A Case Of Cat And Mouse

chapter 13

The Mayville Heights Chronicle had been around for more than a hundred years. It was one of a shrinking number of small-town newspapers that was still turning a profit. Much of the credit belonged to publisher Bridget Lowe. Under her watch the Chronicle had won a number of awards for reporting. Not only did everyone in the area read the paper, it also had a significant number of online subscribers from out of town. Including my mother, which is why it didn’t really surprise me when she called about half an hour after I’d gotten home.

I had almost finished sorting through the envelope of papers. Owen had been content to sit on my lap and keep his paws off the papers, though he occasionally meowed his disagreement over which pile a page ended up in. Most of them were printouts of baking terms, recipe ideas and details about the original version of The Great American Baking Showdown. I realized that Kassie hadn’t known anywhere near as much about baking as any of the contestants had.

I was happy to get up and stretch when my home phone rang. I carried Owen with me into the living room, dropped into the big wing chair and set him on my lap as I reached for the phone. He would have followed me and hopped onto my lap anyway. I was just removing a step from the process.

“Hello, sweetie. How are you?” Mom said.

As always, when I heard my mother’s voice, I felt a sudden pinch of homesickness. My mother made me crazy sometimes, but she loved me with the fierceness and protectiveness of a grizzly bear. She loved all three of us that way.

“I’m fine,” I said, stretching my legs out onto the footstool while Owen stretched himself out on me the way we’d done too many times before to count.

“How’s Marcus?” she asked, a teasing note in her voice.

“He’s perfect, as always.”

“He has a new case, I see.”

I was right about why she’d called. “He does,” I said.

“So what have you unearthed so far?”

I knew there was no point in trying to pretend or outright lie that I wasn’t involved. Mom had some kind of mother’s instinct that told her when Ethan, Sara or I were lying. She also seemed to know when we were about to come down with a cold.

“Not a lot. Kassie was sleeping with someone on the show. Don’t ask me who because I’m not telling you.”

“Well, from what I’ve seen online, that young woman liked the male gender, so that doesn’t leave a lot of choices. It certainly wasn’t Richard, I know that.”

Owen shifted on my lap and I had to put a hand on him so he didn’t roll off onto the floor. He gave me a slightly embarrassed look. “Hang on, Mom,” I said. “How do you know it wasn’t Richard? You said yourself, women love him.”

“Well of course they do, sweetie.” I pictured her making a dismissive wave with one hand. “He’s very attractive with those dark eyes and that smile, but Richard has almost always dated the tall, athletic type, with an occasional attraction to a slightly older woman.”

“No, no, no. We are not going there,” I said.

On the other end of the phone she was laughing. “Just because Richard was very much attracted to me doesn’t mean anything happened. Your father is the only man for me.”

I knew she meant that. She wouldn’t have married Dad twice if she hadn’t. They wouldn’t have had so many dramatic fights and so many equally dramatic makeups if they weren’t absolutely wild for each other.

Owen shifted again so his head was on my stomach. “What’s Richard like, I mean as a person?” I asked. “I’ve barely spent any time with him. I know Eugenie and Russell a lot better.”

“I don’t think he could have killed Kassie Tremayne, if that’s what you’re asking,” Mom said. “He doesn’t have it in him. And from a purely practical standpoint he would never do anything that might make a mess on his clothes. Have you noticed how particular he is about them?”

I had noticed. Eugenie had told me that after Saturday’s filming, the body-hugging shirt Richard had been wearing had been sent out to be laundered and ironed so it was fresh for him to wear on Sunday. In his favor, it was the only diva-like behavior I had noticed about him.

“I did notice,” I said.

“Richard can be nitpicky, but he never crosses the line into being cruel. And I’m willing to bet, if the online rumors are true, that Ms. Tremayne was coming down hard on some of the contestants, which means Richard would have gone to bat for them. I’ve seen him do something similar in the past. He’s going to be a big star, you know.”

“He did go out of his way to make sure the change in judges went well.”

“Sweetie, Richard is a complicated man. He can be harsh one moment and incredibly kind the next. He makes fantastic food and he also has a secret passion for McDonald’s apple pies.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “Thanks, Mom. Now tell me how Dad is.”

“Incredibly handsome and incredibly annoying. Luckily, your father has gorgeous legs in a pair of tights.”

Mom and Dad were working on As You Like It. He was starring and she was directing. I knew from past experience the play would be fantastic, but sparks—and words—would fly until opening night.

We talked for a few more minutes. “I love you,” I said. “Give Dad a hug and a kiss from me.”

