A Tale Оf Two Kitties

chapter 12

Harry showed up at the house about five to eight the next morning. He was going to do some repairs to Rebecca’s gazebo and the raised flower beds at the back of my yard. One of the perks of my job at the library was my little farmhouse. Since Everett owned the property all the yard work was taken care of as well.

I’d pulled my truck out in front of the house so Harry could use the driveway.

“Thanks for letting me park here,” he said. “Oren is still working at Rebecca’s and I’d like to stay out of his way if I can.”

Mariah came around the side of the house carrying a long extension cord and a tool box with a denim backpack that I recognized as being the same one she’d had with her at her grandfather’s over her shoulder. “Hey, Kathleen,” she said.

The high school kids had a day off due to teachers’ meetings.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I said to Harry.

“I’m good, thanks,” he said.

I looked at Mariah. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

She nodded. “Please.”

“C’mon in,” I said beckoning at her. In the kitchen I got one of my stainless-steel travel mugs from the cupboard and poured her a cup. Then I indicated the cream and sugar so she could fix her coffee just the way she liked it.

She added three spoonfuls of sugar. “Dad got me up at six thirty,” she said by way of explanation.

“Owen got me up at six thirty, too,” I said.

Mariah smiled at me over the top of the mug as she took a drink. “Did he tell you getting up early builds character?”

“No,” I said. “I’m pretty sure all he was interested in was breakfast.”

She laughed and held up the cup. “Thank you. I’ll make sure I bring this back,” she said, and headed outside.

I’d just poured myself another cup of coffee when Owen came from the living room, walked purposefully through the kitchen and stopped in front of the door. He meowed loudly. I went over and opened it. He headed for the back door. I knew he wanted to see what Harry was doing. Both cats liked the gazebo. “Stay out of the way,” I reminded him as I let him into the backyard.

“Mrr,” he said, and then he was gone across the grass.

I stood for a moment on the steps, where I could see into Rebecca’s backyard. Mariah had set her coffee on the gazebo railing and stowed her backpack on the seat below it. I watched as she unrolled the long yellow extension cord and went to plug it into the outside outlet.

When I stepped back into the porch I found Hercules sitting on the bench looking out the window. He followed me into the kitchen and I found myself telling him about the letter from Simon’s mother as I gathered up the laundry. “I don’t know what I was hoping for,” I said. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there is no connection between Meredith Janes’s accident and Leo’s death.”

About ten thirty I walked my way across the kitchen floor to the back door. Hercules and I moved outside to sit on the steps, me with a cup of coffee—and him with a sardine cracker. We’d been sitting there about five minutes when I saw Owen coming across the grass. He had something in his mouth. What were the chances he hadn’t taken something that belonged to Harry?

I held out my hand as he came up the stairs and Owen dropped what looked to be a tiny piece of molded plastic in my hand. He looked at me with a very self-satisfied look on his face.

“What did you do?” I said.

“Merow,” he replied. He leaned over and nudged the small piece of orange plastic with his nose then looked at me.

Hercules leaned down and looked at my hand then looked at his brother. I’d had moments where it almost seemed like they could communicate without making a sound, and this was one of those times.

After a long moment, Hercules, like his brother, looked expectantly at me.

“Okay, you furry little kleptomaniac, what am I supposed to see here?” I picked up the piece of orange plastic by one end and held it up to study it. It was eight or nine inches long and at first I’d thought it was a disposable knife, but now I realized it wasn’t.

“It looks like an airplane propeller,” I said. I looked from Hercules to Owen, who both seemed to be waiting for me to make a connection.

A small airplane propeller.

Harry wasn’t a model maker as far as I knew. I turned the strip of plastic over in my fingers. Owen continued to stare unblinkingly at me and one of his ears twitched. He was getting annoyed that it was taking me so long to make the connection.

“All I see is a little propeller for a little airplane.” As I said the words aloud the last piece fell into place in my head. I looked from one cat to the other. “A drone is a little airplane.”

Owen sat down on the step, seemingly satisfied that I’d figured things out.

