Paws Аnd Effect

8

“Kathleen, meet my father,” Marcus said.

“Is my son under arrest?” Elliot Gordon asked the detective as though Marcus hadn’t spoken. He either didn’t see or ignored the hand I held out.

“I just need to ask him a few questions,” Foster said. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, feet apart, and though he was a bit shorter in stature than Marcus and his father, his solid frame seemed to command more of the space.

“I’m fine,” Marcus said. His face gave nothing away but one of his hands was clenched tightly into a fist. “This is just routine.”

Elliot Gordon continued to keep his eyes fixed on the Red Wing detective, who met his gaze with what seemed to me to be just a touch of amusement. This staring thing seemed to be a Gordon family trait. “Doesn’t matter. You still need a lawyer.”

“Then I’ll get a lawyer,” Marcus said. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Brady, it’s Marcus,” he said. “Can you meet me at the police station?” He listened for a moment. “Now.” Then, “Thanks,” and ended the call. He looked at Detective Foster and shrugged. “Let’s go.”

The detective turned to me. “I’m sorry for disrupting your dinner,” he said. He inclined his head in Elliot Gordon’s direction. “Mr. Gordon.”

Marcus stretched out his hand and caught mine. “It’s okay, Kathleen,” he said. “I’ll call you later.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

They started for the door. “Go home,” I heard Marcus say softly to his father, the words tight and clipped as he moved past the older man.

If the words hurt, and I didn’t see how they couldn’t have, nothing in Elliot Gordon’s expression gave it away. Detective Foster and Marcus headed for the door and as soon as they stepped outside Elliot Gordon followed. I was left standing by our table alone.

Eric walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. “You all right, Kathleen?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” I said, nodding slowly. I turned my head to look at him. He looked skeptical. “No, I am. Really. And I’m sorry all of this happened here.” I gestured with one hand.

“It’s none of my business, but Marcus isn’t under arrest, is he?” Eric glanced back at the counter. “I know the woman who was killed at Long Lake was a friend of his.”

Eric had had a couple of run-ins with the police in his younger days, back before he stopped drinking. He would have realized that Bryan Foster was a police officer

“No,” I said, not feeling one hundred percent certain I was right. “Just questions.”

“Try not to worry about it,” he said. “No one who knows Marcus is going to believe he killed anyone.”

“Thanks,” I said. I wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. I looked over at our table.

“Want me to get your food and box it up for you?” Eric asked.

My appetite had disappeared. “No thanks. Just give me the bill.”

He gave me a small smile and shook his head. “It’s on me.”

“No, Eric, you can’t,” I said.

The smile got a little bigger. “Yeah, I can,” he said cocking one eyebrow at me. “I own the place.”

I made myself smile back at him. “Thank you.”

He glanced over at the counter again and held up one finger to Nic, who nodded. Then he turned back to me. “If you need anything you call, got it?”

“I got it,” I said. I grabbed my jacket and purse and headed out to the truck.

I didn’t know what to do next. I tried Hope but all I got was her voice mail. Clearly her “friend” hadn’t told her what he planned to do, otherwise Hope would have warned Marcus.

And what was Marcus’s father doing in town? I knew Marcus would never have called him. The two of them had a strained relationship. Marcus didn’t have a single photo of his father in his house, which is why I hadn’t realized who Elliot Gordon was when he walked into the café.

More questions without any answers.

* * *

There was no sign of Owen or Hercules when I got home. “Hello,” I called. After a minute I heard an answering meow. Owen. I put a mug of milk in the microwave and a piece of bread in the toaster. I knew the sound of the toaster would bring him.

“Mrr?” he said, crossing the floor to me. I stretched one arm behind my head. “Long story,” I said. I bent down and picked him up.

He leaned in close to my face and peered at me. The microwave beeped then. “Give me a second,” I said, scratching the top of his head and then setting him down on one of the kitchen chairs. Once I had a cup of hot chocolate and some toast with lots of peanut butter I scooped up Owen, sat down and settled him on my lap.

He looked pointedly at my plate. “Fine,” I said, breaking off a tiny bite for him, because I really was trying to heed Roma’s admonition about not feeding either cat people food.

I told Owen what had happened at Eric’s Place while we ate. Then I filled him in on my visit with Oren. “I have no idea what to do next.”

There was a knock at the back door. Owen leaned sideways, looking toward the porch, then looked pointedly at me. “Yes, I suppose I could go answer the door,” I said.

