A Night's Tail

chapter 9

When Rebecca let me into her kitchen the next morning I discovered that Hercules was already there, sitting on a chair next to Everett at the table, a couple of organic fish crackers on a napkin in front of him.

“Rebecca, why is my cat at your breakfast table?” I asked.

“It’s Friday,” she said, picking up a heavy brown stoneware mug from the counter and making her way over to the coffeepot.

“I’m aware of what day it is,” I said.

“Hercules has breakfast with Everett on Tuesdays and Fridays. Where else would he be sitting, dear? On the floor?”

There was something about Rebecca, maybe it was her innate kindness, that made people care about her, that made them—me included—just a little protective, at which, for the most part, Rebecca just smiled. On the other hand, underneath that gray hair and angelic smile there was a steel-hard stubborn streak.

Hercules having a place at her table sounded so perfectly logical that I knew better than to argue with her. I saw a hint of a smile on Everett’s face but he just picked up his own coffee cup and didn’t say a word.

Rebecca set the steaming mug in front of me. “Thank you,” I said, reaching for the blue cut-glass sugar bowl.

“Have you had breakfast?” she asked.

I nodded. “I have. Coffee is fine.”

“Well if you change your mind I have fruit and yogurt and cinnamon raisin bread.” She smiled. “I wanted to tell you that I heard about that unpleasant incident at The Brick last week and while I don’t generally condone violence, I don’t care for bullies, especially people who mistreat animals and don’t show respect for our veterans. I would have reacted just the way your friend did. I hope there haven’t been any repercussions for him.”

I shook my head. “There haven’t. And for the record, Derek is a good guy. He doesn’t go around getting into altercations in bars.” At least I hoped he didn’t.

“Is Derek the young man with the beard that I’ve seen at Eric’s a couple of times?”

I took a sip of my coffee. “He is.”

“He’s quite good-looking,” Rebecca said. “He has lovely dark eyes.”

I choked on my coffee. “Rebecca!” I sputtered.

“I can see,” she said. She gave Everett a loving look across the table and then turned her attention to me. “I’m married,” she added matter-of-factly, “not dead, my dear.” She took the chair opposite me then and folded her hands primly in her lap. “I also heard what happened at the hotel. I’m sorry you had to find Mr. Lewis.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Marcus is on the case,” Everett said. He didn’t frame the words as a question, which told me he already knew Marcus was investigating.

I nodded. “He is.”

Rebecca reached over and patted my arm. “You said last night there was something you wanted to talk to us about. What is it?”

I gave my head a little shake to chase away the cobwebs. “Lewis Wallace, actually,” I said. “Specifically, what can you tell me about the business he was considering opening here in town?”

“Not that much,” Everett said, folding his newspaper and setting it beside him on the table. He was tall and lean with a close-cropped white beard and intense dark eyes. He reminded me of actor Sean Connery. “I haven’t been very involved in the decision making for this particular project—mostly just a case of bad timing for me.”

“I’ve been to all of the meetings,” Rebecca added, “but I don’t feel I know that much and that’s the problem. I didn’t like the fact that from my perspective, Mr. Wallace seemed to be stalling on providing more concrete details for his business—which suppliers would he be working with, what were his projected sales, what part of the country was he marketing to, did he have a distribution system in place? The basics really.”

Once again I was impressed with Rebecca’s business acumen. I shouldn’t have been. Rebecca was very savvy about life and people in general and business in particular. She had been a hairdresser and she knew all about running a small business in a time when there hadn’t been so many women doing it.

Everett nodded. “I had the same concerns as Rebecca. And I wanted to know more about Wallace’s previous failed business. Why did it go under? What did he learn from the experience?” He set his coffee cup on the table. “Mind you, I’m not saying that that failure was necessarily a bad thing. Some people take a while to find the right fit for their skills.”

“According to the Small Business Association, half of all businesses fail in the first five years,” I said.

“That’s right,” he said. “That can be due to anything from not researching the market to not having a good business plan to not listening to customer feedback. I wanted to know if Mr. Wallace was aware of his weaknesses.”

“Have we told you anything that helps?” Rebecca asked.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted, tracing the rim of my coffee cup with one finger. “I’m trying to get a sense of what kind of businessman Lewis Wallace was. He’s pretty much an enigma.”

“You know that he was selling memorabilia? That was the business that failed.”

I nodded. “I know there were some disgruntled customers and some accusations about the legitimacy of some of the things he was selling.”

“It was more than that,” Rebecca said. “There was a police investigation. And a couple of people sued.”

“What happened?” I hadn’t found any of this information in my cursory research online.

“The investigation didn’t lead to any charges and the lawsuits were settled out of court, very recently as a matter of fact.”

“That doesn’t mean people still weren’t angry,” I said. Some people can hold a grudge for a long time.

“You’re wondering if Mr. Wallace died because of a business deal gone wrong.” Rebecca got up off her chair and got the coffeepot. She topped up her husband’s cup and gestured at mine.

