Paws Аnd Effect

12

Marcus stayed for a little longer then he headed home. I went upstairs, ran a bath and tossed one of Maggie’s herbal soaks into the water. I was brushing my hair when the phone rang. It was Brady Chapman.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Kathleen,” he said, “but Maggie is helping Ruby chaperone some kind of overnight thing at the high school and I didn’t think it was a good idea to call Marcus with this.” He sounded . . . rattled, which was really unlike Brady.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s my father. And Elliot Gordon.”

“What about them?”

“They’re at the bar at the St. James Hotel. Right now they should just be wrapping up their rendition of ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’”

I started to laugh. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“I really wish I was,” he said drily. “The manager called me. If I pick them up in the next half hour she won’t call the police. The problem is, I’m in Minneapolis. I couldn’t get Lita, either.”

“I’ll go get them,” I said, kicking off my fuzzy slippers.

“Thank you,” Brady said. “Like I said, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to call Marcus.”

“I agree.” I felt a little guilty. After all, I had, in a way, suggested to Elliot that he get in touch with Burtis. “Don’t worry. I’ll get Elliot up to his room and I’ll take your dad home.”

“I know my father’s reputation,” Brady said. “But the truth is, he doesn’t drink very much himself.”

I laughed again. “Then he’ll probably just sleep it off and wake up with a really big headache in the morning. Don’t worry about this. I’ve been around my parents’ theater friends all my life. This won’t be the first time I’ve had to rescue someone who had a bit too much. At least they’re just singing Lynyrd Skynyrd. Be grateful they’re not reenacting Hamlet and Laertes’s duel with real swords.”

“I owe you, Kathleen,” Brady said.

“No, you don’t,” I said. “I’m on my way.”

I pulled on my jeans and a sweater, yanked my hair back into a ponytail and grabbed my purse and keys.

Brady must have called the hotel manager back, because when I walked into the hotel a woman came from behind the front desk and walked over to me. “Ms. Paulson,” she said, offering his hand. “I’m Melanie Davis.”

She was about my height, and curvy with smooth brown skin and gorgeous dark eyes. I’d heard Lita mention her name.

“I’m here to get Mr. Chapman and Mr. Gordon,” I said.

“I think they’re just finishing their encore,” she replied drily. She led the way to the bar. The hotel had been experimenting with live music on Friday and Saturday nights but I didn’t think this was what they had in mind.

Burtis Chapman and Elliot Gordon were an incongruous pair at best. Burtis made me think of something carved from a block of stone, strong and solid. His face was lined and weathered from so much time spent outdoors. He’d lost most of his hair—all that was left were a few white tufts that were generally poking out from under his ubiquitous Twins ball cap.

I knew that not all of Burtis’s business dealings were on the up and up, but he had a generous soul and he was deeply loyal to the people he called his friends. And that was more than enough for me and had been long before he’d helped rescue me from a burning building.

I had no idea that Burtis could sing. Or Elliot, for that matter. They were rocking out to Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock and Roll.” The jazz trio—guitar, bass and snare drum—looked like they were having just as much fun.

“They’re good,” I said softly. The manager gave me a look that told me I shouldn’t have said that out loud.

I wasn’t the only one who liked what I was hearing. The song ended and people began to clap enthusiastically. Burtis and Elliot bowed, acknowledging the applause. I made my way over to them, skirting around the tables. Burtis smiled when he caught sight of me.

“Kathleen, girl, what the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

“I thought you might need a limo driver,” I said.

“Are you tryin’ to say I’m too drunk to walk home?” he asked. I knew he wasn’t angry. I could see a devilish gleam in his eyes.

“Yes, I am,” I said.

He laughed, a deep booming sound that seemed to bounce off the walls. “Well, you’re right.” He turned to Elliot, gesturing at me with his free hand, his other arm still around Elliot’s shoulders. “That son of yours is a fine man,” he said. “And he’s a damn fine police officer, which I know you don’t wanna hear but I’m gonna say it anyway. But he was dumb as a glass of water when it came to her. Almost screwed it up big-time.”

“I’m parked out front,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“You tryin’ to shut me up or change the subject?” Burtis asked.