I set him on the chair again and headed for the porch. Hope was standing on my back steps. “I got your message,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Detective Foster came into Eric’s and took Marcus down to the station for questioning.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and swore softly. “I’m sorry, Kathleen,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. I gestured at the kitchen door. “Come in.”

“I can’t,” she said. “Remember I told you Marcus said he went for a walk during that hour he can’t account for?”

I nodded.

“He said he was down on the waterfront. Thorsten says a couple of those old warehouses have security cameras. I’m hoping to find some footage that’ll show Marcus was where he says he was.”

I told her what Oren had told me about his cousin. “Did Oren say where the guy went the last time he took off to Florida?” Hope asked.

“Clearwater Beach.”

“I’ll see if I can get the local police to keep an eye out for his van.”

“You’re supposed to be off the case.”

She shrugged. “I’m supposed to make my bed every morning and not drink so much coffee and neither one of those things is going to happen, either.” There was something defiant about the way she stood there, hands jammed in her pockets, shoulders squared.

“Just don’t put your own career in jeopardy, please,” I said.

“Don’t worry about me, Kathleen,” she said.

But I was worried about her.

Hope jingled her car keys in her pocket. “So I’m guessing you didn’t find out what Marcus has been holding back, then?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t.”

“I can’t believe Foz did this,” she said. “You’re certain he said it was just questioning? He didn’t arrest Marcus?”

“I’m positive. And Marcus has a lawyer with him. Brady Chapman.”

“Brady?” she shot back. “Why not his own father?”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You knew Elliot Gordon was in town?”

She nodded. “I knew he was coming.”

I think my mouth fell open just a little in surprise. “Marcus didn’t know. How did you know?”

She looked at me like I was dense as a block of wood. “I called him.”

I bit the end of my tongue so I wouldn’t say anything that later I’d wish I had kept to myself.

“You disapprove,” Hope said.

Everything I knew about Elliot Gordon came from Marcus. He’d been a mostly absent father, building his career as a criminal defense attorney while Marcus and his sister, Hannah, were growing up, and when he was present, he’d set impossibly high standards for his only son. “I think getting in touch with his father was Marcus’s call,” I said, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“He never would have done it, Kathleen. I had to. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

She didn’t see that she’d crossed a line. All of a sudden I wasn’t so sure this partnership was a good idea.

Hope must have had her phone on vibrate because she suddenly pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the screen. “I have to go,” she said. “If anything else happens, call me.” She didn’t wait for my answer.

I turned around to find Owen standing in the doorway. “You heard,” I said. I wasn’t even going to pretend that I was thinking out loud. There was no one around.

Owen narrowed his golden eyes.

“She shouldn’t have called his father,” I said. Owen followed me back into the kitchen. When I sat down he jumped onto my lap. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have agreed to try to work with her. And I shouldn’t have been doing it behind Marcus’s back.”

Owen wrinkled his nose at me. “Just because he didn’t ask me directly what I was doing doesn’t mean it was okay.”

He seemed to think about what I’d just said as though it was a new concept to him. Or he was waiting for me to stop talking and make another piece of toast. I decided making the toast was a better use of time.

We’d finished eating and Owen was sitting at my feet, methodically washing his face, when there was another knock at the back door. “Mrrr,” he said without missing a pass with his paw.

“I heard,” I said. I headed out to the porch with a general feeling of trepidation. I didn’t want to deal with Hope again tonight. But it wasn’t Hope standing on the steps. It was Elliot Gordon.

“Hello, Ms. Paulson,” he said. He was as tall as his son with the same broad shoulders. He had the same wavy hair as Marcus, shorter and combed back from his face.

“Hello, Mr. Gordon,” I said, wondering why he was at my door. At my feet Owen leaned his head against my leg.

“I’d like to talk to you,” he said. “May I come in?”

I hesitated; what little I knew about the man didn’t really make me inclined to like him. On the other hand, even Marcus said his dad was an excellent lawyer. I opened the door a little wider. “Come in, Mr. Gordon,” I said. I led the way into the kitchen.

Elliot Gordon looked around, making no attempt to hide his curiosity. “Everett Henderson used to own this house.”

“He still does.” I leaned against the counter and folded my arms across my chest. “Why are you here?” I asked. “I don’t think you came here to talk about real estate, but I could be wrong.”

“Merow,” Owen commented loudly to emphasize the point.

Hercules had come from wherever he’d been all this time. Flanked by him on one side and Owen on the other, I felt a little like Batgirl with Batman and Robin as my sidekicks—after all, Barbara Gordon had a degree in library science.

