A Tale Оf Two Kitties

chapter 10

I headed home after work to change and have a quick bite of supper. I was meeting Maggie and Roma at Abel’s to look for a wedding dress.

Maggie was standing on the sidewalk outside the small boutique when I got out of my truck. She was wearing a red duffel coat and a red-and-white-striped scarf. “Roma is on her way,” she said.

“What are the chances we’re going to be able to find her a dress?” I asked.

Maggie held out one hand and waggled her fingers from side to side. “Fifty–fifty,” she said.

“This is where Rebecca’s wedding dress came from and it was beautiful,” I said, pulling up the collar of my black peacoat. “I’m going to think positively.”

Roma arrived then, parking at the curb behind my truck. She hugged us both and then studied the display of holiday dresses in the front window of the shop. “Are you sure I’m not too—”

Maggie held up a hand. “If the next word out of your mouth was going to be ‘old’ you might want to rethink what you were going to say.”

Roma closed her mouth, pressing her lips together, but there was an amused sparkle in her dark brown eyes.

We headed inside. Avis, who owned the store, was behind the cash register, her silver-framed glasses slipping down her nose as she waited on a customer. She smiled at us. “Go ahead and look around,” she said. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.”

Maggie led us to the back of the store, where the more formal dresses were displayed. Roma fingered the chiffon overskirt of a petal pink, knee-length gown. “This is pretty,” she said.

Maggie shook her head. She reached for the fabric and draped it over the back of her hand. “Uh-uh,” she said. “That color is too pale for you.” Something on the back wall caught her attention and she moved ahead of us.

“Kathleen, what if I really can’t find a dress I like?” Roma said.

I put my arm around her shoulders. “Then I’ll loan you my big fuzzy bathrobe.”

“Be serious,” she said.

“Who’s saying I’m not?” I retorted. “Look, we want your special day to be, well, special, but if you want to get married in your jeans or my fuzzy bathrobe or a garbage bag held up by duct tape that’s fine with us. We love you no matter what.”

Roma swallowed hard. Then she shook her finger at me. “You better not make me cry. I promised Olivia I’d send her pictures of the dresses and I don’t want my nose to be all red.”

Olivia was Roma’s daughter and I knew Roma wished she could have been with us.

I held up both hands. “I promise not to be nice for the rest of the night.”

Avis joined us then and after a bit of consultation Roma decided she would like to try on a couple of more traditional gowns. The first was a strapless sheath.

Roma disappeared into the dressing room and Avis grabbed her tablet to see if she could order the chiffon wrap that went with the dress. She didn’t have it in stock. She tapped the screen a couple of times and exhaled loudly. “I cannot get used to this new tablet,” she said, her voice edged with frustration. “I just got it yesterday and I’m still figuring out the new software.” She rolled her eyes. “I left my old one too close to the radiator. It turns out heat isn’t good for rechargeable batteries.”

“Neither is vinegar and water,” Maggie offered, slipping off her jacket. “Or so I’ve heard,” she added, cheeks turning pink.

Avis smiled and gestured toward the far wall. “I’m just going to see if I have something else that Roma might like.”

“I’m going to need a roll of double-sided tape to make this dress work,” Roma said when she came out of the dressing room. She put one forearm under the boned and underwired corset bodice of the dress and made a show of hiking up her chest, complete with a grunt for the effort.

I made the mistake of looking at Maggie. We both dissolved in laughter.

The second dress was a strapless mermaid-style gown. Roma looked beautiful but once again Mags and I couldn’t contain our laughter when Roma tried to sit down and discovered she couldn’t, no matter how she contorted her body.

The next dress was a fairy-tale tulle-and-lace creation. When Roma sat down on the bench beside us the skirt puffed out and up with an audible push of air so that Roma was surrounded by a cloud of tulle.

I pressed my hand against my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh.

Maggie frowned and tipped her head to once side. “It’s not that bad,” she said. “The skirt may be a little too poufy.”

Roma looked at Avis. “How do I pee?” she asked.

Avis made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “Oh, that’s no problem,” she said, as a customer carrying two sweaters and a black pencil skirt approached us. “You get one friend to hold up the skirt and the other gets your underwear down.” She headed toward the woman with the sweaters. “I’ll be right back,” she added over her shoulder.

