Paws Аnd Effect

3

Owen continued to eye me with suspicion, even looking back over his shoulder as though he expected me to pull back into the yard, tuck him against my elbow like a football and sprint for the house.

The cat sneaking into the truck had happened more than once. I’d put him back in the house and then try to squeeze into the truck again without leaving any space for him to slip by me.

It didn’t work. He was fast, more than a little devious and his ace in the hole was being able to make himself invisible. I couldn’t win, so this time I wasn’t even starting the contest.

“You may come to the library on two conditions.” I held up a finger. “One, no wandering around the building. And two”—I held up a second finger—“after you see Maggie you stay in my office.”

Owen’s whiskers twitched.

I waited and tried not to think about the fact that I was negotiating with a cat.

“Mrr,” he finally said.

We were agreed, I decided.

I started down the hill, braking suddenly for a soccer ball that came out of nowhere, bouncing into the street. One of the Justason boys—my up-the-hill neighbors—came out of a yard, waved at me when he recognized the truck, retrieved the ball and disappeared around a dense cedar hedge.

Owen looked out through the windshield, a sour expression on his face. He’d almost landed on top of my messenger bag when I jammed on the brakes.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

He shook himself, stretched out on the seat and grumbled the rest of the way down the hill. I stopped at Eric’s Place for a chicken salad sandwich and a cinnamon roll for Maggie. Owen sniffed the takeout bag when I set it on the seat between us but otherwise he ignored me.

I parked at the far end of the library lot and before I did anything else fished my phone out of my bag. Marcus hadn’t called. I kept a couple of cloth bags under the seat of the truck in case I needed them for groceries—and wayward cats. Owen climbed in without complaint. Maggie was inside. I think he would have climbed in a container of garbage if it meant he’d get to see her.

“Not a sound,” I warned sternly. “Not. A. Sound.”

I gathered up all my various bags and headed for the steps, loaded like a Sherpa guide headed up the side of Mount Everest.

Abigail was at the circulation desk, talking to someone on the phone. She raised a hand in hello as I passed her on my way to the stairs.

“I’ll take you up to my office and then I’ll go get—” I didn’t get to finish the sentence. The cloth bag squirmed against my hip and Owen leaped out. He bolted across the mosaic tile floor and disappeared around a shelving unit. I looked around. The library was quiet. Maybe no one will see him. Maybe I can just give chase, corral Owen and no one will be the wiser.

Wishful thinking on my part.

I dropped everything but Maggie’s lunch on one of the low tables in the children’s department and gave chase. Owen wasn’t on the other side of the shelves. In fact I didn’t see so much as a twitch of whisker or a flick of his tabby tail.

I headed for the meeting room where Abigail had gotten John settled. That’s where Maggie was, so that’s where Owen would be.

And he was, already sitting on a chair, head cocked to one side while Maggie leaned down, talking to him in a low voice. Rebecca was seated on the other side of the long table next to John. Several of her mother’s journals were spread in front of them. John looked up and raised a hand in hello before dropping his gaze back down to the open notebook he’d been studying.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Maggie caught sight of me in the doorway and grinned. “Hi, Kath,” she said. “I see you brought us some help.”

“I’m sorry.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “He snuck in the truck and I wanted to see how you were all doing. I should have turned around.” I glared at Owen as I said the last sentence. As soon as I got my hands on that furry little sneak I was taking him back home.

And the furry little sneak knew that. He jumped up onto the table and walked across it to Rebecca, sitting down next to her elbow.

“Hello, Owen,” she said, beaming at him. “You’re looking very handsome today.” She looked up at me. “Hello, Kathleen,” she said.

“Hello, Rebecca,” I said. I handed Maggie the takeout bag with her lunch and started around the end of the table after Owen. “I’m sorry for the disruption.”

“Owen’s not a disruption,” Rebecca said. The cat gave me a smug look and nudged her pencil with his paw.

“Owen,” I said sharply. “Leave that alone!”

