The Whole Cat and Caboodle: Second Chance Cat Mystery (13 page)

Elvis put one paw on the pages and meowed his approval, as well.

“Thanks,” I said. I reached over and scratched the top of Elvis’s head. “And thanks to you, too.” He bobbed his head as if to say “You’re welcome”; then he jumped down and headed toward the storage room. “I’m going to drop this off and go to the bank,” I said to Mac.

“Take your time,” he said. “I’m going to finish sanding that table.”

“And I’m going to change that window display,” Rose said as she came bustling down the stairs. Halfway to the storage room she stopped and turned around. “You don’t mind, do you, dear?”

I shook my head. “No. Do whatever seems right to you.”

She beamed at me. “Thank you,” she said.

Once Rose had disappeared into the back, Mac looked at me, a smile pulling at his lips. “You know you just gave Rose carte blanche to do whatever she wants.”

I shrugged. “It’ll be interesting.”

By the time I got back there were just a few clouds overhead and the sun was shining. Mac was sanding the top of the long table. I could see the fine grain of the wood now that the layers of paint were gone.

“You’re right,” I said, walking over to where he was working. “It should be stained. At least the top.”

He pulled the dust mask down off his face. “That’s the plan,” he said, running his hand over the dusty tabletop.

“You want me to paint the legs?” I said, leaning over to see what shape that wood was in. I could see some nicks and gouges but overall it looked good.

“Please,” Mac said as I straightened up. “You’re a lot better at detail work than I am.”

“Just let me know when it’s ready.”

The leaves on the big maple tree next to the old garage were about four or five different shades of crimson. The air was clean, and for some reason I just felt very glad to be home.

“It’s a good day,” I said to Mac as I started for the back door.

He set down the sanding block he’d been using and reached for a rag. “Hold on to that thought, Sarah,” he said.

What does that mean?
I wondered as I opened the door. That thought was immediately followed by
Why do I smell bleach?

The answer to that question was easy. There was a bucket of hot, soapy water that smelled like bleach in the middle of the small sunporch. Rose was on a stepladder, a hammer in one hand.

“Rose, what on earth are you doing?” I said.

She turned sideways to look at me, which made her perch on the ladder look a little precarious. “Oh, hello, dear,” she said. “I’m trying to get a nail into this bracket.”

“How about you come down?”

She shook her head, which made the ladder wobble just a bit. “I can’t,” she said. “I can’t reach without the ladder.” She made a face. “Sometimes I don’t like being short.” She looked at me. “My mother used to say I was the little package good things come in, but sometimes I wish the package was just a bit longer.”

I crossed over to her and put a hand on the side of the aluminum stepladder to brace it.

“Come down,” I said. “I’ll do that for you.”

“I almost have it,” she said, and I caught the stubborn edge to her voice.

“Please,” I said, fighting the urge to lean over and snatch the screwdriver from her hand. “I’m taller. It’s easier for me to reach.”

“Fine,” she said. She climbed down off the ladder and handed me the screwdriver. I was tall enough to reach without having to climb on anything, and it took only a few turns to tighten the screw.

“What are you doing?” I asked. Rose had moved down to the end of the porch and was looking up at the single window.

“Well, bless me,” she said. “There are already brackets up here.” My words registered then and she turned to look at me. “I’m hanging blinds, dear. The sun can be pretty strong in here in the afternoon.”

I didn’t know where to start. I was still holding on to the screwdriver.
The blinds,
I decided. “Rose, I don’t have any blinds to hang in here,” I said.

“You do now.” She turned and walked back to me, stopping to take the screwdriver from my hand before she headed into the storeroom.

I stood there stupidly for a moment, and then I went after her. She was standing by the workbench. “What do you mean, I do now?” I said.

She brushed off the front of her apron. “Do you remember those old tea chests we brought over from Will Hathaway’s place?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said slowly, wondering where exactly the conversation was going.

“There were some nice roller blinds in one of them.”

“I know that,” I said, “But those blinds are way too wide for the windows in the sunporch.”

Rose beamed at me. “Not anymore. I cut them to fit.”