“I call dibs on holding up the skirt,” Maggie said.

She and Roma both looked at me. “If I have to help you get your underwear down so you can pee on your wedding day I am not wearing chartreuse,” I said firmly.

Maggie was struggling not to laugh.

Roma looked down at the froth of fabric, lace and sequins around her. “How do you feel about helping me pee right now?”

In the end none of the dresses Roma tried on worked and after an hour we adjourned to Eric’s Place to figure out what to do next.

“I can just wear a regular dress,” Roma said, dropping two marshmallows into her cup of hot chocolate.

“It was just one store,” Maggie said. “And a special day deserves a special dress.”

I nodded and since no one was looking at me dropped three marshmallows into my cup. “Maggie’s right. As my mother says, how many times do you get married in life? Two, three times, tops.”

Roma smiled.

Ella King was sanding over by the counter, probably waiting for a take-out order. Maggie suddenly said, “Ella.”

“I see her,” I said.

Maggie shook her head. “No, I mean Roma needs Ella.”

“What do you mean I need Ella?” Roma asked.

“She could design a dress for you.”

“Really?” Roma looked uncertain.

Maggie nodded and got to her feet. “I’m going to see if she has a minute.” She walked over to Ella and they spoke for a minute, Maggie’s hands gesturing as she talked, then Ella came back to the table with her.

She smiled hello at us. I stood up and got a chair from a nearby table for her.

“Maggie says you’re having trouble finding a wedding dress,” she said to Roma as she sat down.

Roma nodded. “Yes. I need one I can walk in, pee in and that doesn’t require the use of double-sided tape anywhere on my body.”

Maggie smiled at me across the table.

Ella nodded as though she’d heard that before. “Do you have a particular style that you like?”

Roma picked up a spoon and stirred the marshmallows in her cup. “I’d like something simple and sleek with no lace or tulle—or boning.” She made a face.

Ella pulled a fine-point Pitt pen out of her purse. She grabbed a napkin and quickly sketched something, then she pushed the napkin across the table.

Roma looked at the drawing and a smile stretched across her face. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what I want.”

“I could make it for you,” Ella said, “if you’d like.”

Maggie and I leaned over to look at the sketch. The dress Ella had drawn had a sleek, fitted silhouette with sheer, long sleeves, a draped neckline and a flowing overskirt. The dress was Roma.

Roma looked at us.

“Yes,” Maggie said.

“Yes,” I echoed.

Ella smiled, and a flush of color touched her cheeks. “Call me tomorrow,” she said to Roma. “I’ll do a better sketch and we can get together to talk about fabric.” She got to her feet.

“I will,” Roma said. “Thank you so much.”

Ella said good-bye and walked back over to the counter, where Nic was waiting with a large take-out bag.

Roma looked at us, her expression a mix of excitement and a bit of shock. “I’m actually getting married,” she said.

I laughed. “What did you think all that lace was about?”

“What color are you thinking about?” Maggie asked, leaning forward for another look at Ella’s sketch.

I caught Nic’s eye as Maggie and Roma talked about blush versus ecru. I pointed at the carafe of hot chocolate and he nodded. I glanced at the napkin Ella had left on the table. Roma’s dress was going to be beautiful. She was going to be beautiful. I wished every problem could be solved so easily.

• • •

Hercules moved back and forth between the bedroom and the bathroom as I was getting ready the next morning, which I didn’t seem to be doing fast enough for him. Spending some time with Mia on Sunday night seemed to have motivated him to help figure out who had killed Leo Janes and he clearly wanted to keep going. He sat in front of the closet making grumbling sounds in the back of his throat and when I pulled my head out he was gone. I guessed that he’d given up and gone to wait for me in the kitchen.

When I got downstairs I found him sitting on top of my messenger bag, which I’d left on one of the kitchen chairs. Since Hercules knew my laptop was inside, I wondered if he was suggesting we needed to do some more research.

I had called Simon after I’d gotten home from dress shopping to share what Mary had told me. “I’m sorry,” I’d said. “It doesn’t really help, does it?”

