chapter 4
The interment at the Finnamore family crypt was private and would be taking place at a later time. At the beginning of the service, Daniel Gunnerson had made an announcement that there would be a reception immediately after and most people did stay to pay their respects and talk about Mike.
“It seems like half the town is here,” I said to Marcus. I was hoping to tell Harry how sorry I was but hadn’t seen him since the service ended.
Everett Henderson joined us. “Kathleen, may I steal Marcus from you for a moment?” he asked. He was wearing a perfectly tailored black suit with a patterned gray silk tie that I knew Rebecca had bought for him because I’d been with her when she had.
“Of course,” I said.
Marcus caught my hand and gave it a squeeze as he moved past me. “I’ll only be a minute.” He and Everett moved to a spot closer to the windows where there were fewer people.
I felt a hand touch my shoulder and turned around to find Harrison Taylor standing there. His suit was gray, his shirt and tie blue. He’d trimmed his hair and his beard. I hugged him.
“You look nice,” I said. It struck me that Mike would get a kick out of everyone all dressed up. I’d only ever seen him in scrubs or jeans.
“Thank you,” he said. “I wish it was for a better reason.”
I nodded. “How’s Harry?” I asked.
“Pretty much how you’d expect. It’s a damn sad day.” He ran a hand over his beard. “I know it’s late notice, but I was hoping you could come for supper tomorrow night.”
“I could,” I said. Marcus and I didn’t have any plans. A couple of Eddie’s hockey buddies from his NHL days were coming to spend a few days teaching at the hockey school and Eddie had invited Marcus to join them for dinner. “I don’t want to put Harry out, though.” Generally, when I had dinner with Harrison, it was his son who did most of the cooking.
“You won’t be,” the old man said.
I suspected he was going to ask me to see what I could learn about Mike Bishop’s death. I’d gotten involved in that kind of thing before. People were more likely to talk to me than they were to the police. In that way being a librarian was a lot like being a bartender, I’d discovered.
We settled on a time and then Harrison excused himself to go speak to Daniel Gunnerson. I turned around to look for Marcus, and Jonas Quinn caught my eye. He held up one hand, indicating that he wanted to talk to me. He said something to Lachlan, who was standing next to him, and then started across the room.
“Kathleen, thank you for coming,” he said as he joined me.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Mike was a good person. I’m glad I got to know him.”
Jonas nodded. “Yes, he was. Him being dead is just so wrong and it should never have happened.” He looked around. “You know, he would have liked this, all these people here in one place talking about him.”
I smiled. “Mike was a people person. He’d come into the library and it would take him half an hour to get started on his research because he knew everyone and he kept stopping to talk.”
“That research is why I wanted to talk to you,” Jonas said. He adjusted his dark-framed glasses with both hands. “The last time I spoke to him, Mike mentioned that you had unearthed more information about the Finnamore family.”
“Some census information for this area,” I said. “Mike was trying to close a gap in the family tree. I thought it might help.”
“Would it be possible to get a copy of it?” he asked. “I think Mike’s research on the family is something Lachlan—and maybe Eloise for that matter—might want at some point. Not just because it’s their family heritage, but because it was something Mike was working on. I don’t want everything to get lost in the shuffle. There’s a lot to take care of right now.”
“I understand,” I said. “I can make copies of the census records for you and you can come in next week and get them. There’s also a copy of a map showing land grants for this part of the state that’s coming from another library in our system. Would you like that as well?”
He nodded. “Yes, I would.”
I told Jonas I’d call when the map arrived so he could make just one trip to pick up everything.
He thanked me again. “I need to get back to Lachlan,” he said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
I watched him make his way over to his nephew and put one arm around the boy’s shoulders. I knew from some of the things Mike had talked about that there was a lot of tragedy in the Finnamore family history. I hated that Mike himself was now part of that.
I looked for Marcus. He was still talking to Everett. I was guessing their conversation had something to do with the girls’ hockey team. There had been rumblings that their funding might be reduced.
The room suddenly felt closed in and clammy. I was only a few steps away from a set of French doors that led out to the overflow parking lot. No one would notice if I stepped outside, so that was what I did.
The rain had stopped. The air was fresh and a little cooler. I remembered that there was a teak bench next to a small flower bed at the end of the building. I’d sit there for a couple of minutes and then go back inside, I decided.
I turned the corner to discover someone was already sitting on the bench. And she was crying.
She looked up at me. Her eyes were red and her makeup had smudged. I pulled a couple of tissues from my bag and handed them to her. She wiped her face. “Thank you,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked. “A cup of tea, maybe?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I could swallow it.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “I was carrying around a cup inside just so people would stop offering me a drink.”
She almost managed a smile. “You must have been a friend of Mike’s.”
I nodded. “I like to think so. I’m Kathleen Paulson.”
“You’re the librarian. Mike mentioned you. He said you’d been helping him with the family tree.”
I nodded.
“I’m Tracy,” she said. “I’m Mike’s ex-wife.” She held up a finger. “The first one.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said.
