanny sense of timing that both Owen and Hercules seemed to possess.

“She told me,” I said, gesturing at the little cat and trying to keep a straight face.

Marcus set a multicolored pottery bowl of salad on the table. “The cat told you that we’re having lasagna?”

I shrugged. “I asked. She confirmed.”

Once again, the “meow” was perfectly timed.

“See?” I said.

He laughed.

I gestured at the little marmalade tabby. “She seems happy here.”

He nodded. “I actually took her over to Roma today. She’s gained a little weight.” He smiled. “I mean the cat, not Roma.” He went back to the refrigerator for the salad dressing, his own secret concoction. I’d been trying for months to wheedle the recipe out of him.

I watched Marcus move around the kitchen for a moment, just enjoying the view, so to speak. “Does she still think that Micah was abandoned?” I asked. The little cat leaned against my leg and I bent forward to pet her, wondering how anyone could have left her out at Wisteria Hill to fend for herself.

“Uh-huh,” Marcus said. “And it makes sense. All the carriage house cats have been neutered. And she’s definitely socialized.” He gestured at Micah, still leaning against my leg, eyes half closed, purring as I stroked her ginger-colored fur.

“I’m glad you decided to take her,” I said.

He smiled. “I think it was more like you and Roma decided I should take her.”

I smiled back at him. “Potato, potahto.”

He grinned as he turned back to the stove.

“There’s no way I could have taken her,” I said. “As it is, Owen and Hercules are squabbling over—” I exhaled loudly and shook my head. “I don’t know what. Bacon, possibly.”

Marcus took the lasagna out of the oven and set it on a tile trivet on the countertop. “Bacon?” he asked, glancing back over his shoulder at me.

I thought about Hercules eating Everett’s treat with what had seemed to me to be a somewhat smug expression on his furry black-and-white face. “Maybe,” I said. “Hercules has been eating bacon nearly every morning with Everett, and Owen loves bacon almost as much as he loves Maggie. But he’s slow in the morning. I think it’s just sibling jealousy, although you may be called in at some point to investigate the decapitation of one Fred the Funky Chicken.”

“You know, Micah may not be a true Wisteria Hill cat, but I think she’s one in spirit,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked. The lasagna smelled wonderful and my stomach growled audibly again. It had been a long time since Rebecca’s muffin.

“You know how Owen is always sneaking into your truck?” Marcus reached for the plates on the counter.

“Uh-huh,” I said slowly. Marcus didn’t know about the boys’ “superpowers,” so he didn’t know that Owen was able to “sneak” into my truck by making himself invisible.

He tipped his head in Micah’s direction. “She’s done the same thing to me. Twice I was halfway to work before I realized that she was sitting on the backseat.”

I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck. “Really?” I said slowly. “You didn’t see her jump in the back?”

“I didn’t even see her follow me out of the house.” He set a steaming plate in front of me and leaned down to give the top of Micah’s head a little scratch. “I guess she shares that stealth-ninja gene with Owen.”

“I guess she does.” I stared down at the cat, who looked up innocently at me and then began to wash her face.

It wasn’t possible. Micah didn’t share Owen’s ability. I was overreacting, I told myself sternly as I unfolded my napkin. Over. Re. Acting.

If I repeated the words enough times, maybe I’d start to believe them.

M
ia was waiting by the main entrance when I pulled into the parking lot in the morning. She had convinced both her history and art teachers to let her shadow Margo, which meant that she’d been Margo’s unpaid grunt on Tuesday and Thursday mornings for the previous two weeks.

I pulled up the hood of my raincoat and sprinted across the pavement, dodging the puddles, grateful for my new red rubber boots. Once we were inside, Mia pushed back her own hood and I got a good look at her hair, which was now lime Jell-O green.

“I like your hair,” I said.