“It was a long shot,” Simon said. “Thanks for trying. Maybe the PI will be able to track down the so-called witness or maybe he’ll come up with something else.”

It occurred to me that I hadn’t told Simon about my conversation with Celia Hunter. “Simon, did your father ever mention a woman named Celia Hunter to you?” I asked.

“The name doesn’t ring a bell,” he said. “Why? Who is she?”

“She was a friend of your mother. She’s here in Mayville Heights.” I hesitated. “She came to talk to your father.”

“Does she know he’s dead?” he said, his voice tightening.

I was in the big wing chair in the living room. I stretched my legs out on the footstool, which Owen took as an invitation to jump up and sprawl over them. “Yes,” I said. “She talked to him a couple of times before he died.”

“Do you think she has anything to do with this kick Dad was on to find out more about my mother’s accident?”

I rubbed my shoulder with my free hand, wishing I could see his face. It was hard to read him when I couldn’t see his expression. “Not directly. I don’t see how she could have been the source of whatever information he came across. But she did have a letter from your mother.” I let out a breath. “You know that they found some mail along with that cache of old photos when they took down that wall at the post office?”

“Kathleen, are you saying there was a letter from my mother in that mail?” He sounded skeptical and I didn’t blame him.

“According to Celia Hunter, and it wouldn’t be that difficult to check.” Owen had rolled onto his back and his back paws were moving through the air like some sort of low-impact aerobic workout. “She’s going to be here for a few more days,” I said. “If you want to read the letter she offered to show it to you.”

I heard him exhale. “Yes,” he said. “Do you have a phone number for her?”

“She’s staying at the St. James.”

“I’ll call her,” Simon said. “Thank you. I seem to be saying that a lot to you.”

“My mother would say it’s a sign you have good manners,” I’d said, lightly. I’d hesitated for a moment. “If you want company call me. Either way, please let me know what happens.”

“I will,” he’d said. “Good night.”

Now, Hercules meowed loudly from his perch on top of my bag. Owen had other priorities. He was sitting next to his food dish and he meowed just as loudly as his brother had in case I’d somehow forgotten it was breakfast time. Hercules, however, could be determinedly single-minded when it suited him. He jumped down from the chair and sat directly in front of me, staring up at me with serious green eyes. But Owen was not going to let anything get between him and his first meal of the day. He meowed a second time, a bit louder than he had the first time. Hercules turned to glare at his brother, his tail flicking restlessly across the floor. There almost seemed to be a challenge in his gaze. It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Owen immediately dropped his head and began nudging his dish across the floor toward me. As far as he was concerned everything else could wait until he’d eaten. Hercules stayed where he was. If Owen wanted to get to me and his breakfast, he was going to have to go through his black-and-white sibling. I could see where this was heading.

“That’s enough,” I said.

They didn’t even look at me. Owen was glaring at Hercules through slitted golden eyes. Hercules was unmoving, except for his lashing tail, like an ebony-and-alabaster statue.

I brought my hand, palm flat down, on the table. Hercules jumped at the sound. Owen’s head came up, catching the edge of his dish. Unfortunately he’d been pushing his water bowl across the floor, not his food dish. There wasn’t very much water in the bowl, but what there was splashed in his face. He yowled in outrage and began to vigorously shake his head.

I grabbed a dishtowel and hurried around the table. “Let me see,” I said getting down beside him on the floor. I’d heard Mary use the expression, “Mad as a wet hen,” but it seemed to me that “Mad as a wet cat” was a better description of someone truly outraged. I put a hand on Owen’s back as he continued to shake his head. “Let me see,” I repeated. I wiped his face with the towel. His wet fur was sticking up and there was a sullen expression on his face.

“Are you all right?” I asked, using a dry edge of the towel to smooth down his fur, being extra careful around his ear. His pride was clearly wounded but other than that he seemed fine. The contents of the dish had hit him but the bowl itself hadn’t.

I wiped up the water, got breakfast for both cats and a bowl of granola with almond milk and fruit for myself. Owen muttered to himself the entire time he was eating. Hercules glanced in his brother’s direction a couple of times but wisely kept his distance.