I looked across the yard. I could see Harry and Mariah working on the gazebo steps. What had he said more than once about his daughter? “She’s good with anything mechanical.”

I knew there was no way Harry had a drone, but could Mariah have one? Could she be the person who’d been following cars on the highway? And if she was, why was she doing it?

I sat there trying to make sense of everything when Harry came across the yard. “I’m just heading to the lumberyard for another one-by-six,” he said. “We’re just about finished with the gazebo and then we’ll start on the end of that raised bed of yours.”

“Thanks,” I said. I waited until I heard his truck pull out of the driveway and then I started across the backyard. Owen came with me. Hercules stayed on the steps.

Mariah was sweeping up sawdust inside the gazebo. “Hi, Kathleen,” she said. “Dad just went to get a couple of boards. He should be right back.”

“I saw him,” I said. “I wanted to ask you something.” I held out the orange propeller. “Is this yours?”

Her face flooded with color. “I, umm, I don’t know,” she said. She couldn’t quite keep her eyes on mine.

“It’s a propeller,” I said. “I’m pretty sure it’s for a drone.” I gestured at her backpack still lying on the wooden gazebo seat. “I’m sorry, I think Owen took it.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Are you going to tell my dad?”

“Mariah, have you been following cars out on the highway and down by the marina with it?”

“A few . . . maybe,” she said.

“That’s really dangerous.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not, because I didn’t do it when there was a lot of traffic and I didn’t get that close to the cars.”

“But you were a distraction,” I said, moving my hands around in frustration. “Those drivers were all paying attention to your drone, not the road. Someone could have been hurt.”

She swallowed hard. “I never thought about that.”

“What were you doing anyway?”

“I’m making a movie for my media studies class. There’s a camera attached to the drone.”

I suddenly knew why Mariah hadn’t mentioned the power was off at the library. “You were out filming the other night when I had supper with your dad and your grandfather. You weren’t at the library.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t.”

“How many other times?”

She listed off five other days.

“Where exactly were you filming?” I asked, an idea buzzing in the back of my brain.

“One time I was down by the marina. The others I was on the highway.” She wrapped her arms around her body, hugging herself. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

I nodded. “I’m pretty sure you are, but it might not be as bad as you think.”

When Harry came back Mariah confessed what she’d been doing. She didn’t make any excuses. Harry pulled off his Twins caps and smoothed a hand over his scalp. “You could have caused an accident,” he said. “What were you thinking? Somebody could have been hurt. Somebody could have been killed.”

“I know,” she said in a small voice, swallowing back tears that were threatening to fall.

“Mariah might be able to help someone with that footage she shot,” I said.

Harry looked at me, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

I explained about Simon driving around the night his father had been killed. “Mariah was flying her drone, filming up on the highway that night. I know it’s a long shot, but she might have filmed Simon’s car. She might be able to prove that he had nothing to do with Leo’s death.”

Harry looked at his daughter. “Do you have all the stuff you filmed?”

She nodded. “On my computer.”

He turned to me. “Kathleen, would you call Marcus and see if he can meet us at the police station in”—he looked at his watch—“about forty-five minutes?”

“I will,” I said.

“Let’s get things cleaned up here,” he said to his daughter. “Then we’re going home to get your computer.”

A chastened Mariah picked up the broom again. Owen had been sitting on the railing listening to the entire conversation. Now he tipped his head to one side, looked inquiringly at Mariah and meowed softly. “I said you could lie on my backpack, not go through it,” she muttered.

Owen hung his head.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, her expression softening. “It’s mine. I’m going to be grounded for the rest of my life.”

“Or longer,” Harry said darkly.

I picked up Owen and headed home to call Marcus.

• • •

Mary had an expression she’d use when it seemed like everything was going wrong at the library: “Some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you.” This turned out to be one of those times when we ate the bear. The camera Mariah had attached to the drone produced excellent-quality video, and she was a skilled flyer. About a third of the way through the video she had shot the night Leo was killed she picked up Simon’s car. The time stamp made it clear that he couldn’t have been at the apartment killing his father.

