Curiosity Thrilled the Cat (25 page)

“All right,” Roma said. I nodded, as well. I probably drank too much coffee, but as vices went it wasn’t that bad.

“How about another piece of blueberry tart?”

“A sliver,” Roma said, holding up a thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

“Kathleen?” Violet looked at me.

“Don’t make me eat alone,” Roma said. Something in her smile seemed forced.

“A tiny, tiny piece,” I said.

Rebecca took the album from Violet. “Why don’t you take that into the living room?” she said. “I’ll be right in.”

“Could I help?” Rebecca asked.

“Show Roma and Kathleen more of the old photographs. I can get the coffee.”

We settled on the sofa on either side of Rebecca, who laid the album across her lap. “Look,” she said, pointing to a picture of a somber-faced girl in a dark dress with a white collar and cuffs. “That’s Violet, senior year of high school. You know the building that’s the River Arts Center now? That’s where we went to high school.”

I leaned in closer to look. “She looks so serious.”

“Look at this one,” Roma said, putting a finger on a snapshot on the adjacent page. It was Violet in some kind of party dress with a little purse and a very unfortunate bubble hairdo.

“Interesting hair,” Roma said, struggling not to laugh.

Rebecca did laugh, covering her mouth with one hand. “Oh, my,” she said. “I’d forgotten about that. That was the first time I did Vi’s hair.”

“And it was almost the last,” Violet said, coming in with the coffee tray.

I got up and took it from her, and set it on the coffee table.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Rebecca said. “Maybe a little too poufy.”

“She back-combed my entire head and used a full can of hairspray on it.”

“Well, I didn’t want my handiwork to go flat.”

“It was windy and raining the night of that party,” Violet said as she poured. “The wind almost pulled the screen door off its hinges, but my hair didn’t move.”

“Then it was a good thing I used lots of spray.” Rebecca smiled sweetly.

I had the feeling they’d had this conversation many times before.

I took the album off Rebecca’s lap so she could reach her coffee. Roma had already started on her sliver of pie, which really wasn’t a sliver at all. I flipped through the photographs. Violet looked so young. In most of the pictures she was smiling, even laughing in a few, and I wondered what she’d been like as a girl. My favorite shot was one of Violet and another young woman, arms around each other’s shoulders, standing by the water, both of them with huge, happy smiles. “Rebecca, is this you?” I asked. She set down her cup and I turned the album toward her.

“Heavens, yes, it is. That was just before Violet left for Oberlin.”

“That’s the first picture I’ve seen of the two of you,” I said.

She shrugged. “I don’t really like having my picture taken,” she said.

“You look very pretty in this one,” I told her.

“Thank you,” Rebecca said, sliding the album back onto her lap so I could pick up my pie. “That reminds me, do you have any pictures of your family? I’d love to see them sometime.”

“I do,” I said. “Remind me and I’ll show you.”

“Kathleen, how’s the work coming at the library?” Violet asked, settling in a chair with her coffee.

“A little slower than I’d like,” I said. “Larry Taylor has the wiring almost done in the new computer room. The circulation desk is finished, and I’m hoping the police will let us back into the meeting-room space in a day or two.”

“Why have the police been at the library?” Roma asked. “Gregor Easton died at the Stratton.”

I took a sip of coffee, wondering how much I should say. “Easton was at the library earlier in the evening and he may have come back again.”

Roma started coughing. Rebecca reached around and patted her on the back.

“Do you need a glass of water?” Violet asked.

Roma held out a hand. She coughed a couple more times, then sucked in several breaths. “I’m all right,” she gasped. She swallowed a mouthful of coffee and then took a few more deep breaths. “A blueberry went down the wrong way.” She rolled her wrist over and checked her watch. “I really should get back to the clinic and check on the cat,” she said. “Thank you, Violet. Everything was delicious.”

She got to her feet and looked at me. “Kathleen, if I’m not rushing you, we could walk partway together.” She didn’t say
please
out loud, but I could see it on her face.

“You’re not,” I said. “I need to check on Owen and Hercules. Somebody”—I turned to look at Rebecca—“got Owen another catnip chicken. There are probably chicken parts all over my kitchen.”