She moved sideways on the bench. “Please, sit.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude.”
She shook her head. “You’re not. I was in there listening to people talk about him and I thought what a kick he’d get out of this—everyone dressed up, sharing stories. You know, I think the only time I ever saw him in a suit was actually at a funeral.”
She’d had just the same thought as me. “You didn’t have a fancy wedding?” I asked.
Tracy’s lips twitched. She seemed to think my question was funny. Mirth gleamed in her dark eyes. It was better than sadness. “Good grief, no!” she said. “We were nineteen and madly in love. We eloped. Turns out, we were really just madly in lust. The marriage didn’t last six months but the friendship did.”
“That sounds like the Mike I knew.”
“Every few months he’d call me or I’d call him, just to catch up. It was nice, having that connection back to when I was a dumb kid.” She smiled. “I just talked to him a couple of weeks ago. He told me all about the research he was doing into his family’s past. He was trying to work out when the so-called Finnamore green eyes entered the family tree. I teach high school biology. I told him he was wasting his time. There are too many factors that influence eye color. It’s not as simple as something like hair texture or whether or not someone thinks cilantro tastes like soap.”
“It does,” I said.
She nodded. “I know.”
We sat in silence for a moment. “I’m going to miss talking to him,” she finally said.
I reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I should get back inside.”
“Me too,” Tracy said. “It was very nice to meet you.”
“You too,” I said.
“Do you want to go over to Fern’s for supper?” Marcus asked as we pulled out of the parking lot about half an hour later. The sky was low and gray and it was raining again. He was dropping me off and then going in to the station for a little while. “A case that’s coming up in court soon,” he’d offered by way of explanation.
“I have spaghetti sauce,” I said.
He shot me a quick sideways glance. “Does one somehow negate the other?”
I shook my head. “No. I can have it tomorrow— Wait. I can’t. I’ll eat it Monday.”
“Is there some rule that says you can’t eat spaghetti on Sundays because I’m pretty sure I’ve broken it more than once?”
I smiled. “No, there isn’t. It’s just that I’m going out to have supper with Harrison tomorrow.”
Marcus didn’t say anything for a moment and he kept his eyes fixed to the road. I let the silence sit between us. “You know why he invited you,” he finally said.
“Yes,” I said. “He likes my company.”
“He thinks you can figure out who killed Mike Bishop.”
“He probably does.”
“What are you going to say?”
I looked over at him. His blue eyes were still looking straight ahead. “I don’t know,” I said.
And I didn’t. I adored Harrison. I considered Harry a friend. I wanted to help them if I could. This wasn’t the first time I’d gotten mixed up with one of Marcus’s case, so I wasn’t sure why I was so uncertain. Why this time felt different. Maybe it was because Mike and I were friends or close to it. His death felt so personal. I wasn’t sure I could be objective.
Marcus sighed softly. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, Kathleen.”
I reached over and touched his arm. “I appreciate that.”
“But I am going to ask you to think carefully about whatever choice you make. This case is deeply personal for a lot of people, including you and me. It’s harder to be objective. It’s harder to set your own feelings to one side. It’s harder not to pick up other people’s pain.” He glanced briefly at me then. “That last part you’re going to have to deal with no matter whether you say yes or no to Harrison.”
We were at the house by then. Marcus pulled into the driveway and put the SUV in park. I undid my seat belt, leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I promise I’ll think carefully about whatever choice I make,” I said.
“I know you will.” He kissed the side of my mouth and smiled at me. “You didn’t give me a yes or no about Fern’s.”
“Yes.” Fern’s meat loaf and mashed potatoes were the ultimate comfort food and that sounded pretty good right about now.
“I’ll call when I’m leaving,” Marcus said. He kissed me a second time.
I got out, opened my umbrella and watched him back out of the driveway before I headed around the side of the house to the back door. Hercules was sitting on the bench in the sun porch. He made a face as I held my half-open umbrella out the door and gave it a shake. I propped it in the corner and sat down next to him.
“Mrr,” he said, cocking his head to one side almost as though he was asking if I was okay.
“I’m all right,” I said, kicking off my shoes. “It was a nice service. Very sad.”
Hercules moved closer, putting his two front paws on my leg. I stroked his fur. I had no idea how much of what I said to them either cat understood—a lot more than the average cat, I was certain. Given what else they could do, it didn’t seem that implausible.
“I think Harrison is going to ask me to try to figure out who killed Mike Bishop.” The cat wrinkled his nose at me as though considering what I’d just said.
Hercules and I had been listening to whatever songs by Johnny and the Outlaws I could find online. Even Owen seemed to like the band’s music. He didn’t always share my taste in music the way Hercules did. Whenever I had gotten involved in one of Marcus’s cases, so had the boys, as far-fetched as that seemed. More than once, Owen’s ability to disappear and Herc’s to walk through walls had helped me learn something I wouldn’t otherwise have figured out. I hadn’t been able to convince Marcus of that, though.