“He’s in the clear,” Marcus said when he called me at the library. “What made you think Mariah might have video of his car in the first place?”

“I remembered Simon saying that he’d seen a drone flying over a field. I figured there was a chance he was on the same stretch of highway where Eddie had been followed. It was a long shot, but it was plausible.”

I was sitting at my desk and I swiveled around so I could see out the window. Watching the water helped me focus my thoughts. “I’m sorry I ruined your case.”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Marcus said. “I don’t want to arrest an innocent man. I want to catch the person who really killed Leo Janes.”

“Any idea who that might be?” I asked.

Marcus exhaled softly. “I think I’ll just say ‘No comment’ for now.”

We said good-bye and I went downstairs to give Mary a break at the circulation desk. I had a quick meeting with Lita over at Henderson Holdings at two thirty. I told her about Maggie’s idea to frame the photos from the post office for display along with some of the mail that had been found. Maggie was confident that at least some of the recipients would loan whatever card or letter they had received for our exhibit.

“I don’t see why the board would have any problem with you doing that,” Lita said.

“We’re hoping to get the display done early in December,” I said. “We have more people come into the library then anyway.”

Lita and I spent another fifteen minutes on library business and then I bundled up to walk back to the library. The wind off the water was cold and very quickly I began to regret my decision not to bring the truck. When I came level with Eric’s Place I decided to duck inside for a cup of coffee to go.

“I put on a fresh pot,” Claire said. “It’ll just be a couple of minutes.”

“I don’t mind,” I said. I sat on a stool with my back to the counter. I was happy to have a chance to warm my hands. I’d left my gloves back at the library.

The front door of the restaurant opened and Rebecca came in. She smiled and came over to the counter. “I bet you’re on your way back from your meeting with Lita,” she said.

I nodded. “I came in to get warm and get a cup of coffee. I’m just waiting for a new pot.”

“I’m meeting Patricia Queen for tea,” Rebecca said. “I’m hoping she can repair an old quilt that Everett’s mother made.”

Claire came out of the kitchen then. “Would you like a table, Mrs. Henderson?” she asked.

“In just a moment I would,” Rebecca said as she pulled off her gloves.

Claire smiled. “You can have the one in the window if you’d like or any other one along the back wall.”

Rebecca smiled back at her. “Thank you,” she said.

The door opened again and Elias Braeden and two other men came in.

“I’ll just get these customers and then I’ll get your coffee, Kathleen,” Claire said.

“It’s all right,” I said. “Take your time.”

Elias noticed me then. He gave a small smile and a nod of recognition, which I returned.

“Kathleen, who is that?” Rebecca asked, a frown forming between her eyebrows.

“His name is Elias Braeden. He’s here on business. He’s considering buying the Silver Casino.”

“Oh, that explains it,” she said, her expression clearing.

I turned to look at her. “Explains what?”

“Nothing, really,” Rebecca said. “It’s just the day before Leo died I saw him out in front of the house talking to that man. Did you know Leo liked to play blackjack?”

I nodded. “I did.”

“That must be how he knew Mr. Braeden.”

Claire came then with my coffee. Rebecca gave me a hug and headed toward the window table.

I headed out for the library. So Elias had talked to Leo the day before he was killed. Interesting.

Very interesting.

• • •

Oren Kenyon came into the library about four thirty. Oren was in his midfifties, tall and lean like a farm-boy version of actor/director Clint Eastwood. He was quiet and thoughtful, a child musical prodigy who had chosen a quiet life working in Mayville Heights rather than the fame and fortune of a concert stage that certainly could have been his if he’d wanted it.

Mary was at the front desk. She beckoned Oren over. Some of the old photographs were spread across the counter.

“I think I’ve figured out where some of these were taken,” she said as I joined them. “There used to be a summer day camp out at Long Lake when I was a girl.” She held up one of the photos. “I think this one is some of the boys from the camp.” She pointed at a little boy with a crew cut, sitting cross-legged on the ground with half a dozen other kids about the same age, all of them squinting at the camera. “Oren, isn’t that your cousin Ira?”