She smiled shyly. “Thank you.” Then she took her coat out into the entryway and shook it over the rubber mat. Mia was a study in contrasts. Her hair was always some neon crayon color, but she dressed conservatively. Today she was wearing a black pencil skirt with black tights and a pale blue shirt.

I smoothed a hand over my own hair, which I had pulled back into a low ponytail. “Maybe I’ll go green,” I said.

Mia tipped her head to one side and studied me. “I think blue would suit you better,” she said. “Or orange.” She headed for the stairs.

Orange? I was never quite sure when Mia was kidding and when she was serious.

Harry Taylor and his sister, Elizabeth, came into the library just after ten o’clock. Elizabeth was carrying a large mason jar. I walked over to meet them. She held the jar out to me.

“I made a new batch of yogurt,” she said. “And I added the rest of last year’s rhubarb.”

Harry and Elizabeth had different mothers but they’d both gotten the Taylor stubborn streak from Harrison. Elizabeth had been placed for adoption when she was born and had gotten to know her birth family only in the past year, but she was already in league with her brother to make their father’s diet healthier, hence the yogurt making. This would be the third batch I’d gotten to try, and while I had no idea if Harry Senior liked it, I certainly did.

“Thank you,” I said. Marcus was bringing lunch and now I had something to enjoy with my late-afternoon coffee.

“You’re welcome,” she said, and I caught a look pass between the siblings.

“Kathleen, do you have a minute?” Harry asked.

I glanced over my shoulder. Margo was standing in the exhibit area talking and gesturing. Mia was beside her, silently making notes.

I held up three fingers. “I probably have about three. What do you need?”

Before he could say anything, Elizabeth spoke.

“Harrison met a woman online.” She folded her arms over her chest. “He’s going to meet her.”

I’d seen the same determined expression on her father’s face more than once.

“What do you want me to do?”

Harry swiped a hand over his chin. “Talk to him. He isn’t listening to either one of us.”

“He could be meeting a con artist, someone who could hit him over the head and take his money,” Elizabeth interjected.

“Your father is very . . . stubborn.”

Harry gave a snort of agreement. Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something else, but I held up a hand to stop her. “He’s also one of the savviest people I’ve ever met. If some woman thinks she can take advantage of him, well . . .” I shook my head and tried not to smile too broadly. “I feel sorry for her.”

Elizabeth sighed softly.

“But I will talk to him.”

“Really?” she said.

I nodded.

“Thank you,” Harry said. He took off his hat, ran one hand over his balding head and put the cap back on again.

“I can’t promise that I’ll have any more success than you two did,” I said.

Elizabeth made a face and her mouth pulled to one side. “He gets an idea in his head and he’s so”—she made a growl of frustration that sounded so like her father I had to bite my cheek so I wouldn’t laugh—“unreasonable.”

I held the container of yogurt to my chest with one hand and touched her arm with the other. “Let me see what I can do.” I shot a look back over my shoulder. Margo caught my eye and lifted a hand. “I need to get back to work,” I said. “But I’ll give Harrison a call at lunchtime.”

“I appreciate that,” Harry said.

I smiled at them both and then walked over to Margo. “I talked to Oren last night,” I said.

Her eyebrows went up and she gave me an expectant smile. “And?”

I turned to Mia before I answered. “Would you take this upstairs and put it in the refrigerator for me, please?” I knew that Margo could easily work Mia all morning without a break.

“Of course,” she said, taking the glass jar from me. “Is that homemade yogurt?”

“And the fruit on the top is rhubarb.” I smiled at her. “You’re welcome to try it.”

“Thank you,” she said.

I saw her glance at Margo, who was waiting not so patiently for my answer to her question. She’d crossed her arms over her chest and looked like she was about to start tapping one gray snakeskin high heel on the mosaic tile floor.

Mia headed for the stairs and I turned back to Margo. “As long as the town council agrees, yes, you can display the town seal Oren has been working on.”

“Oh, Kathleen, thank you,” she said, a genuine smile of pleasure spreading across her face.