“I will,” she said. “I love you, too, Katydid.”

I finished sorting the papers, put them into labeled envelopes and put all three of those in my bag. Owen sat on my lap, got down for a drink, got back up for a snuggle and generally made the process go more slowly.

I kissed the top of his head. “I love you even when you get in the way.”

He nuzzled my chin. I was pretty sure that was cat for, “Back at you.”

There was a tap then on the kitchen door and I turned around to see Marcus standing there smiling at me. “Hi,” he said.

I set Owen on the closest chair, got up and threw my arms around Marcus. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” I said after I had hugged him and kissed him twice.

“I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see you,” he said. He kissed my ear, my cheek and then the side of my mouth. I had been going to say something but the words seem to float right out of my head.

Then I realized he was hugging me with only one arm. I pulled back and looked up into his gorgeous blue eyes and had another brief moment of amnesia. Finally I got ahold of myself. “Why do you have one hand behind your back?” I asked.

One eyebrow went up. “Do I?” he said.

I pulled on his arm. “Yes, you do. What are you hiding back there?” He wasn’t really trying to resist so it wasn’t difficult to get his arm out where I could see it.

He was holding a small box wrapped in bright green paper and tied with green and silver ribbons.

“Is that for me?” I asked.

“It is.”

Owen gave what seemed to be a perturbed meow.

“I didn’t forget you,” Marcus said, pulling a small paper bag from his pocket.

I recognized from the size of the bag what the contents likely were. “No, no, no,” I said, shaking my head. “Please tell me you didn’t bring him a catnip chicken.”

Marcus put a hand over his heart. “I swear to you that I did not buy Owen a Fred the Funky Chicken.”

I continued to eye the bag with suspicion. “And no one gave you a Fred the Funky Chicken?”

“And no one gave me a Funky Chicken,” he said solemnly. There was a glint in his blue eyes. He was up to something.

“Merow,” Owen exclaimed. He was not very patient.

Marcus set the paper bag on the chair seat. Owen eyed it with as much suspicion as I had. Then he stuck a paw inside and pulled out something small and green that smelled unmistakably like catnip. “Mrr,” he said happily. He picked up the small green critter and disappeared toward the living room. Disappeared as in vanished. All I could see was the catnip toy bobbing along, seemingly floating in midair.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to seeing him do that,” Marcus said.

I slugged him on the arm. “You said you didn’t bring him a catnip chicken.”

“First of all, oww! And second, that’s not a catnip chicken. Didn’t you notice that it was green?”

“What is it, then?” I asked.

He grinned. “It’s a catnip frog. To be specific, it’s Ferdinand the Funky Frog, cousin to Fred.”

I leaned against him laughing. “You’re making that up.”

He folded his arms around me. “I swear I’m not. That’s how they’re being marketed. How could I not buy it for Owen?”

“Wait a second,” I said. “How can Fred have a cousin that’s a frog? Chickens and frogs are very different species.”

“What? You’ve never heard of adoption?”

That started me laughing all over again. The idea of Fred the Funky Chicken having an adopted frog cousin was, to use one of Eugenie’s favorite words, marvelous.

I was still holding the gift-wrapped box in one hand.

“Are you going to open your present?” Marcus asked.

“It’s not a catnip frog, is it?” I said.

He shook his head. “It’s not a catnip frog—or a catnip chicken.”

I took Owen’s seat, undid the pretty ribbons and carefully took off the wrapping paper before opening the box. It held a white ceramic mug with the words, Cats, Books & Coffee, Yes Please! in black script.

“It’s perfect!” I exclaimed. I reached up, grabbed the neck of his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. “Thank you.”

“I got something for Hercules, too.” He held up one hand. “Not treats because I know how Roma feels.” He pulled another bag out of his pocket. “It’s a mechanical mouse. You shake it and when you set it down it just runs randomly across the floor. I have to say it was a big hit at dinner tonight.”

“Hercules will love that,” I said. “He used to have a little purple mouse just like that. It came to an unfortunate end in Owen’s water dish.”

Marcus dropped into the chair across from me. “So did you miss me?” he asked with a teasing smile.

I set my mug on the table. “I missed you a lot. All I did was work while you were gone.”

He groaned. “I have lots of that waiting for me tomorrow morning. I don’t suppose you happened to hear anything that will prove Elias is guilty or that someone else is. All I have at the moment is people giving me the runaround or, in the case of Mr. Kent, avoiding my questions all together.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Aside from learning that Charles has an alibi—which you already knew—the only other thing I discovered is that Ray and Kassie knew each other when they were kids.” His expression didn’t change. “And you knew that, too.”