Marcus’s father laughed. “I like you,” he said. His hands were in the pockets of what looked to be a very expensive coat—gray wool and cashmere I was guessing. His feet were slightly apart and the look in his eyes—which were dark brown, not blue like Marcus’s—reminded me so much of Marcus it made my chest hurt. His expression grew serious. “My son is a suspect in a murder. I don’t intend to let him be arrested.”

“Neither do I,” I said.

“So you’re willing to help me.” He didn’t phrase the words in the form of a question.

I shook my head. “No, but I’m willing to let you help me.” I waited. I could hear my heart going thump, thump, thump in my ears.

“There isn’t any point in arguing with you, is there?” he said, and I saw a hint of a smile pull at the corners of his mouth.

“No,” I said. “But if you want to, I’ll listen.”

He laughed again. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

I didn’t think for a moment that he intended to “help” me. I knew when I’d been played, but that was okay. If that’s what it took to get Marcus out of this mess it was more than okay.

I made coffee and we sat at the table. Elliot took off his coat. Underneath he was wearing a charcoal gray suit with a crisp white shirt and a gray-and-blue-striped tie loose at the neck.

“How much did my son tell you about me?” he asked.

“I know you’re a lawyer. I know you wanted him to go to law school.” I also knew it was more than “wanting” Marcus to go to law school. Elliot had planned for the two of them to practice law together. He’d been furious when Marcus decided to become a police officer, calling it a waste of his son’s brain. He’d refused to attend his son’s college graduation.

Owen and Hercules had moved to sit on either side of my chair, still in sidekick mode. Hercules seemed to be following the conversation intently; Owen looked a bit bored. He’d yawned twice.

Elliot leaned down and held out his hand to the little tabby. I shook my head. “You can’t pet him,” I said. “He used to be feral. He doesn’t like to be touched by strangers.”

“He seems friendly,” Elliot said.

“He is friendly,” I said. “Just don’t touch him.”

I looked down at Owen, who seemed intrigued by the watch Elliot was wearing. “Owen,” I warned.

The cat looked up at me with his best innocent expression fixed on his face.

My cell phone buzzed then. It was Marcus. The knot that had been in my stomach since the restaurant loosened. “Excuse me,” I said to Elliot. I got up and walked into the living room.

“Hi,” I said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Marcus said. “I’m sorry everything took so long.”

“So they didn’t . . . keep you?”

“No, they didn’t arrest me. I’m fine. I promise.”

I leaned against the door frame because my legs suddenly felt wobbly. “Is Brady with you?” I asked. I could hear what sounded like traffic in the background.

“Yeah,” Marcus said. “He’s coming out to the house. I need to fill him in on the background to all of this, but I can stop in if you want me to.”

I did want him to, but I didn’t think it was a good time for a confrontation with his father. From the kitchen I heard Owen give a yowl of aggravation. “Talk to Brady,” I said. “I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“All right.” He hesitated. “I, uh, have to track my father down. I don’t think there’s actually much chance he left.”

“That can wait until tomorrow as well,” I said. I was uncomfortably aware that now I was the one keeping a secret.

I heard him blow out a breath. “You’re right. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Love you,” I said. “Good night.”

I looked down to see Hercules standing in the doorway. One ear was turned to the side, making him look a little apprehensive, which I was pretty sure he was. “It’s okay,” I said.

I walked back into the kitchen, wet a clean dishtowel under the tap and handed it to Elliot without saying a word. Owen was sitting next to the refrigerator, his tail whipping across the floor, a sure sign that he was irritated. I leaned down and smoothed the fur on the top of his head. “It’s okay,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I think you left a chicken under the sofa. Why don’t you go get it?”

He glared at me, making grumbling noises, but he headed for the living room.

I went back to the sink, washed my hands and got my first-aid kit from the cupboard. It was actually a Christmas cookie tin that I’d repurposed. I set it on the table.

Elliot had wrapped the dishtowel around his hand.

“Let me take a look,” I said.

Owen had left two long scratches on the back of Elliot’s left hand. They didn’t look too deep. The cat was capable of doing a lot worse. He had done a lot worse.

“Are you going to give me a cookie to make me feel better?” Elliot asked.

I didn’t say anything. I took the top off the cookie tin and got out a gauze pad and a bottle of peroxide. I cleaned the scratches, put on a bit of antibiotic ointment and a square adhesive bandage.

“Aren’t you going to say ‘I told you so’?” Elliot said as I washed my hands again.