The pencil rolled across the tabletop. Owen walked behind it to the table edge and watched as Rebecca caught it before it ended up on the floor.

I tucked a strand of hair that had fallen in my face back behind my ear. “He may not be a disruption but he has no business being here, either,” I said, trying and failing to keep the frustration I was feeling out of my voice. “I thought I could take him up to my office and he’d stay there.”

“I think the cat’s out of the bag,” Rebecca said, eyes twinkling.

Behind me Maggie gave a snort of laughter. I turned to look at her.

“I’m sorry, Kathleen,” she laughed. “Rebecca’s right.”

“Both of you are a big part of why that cat is so spoiled.” I had to stop myself from shaking my finger at them.

John, who had been watching everything with a bemused expression on his face, reached over to stroke the cat’s fur.

“You can’t pet him,” I said, sticking my arm in front of his hand.

John looked confused. “I’m not allergic, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Owen was feral,” Maggie said.

The cat turned at the sound of her voice and she smiled at him.

“He isn’t good about anyone other than me touching him,” I explained.

“So what does he do if someone else touches him?” John asked.

“Have you ever seen any old Looney Tunes cartoons?” I said. While Owen was busy giving adoring kitty eyes to Maggie, I moved around to Rebecca’s side of the table.

“Sure,” John said. “There was a local station that used to run them every Sunday morning when I was in college.”

“Remember the Tasmanian Devil?”

John looked at Owen, who was now sniffing the stack of books in front of Rebecca while she smiled indulgently at him. “You’re kidding?” he said.

I shook my head. “No, I’m not.” I should have walked down the hill, I thought. When Owen finally materialized on the seat of the truck I should have grabbed him and made like a running back.

“Some people don’t like to be touched by someone they don’t know,” Rebecca said.

I could have pointed out that Owen was a cat, not a person, but it would have made me a bit of a hypocrite given that I was the one who most often treated him like he was anything but.

Meanwhile, the little tabby had moved closer to the pile of journals. He poked them with a paw. He was going to damage something if I didn’t get him out of the room. I reached across the table to pick him up, but Owen was having none of it. He tried to leap over the stack of notebooks but misjudged his launch. One paw caught the books, knocking them over, the top one flopping open and skidding like a curling rock across the table to Maggie, who caught it before it fell off the edge.

Owen looked around, not at all shamefaced, and this time I did manage to grab him, mentally crossing my fingers that he wouldn’t “disappear” on me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I let out an impatient breath and glared at Owen. “Cats do not belong in the library.”

He gave me the typical cat stare, cool and unblinking.

“There’s no harm done, dear,” Rebecca said.

Beside her John grinned at me. “You weren’t kidding when you said you had a lot of interesting things at your library.”

Maggie—who was usually quick to leap to Owen’s defense—was silent, her blond head bent over the open journal in front of her and a furrow forming above the bridge of her nose. “I think I found something,” she said slowly, looking up from the page.

John’s laughing expression immediately grew serious. He pushed his chair back and moved around the table. “What is it?” he asked.

Mags tapped the open page with her index finger.

From my side of the table everything was upside down but I could see a drawing of some kind of flower and about half a page of writing in Rebecca’s mother’s neat script.

“Leedy’s roseroot,” John said. “Rhodiola integrifolia.”

“I’m almost positive I’ve seen it,” Maggie said.

“Recently?” I asked. Owen’s golden eyes flicked away from her face for a moment to give me a look that was . . . smug?

A completely preposterous idea began to spin in the back of my brain. I looked at the little gray tabby, who was back to watching Maggie with full kitty adoration. No. No. I was wrong.

“Couple of weeks ago,” she said, leaning forward to study the drawing again.

John put both hands flat on the table and, like Owen, gave her his full attention. “Are you absolutely sure?”

She looked up again and nodded. “You know where the brook goes from Roma’s property to Ruby’s land?”

I nodded.

“Brady and I climbed up the embankment on the right side. I know I saw that plant.” She glanced at John. “It has thick leaves that come off a center stem.”