I smiled at him. “Either one will work for me.” I put my arm around Burtis’s shoulder, which had the effect of making me feel as though I’d just joined a very odd Vegas kick line.

“Shotgun,” Elliot said then.

“You can’t call shotgun,” Burtis countered.

“The hell I can’t,” Elliot retorted. “I just did it.”

“I’m not riding in the back like an old dog.”

“If you can’t run with the big dogs you better stay on the porch,” Elliot said.

The words hung between them for a moment, then they both laughed at some joke I didn’t get.

At least we were moving in the direction of the door. “First of all, no one is riding in the back,” I said. “And second”—I looked at Elliot—“you’re not coming with us.” I pointed at the ceiling. “You’re going to bed.”

Burtis smirked at him.

“I called shotgun,” Elliot said. “We have a verbal agreement.” He had a little trouble getting the word “agreement” out.

“We can outrun him, Kathleen.” Burtis winked at me.

“We’re not running anywhere,” I said firmly. “You”—I pointed at Elliot—“are going to bed. “You”—I moved my finger to Burtis—“are going home.”

“I’ll sue,” Elliot said.

“You can’t sue your boy’s girlfriend,” Burtis said.

I wondered just exactly how much they’d had to drink.

“The hell I can’t!” Elliot straightened up and adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Don’t you?” Burtis asked.

They laughed again like it was the funniest thing either one of them had ever heard.

I tried to steer them toward the elevators but they were bigger and stronger and since we were still linked arm in arm I found myself on the sidewalk with them before I quite knew what happened.

Burtis slapped the passenger-side fender of the truck with one hand. “They don’t make ’em like this anymore,” he told Elliot.

“How did you two get here?” I asked.

“That depends,” Elliot said, “on whether you believe in evolution or creationism.”

“You forgot aliens,” Burtis said.

Elliot nodded solemnly. “Or aliens.”

The preschoolers at story time were easier to manage than those two. “I mean did you two have a car?”

“I have an Audi,” Elliot said, holding his head up with a decided amount of pride.

“La-di-da,” Burtis replied. “I have a truck.” He smacked the fender again with his big hand and looked at me. “Open up, girl.”

I unlocked the passenger door and Burtis hauled it open. “Get in, Elly May,” he said to Elliot.

“I called shotgun.” Marcus’s dad crossed his arms petulantly over his chest, his feet planted wide apart. The effect he was going for was ruined because he was swaying slightly. I had the feeling if I poked him with my finger he’d topple over.

Burtis dropped his elbow down on the hood of the truck, forearm upright, fingers spread apart. “Let’s go a round,” he growled. “I can still take you.”

“Nobody is taking anyone anywhere except me,” I said, stepping between them. I pointed at Elliot. “Get in the truck. In case you didn’t notice there’s only one seat so you’re both riding shotgun.” He climbed in without saying another word. I was glad because I had no way to actually make either one of them do anything.

“Get in,” I told Burtis. He was still leaning over the front of the truck, ready to arm wrestle. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and held it up. “Don’t make me call Lita.” I fervently hoped he wouldn’t call my bluff because, like Brady, I had no idea where she was.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, hanging his head and climbing in next to Elliot.

I walked around and slid in on the driver’s side, leaning over to make sure they were both belted in safely. They smelled like this foul cough medicine that my father bought on the Internet from Canada. He swore by it but I thought it smelled like a mix of paint thinner and old-fashioned liniment.

“What were you two drinking?” I asked.

“Jäger Bombs,” Burtis said.

“We were taking a stroll down memory lane,” Elliot added.

“What is a Jäger Bomb?” I asked, thinking as I did that I was probably going to regret the question.

“First you need beer,” Burtis said.

Elliot nodded in agreement.

“Then you need a shot glass of Jägermeister.”

Elliot nodded once again.

“You drop your shot glass in your beer and bottoms up.” Burtis pantomimed the action.

“And then you’re bombed,” Elliot added.

They elbowed each other and laughed.

“Kathleen, did you know this man is my oldest friend?’ Elliot asked.

“Oldest friend?” Burtis said. “I thought I was your only friend.”

“Oldest friend, only friend, tomato potato,” Elliot said.