“Please,” I said. I added more cream and sugar to my cup then leaned back in my seat, hands wrapped around the mug. I was stalling to come up with a diplomatic answer to Rebecca’s question. “From my limited experience with the man and from what I’ve read about him, he seemed to be the kind of person to whom people reacted strongly.”

“In other words, he could be a jerk,” she said flatly.

I sighed. “Yes.”

“How is the investigation going into Mr. Wallace’s death? Has Marcus learned anything?”

“I’m not giving away any secrets by saying it’s going very slowly,” I said, once again choosing my words with care.

“Well I’m sure things are a bit more challenging because the medical examiner didn’t immediately rule the death a homicide.”

“Umm, how did you know that?” I asked.

Rebecca gave me what I thought of as her sweet-little-old-lady smile. “I have my sources.”

Her source was likely Mary’s daughter, Bridget, who was the publisher of the town paper. I had no idea who Bridget’s source was. Neither did Marcus, which caused him a fair amount of frustration.

“Lewis Wallace’s death could have been an accident.” I tapped the side of my cup with one finger. “It’s a bad idea to jump to conclusions.”

“But it wasn’t an accident,” Everett said.

“There are a lot of unanswered questions,” Rebecca added. “I think it a good thing that someone is looking for answers.” She smiled again.

I smiled back at her. “Thank you both for answering them. And thank you for the coffee.” I looked at Hercules. “Okay, Fuzzy Face. Let’s go.”

He made a face and gave an indignant meow.

“If you walk home by yourself you’ll end up with wet feet,” I reminded him.

He immediately looked at Rebecca.

“Oh, that’s not a problem,” she said. “I’ll bring Hercules home later in the wagon.”

“I’m sorry, the wagon? What wagon?” I had somehow lost the thread of the conversation.

“Oh my goodness, did I not show it to you?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head.

“I can’t believe I forgot,” Rebecca said. “Maggie found me an old wooden Radio Flyer wagon at a flea market about a month ago. She cleaned it up and painted it for me. Red, of course. I’m going to use it to move my plants when I’m working in my garden. I can bring Hercules home in it. There isn’t that much snow left in the backyard.” She held up both hands as though everything was settled.

“I can’t let you do that.”

Everett raised an eyebrow. “Bad idea,” he said softly.

Rebecca was studying me through narrowed eyes. “I don’t understand,” she said. “You can’t let me?” Equal emphasis on the “can’t” and the “let” in the sentence. “Kathleen, are you trying to say you don’t trust me to bring Hercules home safely?”

“No,” I said, feeling my face redden. I hadn’t meant to offend her.

“You don’t think I’m too feeble to pull a wagon with a little cat in it across the yard, then, do you?”

Crap on toast! I had offended Rebecca.

“No, no . . . I just . . . There’s snow out there.”

She gave a snort. “There’s barely a dusting. I don’t see a problem.” She waited, head cocked to one side.

I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I appreciate your offer to make sure Hercules gets home,” I said carefully. “Thank you.”

Rebecca smiled. “You’re very welcome.” She reached over and set a piece of bacon in front of Hercules. “I almost forgot. I have a pie for you,” she said. “I’ll go get it. It’s in the pantry.”

The cat gave me a smug look that told me he knew who’d won and bent his head over his bacon. Rebecca went to get the pie. I looked at Everett. “I was played, wasn’t I?”

“Like a ninety-nine-cent kazoo,” he said with a smile.

As I headed home through the backyard I saw Owen waiting for me on the railing of the back stoop. He had come out with me when I’d headed over to see Rebecca and Everett. He liked to do a morning survey of the yard. I had no idea what he was looking for but it was part of his daily routine. His nose twitched at the pie.

“It’s people food,” I told him as I unlocked the porch door.

He made a sound like a sigh.

I kicked off my shoes, hung up my jacket and set the pie on the counter, covering it with a clean dishtowel for the moment. I got another cup of coffee and decided it was probably a bit too early for pie. It was blueberry. I’d checked.

I took a seat at the table. “Based on what Rebecca told me, Lewis Wallace definitely made some enemies with his last business. Maybe one of them tracked him down here,” I said. “Two people sued him and he was investigated by the police. He had to have left some unhappy customers in his wake.”

Owen seemed to be more interested in working out a stubborn knot in the fur on his tail than hearing about what I’d learned. “I just feel if I knew a little more about the man I could maybe figure out whether his death was personal or business.”

I tried to think of some way other than haunting the Internet to find more about Lewis Wallace the man. I couldn’t come up with anything. I looked up from my coffee to find Owen sitting in the wooden basket from Burtis Chapman that had been filled with potatoes from his root cellar. I’d left the basket under the coat hooks to remind me to return it. “Owen, get out of there,” I said.

The cat didn’t budge an inch. He just continued to sit in the basket and wash his face. I set my cup down, went over and scooped him out. “Burtis puts food in that basket,” I scolded. “You can’t sit in it. We already had this conversation.”