John nodded, all his attention on the drawing.

“That’s good, isn’t it,” Rebecca asked, phrasing her words as more of a statement of fact than a question.

John scanned the page again. “Maybe,” he said slowly. I could see the beginnings of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Maggie, can you describe the plant you saw?”

“Of course,” she said. “The leaves are waxy and the plants grew in clumps.” She gestured elegantly in the air, almost as though she had a paintbrush in her hand. “I’ve seen the plants before. The flowers are a deep red.”

“And where did you see the plant? You said some kind of an embankment?”

“Out at Wisteria Hill,” Maggie said. “There’s a field behind the house and the old carriage house. Beyond that there’s woods and a brook. That’s where I saw it.”

John turned to look at Rebecca. “Wisteria Hill is where your mother worked?”

“Yes, it is,” she said. “She knew those woods as well as she knew the inside of that house.” She gestured at Maggie. “Look on the back of that page. There should be a description of where she found that plant. Not all the landmarks are going to be the same, of course, but it should give you an idea if you saw the plant in the same place.”

Maggie turned the page and began to read, nodding slowly as she did.

“Does this help?” I asked John.

“Maybe,” he said, pulling a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m pretty sure I saw Rhodiola integrifolia on the federal endangered species list. That could work in our favor.” He glanced at the journal again. “I know it grows in Minnesota.”

“It doesn’t grow anywhere else?”

“New York State. The plant has a very specific habitat. It only grows in crevices on north-facing cliffs where there’s groundwater coming through the rock. Maggie’s description of the leaves sounds exactly like Leedy’s roseroot.” He glanced at her again. “Because she’s an artist she’s going to be more aware of color shading and proportion than a lot of people would be. The big issue is was she on Wisteria Hill land or land that’s part of the proposed development?”

Maggie pulled a hand back through her blond curls. “I don’t know for sure. Once you get back there, nothing’s marked. I could have been on Roma’s property. I could have been on the little bit of land Ruby owns.”

John held up a finger. “Hang on a sec,” he said. He moved back around the table and rummaged through the messenger bag he’d hung over the back of his chair. He pulled out a folded map and spread it out on the table. “Okay, here’s Long Lake.” He pointed to the middle of the map. “This area bordered in yellow is the area proposed for the resort. Can somebody show me exactly where Wisteria Hill is?”

I leaned over to get a better look, keeping a firm hand on Owen. He craned his neck for a look as well, reaching out to touch the creased paper with one paw before I could stop him.

Rebecca pushed her glasses up her nose and stood up, moving closer to John for a better look. “Let me see,” she said. “It should be a little southwest of the lake proper.”

“It’s right there where Owen is pointing,” I said.

Rebecca squinted at the map. “Well so it is,” she said. She beamed at Owen. “You are such a big help today.” The same impossible idea I’d had before began to spin in my head again.

“Pretty smart cat you’ve got there,” John said, grinning up at me.

“He certainly thinks he is,” I muttered.

Owen made an indignant murp as though he’d understood every word I’d said—which I felt confident he likely had.

“I’m going to put the furry genius in my office,” I said. I looked at Owen. “Say good-bye to Rebecca and Maggie.”

“Merow,” he said.

John laughed at the cat’s perfect-as-always timing.

“You are a very smart cat,” Rebecca told Owen. She looked at me. “He really should get some kind of treat for helping us,” she said. Owen tipped his head to one side and licked his whiskers. If he’d been a person I would have said he was gloating.

“I’m sure you and Maggie will take care of that,” I said to her with a sweet smile.

Mags and John were still bent over the map. I touched her arm. “I’ll be in my office,” I said.

She nodded. “Thank you, Owen,” she said, giving him a smile. In my arms the little tabby began to purr.

I carried him back through the library, crossing my fingers that we wouldn’t meet anyone—and luck was with me because we didn’t. I put Owen back in the canvas tote, gathered my things and headed up the stairs, careful to keep my hand on the top of the bag—something I should have done the first time.