Oren studied the old black-and-white image for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. “That’s Ira,” he said. “And I think that’s Thorsten’s brother behind him.” A small frown creased his forehead.

Ira Kenyon was a little . . . eccentric. Back when Kingsley-Pearson had planned to develop the area around Long Lake, before the company’s problems with the IRS and before Simon had bought the land, Ira had been camped out there, insisting the land really belonged to the Kenyons. One of the first things Simon had done was hire the man as a caretaker for the property, which seemed to settle the issue, at least for the moment.

Mary smiled. “Thank you.” She looked at me. “I’ll give Thorsten a call and get him to come take a look at these sometime in the next couple of days.”

“Perfect,” I said.

She looked over toward the computer area, where one of the older Justason boys was working at a terminal. He had one hand on top of the backward baseball cap on his head and he seemed to be squinting in confusion at the monitor.

Mary shook her head. “Excuse me,” she said. “I think Perry is having more problems formatting his bibliography.”

She made her way over to the computers and I turned to Oren. He was carrying a brown envelope and I hoped that meant he’d brought the drawings of the porch swing he was going to make as a wedding gift for Roma and Eddie from Marcus and me.

He had. He’d drawn a front view of the swing, a side perspective and a close-up of the detail along the arms. I spread the drawings out on the circulation desk.

“I hope you like it,” he said shyly.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, tracing the lines of the sketch with one finger.

“Thank you,” he said. “I think I have enough reclaimed black locust. It’s beautiful wood.”

“Whatever you decide will work is fine with me,” I said. “I trust your judgment.”

Abigail hung up the phone and leaned over to look at the drawing.

“It’s for Roma and Eddie,” I said. “Their wedding gift.”

“They’re going to love it,” she said.

“The arms are based on a design my father did for a rocking chair,” Oren said.

“Roma will love that,” I said. Roma and Oren were distant cousins.

I put the drawing back in the envelope and offered it to Oren.

He shook his head. “Those are for you,” he said. “I have another set.” He tapped his temple with one hand. “And the idea is here anyway.”

We started toward the entrance. Then Oren stopped and looked back over his shoulder at the circulation desk. “Kathleen, there’s something I need to ask you,” he said. His expression was serious.

“All right,” I said. “What is it?”

“I saw you over at the hotel with Simon Janes and a woman named Celia Hunter?”

“Yes,” I said, since he’d framed the sentence as a question.

Oren nodded. “I went to talk to the manager about restoring an old walnut desk that had been stored in the basement. It has some water damage. I thought it was her.” He looked down at his feet for a moment, then his blue eyes met mine. “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything or not, but maybe that old photo of Ira is a sign that I should.”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

“I don’t like to speak ill of people, but Celia is not someone who should be trusted.”

I knew that Oren never spoke ill of anyone, so I knew I could trust what he was saying even as I was surprised by the comment. “How do you know this?” I asked.

He had taken off his cap when he’d stepped inside the building and now he twisted the brim in his hands. “Ira and Celia went out when they were young. Celia broke up with him to go after Leo Janes, who had a lot more money.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said.

“I don’t think a lot of people do,” Oren replied. “It didn’t work. Leo was interested in Simon’s mother, and Celia didn’t get anywhere with him. She went after his brother, Victor, next but that didn’t work out, either.” Oren cleared his throat. “You’re friends with Simon, so maybe you could tell him he shouldn’t trust Celia. Before Leo Janes’s marriage broke up Ira insisted that Celia was telling Victor things about Meredith. Private things.”

I remembered Meredith Janes’s letter: He seemed to know what I was thinking in a way Leo didn’t, she had written. Could that have been because Celia Hunter had been feeding Victor information?

Oren’s expression was serious. “Kathleen, sometimes the things Ira says are just things he’s imagined, but sometimes, sometimes they aren’t.”

I thanked Oren for coming to talk to me, and he left. In the last two hours I’d learned that Elias Braeden had seen Leo the day before he died and Celia Hunter may not have been the friend to Leo’s ex-wife that she’d seemed. The problem was I had no idea how any of that could help me figure out who had killed Leo.