“Don’t look at me,” Rebecca said, keeping her head down over the album. “It was Ami.”

Head bowed or not, I could see her smiling. I thanked Violet for dinner and for sharing her photographs. Roma and I said our good nights and headed out. The moon was almost full and the stars sparkled in a way they had never seemed to in the city.

Roma waited until we were out of sight of the house before she spoke. “Kathleen, could I ask you something?” she said.

“Of course,” I said. “What is it?”

“You said Easton was at the library before he died.”

“That’s right,” I said slowly, wondering where she was going.

“You’re sure?”

“Uh-huh. The police have evidence. Why do you ask?”

We turned the corner and started up the hill. She let out a breath and stopped on the sidewalk. “Because I think Oren might be involved in Easton’s death.”

“
W
hat do you mean, you think Oren might be involved?”

“The police talked to him this afternoon.”

“The police talk to a lot of people,” I said.

“This is the second time.”

I was about to say they’d talked to me more than once when I remembered I was also a suspect of sorts.

“That’s not the only thing,” Roma said. “He wasn’t at Fern’s for meat loaf.”

“You’re going to have to explain,” I said.

“Have you ever been to Fern’s diner?” she asked. “It’s a little place down near the marina.”

“Like a fifties diner?”

Roma nodded. “That’s Fern’s. Every Tuesday night is meat loaf night. Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, green beans in the summer, carrots the rest of the time, brown gravy and apple pie.”

“Sounds good.”

“It is. I haven’t missed a meat loaf Tuesday since I came back to Mayville. Oren probably hasn’t missed one in twenty-five years.” She kicked a rock on the ground and sent it skittering along the sidewalk.

“Oren wasn’t there Tuesday night,” I said.

“No.” We started walking again. “And he wasn’t at the theater when you got there the next morning, was he?”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Kathleen, Oren didn’t come home at all Tuesday night,” Roma said, her voice low and troubled.

I brushed away a small cloud of midges fluttering just in front of my face. “How do you know that?” I asked.

“The Kings bought a horse for their daughter. They thought they were getting a deal when they heard the price. What they got was a sick animal. I was out at their place from about one until close to five a.m. The back of their property meets the back of Oren’s.” She tipped her head back to study the sky. “It was a full moon Monday night. I could see Oren’s yard and house almost as clearly as if it were daytime. His truck wasn’t there. He wasn’t there.”

“It doesn’t mean Oren had anything to do with what happened to Gregor Easton.” My shoulder ached, but I didn’t want to rub it in front of Roma.

“If there was nothing off about Easton’s death, the police wouldn’t still be investigating. And it’s not like they have a huge pool of suspects. Did you know that pretty much everyone in the choir was at a birthday party at Eric’s Place that night?”

“I didn’t.”

“I know Marcus. He’s good at what he does.”

She was right. From what I’d seen Detective Gordon was thorough and persistent.

“Easton was at your library. Why does that matter if he died from natural causes? They’re not going to keep looking at a case that wasn’t criminal just so they won’t look incompetent if
Access Hollywood
shows up.”

She held out both her hands. “And they haven’t.”

“You think the police are investigating because there’s something to investigate,” I said.

“Kathleen, Oren is family. Our moms were cousins. I don’t believe for a moment that he’d hurt anyone, but this looks bad.”

I thought about Oren recognizing Gregor Easton’s real name. And how beautifully he’d played the piano. Those things weren’t coincidences. Oren knew Gregor Easton. How and why he was keeping it a secret, I didn’t know. But I didn’t believe he could have killed the man.

“Roma,” I said. “I don’t know what happened to Mr. Easton, but I don’t believe Oren had anything to do with it.” I held up a finger before she could interrupt. “I may have only been here a few months, but I know Oren well enough to know he wouldn’t deliberately hurt Gregor Easton or anyone else, for that matter. He had no reason. And if there was some kind of accident at the library or the theater he’d get help, not leave someone to die.”

Roma looked away and I waited until she looked back.

“Whatever reason Oren had for being gone all night, it had nothing to do with Easton’s death. I know that.”