When I finished my own breakfast I cut the last sardine in the fridge in half and gave a piece to each cat. “I’m sorry,” I said to Owen. “That little incident with the water was partly my fault. I did hit the table a little harder than I meant to.”

Suddenly I thought of Harry Taylor smacking the top of the rain barrel after Leo Janes had walked away from him that day out by the gazebo. Could Harry be connected in some way to that piece of information Leo had discovered? I had no reason to think he was, but Harry wasn’t acting like himself, and it wasn’t as though I had anywhere else to start.

I checked my watch. Talking to Harry would have to wait. I was meeting Marcus out at Wisteria Hill to feed the feral cat colony that called the old carriage house on the property home. Roma was assisting on an early surgery in Red Wing and I’d volunteered Marcus and me to take care of the cats’ breakfast.

• • •

Marcus was waiting for me, leaning against his SUV, as I crested the top of Roma’s driveway. He gave me a quick kiss. “Good morning,” he said with a warm smile.

“Umm, good morning to you, too,” I said. I gestured at the house. “Roma left everything we need in the porch. I have her key.”

We walked across the gravel parking area, collected the cats’ dishes along with food and water and then headed for the carriage house.

“How did the shopping go last night?” Marcus asked.

“Good,” I said. “And that’s all I’m telling you because Eddie isn’t allowed to know what the dress is like. Apparently it’s bad luck.”

Marcus laughed. “I didn’t think Roma cared about those old superstitions.”

I grinned back at him. “It’s not Roma. It’s Maggie.”

We made our way around the side of the weathered old building. Marcus pushed the heavy wooden door open and we stepped inside. I waited a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.

It was because of Marcus that Roma had discovered that there was a feral cat colony out at the old estate. He’d found an injured Desmond and taken the big black tom to her clinic. Desmond was the clinic’s cat although he spent more time at Roma’s house than at the clinic these days. He had one eye and was missing part of an ear. Even though he wasn’t that big, his appearance and his attitude made him seem larger and very imposing. He’d backed more than one unruly dog under a clinic chair.

After Marcus had shown up with Desmond, Roma had gone out to Wisteria Hill to see if there were any more cats. She’d discovered nine in total. Now there were just seven. It had taken multiple attempts to capture them all. Roma had taken the cats back to the clinic, where they had been neutered. Then they had been returned to Wisteria Hill with Everett Henderson’s tacit, if not expressed, approval.

There was no sign of any of the cats now, which was typical. I looked around for any indication that anything was amiss but saw nothing. I remembered how surprised I’d been to learn Roma hadn’t tried to find homes for the cats.

“They’re not used to people,” she’d explained. “And they wouldn’t adapt well to living with them.”

Marcus and I set out the food and water and then retreated back by the door to wait. I leaned against his chest and he wrapped his arms around me, the warmth of his body keeping me warm.

After several minutes I heard a sound down near the feeding station. “Lucy,” I whispered.

The little calico cat may not have been the largest in the small colony, but she was its leader. She moved into view, sniffing the air, then she turned in our direction.

“Good morning, Lucy,” I said in a low voice.

Lucy and I had a connection I couldn’t explain. She’d come closer to me than she would to anyone else and sometimes it even seemed like she understood what I was saying to her. Roma believed it was because Lucy trusted me for some unknown reason, the same way Owen and Hercules had put their trust in me the day I’d come across them up here as tiny kittens. I sometimes wondered if Lucy, like the boys, had some kind of special ability and that was why we had connected.

The little cat moved closer to us, stopped and meowed softly. Then she made her way to the feeding station.

“You’re welcome, Lucy,” I whispered.

The rest of the colony made its way out to eat then. We both looked each cat over carefully for any sign that it was unhealthy or injured in any way.

“They all look good,” Marcus said softly against my ear.

After the cats had eaten they made their way back to their shelters. Lucy stopped to look in our direction before she disappeared again. Once the cats were gone, Marcus and I cleaned up the feeding station and set out more fresh water. Then we collected the empty food dishes and everything else and made our way back outside again.

“So how did breakfast with Burtis go?” Marcus asked as we started around the side carriage house.

“Delicious,” I said. “I have to ask Peggy what’s in the fried potatoes besides onion and dill.”