“So how did you two get to be friends?” I asked, shooting a quick glance in their direction.

“Well, he stole my woman,” Burtis began.

“Don’t start that,” Elliot said. “She wanted me.” He raised a finger in the air and hit the roof of the truck.

“The hell she did,” Burtis retorted.

Elliot shifted sideways to look at him. “Well, her tongue wasn’t in my mouth to check my fillings.”

“I laid you out before. I can do it again,” Burtis warned.

“You’re slow, old man,” Elliot retorted.

“Well you’re soft, pretty boy.” I didn’t need to look at them. I could hear the smirk in Burtis’s voice.

“Mary Connolly still got those great legs?” Elliot abruptly asked.

“Oh yeah,” Burtis said. “She works for Kathleen down at the library. You should go see her.”

“You mean Mary Lowe?” I said, slowing down as the car in front of me turned.

“She used to be Mary Connolly,” he said. He nudged Elliot with his shoulder. “That is one kick-ass broad. I’ll take you out to The Brick. She dances. Think feathers.”

I knew about Mary’s dancing. I decidedly didn’t want to think about feathers.

Burtis started to sing then, doing the intro to “Sweet Home Alabama.” Elliot closed his eyes and kept time on the dashboard. They sang all the way out to the Chapman homestead, finishing just as I pulled up in front of the old farmhouse.

“Thank you for the ride home, girl,” Burtis said, leaning forward to smile at me around Elliot.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” I said.

“Don’t be a damn stranger, Elly May,” Burtis said to Elliot.

I came around the truck and walked him up the steps to the wide veranda that ran the length of the front of the house. He patted his pockets, found his keys and fished them out. I unlocked the front door and folded the key ring back into his hand.

“He’s a good man,” Burtis said, jerking his head in the direction of the truck.

I smiled at him. “Go to bed,” I said.

To my surprise he leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “Sleep tight,” he said.

When I got back in the truck Elliot’s head was against the back of the seat. His eyes were closed. And he was snoring. I shook his shoulder. If he got into too deep a sleep I’d never be able to get him out of the truck and up to his room once we got back to the hotel.

He didn’t move. I poked him with my elbow. “C’mon, Elliot, wake up,” I said. He just kept on snoring.

Great. Now what?

I started the truck and pulled down the driveway. Elliot snored in a steady rhythm beside me, sleeping the sleep of drunks, fools and angels, as my mother would say. How was I going to wake him up and get him into the hotel?

I turned down the hill. I knew there was a length of clothesline and a couple of bungee chords in the back of the truck. I couldn’t come up with any way to use them to get Elliot up and into the hotel that wouldn’t draw way more attention to us than I wanted—and that would work. I could only think of one thing to do.

The snoring had gotten louder when I pulled into the driveway. I left Elliot in his seat, shut off the engine and walked around the back of the house. A light was on in the kitchen. That was good.

I banged on the back door and after a moment Marcus opened it, Micah at his feet.

“Kathleen, what are you doing here?” he said.

“Your father’s in the front seat of my truck, snoring,” I said, rubbing my hands together. It was getting cool now at night.

He frowned at me in confusion. “My father?”

I nodded.

“Why?”

“I was taking Burtis home. Your father called shotgun, not that there was actually anywhere else for him to sit.”

“Hang on a minute.” He held up both hands like he was about to surrender. “My father and Burtis were . . . ?”

“In the bar at the St. James.”

“Why were you driving them anywhere?”

This was taking longer than I’d intended. “Because Brady is in Minneapolis, Maggie is in a lockdown at the high school with Ruby and I have no idea where Lita is.” I looked over my shoulder. “I’m sorry about bringing him here, but it was that or leave him in the truck all night covered in a blanket.”

“Show me where he is,” Marcus said, resignation in his voice.

We walked back around the house and I pointed at the truck. Marcus leaned in on the driver’s side and took Elliot by the shoulders, shaking him. Then he pulled his dad along the seat and eased him out, putting one arm behind the older man and one in front of him for support. I slammed the truck door and went around to Elliot’s other side to help support his weight. We got him all the way around the house and inside.

“Living room,” Marcus said.