“You cut them to fit?” I rubbed the space between my eyes with the heel of my hand.

Rose picked a bit of cat hair from my arm. “Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “I measured every one of them twice.”

“Good for you,” I said.

The blinds were spread out on the workbench behind her. She started to gather them up.

“Let me get those.” I took them from her.

“They’re all numbered,” she said. “One is the window by the door, and they go from there.”

I smiled at her. “Pretty resourceful.”

She fluffed her gray hair and started for the porch again. “I’m not just another pretty face, you know.”

That made me laugh. “No, you certainly aren’t,” I said.

I set the blinds down on the floor just inside the porch and closed the stepladder, leaning it against the wall. “Rose, what did you use to cut the blinds?” I asked.

She was bent over, looking for number one in the pile, I guessed.

“Well, first I used pliers to pull off that little metal end thingy,” she said. “After that I just used that little saw of Mac’s to cut them, and then I glued the metal thingy back on.” She found what she was looking for and straightened up. “I do like that little saw,” she said. “It’s just the right size for someone who’s tiny like I am.”

I had to fake a cough to cover the laugh I couldn’t quite swallow. Now I knew why Mac had said “hold on to that thought” when I’d gone on about what a great day it was.

Rose had measured carefully, I discovered. The first blind fit perfectly into the slots in the hanger. So did number two.

She found the third one and handed it to me.

“Rose, why did you decide to put these blinds up now?” I asked, pushing on the bottom of one of the brackets so I could slide the slotted end piece into place.

She pushed her glasses up her nose. “I think an office needs a little privacy, don’t you?”

“I already have an office upstairs,” I said.

“Of course you do.” She pulled the blind all the way down and raised it again to make sure it was working. “But you need your office, so I thought we could work here.”

I couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to get it. Even so, I asked her to make sure. “Who’s
we
?”

“Charlotte and Liz and I,” she said. “We can’t do any kind of an investigation without an office.”

“No, I don’t suppose you can,” I said.

I finished hanging the blinds, and then the two of us dragged a small wood-and-metal drafting table out to the porch along with a couple of chairs. Mac came in from outside while Rose was shifting the chairs around.

“Is it getting interesting yet?” he asked, working to keep from grinning at me.

I glared at him. “You knew,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“I was just letting Rose do what seemed right to her,” he said. He looked around. “And she did manage to find a use for those old blinds. At least they won’t end up at the landfill. That’s good.”

I laid a hand on his arm and crinkled my nose at him. “Hold that thought, Mac,” I said. “She used your miter saw to cut them.”

The rest of the morning was busier than I’d expected. We didn’t have any tour buses, but several tourists taking a relaxed few days to drive around and enjoy the changing leaves stopped in.

Mabel Harrington’s son called late morning to accept the offer I’d put together for the furniture and other items from his mother’s house. I told him I’d get back to him at the first of the week with a timeline for picking things up. I hung up the phone and smiled at Elvis, who had been sitting smack-dab in the middle of my small desk, seemingly listening to my side of the conversation.

“He took my offer,” I said. It seemed to me he smiled before licking his lips. I leaned over and gave the top of his head a little scratch. “Oh, c’mon, you know you’re not really going to eat anything you find out there,” I said.

He stared unblinkingly at me. I stared back at him, and I have no idea how long that would have gone on, except all of a sudden his whiskers twitched. His furry black head swiveled toward the door and he lifted his chin and sniffed the air.

“I don’t smell anything,” I said.

His green eyes focused on me for a moment. He gave me a look that could best be described as dismissive and then he jumped down and went over to the door. When I didn’t immediately jump up he looked back at me and meowed loudly.

“I’m coming,” I said. I got up, squeezed around the desk and opened the door for him. He went about half a dozen steps into the hallway; then he stopped and looked back at me.

“Give me a second,” I said, pulling my keys out of my pocket. “I need to lock the door.”

He sat down and began thumping his tail against the floor, not unlike someone impatiently drumming his fingers.

“That’s not making me move any faster, you know,” I said.

The tail thumping stopped. It occurred to me that not only was I turning into one of those people who talked to their animals, but now I was also expecting an answer.