Owen squirmed to get down. I set him on the floor. He headed for the living room, where I knew he’d likely climb on the footstool—another place he wasn’t supposed to sit. I went back to my coffee.

I thought about Burtis, who had showed up a couple of days before Ethan and the guys had arrived with the basket filled with potatoes that had spent the winter cool and dry in his root cellar. He’d stood in the porch and he had seemed to fill the space. “I hear you’re going to have some extra mouths to feed,” he’d said.

A basket of potatoes might have seemed like an odd gift, but not to me. Russet potatoes from Burtis Chapman’s huge garden had a wonderful flavor and made delicious fries and hash browns. I would also have happily eaten them in a big bowl mashed with butter and a little salt and pepper.

Burtis Chapman was an intensely loyal man to his friends—including Marcus’s father, Elliot Gordon, whom he’d known since they were boys. But he’d worked for Idris Blackthorne—Ruby’s grandfather—as a young man. Idris had been the area bootlegger, among other things, and he’d had a reputation for coming down hard and fast on anyone who crossed him. There were some people in town who saw Burtis the same way.

I knew Burtis was a big football fan, a Vikings fan in particular, knowledgeable about stats and trades and who was injured in any given week. I wasn’t sure if he followed college football or the Canadian league, but if he didn’t there was at least a chance he’d know someone who did.

I looked in the direction of the living room. Was that why Owen had climbed into the potato basket? Was it his way of making me think of Burtis? I shook my head. No. That was a bit too much of a stretch. I was seeing connections where there weren’t any, I told myself. Still, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that maybe I was right.

I did a load of laundry, cleaned the bathroom and dusted everywhere. Ethan got up, muttered a good morning and foraged in the kitchen for breakfast—wearing a T-shirt for a change. After he’d eaten—two scrambled eggs with mushrooms and tomatoes, two cups of coffee and a slice of Rebecca’s pie—he’d wandered into the living room to ask if he could do some laundry later.

“I kinda need some clean clothes to take with me,” he said, scratching his stubbled chin.

“Go ahead,” I said. “What time are you leaving?” The Flaming Gerbils were playing three shows in Milwaukee, about a four-and-a-half-hour drive away. They’d be back on Monday.

Ethan yawned and scratched one armpit. “I told the guys I’d pick them up at one o’clock.” He looked around the room. “You want me to vacuum for you?” he asked.

“Seriously?” I said.

He shrugged. “Yeah. I figure it’s the least I can do since I’m staying here and eating your food.”

I grinned at him. “You’re right. So yes and thank you.”

I left for the library a bit more than an hour later. I gave Ethan a hug. “Have fun.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me to stay out of trouble?” he teased.

“You’re a grown man now, not a little kid,” I said. “I’m going to try harder to treat you that way.”

“Plus, you know you’re wasting time.” His dark eyes gleamed.

I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “By the way, Rebecca will probably bring Hercules back in a little while.”

He frowned. “How is she going to do that? The furball doesn’t let anyone but you pick him up.”

I smiled, getting a mental image of Rebecca pulling Hercules in her wagon. “I’m just going to let you see that for yourself,” I said.

I stopped in at Eric’s for coffee before I went to the library. Standing at the counter, I realized I had forgotten to bring my lunch or to even make it, for that matter. “Is it too late for a breakfast sandwich?” I asked Claire.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Hang on. Let me check with Eric.”

Claire poked her head in the kitchen and was back in less than a minute. She smiled. “He says it will only be a few minutes.”

I thanked her and dropped onto a stool to wait. The door to the café opened and Simon Janes walked in.

“Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “This is a nice surprise, seeing you twice in less than a day.”

“I talked to Mia last night,” I said, swinging around on the stool so I was facing him.

He made a face. “Did she happen to tell you that she’s met a guy?”

I laughed. “Yes, she did. She has a good head on her shoulders, thanks to you. Don’t worry.”

Simon pointed a finger at me. “That may be so, but any questions about boys and anything related to them are going to be referred to you.”

After Simon’s father’s death I’d moved into a surrogate-mother role with Mia, and I treasured our connection. I smiled. “That’s fine with me.”

Simon gave Claire his take-out order and then turned to me again. “I didn’t tell you last night. I heard what happened at the hotel. You found Lewis Wallace’s body.”

I nodded. “I did.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said. “Has Marcus figured out what happened yet?”

“He’s still investigating.”

“If you think it might help, I can ask around, see if I can find out anything else about the man.” He picked up a sugar packet and flipped it over his fingers.

I didn’t see the point in denying that I was interested in Lewis Wallace. But I didn’t want to lead Simon on, either.

As if he could read my mind, Simon held up his hands and said, “As friends, Kathleen. No catch.”

I didn’t have a lot of other options at the moment. I nodded. “Thank you.”

Claire came back with my food. I slid off the stool.

“I’ll be in touch if I find out anything,” Simon said.

I thanked him again and headed for the library, hoping I wasn’t going to regret this.