I smiled back at her. “You’re welcome,” I said. “I’m happy that Oren’s talent is going to be recognized.” I knew that the only reason he’d agreed to let the seal be part of the exhibit was that it might bring some attention to the town.

I didn’t get a chance to call Harrison until quarter to one.

“How are things going with the museum people?” he asked.

I exhaled softly. “Busy.”

“You haven’t coldcocked Margo Walsh with the
Encyclopaedia Britannica
yet, have you?”

“Of course not,” I retorted. I paused for a moment for effect. “The encyclopedia is all digital now.”

He laughed. “That is a tightly wound woman, Kathleen, but if anyone can deal with her, it’s you.”

“Good to have your vote of confidence.”

“I didn’t expect to hear from you until tonight,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through the phone. “Looks like my daughter was on her horse this morning.”

I turned in my chair so I could look out over the water. “You knew,” I said.

“Course I knew,” he said with a snort. “My children aren’t exactly subtle. I’m guessing Harry came to see you as well.”

“He did.”

“You know, Elizabeth’s just as stubborn as her mother was.”

“She is stubborn,” I agreed. “But the jury’s out on who she got that particular trait from.”

“I’m not stubborn, girl,” he said. “I’m persistent. Big difference.”

This time I was the one who gave a snort of laughter.

“My personal life is none of their damn business,” he grumbled. “You don’t see me meddling in either one of theirs.”

“I’m putting the phone down now,” I said, “because I don’t want to get any kind of a shock through the line when you get hit with a bolt of lightning.”

That made him laugh again. We set a date for tea on Friday afternoon, agreeing to continue the conversation then.

After I said good-bye to Harrison I headed downstairs to see what was going on.

Susan was at the circulation desk, wearing her black cat’s-eye glasses and a big smile. She reached below the counter and handed me a small red picnic cooler. “Marcus left this for you,” she said. “He has a meeting. He said to tell you, ‘Eat.’” She tipped her head to one side and studied me. “I think it’s so cute the way he made you lunch. He even put in a napkin and a little note.” She held up a hand. “I wasn’t snooping. He was giving me instructions on what needs to be reheated and what doesn’t.”

Before I could say anything, Gavin Solomon walked through the main doors. The security consultant smiled and raised a hand when he caught sight of me and started toward the desk.

Having such valuable art in the library meant that we’d needed a temporary upgrade to our security system. Gavin had been hired by the museum. Even though he’d never worked with Margo Walsh before, they seemed sometimes to have a kind of secret code or verbal shorthand that left me confused.

Gavin was handsome and personable, and he flirted, just a little, with every female over the age of fifteen. He had thick red-gold hair and a close-cropped beard. I wasn’t sure if he actually needed his dark-framed glasses or if he just wore them to look more serious.

“Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “I just wanted to check in with you to make sure we’re still on track to do one last check of the alarm system tonight.” He glanced over at Susan and gave her a quick smile.

She beamed back at him.

I nodded. “We’re closing at six. After that the building is all yours.”

“Good.” He looked around. “Is Larry here? He had a couple of questions for me about the wiring for the alarm system.”

“He’s down in the basement,” Susan said.

“Will you be in your office when I’m done?” Gavin gave me an inquiring look.

“I will,” I said.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you in a bit.” He headed for the back of the building.

Susan handed the plastic cooler over the counter to me. “Go have lunch,” she instructed. “I told Marcus I would nag you to eat, so go do it.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, and her topknot bounced. It looked as though she’d secured it with a red-and-white straw. I was never quite sure if it was because of Susan’s own absentmindedness that so many odd things ended up stuck in her hair or if it was the twins’ handiwork. “I can get spinach into the boys,” she continued. “Don’t make me show you how I do it!”

Susan’s boys were preschool twins with genius-level IQs and seemingly no fear of, well, anything.

“I’m going,” I said, picking up the cooler and heading toward the stairs.