Once we were inside my office, with the door closed, I set the carryall on the floor. Owen jumped out, shook himself and hopped onto my desk, where he looked expectantly at me.

I folded my arms over my chest and tried to keep my expression stern. “Just because Rebecca thinks you should have a treat doesn’t mean I do.”

He continued to eye me without making a sound.

“You were supposed to stay in the bag.”

He blinked but nothing else changed.

“You were lucky,” I continued. “Instead of finding that drawing you could have damaged those journals.”

Once again I was arguing with a cat and it was a completely one-sided argument. I really should have known better.

I sat on the edge of the desk next to him and stroked his soft, gray fur. And gave voice to the incredibly ridiculous idea that had been buzzing in my brain. “Did you know that drawing was there?” Those journals had been part of a display at the library and they’d been at my house before that. No. It was too far-fetched to believe that Owen had remembered something he’d seen in one of them.

I closed my eyes for a moment and shook my head. Yes, Owen seemed to understand most if not all of what was said to him. And there was his ability to become invisible, which was far-fetched by anyone’s definition of the word, but for him to be able to remember what had been in that book would mean he had some kind of incredible memory and had understood what had been going on.

I opened my eyes to find Owen looking quizzically at me. I couldn’t really explain why the idea of a cat with an almost photographic memory seemed ridiculous but one who could disappear at will was a lot more believable. It just was.

I got the cat settled in my office, brushed his hair off my sweater, grateful that it was dark gray so the bits I missed wouldn’t show, and decided to go back downstairs to see what was going on. My cell phone buzzed then, making Owen, who had jumped down onto my desk chair so he could poke his nose inside my bag, jump back and almost end up on the floor. He did a little undignified dance before righting himself.

I retrieved my phone and the little bag of cat crackers I kept in one of the inside pockets of the tote. I was guessing that was what he’d been after.

It was Marcus calling. “Hi, I got your message,” he said, an edge of weariness in his voice.

“Are you all right?” I asked. I leaned against the desk and fished two crackers out of the bag, handing them over to Owen, who immediately set them on the seat of my chair so he could examine them because that was what he did with his food.

“I’m sorry about this morning, about Travis, for not telling you about them.” I heard him blow out a breath. “I’m sorry about everything.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Really.”

“Could we have supper tonight since you don’t have tai chi? I could fill in some of the blanks for you.”

“I’d like that but I switched my shift, remember?”

He groaned. “I forgot. You’re working late.” I heard voices in the background. “Hang on a second, Kathleen,” he said.

I waited for maybe thirty seconds and he was back. “Did you bring any dinner with you?” he asked.

I hadn’t, I realized. The soup and the muffins were my lunch. “No,” I admitted.

“I could get something from Eric’s and stop by for a few minutes. That way I could at least see you.”

I wanted to see him. I wanted to make sure he knew Travis’s words hadn’t changed how I felt about him. It didn’t matter what had happened between him and Dani all those years ago. “That would be wonderful,” I said.

“Did you see John when you left?” Marcus asked. “I was wondering where he went.”

“He’s here. He’s downstairs checking out the herbarium with Maggie and Rebecca.”

He laughed. “You work fast. I should have guessed you’d help him. Thanks.”

“I don’t want this development to happen any more than your friends do,” I said. “And John actually might have found something.”

“That would be good.”

After we ended the call I decided to go back downstairs and see what was happening. “You’re staying in here,” I told Owen, who had moved from the chair to the desk, where he sat carefully washing his face. “If you so much as stick a whisker outside the door there will be consequences.” He paused for a moment with a paw in midair, seeming to consider my words, and then he went back to his ablutions. It was hard to make consequences seem like more than an idle threat to someone who could become invisible on a whim.

Maggie was just coming up the stairs. “Hi,” she said. “I’m heading over to the shop for a little while.” The artists’ co-op that Maggie was past president of had a small store and workspace a few blocks over.

She looked at my office door. “How’s Owen?”

“He’s fine,” I said. “Sitting in the middle of my desk as though it’s his office.”