Roma looked at me and I met her gaze steadily, because I did believe what I had said. Then she reached out and gave my arm a squeeze. “I’m glad Everett hired you, Kathleen,” she said. “Have a safe walk home.”

She turned left and I headed up the hill. I meant what I’d said. Oren didn’t have it in him to hurt anyone, but he was tied up in this mess somehow. And so was I.

I let myself in the back door and stood in the darkness of the porch for a moment. I needed to talk to Oren before I did anything else. And this was the kind of conversation that had to be had in person—not that I was exactly sure what I was going to say. What would I do? Knock on the door and say, “Hi, Oren. I just came by to ask if you did anything to Gregor Easton”?

Well, maybe not that.

I’d left the light on over the stove in the kitchen. No cats. The laundry basket was on one of the chairs. I’d folded everything before I left, but I hadn’t had time to put anything away. It wasn’t that late. Maybe I’d go for a walk to clear my head. And if I happened to end up near Oren’s place, well, that wouldn’t be so bad. I found a pair of socks in the clean laundry so I could change from sandals to sneaks.

I wrapped up half a dozen brownies to take with me—in case I did happen to see Oren. If I was going to accuse him of hiding something the least I could do was give him a brownie. I got my messenger bag to carry the brownies so they didn’t get too warm in my hand. Then I ran upstairs to change from my skirt to a pair of capris.

When I came back down Hercules was looking in the bag. I shook a finger at him. “Oh, no. No, no. We’re not doing this again.”

He put one paw inside the bag.

“No,” I repeated more insistently.

He lifted his other front paw, studied the bottom of it for a moment, gave it a couple of quick licks and then got into the tote and sat down. I loomed over him.

“I’m going to Oren’s. You can’t come. Get out,” I said. I knew he wasn’t going to move. I tipped the bag forward, very carefully, intending to tip him out. He lay down and snagged the front mesh panel of the bag with his claws. I gave it a small shake. It didn’t work.

I bent down. “Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “Stay in the bag. I’ll take something else.”

I put the brownies in a cloth grocery bag, grabbed my keys and went out into the porch for my sneakers. Hercules came through the door behind me. Literally through the door. I rubbed the side of my head with the heel of my hand.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the cat’s ears twitch. I could put him back in the kitchen, but all he’d do was walk through the door again. It seemed that Owen and Hercules were determined to help me play detective, each in their own way. There was no way to make Herc stay in the house. And he knew it.

But I wasn’t going to fold right away. I put on one shoe, slowly tied the laces and then did the same with the other shoe. Hercules didn’t look at me. I didn’t look at him. I straightened and brushed off my pants. “All right, you can come,” I said. “Get in the bag.”

This time he waited for me to open the kitchen door. Then he climbed in the messenger bag, lay down and looked at me, all innocent green eyes.

“Don’t be smug,” I said, closing the top zipper. I looked at him through the mesh. “And please be quiet.”

I swung the bag over my shoulder, locked up and started up the hill. The closer I got to Oren’s house the more foolish the idea of going to see him began to seem. Hercules scratched at the top of the bag just as Oren’s house came in sight.

“Stop it,” I hissed. That just made him dig harder at the nylon fabric.

I didn’t know why I thought the cat would listen to me. He was a cat, not a dog that had been to obedience school, or a trained monkey in the circus. He was an independent, stubborn cat. Who was about to destroy my favorite bag.

I opened the zipper a couple of inches. Hercules immediately stuck a paw out. “No, no, no! Don’t do that,” I said.

He raked the inside of the bag with his other front paw. Great. Someone was going to drive by and see me talking to my purse at nine o’clock on a Saturday night in front of Oren’s house.

“Fine,” I whispered. “You can have a look around, but then you go back in the bag because we’re going home. And I’m not drinking any more of Ruby’s wine. It puts the ‘stupid’ in ‘stupid ideas.’”

I pulled the zipper open a bit more. I knew mice and cockroaches could squeeze through incredibly small spaces. So can cats, I discovered. Hercules pushed through the small opening, coming out of the bag like water pouring to the ground. He took off across Oren’s yard, disappearing into the darkness.