He nodded. “What I don’t know is where the lorazepam Kassie had in her system came from.”

“You’re positive she didn’t have a prescription and she didn’t have any pills with her things or in her apartment?”

“I’m positive. And before you ask, Elias doesn’t have a prescription for that or any other similar drug. I might as well tell you. I figure either he or Ruby will.”

He looked tired all of a sudden. “I’m guessing no one else in the cast or crew does, either.”

“That wouldn’t be a bad guess,” Marcus said. He stood up, grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet. “I’m sorry. I need to get going. I have to see how Micah is and I need to check in at the station for a minute.” Eddie had kept an eye on Marcus’s cat. She’d probably come away from the weekend more than a little spoiled.

Marcus glanced around the kitchen. “Any chance I left a memory stick behind the last time I was here?”

I shook my head. “I haven’t seen one.”

He exhaled loudly. “That means I must have lost it at the rink.”

“What was on it?” I asked.

“The tentative summer workout schedule for the girls’ hockey team. At least Brady has a copy. I can get it from him.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help.” I stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

“That helps,” he said with a smile. He left with three more kisses and a promise we’d have lunch or supper or something in the next couple of days.

Owen wandered in from the living room. He didn’t have his Funky Frog, but he did have the blissful expression that told me he’d been chewing it. He made his way a little unsteadily to his water dish and noisily had a drink.

My phone rang and Owen started. A little water splashed on his paw. He made a cranky face.

It was Keith King calling. He was one of the newest additions to the library board and he ran a storage business up on the highway. “Hey, Kathleen,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you at home.”

“That’s not a problem,” I said. “What can I do for you?” Owen had started to gingerly lick the water off his paw.

“I’m cleaning out a unit for nonpayment and I came across a box of what are clearly library books. Some are from our library but some of them aren’t. What do I do with them?”

One of my pet peeves—no surprise—was people not returning their books. I would happily waive the fine just to get a book back on our shelves. To me, keeping a book was almost as bad as defacing one, and no, not all of the culprits were children using a piece of gum as a bookmark.

“Are you going to be there for a while?” I asked.

“Based on the contents of this storage space at least a couple of hours.”

“I’ll come get them. I can track down where the other books belong.”

“That would be great,” Keith said.

“I’ll see you soon,” I said.

I looked over at Owen, who looked back at me, although his golden eyes seemed a little unfocused. “I have to drive out to Keith’s to get a box of books. Why don’t we skip the whole you-sneak-into-the-truck-and-I-catch-you thing and you just come along for the ride?”

He seemed to consider my offer for a moment and then he headed for the door walking more or less in a straight line. I stepped into my shoes, grabbed my purse and my keys and followed.

There was no sign of Hercules in the porch or the backyard. “Do you know where your brother is?” I asked Owen. I didn’t get an answer. Then I remembered that Everett should be home from his latest business trip and I had a pretty good idea where Hercules was.

There was more traffic than I had expected on the way out to Keith’s business. The box of books that was waiting for me when I got there was a lot bigger than I expected as well. “We should be able to figure out where the other libraries are and get their books back to them,” I said to Keith.

“Thanks,” he said. “I would hate to see them end up at the recycling center or worse.”

I smiled. “Not on my watch.” I lifted a flap and peeked inside the carton. There had to be at least a dozen hardcover books inside.

“I was talking to Lita a couple of days ago and she mentioned the library is going to need some new computers,” Keith said as he carried the box out to my truck.

I nodded. “She came in when I was trying to fix one of the monitors.”

“You know how to repair a computer? I’m impressed.”

“Only if you consider whacking the side with my hand to be repairing.”

Keith laughed. “I think we took the same repair class.” His expression became serious again. “Look, Kathleen, I know there are some manufacturers that provide public access computers at cost to places like libraries and schools. I’ll see what I can find out before the next library board meeting.”

“That could help a lot,” I said. “Thank you.”

He put the box in the truck, setting it on floor of the passenger side, and we said good night. Owen leaned down and tried to poke his head inside the cardboard carton, sneezing twice in succession.

“Get out of there,” I said, lifting him away from the box. “That box has been in a storage unit for who knows how long. It’s full of dust and probably a spider or two.”

Owen shook his head and moved a little closer to me.

I fastened my seatbelt and started the truck. Traffic was backed up and stopped in front of the business’s driveway. I craned my neck to look down the street. I caught sight of a huge RV, as big as a bus, waiting to make a left turn. Owen meowed impatiently.