She smiled. “I can’t believe he knocked over the one journal with the one drawing that might be able to stop this whole development.”

“Me neither,” I said.

Maggie narrowed her green eyes at me. “So Marcus went to school with John and a couple of other people who are working with this environmental coalition?”

I nodded, hoping she couldn’t read anything in my face. Maggie knew me well. “Dani—Danielle—and Travis.”

“John is looking to see if there’s a sample of that plant in the herbarium. Abigail found the index. Either way, I’m going to talk to Roma and tomorrow I’ll take him out to Wisteria Hill.” She smiled at me. “Everything is going to work out. I have a good feeling.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said as we started down the stairs. I didn’t share that feeling.

It was a busy day at the library. John and Abigail found a sample of Rhodiola integrifolia preserved in the herbarium, more evidence, hopefully, that he and Maggie were on the right track.

John left the library mid-afternoon. I was putting away magazines in the children’s section after updating the software on our public access computers when he came to tell me he was done for the day.

“I’ll be back in the morning, if that’s all right,” he said. “I need to make some calls and do a little more research. Rebecca has a couple more books for me to look at.” He hesitated. “And I want to check on Travis.”

“If there’s anything else we can do, please give Abigail or me a call,” I said. “I’ll be here until closing.”

“I will for sure.” He shifted the strap of his messenger bag higher on his shoulder. “Thank you for everything, and I don’t mean just for letting me look at your herbarium. You introduced me to Maggie and Rebecca and it may be a little unorthodox, but thanks to your cat I might have a way to stop the resort in its tracks.”

I gave him a wry smile. “Maybe we could keep the cat thing just between us.”

He laughed. “No problem, Kathleen. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

I had a quick meeting over at Henderson Holdings late in the afternoon. The library had been awarded a grant to be used on books and programs for our children’s department. I wanted to go over my plans for the money with Everett’s assistant, Lita, before I made my presentation to the library board at their November meeting.

When I got to the office Lita was standing in her open doorway, talking to a man I didn’t recognize. I hung back, waiting for her to finish the conversation. She smiled when she caught sight of me and waved me over. “I’ll give Everett the new figures,” I heard her say as I joined them.

“I appreciate that,” the man said, giving her a wide smile.

“Kathleen, this is Ernie Kingsley,” Lita said.

Ernie Kingsley, the main investor and driving force behind the development proposal for Long Lake.

She gestured at me. “Ernie, meet Kathleen Paulson. She runs our library.”

Kingsley was a heavyset man of average height with a ruddy complexion and keen brown eyes behind his horn-rimmed glasses. He had a strong handshake and a TAG Heuer stainless steel watch on his wrist. “Nice to meet you, Kathleen,” he said.

“You as well, Mr. Kingsley,” I replied.

“Tell Everett to call me,” he said to Lita. He glanced at his watch. “I need to get going. I have another meeting to get to.”

“I’ll pass on the message,” she said.

Kingsley nodded and left.

“C’mon in,” Lita said. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I would.” She moved toward the credenza where she kept a coffeemaker and several pottery mugs.

“So that’s the man who’s either the worst or the best thing that’s ever happened to this area,” I said, dropping my briefcase on one of the chairs in front of Lita’s desk.

“Yes, that’s Ernie,” she said, reaching for the coffeepot.

“What’s he like?” I asked.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead she poured two cups of coffee and handed one to me. I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

“I’m trying to think of an answer that won’t incriminate me,” she said, wrinkling her nose at me.

I smiled at her. “Never mind,” I said. “I think you’ve answered my question.”

* * *

Abigail was at the circulation desk when I got back to the library. She held up a middle-grade chapter book. “What is this?” she asked, pointing to something sticky on the front cover.

“Marshmallow Fluff,” I said. “Tommy Justason brought it back, didn’t he?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Let me look.” She turned to the computer. After a minute she smiled. “How did you know that?”

I raised an eyebrow. “It’s my librarian superpower.”

“Oh, I want one of those,” Abigail said.