“I thought that was self-evident.”

He laughed. “You’re not what I expected.”

I took my seat again. “Is that a compliment?” I asked.

He thought for a moment. “Yes.”

I smiled. “Thank you.”

Elliot gestured at my phone. “That was Marcus.”

I nodded. “Yes, it was.”

“They finished questioning him.”

“He’s on his way home.”

“He’s not coming here?” He raised one eyebrow.

My cup was cold. I got up and stuck it in the microwave. “No. I wanted to talk to you without him here.”

“He doesn’t want my help.”

As I turned back to the table I caught a glimpse of what looked like sadness on his face, what seemed to be the first real emotion I’d seen from the man. “No, he doesn’t,” I said. “But I do, as long as you’re sincere about wanting to help. Don’t try to use me to work out what’s wrong between you and Marcus. The only side I’m on is his.”

“Then we’re on the same side,” Elliot said.

I hoped that was true. “I know you’re here because Hope called you.”

“I was coming anyway.” His closed hand tapped restlessly on the table.

So he was keeping track of Marcus. I let that go, sat down again and pulled one leg up underneath me. “So how much do you know?” I asked.

“Assume I know nothing,” he said. “Tell me everything.”

So I did, leaving out the scene with Travis at Eric’s. That part of the story wasn’t mine to tell and it had nothing to do with Dani’s death. Travis had been at a meeting when she was killed.

“The only two people in town who have those same medallions on their key chains are John Keller and Travis Rosen, and they can both account for their time,” Elliot said, his mouth pulled into a frown.

I pushed my hair back from my face. “The only one that’s missing is Marcus’s.”

Elliot shook his head as if that didn’t matter. “We’ll need to find out how many of those key chains were given away in the first place.”

“Twenty-one thousand, five hundred,” I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “How do you know that?”

“I did some research.”

“We need to find that squatter,” Elliot said. He tapped on the table again.

“Hope was going to see if she could get the police in the Clearwater area to keep an eye out for his van.”

“I have some contacts in the state patrol,” he said as though I hadn’t spoken. That was twice he’d done that, ignored what was said when it didn’t fit with what he’d already decided.

“You mean here,” I said.

He nodded. “Yes. We don’t have any proof that man— What’s his name?”

“Ira Kenyon.”

“We don’t have any proof he’s in Florida. We don’t even know he left the state at all.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I never thought of that.” Hercules came in then from wherever he’d been since the “incident” between Owen and Marcus’s father. He jumped up onto my lap, settled himself and then turned to look at Elliot.

“And what about the developer?” Elliot asked.

“He was at a meeting.”

“What kind of a meeting?”

Hercules turned to look at me for a moment. I shook my head. “I don’t know. Some kind of business meeting.” Hope had told me in one of our phone conversations, but I’d forgotten.

Elliot made a sound that was part exhalation, part annoyance. “How many people were there? There’s a big difference between a meeting with two people and one with two hundred.”

“Because the more people the greater possibility he wasn’t where he said he was.”

Elliot nodded. “Exactly.”

I could call Lita and see what she knew. “I can find out about the meeting,” I said.

“Are John and Travis still here?” Elliot asked.

“For the most part,” I said. “They’re back and forth between here and Red Wing.”

“Good,” he said, nodding.

“Not if you’re planning on talking to them about Dani’s death. They aren’t going to tell you anything.”

He seemed amused by what I’d said. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I wouldn’t talk to you.”

Hercules’s green eyes darted between the two of us. He seemed to be enjoying the conversation.

“You’re talking to me right now.”

“And you’re not trying to figure out if I might have killed Dani.” I raised an eyebrow in classic Mr. Spock style. (No offense to Zachary Quinto, who had some pretty great eyebrows of his own, but I was an old-school Star Trek girl.) “For the record, I was at the library, there were more than two people there, but fewer than two hundred.”

“You think you should talk to the boys, then?”

I nodded and Hercules gave a soft meow of agreement. “At least let me talk to them first.” I stressed the last word.

“Fine,” he said.

I wasn’t sure that I hadn’t just been played again.

Elliot got to his feet and reached for his coat. “I don’t suppose there’s any possibility you and Marcus would have breakfast with me?” he said.

I set Hercules on the floor and stood up as well. “It’s not a good idea. Not now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, shrugging into his coat. “I love my son, Ms. Paulson. Despite our differences—and there have been a lot of them over the years—I love him.”

“So do I,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “Then we have a great deal in common.” He said good night and left.