“Bacon fat,” he said. “Lots of bacon fat.”

I bumped him with my hip. “How did you know I had breakfast with Burtis?”

He squared his shoulders. “Have you forgotten you’re dating an ace detective?”

I put a hand on his shoulder and came up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “No, I have not,” I said.

Marcus laughed. “You’re not the only one who talks to Burtis, you know.”

“What did he tell you?” I asked.

Marcus shifted the empty water jugs to his other hand as we started for Roma’s side porch. “Probably no more than he told you: It’s not what a person has done that makes them intimidating, it’s what our mind thinks they’ve done.”

I nodded. “I realize it’s what Hitchcock said: ‘There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.’”

He nodded.

“So is Elias Braeden a suspect?” I asked as I fished Roma’s key out of my pocket.

Marcus raked his free hand back through his hair. “As far as I’m concerned just about everyone is a suspect right now.”

We put everything back in the porch and I followed Marcus down the driveway and back into town. He waved as he drove past Mountain Road and I turned down the hill.

Harry was at the library when I pulled into the parking lot, shoveling leaf mulch into a wheelbarrow from a large bin on the back of his truck. I’d known there was a good chance he would be. He had told me he was bringing some mulch for the bed at the back of the library where the rain chain had been vandalized and water had washed away much of the soil and mulch already there.

“Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “I thought I’d get an early start at this.”

“That’s fine with me,” I said. “I’m going to put the coffee on. Why don’t you come in later and have a cup?”

He rubbed his gloved hands together. “Thanks. That sounds good.”

“It was good of your father to help Mia with her project,” I said. “With Leo dead she didn’t really have many people to ask.”

“The old man likes kids,” Harry said. “And Lord knows he’s got enough stories about this town.” As I’d noticed before, once I mentioned Leo’s name Harry seemed to tense; the muscles in his neck looked like thick ropes.

“I better get back at it,” he said. “And I will take you up on that coffee later.”

I nodded and headed for the front steps. Harry wasn’t quite avoiding me, but it was close.

• • •

Midmorning I was talking to the leader of the senior quilters about a Christmas exhibit of their quilts when Patricia suddenly stopped midsentence and touched my arm. “Kathleen, either Abigail has taken up semaphore or she’s trying to get your attention.”

I looked over at the front desk. Abigail held up a hand and then pointed at the phone. “Excuse me for a minute,” I said to Patricia. I walked over to the desk.

“It’s Harrison Taylor for you on line one,” Abigail said. “And I thought maybe you needed a break. Patricia can talk your ear off.”

“Thanks,” I said. “She’s not really that bad. She just likes to get every detail nailed down.”

“Nailed down, stapled, glued and cemented,” Abigail said with a grin.

I reached for the phone. “Good morning, Harrison,” I said.

“Good morning, Kathleen,” he replied. “How are things at the library?”

“They’re going well,” I said. “Your son came and repaired that washed-out flower bed at the back of the building and someone brought in four books that were due eight years ago.”

“Did you make him or her pay a fine?” Harrison asked.

“I thought about it,” I said, turning so I could lean back against the desk. “Then I realized one of the books may be a first edition of Clement Moore’s The Night Before Christmas with illustrations by William Wallace Denslow.”

“I take it that’s a good thing.”

“The book could be worth several thousand dollars to the right collector.”

“Then you have something to celebrate,” he said. “So how about coming for supper tomorrow night?”

I liked spending time with Harrison and maybe I’d get the chance to talk to Harry. “That sounds wonderful,” I said. We settled the details and I hung up.

The rest of the morning passed quickly. Abigail and I went over the plans for our Christmas programming and then I spent some time looking through the book suggestions people had left on our “What Would you Like to Read?” bulletin board display. Maggie came in after lunch to sort through the photos and decide which ones she was going to frame first.

“Are you going to have enough frames?” I asked.

She nodded. “In fact it looks like I may be able to get some of the mail and display that as well. Did you hear that Thorsten Hall got a Christmas card from an old girlfriend?”

“Very romantic,” I said.

Maggie laughed. “Not exactly. It was a religious card with a picture of a snow-covered church on the front. Inside it said, God Loves You and underneath she’d written, I still think you’re a jerk!”