Hercules seemed to have come to some sort of conclusion. He jumped down from the bench and went into the kitchen without waiting for me to unlock the back door. I sighed, picked up my shoes and followed him, stopping to open the door first. Hercules was already halfway across the kitchen, headed for the living room. He was a cat with a purpose. I had no idea what he was up to.
He made his way across the room and launched himself into the big wing chair. I folded my arms and glared at him. “Excuse me. That’s a people seat not a cat seat,” I said.
His response was to stare pointedly at my laptop, which was sitting on the footstool.
I shook my head. “No.”
Hercules looked over at me and blinked his green eyes a couple of times.
“Yes, I get that you think I should say yes to Harrison,” I said.
He continued to look at me.
“I’m still thinking about it.”
Hercules was as motionless as a statue. I knew better than to get into a staring contest with him. I wouldn’t win.
“I need to get out of these clothes first and I’d like a cup of coffee,” I said.
He meowed softly and began to wash his face. It was easy to be magnanimous when you’d won, especially when you were a cat.
I put the laptop on the kitchen table, started the coffeepot, then went upstairs and changed into a red-striped T-shirt dress that was comfortable for sitting around in but would also be okay to wear to Fern’s later.
I had just poured my coffee when Hercules poked his head around the living room doorway and meowed inquiringly at me.
“I’m ready,” I said. I snagged the nearest chair with one foot, pulled it closer and sat down. The cat padded over to the table and launched himself onto my lap.
“So what should we look for?” I asked. I talked to Hercules and his brother, Owen, a lot. Saying out loud what was running through my mind helped me make sense of things. At least that was how I rationalized it.
Hercules gave me a blank look. Okay, it seemed where to start was my department.
“By the way, where’s your brother?”
“Mrr,” he said with what looked to me like a shrug.
Translation: I don’t know.
Given the fact that Owen could become invisible anytime he wanted to, it was possible he was here in the kitchen right now. Possible but not very likely. Owen was very good at disappearing. Hiding the fact that he was “hiding,” not so much. My guess was that he was either in his basement “lair,” where he stashed things he’d swiped from around the house, or upstairs on the bed in the spare room—somewhere he knew he wasn’t supposed to be.
“Maybe we should poke around on social media,” I said to Hercules. “If Mike surprised someone who had broken into his house, maybe it wasn’t the first time they’d done something like that. Marcus said there hadn’t been any break-ins reported, but people don’t always call the police if nothing’s been stolen.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you think?”
“Merow!” he said. Hercules was almost always enthusiastic about helping me do some online research. He’d peer at the screen and move his head as though he were reading an article or checking out a photograph. Oddly enough, more than once, a seemingly stray tap of his paw at the keyboard had landed me on just the piece of information I was looking for.
I thought about who lived in the same area as Mike had, working my way along the closest streets in my mind. Just about everyone used some form of social media, it seemed. A lot of people were talking about Mike’s death and about the reunion of Johnny and the Outlaws. I couldn’t find any mention of any break-ins in the area.
Hercules stayed perched on my lap, green eyes glued to the laptop screen, one paw on the table edge. When I leaned back and reached for my coffee, he tapped a paw on the touch pad, then turned and looked at me.
“Okay, what did you do?” I asked, leaning around him so I could see the screen.
He looked from the computer to me. If he could have raised an eyebrow and said, Duh, he probably would have.
We seemed to have somehow landed on the Facebook page for Keith King’s storage business. I’d seen Keith a lot more frequently at the library in the past few months. He was one of the newest members of the library board, and like Mike, he had been researching his family history after receiving one of those DNA test kits.
I read a few of his posts but didn’t find anything useful. I was about to give up and move on when I spotted it. About three weeks ago, Keith had offered a deal on renting a medium-sized storage unit: rent for twelve months and get one month free. Keep your snowblower and winter gear safe from anyone with sticky fingers who might walk through your yard.
I leaned back in the chair, putting one hand on Hercules so I wouldn’t knock him off my lap.
“That could just be a promotional line,” I said. “It doesn’t mean there’s been someone wandering around people’s yards out where Keith lives.”
“Mrr,” Hercules said without moving his gaze from the laptop’s screen.
“Yes, I know. It doesn’t mean there hasn’t been, either.” I could call Keith, but I wasn’t sure how to ask him without explaining why I wanted to know.
I looked at the computer again. There were comments under Keith’s post, I noticed. I scrolled through them slowly. The third-to-the-last one gave me what I was looking for. It had been made by one of the Reading Buddies moms. She had jokingly asked if Keith had a unit large enough for her car because she’d had some change and a set of AirPods swiped from it while the family was on their back deck eating supper. Another commenter had commiserated with her, saying that unfortunately you had to keep your car locked all the time these days, even in Mayville Heights. Someone had sprayed whipped cream all over her front and back car windows.
It wasn’t exactly a smoking gun, and there was a big difference between grabbing a pair of AirPods from an unlocked car and killing a man in his own living room. Still, I couldn’t help thinking that I might be onto something. At the same time, I was uncomfortably aware that I was already digging into a murder I wasn’t sure I wanted to get involved in—or even should.