“You already have one,” I said. “Writing great books is your superpower.”

She smiled as her cheeks got pink. “I hope you’re right.”

“Set it aside. I’ll talk to his mother. This is not the first time Tommy returned a sticky book. Our deal was that if it happened again he had to give me a Saturday morning of work here.”

Abigail set the book on the counter. “What are you going to make him do?” she asked.

“I thought I’d have him help me repair those two boxes of books we have in the workroom.” Tommy Justason was an eight-year-old who loved to read, something that made me very happy. But he treated books like they were disposable. His mother had paid for a chapter book that had ended up in the bathtub, two reference books that had been left in the rain and multiple graphic novels that had been run over by Tommy’s bike. “He’s not a bad kid,” I continued. “I think a lot of the time his mind is just somewhere else.”

Abigail nodded. “Let me know if I can help.”

“I will,” I said. “Thanks.”

“I almost forgot,” she said, reaching for a pad of paper next to the phone. “I have a message for you. Detective Gordon called.” She gave me a sly smile and wiggled her eyebrows at me.

“Don’t tell me he’s not bringing my supper after all,” I said.

Abigail just looked at me the way Owen did when we were having a staring contest.

I waited but she didn’t say anything. “Umm, aren’t you going to give me the message?” I asked.

“I would,” she said, “but you told me not to tell you that he’s not bringing your supper. He said to tell you he’s sorry. He has a meeting with the prosecuting attorney.” She handed me the piece of paper. “He sounded sorry.” She wiggled her eyebrows again. “I’m sure he’ll make it up to you.”

“No comment,” I said, feeling my cheeks get warm.

“I have hummus,” Abigail offered, grinning at me. I would eat pretty much anything but hummus—which she knew.

“I have sardine cat crackers in my bag,” I countered.

Abigail had once stopped at my house while I was making a batch for Owen and Hercules. “That’s a . . . powerful smell,” she’d said, blinking several times as she stood in the middle of my kitchen.

Mary came bustling behind us with an empty cart. “Crackers and dip,” she exclaimed. “Sound’s delicious. I’ll go up and put the coffee on.”

“Is she messing with us?” Abigail asked as Mary headed up the stairs.

“Probably,” I said with a grin. “But she’s also making coffee, so if she wants a sardine cracker who am I to say no?”

I was in my office, working on a list of books I wanted to buy for the children’s department with the grant the library had been awarded, when Maggie called just before five. Our tai chi class had been canceled because Oren was painting the studio space. “Are you taking a dinner break?” she asked. “I’m not making a lot of progress here and I don’t feel like going home to cook.”

Maggie didn’t do a lot of cooking, although she did make incredible pizza. However, every pot, pan and dish in her apartment would be dirty by the time it went in the oven.

“Yes, I’m taking a dinner break,” I said. Owen, who was snoozing in the middle of my desk, lifted his head when he heard me say “dinner.” “I can meet you at Eric’s in about an hour.”

“I’ll see you there,” she said.

Owen had gotten to his feet and walked over to me. He rubbed his face against the phone. I had no idea how he knew it was Maggie on the other end, but the only time he did that was when I was talking to her.

“Owen sends his love,” I said.

Maggie laughed. “Right back at him.”

Mia, who worked after school and on the weekends was at the front desk when I came downstairs, checking out a couple of teenagers with a stack of graphic novels and a reference book about the Vietnam War. One of the history teachers at the high school insisted that her students use as many books as they did online references for any essays they wrote. For some of the kids it would be the first time they’d been in the library since story time when they were four.

I left the truck in the lot and walked over to Eric’s. My timing was perfect because Maggie was just coming up the sidewalk from her studio as I got to the restaurant. I hugged her. “You smell like patchouli,” I said.

“I was in Ruby’s studio,” she said. “She was making bath salts.”

Ruby Blackthorne was the new president of the artists’ co-operative. She had multi-pierced ears, Kool-Aid–colored hair and a collection of funky T-shirts. She was also whip-smart and a talented artist, getting some much-deserved attention for her large pop-art paintings.