“You’re making that up!”

She put one hand on her chest. “I swear I’m not.”

I thought about Meredith Janes’s letter to her former best friend. I wondered what it said.

• • •

Marcus had hockey practice while I was at tai chi but we met afterward for hot chocolate at Eric’s.

“Want to split a cinnamon roll?” he asked.

“They haven’t been out of the oven very long,” Claire said. “They’re still warm.” That was all I needed to persuade me.

“Okay,” I said.

Marcus smiled at Claire. “One cinnamon roll, two plates,” he said.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

Eric’s cinnamon rolls were as good as Mary’s. That’s because he used her recipe. And so far I hadn’t been able to wheedle, whine or bribe it out of either of them.

Marcus must have guessed what I was thinking. “Do you think you’ll ever convince Mary to tell you what her secret ingredient is?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “And I’ve tried everything I can think of to make mine come out the same.”

“But yours are good,” he said. He’d tried just about every batch I’d made.

“I’ve gotten close.” I held up my thumb and index finger about a half an inch apart. “But there’s a little something missing.” I lined up the sugar bowl and cream pitcher on the table. “Mary says she’ll leave me the secret in her will.”

Marcus nodded solemnly. “Other words, she’s never going to tell you.”

I laughed. “Pretty much.” I leaned my elbows on the table and smiled at him. “What are you trying to sweeten me up for?” I asked. To his credit he didn’t try to pretend.

“We’re bringing Simon Janes in for questioning tomorrow. I didn’t want you to find out from . . . from anyone else.”

“He didn’t kill his father,” I said. I was beginning to sound like a broken record.

“I’m not saying he did.” He picked up a spoon from the table and flipped it end over end in his fingers. “Do you remember Schrödinger’s cat?” he asked.

I frowned, unsure of how we’d gotten from talking about whether or not Simon had killed his father to quantum mechanics. “I remember,” I said slowly. “It’s a thought experiment that Erwin Schrödinger came up with that’s really a criticism of the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum superpositions.”

Marcus laughed. “Well, here’s what I remember: a steel box, a cat, a vial of poison. The cat could be dead or it could be alive. Until you open the box you don’t know which.”

“Yes.”

“Until someone is charged with Leo Janes’s murder Simon could be guilty and he could be innocent and this idea of Schrödinger’s murder investigation made a lot more sense in my head.”

I reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze. “I get it,” I said. “You’re just doing your job. I can live with that.”

• • •

I thought about what Marcus had said as I drove out to the Taylors’ after work Wednesday night. Harry might know something that could help solve Leo Janes’s murder or he might not. Until I opened the box, until I came right out and asked him, there was no way to know. I wondered how the Austrian physicist would have felt about his thought experiment becoming part of pop culture.

Harry opened the door when I knocked and the rich smell of onions, garlic and tomatoes welcomed me as I stepped inside. “It smells wonderful in here,” I said as he took my coat.

“Italian beef stew. I hope you like it.”

I smiled at him. “I already do. Anything that smells that good has to taste at least as wonderful.”

Boris padded over to meet me. “Hi, boy,” I said. I handed the paper bag I was carrying to Harry. “Half a dozen of those organic dog biscuits Roma’s friend makes and Maggie sent you a bottle of blueberry syrup.”

“That’s a bribe,” Harrison said. I went over to give him a hug, trailed by the dog.

“Why is Maggie bribing you?” I asked.

“You know that mail they found stuffed behind that wall at the post office?”

I nodded.

“There was a Christmas card addressed to me. She wants me to let her use it for some exhibit she’s putting together for you.”

“And you don’t want to?” I asked, taking the chair opposite him. Boris leaned against my knee and I scratched the thick fur on the top of his head. He gave a contented sigh.

“I don’t mind one bit, but if she wants to send me a bottle of her blueberry syrup to soften me up, who am I to say no?”

We talked about the mail and the photos that had been hidden behind that wall at the post office for the past twenty years. “Do you think someone put them there on purpose?” I asked Harrison. “Or do you think they ended up there somehow by accident?”

“Neither and both,” he said.

“You do know that doesn’t make sense?” Harry said.