“Warm up the two square containers,” she called after me.

The two square containers held lasagna and rhubarb crisp. There was also a mason jar of salad, utensils, and the note Susan had mentioned lying on top of a cloth napkin. I poured a cup of coffee and unfolded the piece of paper.

Sorry I couldn’t join you. I miss you.

M

There were no X’s and O’s. That wasn’t Marcus’s style, but that was okay with me. I found the carefully packed lunch romantic enough.

I’d finished eating and was coming out of the lunchroom with another cup of coffee when Gavin Solomon came up the stairs. “Hi,” he said. “Do you have some time for one last run-through of how everything works?”

“I do,” I said, gesturing at my office door. “Come in.”

It took close to an hour for Gavin to walk me, step-by-step, through the complexities of the security measures he’d put in place. We were the only ones, along with Margo, who would have the system’s code, which meant for the ten days of the exhibit I’d have to open up the building and lock up again at night.

“Are you going to be here tonight while we’re testing the system?” Gavin asked. He was leaning forward, using the edge of my desk as a writing surface, his left arm curled around as he wrote.

Both Gavin and Margo expected me to be available pretty much twenty-four hours a day. I’d tried turning off my cell phone a couple of times, but they’d both—at separate times—ended up on my doorstep. I wanted the exhibit to be a success. It could be good for Mayville Heights and it could also be very good for Maggie, Ruby and the other artists from the co-op. Still, the merits of one brand of light bulb over another were hardly an emergency. So I was trying to put my foot down when it came to letting the exhibit eat up all my personal time. But I had given Everett my word that I’d do everything I could to make sure things went well, so sometimes it went down a little firmer than others.

“Do you need me?”

Gavin shrugged. “I’ll call you if we do. I don’t expect any problems, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be a few glitches. I’d rather have everything worked out before the artwork arrives.” He closed the leather folder he’d been writing in and stood up. “I suppose this all seems a bit like overkill to you.”

I got to my feet and walked around the desk. “No,” I said. “I understand that some of the artwork is very old and very valuable.”

He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair where he’d been sitting. “The Weston drawing in particular probably shouldn’t even be out of the museum right now.”

I walked Gavin downstairs and then did a quick look around. Mia was working with Margo, Susan was at the desk, and Abigail was shelving books.

It was busy for a Tuesday and the afternoon passed in a blur. It seemed like every time I sat down at my desk Margo had another question, and I talked to Lita so many times I was glad she was on speed dial. Everyone who had been invited to the opening of the exhibit had RSVP’d with a yes, and both
USA Today
and
National Geographic Traveler
were sending writers.

“The reporter from
USA Today
wants to talk to you as well as Margo,” Lita said.

“Me? Why?” I asked.

“He wants to do a little background piece on the refurbishment of the library.”

“That’s easy. I like talking about the library,” I said. I turned in my chair so I could look out the window at the gazebo at the back of the building.

“And if you can work in what a nice place Mayville Heights is to visit, that would be wonderful,” Lita said. I could hear the smile in her voice.

“That’ll be easy, too,” I promised. I hung up the phone and looked up to see Susan leaning around my office door.

“Knock, knock,” she said.

I motioned at her with one hand. “C’mon in.”

She was holding a small cardboard box. She came over to the desk and handed it to me. “This came in the mail for you.”

The box was heavy. I checked the return address. It was from Lise, my best friend in Boston.

“I have to get back downstairs,” Susan said, pushing her glasses up her nose, “but if that’s food, remember who your favorite staff member is.”

I smiled sweetly at her. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I would never forget about Abigail.”

She wrinkled her nose at me and stuck out her tongue before disappearing into the hall.

I slit the tape on the top of the box and opened the flaps. Inside was something wrapped in bubble wrap and padded with crumpled newspaper. I used my scissors to cut the tape on the bubble wrap and then unwrapped what was inside. It was a small brass cat statue.