“You should see what she’s done to her hair,” Maggie said, picking a clump of cat hair off my jacket. It seemed pretty clear Owen had been doing some roaming around during the afternoon.

“Did she shave one side of her head again?” I asked. “Or do her bangs navy blue? I liked that.”

Mags shook her head. “No. It’s brown, light brown.” She made a motion in the air with one hand near her chin. “And she cut it about to here.”

“No lime green or neon orange?”

“No.”

“That is odd,” I said.

“That’s what I thought.” Maggie led the way into Eric’s. “Do you want to eat at the counter for a change?” she asked.

I could see two empty stools at the far end. “Sure,” I said.

Nic was working. Like Maggie and Ruby, Nic was an artist. He worked with found metal and paper and also did some photography.

“Hi, guys, what can I get you?” he asked. He was about medium height and stocky, with light brown skin and deep brown eyes.

“Tea, please,” Maggie said. She looked at me. “Hot chocolate?” she asked.

I nodded.

Nic gave us each a menu. “I’ll be right back,” he said with a smile.

I slipped off my jacket and got up to hang it on one of the hooks on the end wall. “What are you having?” I asked as I sat down again.

“The special is a polenta bowl with roasted vegetables.”

“That sounds good.” Everything on Eric’s menu was good. He was a great cook and since his wife, Susan, also worked for me at the library I often got an advance taste of new additions to the menu.

Nic came back then with my hot chocolate and Maggie’s tea. They talked for a moment about an issue she was having with one of her cameras and then he headed to the kitchen with our order.

Maggie began the little ritual she did with her tea. She reminded me of the way Owen insisted on checking his food before he ate it.

“I called Roma,” she said, lifting the lid of the pot of hot water and dropping in the tea bag. “She said it’s okay to take John out there tomorrow.”

“That’s great.” I took a sip of my hot chocolate, topped with a couple of the Jam Lady’s homemade marshmallows. It was chocolaty and not too sweet with a hint of vanilla from the marshmallows. In other words, perfect.

“Hey, is Dani about my height, a little bit thinner with long blond hair?” Maggie asked.

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Did you meet her?”

She opened the lid of the little pot again and poked the tea bag with a spoon. “No, but I just saw someone I guessed was her with Marcus heading into the bar at the hotel.”

“When?” I asked swallowing hard against the lump that was suddenly stuck in my throat.

“When I was walking to the studio,” Maggie said. “Three hours ago I guess.” Then she looked at me. “Wait, you don’t think that . . .” She let the end of the sentence trail away.

No I didn’t, I realized. I trusted Marcus and I wasn’t going to be jealous and suspicious. “No,” I said aloud. I hesitated. “But something happened earlier, when Marcus and I had breakfast with his friends. Did John mention Travis to you?”

She peered into the little pot for the third time before finally pouring her tea. “The environmental engineer?”

I nodded. “Uh-huh. When they were all in school together Travis and Dani were a couple.”

“I take it they’re not a couple anymore.”

“No.” Nic came back then with our polenta bowls. Once the steaming dishes were in front of us and he’d gone to take someone else’s order I told Maggie what had happened at breakfast. I knew I could count on her to be discreet.

“So he’s still angry after all this time?”

“Very,” I said.

She reached for her tea. “It’s painful to hold on to that bitterness for such a long time.”

That was Maggie, always taking the compassionate viewpoint. She was unrelentingly kind.

“You know, it doesn’t really sound like the kind of thing Marcus would do,” she said.

“That was my thought,” I said, chasing a mushroom around the side of my bowl with a spoon. “But why would you admit to sleeping with your best friend’s girlfriend if you didn’t?”

“The only reason I can think of is you wanted to hurt him, and I know that’s not Marcus.”

* * *

We finished supper and Maggie went back to her studio while I headed back to the library. It was quieter than usual and Owen and I were on our way home by eight fifteen. Over the summer and early fall I’d been experimenting with the library’s closing hours.