Elvis led the way downstairs. Liz was standing just inside the front door. A brown paper shopping bag was at the floor by her feet. Mr. Peterson was on her other side.

“Good morning,” I said to Liz. I leaned sideways to smile at Mr. P. “Hello, Mr. Peterson.”

He smiled back at me. “Hello, Sarah,” he said. “I like your store. It’s a trip down memory lane for me.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I was shooting
what is he doing here
looks at Liz, who was studiously avoiding meeting my eye.

Mr. P. was carrying a small black nylon briefcase, but Elvis’s attention was completely focused on Liz’s shopping bag. He sniffed at it and then pawed at the brown paper.

“Don’t do that,” I ordered, bending down to pick him up.

“He probably smells lunch,” Liz said, finally meeting my gaze. “I brought Chinese chicken salad for everyone from McNamara’s.”

Elvis twisted in my arms and the look he gave me was totally triumphant.

“That was very . . . thoughtful of you,” I said. Now I knew something was up. I knew a bribe when it was sitting on the floor of my store in a paper shopping bag.

I was about to grab Liz by the arm, pull her away from Mr. P. and ask her what the heck was going on, when Rose came from the storage room. She caught sight of us and a smile stretched across her face. She hurried across the floor, stopping for a moment to speak to a man and woman who were looking at a large rectangular mirror that was hanging on the wall near the cash register.

“Alfred, thank you for coming,” she said, taking Mr. P.’s free hand in both of hers.

“I’m happy to help in any way I can, Rose,” he said, smiling back at her.

She let go of his hand and turned to Liz. “You brought lunch,” she said. “Thank you.”

Liz handed her the shopping bag and Rose peeked inside. “I thought you were going to cook,” she said, looking up at her friend.

“I said I’d bring lunch,” Liz said. “I didn’t say anything about cooking,”

Rose gave me a quick smile and turned back to Liz. “I’m going to give Sarah cooking lessons when all this upset with Maddie is over.”

“Won’t that be fun?” Liz said dryly.

“You can come if you need to brush up on your skills.”

“As long as I can call for takeout I’m fine.”

I could see where this was going. Time to change the subject. “So, what’s happening?” I said to Rose.

She shot Mr. P. another quick smile and then focused on me. “Alfred is going to help us figure out who really killed Arthur Fenety. He’s a computer genius.”

I looked at Mr. P.

“I don’t know if I’d say
genius
,” he said, ducking his head modestly.

“You didn’t say
genius
. I did,” Rose said. “And you are.” She took Mr. P.’s arm with her free hand. “The office is all set up. Come take a look and see if there’s anything else you need.”

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” he said. He couldn’t stop looking at Rose, and there was something about the expression on his face that made me think of a love-struck sixteen-year-old boy. It occurred to me that he would have happily followed her off the edge of a cliff.

Mr. P. had a thing for Rose. Oh, great.

I turned to look at Liz, raising my eyebrows.

Liz held up her hands. “Don’t look at me,” she said. “All I did was pick up lunch—and Alfred.”

I leaned over, put my arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I will get you for this,” I whispered. Then I headed for the cash register, where a customer was waiting.

Mac came in a few minutes later. “Table’s all sanded,” he said. “Do you want to see what I’m thinking about for stain?”

I nodded. “I do. Let me get Charlotte and I’ll come out and take a look.”

“Okay,” Mac said.

I headed for the storeroom door. “By the way, Liz brought lunch,” I said.

“That’s not all she brought, I see.” He tipped his head in the direction of the sunporch. “That’s Mr. Peterson, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Interesting.”

I shook a finger at him. “Oh no. We are not using that word in here for the rest of the day. It’s already gotten me in enough trouble.”

He laughed and made a shooing motion with one hand. “Go find Charlotte.”

Charlotte and Rose were with Mr. P. in their new “office.” Liz was unpacking lunch, dividing the food between two metal TV trays. Someone had brought in a black wicker chair and Elvis was perched on it, watching Liz’s every move. “Charlotte, could you keep an eye on the cash for a few minutes?” I asked. “I just need to look at some stain samples with Mac. You can take your lunch right after that.”