We eased Elliot onto the sofa and I grabbed a plaid throw blanket from the back and covered him.

Marcus looked down at his father. “How much did he have to drink?”

“A lot,” I said. “If it helps, they seemed to be having a good time, especially when they were singing.”

Marcus turned his head slowly to look at me. “Singing?”

“Lynyrd Skynyrd in the truck on the way out to Burtis’s place. Bob Seger in the bar at the St. James.”

He exhaled loudly. “Okay. That settles it. I can never go in there again.”

I put my arms around his waist and leaned up to kiss him. “Did you know your dad and Burtis were friends when they were young?”

He shook his head. “I had no idea. Neither one of them ever said a word about it.”

He walked me out to the deck. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay, can I?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve heard enough seventies’ rock for one night.” I planted a kiss on his mouth and went back to the truck.

* * *

I didn’t sleep very well. I kept dreaming that Elliot and Burtis had decided to take their music on the road and I had somehow gone along as their road manager. I was down in the kitchen making blueberry pancakes before six o’clock Saturday morning. Owen wandered in, yawned and sat down next to his dishes.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I said as I got his breakfast. He grumped at me and avoided making eye contact. Some nights Owen stayed up for hours roaming the house doing who knew what. Then in the morning he was a cranky grump and I had learned to give him lots of space. Hercules came in just as I finished making the pancakes. He sniffed the air and murped inquiringly.

“Pancakes for me, cat food for you,” I said. He seemed okay with that.

We both lingered over breakfast. Hercules took his time eating and making sure he looked good to face the day. I’d brought Abigail’s twenty-five-cent book in from the truck and I picked it up and read the back cover as I finished my second pancake.

Owen, on the other hand, ate, washed his face and then headed for the back door. I let him outside so he could do his morning circuit of the property. He grunted in my direction, which I took as “Thank you” but may not have been. The sky was low and dull and that, combined with the ache in my previously broken left wrist, told me that we were in for rain.

When I stepped back into the kitchen I found Hercules sitting on my chair, bits of paper at his feet. Abigail had bookmarked several places in the slim paperback that she thought might interest me. Hercules had just pulled all but one of those bits of paper out of the book.

“What did you do?” I asked, hands on my hips. For some reason the cat looked quite pleased with himself. “That was bad. Very bad.”

Hercules frowned as though he couldn’t understand my attitude. I picked up the book. The one piece of paper left was marking a place close to the beginning. I opened the book to see what Abigail had wanted me to check out. The text, illustrated with a couple of old maps of Minnesota, talked about how the state got its name. Minnesota was named for the Minnesota River, from the Dakota Sioux word for sky-tinted water.

“Sky-tinted water, I like that,” I said to Hercules, who tipped his head sideways and blinked slowly at me a couple of times. “And I probably would have been interested in the other things Abigail marked, even though you don’t seem to think so.”

Hercules jumped down from the chair, walked over to his water dish and peered down at it. It was still about half full. “Mrrr?” he said. He looked back at me.

“No, I think sky-tinted water means water that’s outside, like a lake or a river. It reflects the color of the sky, which is one of the reasons lakes and rivers look blue. That’s just plain, clear water in your dish.” I was explaining reflection to a cat.

At least he seemed to be considering what I’d said. “Thank you for the place name lesson,” I said. Then I leaned down so my face was inches from him. “But next time stay away from my books.”

Hercules licked my chin and then sat down, looking expectantly at me. He seemed to be waiting for me to do or say something. I had no idea what.

I sat down at the table again, speared the last bit of my pancake and ate it. Then I looked at Herc still looking at me. “I don’t suppose you know where Ira Kenyon is?” I said.

He shook his head, flicked his tail in annoyance and took a step backward, bumping his dish and sending a tiny splash of water onto the floor. Hercules yowled and jumped at the same time, all four feet going in different directions like a feline version of Riverdance.

“It’s okay. I’ve got it,” I said. I grabbed a rag from under the sink and wiped up the water. Then I got a second cloth to dry Hercules’s feet. He complained the entire time. Hercules hated having wet feet, so much so that Maggie had actually bought him a pair of boots—which is how I learned that he hated looking like a dork more than he hated wet feet.