I reached over and put my hand on his head. “Relax,” I said. “It’s just a little backed-up traffic. Thing’s will get moving again in a minute.”

That didn’t seem to satisfy him. He stood on his hind feet and put his paws on the dashboard, eyeing the vehicles that were blocking the street in front of us.

“Glaring at the other drivers isn’t going to make things move any faster,” I said.

Owen ignored me. He seemed fixated on a small red car that was three vehicles past the entrance to Keith’s storage business. He looked at me and then looked back at the road again. “Merow,” he said. When I didn’t immediately lean forward to see what had caught his attention he meowed again, louder and more insistently.

I hooked my thumb around my seatbelt and pulled it a little looser so I could shift sideways just a bit and get a better view of the red car. There was only one person inside, a man. All I could see was part of the back of his head, but something about him was familiar. As I continued to stare, the driver turned and glanced at something on the seat beside him.

It was Richard Kent. No, it couldn’t be, I told myself. It was someone who looked like Richard. I just thought I was seeing him because I had just been talking about the man. Then I noticed the driver’s right arm, propped on top of the steering wheel. He was wearing a black watch. A distinctive black watch. I was willing to bet it had a black rubber strap and a sapphire crystal.

“That is Richard,” I said to Owen.

He gave me a look that could best be described as, “Well, duh!” and then he sat down again and began to wash his face.

I leaned back against the seat. The traffic was starting to move. “What’s he doing up here?” I asked. The cat didn’t seem to know.

I had my turn signal on to make a left turn, down the hill toward home. I looked at the red car moving away down the street. “This is crazy,” I said, more to myself than to Owen.

The final car in the line passed by in front of me. There were no vehicles coming in the opposite direction. I started to pull out and at the last second went right instead of left. We were far enough back that I didn’t think Richard would notice us, but even if he did, I figured the last thing he would be expecting was for someone to be following him.

Owen finished washing his face and moved along the seat so he could look out of the passenger window. Even when the traffic thinned out a little it wasn’t hard to stay back and still keep the red car in sight.

It wasn’t until Richard flipped on his left turn signal that I realized where he was going. I kept two cars between us and crossed my fingers that he wouldn’t use the drive-thru.

Luck was with me. He didn’t. Richard pulled into a parking spot, and I found one that was out of his direct line of sight but still gave me a pretty good view of the inside of the McDonald’s we were at. I watched Richard go inside. I watched him order. I watched him take a seat and devour not one but two hot apple pies. He wasn’t famous enough yet that anyone recognized him.

What had my mother said? “He makes fantastic food and he also has a secret passion for McDonald’s apple pies.” I used my phone to take a couple of photos.

Owen moved across the seat and leaned against me. I looked down at him. “There’s no point in doing your cute face. We’re not getting anything.”

He made an annoyed sound and his tail flicked against the seat. Then he disappeared. It was his version of the silent treatment.

I backed out of the parking spot, pulled onto the street and started for home. There was nothing else I needed to see. I hadn’t taken Mom seriously when she’d mentioned Richard’s penchant for fast food. I could see how from his perspective it wouldn’t look good for a celebrity baker to have a secret love for that kind of food even though millions of people did. It probably wouldn’t be the kind of thing that he would want to get around.

Marcus had said that Richard was avoiding his questions. “Maybe that’s because he was here,” I said.

Owen still wasn’t talking or showing himself, so I didn’t get a response. “Maybe that’s why he keeps avoiding Marcus’s questions.” Still no furry response.

It wasn’t the strangest idea I had ever come up with.

As soon as I pulled into the driveway I got my phone out and called Marcus. “You said Richard has been avoiding your questions.”

“And I shouldn’t have,” he said.

Owen winked into sight. He walked across the seat and climbed onto my lap. Apparently all was forgiven, plus he probably wanted to be carried to the back door.

“This is going to sound, well, crazy, but I think I might know where he was the night that Kassie was killed.”

“I’m listening,” Marcus said.

I explained what Mom had told me on the phone and how I hadn’t taken it seriously. I told him how Owen had spotted Richard’s car and how we’d followed him. “There he was, sitting in the dining area wearing sunglasses and his five-thousand-dollar watch eating two hot apple pies. I have a couple of photos if you want them.”

“Send them to me. I think I’ll have another conversation with Mr. Kent. Maybe even tonight.”

“That’s it?” I said. I knew my theory was a little far-fetched.

He laughed. “Yeah, that’s it. The whole case is just weird enough for this to be true.” He told me he’d call me in the morning and let me know what he found out.

If I was right, we had just eliminated a suspect.