“Sure it does,” Harrison said. “Do you remember Campbell Larsen?”

Harry nodded. “He was the postmaster.”

“Named after his mother, not the soup,” the old man said. “Father’s side was Danish. That’s where the Larsen came from. Mother’s side was Scottish.”

“What does Campbell Larsen have to do with that stuff they found at the post office?” Harry asked. He was still standing in the kitchen doorway.

“He had some kind of dementia. He ended up in a nursing home.”

His son was nodding. “I remember that.”

“Well, he did some danged odd things before anyone figured out what was wrong with him. I think he put that stuff back there and in his mind he probably had a good reason for it.”

“That’s as good an explanation as any,” Harry said. He glanced over his shoulder. “We should be ready to eat in about ten minutes.”

Harrison got to his feet. He pointed a gnarled finger at me. “Before you ask, no, there isn’t a thing you can do. Sit there and talk to Boris.”

I smiled. “Yes, sir.” I turned all my attention to the dog, who seemed happy to get it.

“You’re driving?” Harrison said.

I nodded. “I am.”

“Well, I’m not,” the old man said, heading for the fridge and, I was guessing, a bottle of Thorsten Hall’s wine.

Harry served his Italian beef stew with slices of crusty multi-grain bread. I took one bite of the thick, spicy creation and closed my eyes with happiness. “Any chance I could get the recipe?”

“Sure,” Harry said. “There’s not that much to it. Onions, garlic, tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, celery, beef and my secret ingredient, half a bottle of Thorsten’s red wine.”

“He made the bread, too,” Harrison said, using a chunk to soak up some of the spicy liquid in his bowl.

“Bread machine made the bread,” Harry said.

“It’s good,” I said. I could taste molasses and I thought seven-grain cereal.

“He’s a good cook,” the old man offered. “Baffles me why he can’t get a woman.”

“Don’t start,” Harry warned.

His father paused his spoon in midair. “When did I stop? I’ve been telling you for years that you need a woman.”

Harry glanced at me and I saw a smile pulling at his mouth. They’d had this conversation dozens of times before. “Doesn’t seem to be working for you,” he said.

“That’s because you’re bull-moose stubborn.”

“Dad, did you ever hear the expression ‘People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones’?” Harry asked.

“Is that your way of saying you think I’m stubborn?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

The old man shook his head. “Every bit of your stubbornness comes from your mother, may she rest in peace.”

I was losing the struggle not to laugh. A bit of carrot went down the wrong way and I started to cough. I reached for my water glass.

“You all right?” Harry asked.

I nodded.

“Okay, no more talking about who has all the stubborn genes in this family,” he said. “I don’t want Kathleen to choke to death.”

“Fine with me,” Harrison said. He turned to me. “Anyone figure out who killed Leo yet?”

“Marcus is working on it,” I said.

“I hope he’s getting some help,” he said.

I shot him a look but didn’t say anything.

“How many enemies could Leo have had in town? He hasn’t lived here in close to twenty years.”

“It doesn’t mean someone couldn’t still have a problem with him,” I said.

I watched Harry out of the corner of my eye. His head was bent over his food but he was clenching his jaw. Maybe it was none of my business, but I needed to know what Harry’s beef had been with Leo Janes. I leaned forward and looked directly at him. “Like you, for instance.”

His head came up and his eyes met mine and I saw a flash of anger in his gaze.

Harrison was shaking his head. He swore and then immediately looked at me and apologized. “I told you to let that go,” he said.

“Let what go?” I asked.

Harry pushed his bowl away. “Kathleen, no offense, but it’s not really any of your business.”

I set my spoon down. “You had an argument with Leo at my library, so you pretty much made it my business.” I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Harry, I don’t for a moment think you had anything at all to do with Leo’s death, but that doesn’t mean that whatever had the two of you so angry didn’t.”

His shoulders were rigid and I found myself hoping I hadn’t permanently ruined our relationship. “It doesn’t,” he said.

“Then why keep it a secret?”

“You know damn well I’m going to tell her if you don’t,” Harrison snapped.

Harry held out both hands. “Be my guest.”