I refilled the water bowl and set it closer to the side of the refrigerator so he wouldn’t spill it again. “There,” I said. “There’s your water, clear because we’re all out of sky-tinted.”

And then, suddenly, I remembered something Maggie had said while we were talking about the development. She’d pointed out that right now this end of the lake wasn’t even any good for swimming thanks to a very late algal bloom.

“The clear water is on the other side,” I said aloud.

“Merow,” Hercules agreed and began to clean his paws.

“Ira Kenyon didn’t go to Clearwater in Florida. He went to clear water on the other side of the lake.” No. That was too easy. On the other hand, it wouldn’t be hard to check.

I looked at Hercules, who was now happily ignoring me, cleaning his front left paw. He’d tried awfully hard to draw my attention to water, in the name of the state and in his dish. Had he been trying to tell me something? More than once it had seemed to me that Owen and Hercules were playing detective in their own unique way.

* * *

I waited until seven thirty to call Hope. “I know how ridiculous this sounds,” I said, explaining my leaps of logic while leaving out the cat’s role in the process.

“I’ve seen cases solved with thinner hunches,” Hope said. “I’ll go out there and look for him. I’ll call you later.”

I was on the back steps shaking the mat from the porch when I spotted Rebecca coming from her house carrying a beautiful golden-orange chrysanthemum. I walked across the grass to meet her.

“Good morning,” she said, holding out the plant.

“Is this for me?” I asked.

Rebecca smiled. “It’s for the library. Abigail is going to put it on the table in the reading corner. She said you’re decorating for the Halloween party.”

I nodded. “She told me she was going to see what she could scrounge to brighten up that spot.”

“Well, I’m one of the scroungees,” Rebecca said.

I took the plant from her. “Did John come to see you?” I asked.

She nodded and her smile faded. “Yes, he did. He told me that he couldn’t find anything that would stop the development. I was hoping for a different outcome.”

“You and me both.”

“The day you introduced us at the library I really believed we had a chance.” She adjusted the yellow scarf at her neck. “It’s not that I’m against progress. It’s just that I don’t want to see a beautiful piece of land destroyed.” She raised her eyebrows slightly. “Everett called me a tree-hugger.”

“I’m sure he meant it as a compliment.”

“If I thought that going out there and chaining myself to one of those trees would stop this whole thing I’d do it, but I think Ernie Kingsley would just cut it right out from under my feet.”

I smiled at her over the top of the plant. “From what I’ve heard about the man, you’re probably right.”

“The day John came out to see the rest of my mother’s journals started out with so much hope and it ended in such a dark way.”

That was the day Dani had been killed and we were still no closer to figuring out who her killer was.

Rebecca leaned sideways to look at Hercules sitting on the step. “Are you coming over?” she asked the cat.

“Merow,” he said.

“All right, then. See you tomorrow.” She smiled at me and headed back across the lawn. Half the people I knew talked to my cats like they were people. At least it made it seem a lot less odd now when I did it.

* * *

Marcus called me mid-morning at the library to cancel our flea market plans. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Brady thinks the prosecuting attorney may be going to take everything to the grand jury sometime in the next couple of weeks.”

I drop into my desk chair as my stomach flip-flopped. “How can they do that when you haven’t done anything wrong?”

“The prosecutor doesn’t want it to look like he’s treating me any differently than he would anyone else.”

“So he’d do this to any other person who’s innocent?”

“Kath,” he said gently.

I sighed. “What did Brady say?”

“That’s why I have to cancel. He wants me to meet him at his office so we can go over everything.”

“Go,” I urged. “Call me when you’re done and we’ll do something.”

“Ummm, I like the sound of that,” he said.

My face got warm. “How’s your dad?” I asked, partly to change the subject.

Marcus laughed. “Last time I checked he was sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of aspirin and an entire pot of coffee. Is it wrong that I might have laughed?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I probably would have done the same thing.”

I heard some kind of crash in the background. “I’ve gotta go,” Marcus said. “Everything will be okay. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said. I wanted to believe everything was going to be okay. But it seemed to me that it was going to need a nudge or two.