The old man looked across the table at me. “You know Ruby’s grandfather, Idris Blackthorne, used to run a poker game out in that shack he had in the woods by Wisteria Hill?”

I nodded.

“I played a few times, probably a few times more than I should have,” Harrison said. “I got in over my head one night.” He made a face. “I thought I had a good hand, a sure thing, and those kind of things rarely are. I lost my watch. To Leo.” He shook his head at the memory. “Few years later when I had a bit of money I tried to buy it back from him.”

“He wouldn’t sell it to you.”

“No, he wouldn’t, and if I’m being fair I was a bit of an asshole so I can’t really blame him.”

His son gave a snort of derision. His father let it pass without comment.

“So you were arguing over that watch?” I said to Harry. I was confused. So much anger over an old watch that had belonged to his father didn’t make sense to me.

He pulled a hand across his mouth. “He told me he wasn’t even sure he still had the watch but he’d take a look when he had the chance. He said he didn’t see what the big deal was.”

“That makes two of us,” Harrison commented.

I saw a flash of anger again in Harry’s eyes but his voice was quiet and steady when he spoke. “Do you remember where you got that watch?” he asked his father.

“Your mother got it for my birthday,” Harrison said. And then recognition spread across his face. He swore again. “It was the last gift she bought me before she had that stroke.”

Now I got why the watch was so important.

Harry let out a breath. “Dad, I’ve tried to be supportive of your relationship with Peggy Sue. Hell, she got you to go for a checkup, which is more than Larry and I have ever been able to do, so in my book she gets points for that. I want you to be happy.” He swallowed. “And I’m damn glad we have Elizabeth, no matter how she came into our life.”

The old man nodded but he also hung his head. Harry’s younger sister, Elizabeth, was the result of a relationship Harrison had had when his wife, Harry’s mother, was in a nursing home after a debilitating stroke that eventually ended her life.

“But I don’t want my mother to be forgotten. I thought if you had the watch, maybe you’d remember her once in a while. When I heard Leo was in town it seemed like a good chance to try to get it back.”

Harrison’s expression changed. “Remember her once in a while? There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of your mother. I loved her with everything I had. And yes, I’m grateful to have Elizabeth and to be part of her life—which by the way is thanks to Kathleen—but I’m ashamed of how I betrayed your mother.”

I wrapped one arm around my midsection and pressed the back of my hand to my mouth. I’d handled this badly. I’d upset two people I cared about for nothing. Harry’s argument with Leo Janes had nothing to do with his murder. “Harry, I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right. This is none of my business.”

“No,” he said. “You’re right. There’s more and I shouldn’t have been keeping it to myself. At my age I should know better.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Day before he was killed Leo called me at the house. He said he’d found the watch and he asked if I could do something for him. He said he’d give me Dad’s watch whether I helped him or not.”

“So what did he want?” I asked.

“Well, it didn’t make sense, but Leo wanted me to put him in touch with Lisa.”

“What for?” Harrison said, frowning. Lisa was Harry’s ex-wife.

Harry tented his fingers over the top of his water glass. “I don’t know. I figured it had to have something to do with insurance.” He looked at me. “Lisa’s a claims adjuster for Activa Life,” he said.

“Did you talk to her?” I asked.

“I did. I explained that he was giving me Dad’s watch. She knows about it. I asked if she’d talk to Leo.” He looked from his Dad to me. “I told her she didn’t have to help him but I’d appreciate it if she’d talk to him. She said she would. That was it. Pretty much.”

“Did you talk to Leo again?” I asked.

“I called him with her number. He told me to come over and pick up the watch.” He rubbed a hand over his bald head.

“You were there, the night he was killed. I passed you on the way over there. It was raining.”

Harry nodded. “I rang the bell but he didn’t answer the door and yes, I was mad when I left.” He looked at his father then. “I didn’t kill Leo.”

“Good Lord, we know that!” Harrison exclaimed.

I nodded. The idea that Harry could have killed Leo Janes or anyone else was unthinkable.

Harry went on to explain he’d talked to Marcus. Footage from a security camera on a nearby house confirmed how quickly Harry had been in and out. He wasn’t a suspect.

And I was glad of that, but that meant Simon still was.