Owen disappeared—not literally—down the stairs headed for his basement lair as soon as we were in the house. I hung up my things and made a cup of hot chocolate. The one I’d had at Eric’s had left me craving more of the Jam Lady’s homemade marshmallows.

I took my cup and wandered into the living room. Hercules was curled up in the big chair. He at least looked guilty.

“That’s not your chair,” I said. To my amusement instead of jumping down he moved over as though he was inviting me to join him. So I did.

Once I was sitting down with my feet up on the footstool Hercules climbed onto my lap and eyed my mug, whiskers twitching.

“Marshmallows are not cat food,” I said.

“Mrr,” he grumbled.

I swiped my little finger in the creamy vanilla foam and held it out to him. “Do not tell Roma I did this,” I warned. “Or your brother.”

The moment the words were out there was an indignant meow from the kitchen doorway. Owen was standing there, glaring in my direction.

“How do you do that?” I asked.

The little tabby stalked over in high indignation, jumped onto the footstool and looked pointedly at the cup. I swiped another finger through the melted marshmallow and held out my hand so Owen could have a taste. That meant jostling Hercules just a little, which got me an annoyed look from him as well. Finally everyone, including me, had tasted the marshmallows and, in the case of the boys, licked the stickies off their whiskers. Hercules stretched out on my lap. Owen sprawled across the footstool with his head on my legs. And I told them about Maggie seeing Marcus with Dani.

Neither one of them seemed the slightest bit interested. I realized that I didn’t really want to talk to them. I wanted to talk to Marcus. I put one hand on Hercules so he wouldn’t be disturbed and reached over for the phone with the other.

Marcus answered on the fourth ring. “Hi,” he said. “I was just going to call you.”

“I was going to come out for a few minutes, if that’s okay,” I said. I could tell by their ears that both cats were interested now.

“It’s more than okay,” he said. “Are you leaving right now?”

I smiled. “As soon as I get the cats off of me and put on some shoes.”

“I’ll see you soon, then,” he said.

Hercules sat up of his own volition, murped at me and jumped down to the floor. Owen, being a little contrary, rolled onto his back and looked at me. I picked him up and set him down on the floor next to the footstool, where he rolled on his back again, paws moving lazily in the air as though he was doing a very low-energy workout.

I leaned down and stroked the top of his head. “You’re very goofy,” I told him.

* * *

Marcus was waiting on the back deck when I walked around the side of his house. He looked tired. I could see lines around his mouth and his hair was mussed as though he’d been pulling his hands back through it, which is what he did when he was stressed.

He wrapped me in a hug. “I’m glad you’re here.”

I stretched up on tiptoes so I could kiss him. “Me too,” I said.

He gestured at the swing and we sat down, his arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry about dinner,” he said.

“I got your message,” I said, thinking how good he always smelled. Sitting so close, it was easy to get distracted.

“I had a meeting with the prosecuting attorney that ended up being rescheduled at the last minute.” He paused and cleared his throat. “And I talked to Dani again.”

“Is she okay?” I asked.

He exhaled, his breath stirring my hair. “She’s upset about Travis and a little embarrassed that you found out about the two of us that way, but she’s okay.”

We rocked slowly back and forth in silence.

“It was Dani who made the oatmeal with the plaster of Paris, not you, wasn’t it?” I said.

He laughed softly in the darkness. “How did you know?”

I laid my head against his shoulder. “Because you’re more careful than that and I don’t think that’s a quality that’s just happened since you graduated.”

He kissed the top of my head.

“And I was watching Dani,” I continued. “She was embarrassed. I could see it in her face.”

“I came out of the tent and she was sitting on a rock next to the camp stove holding this big pot of oatmeal, which was more like a big pot of concrete.”

I stretched up intending to kiss the line of his jaw, but he turned his head and I ended up kissing the side of his mouth instead.

“Umm, what was that for?” he asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“That’s for being so kind to Dani—then and now.”

He put his other arm around me. “She’s a good person, Kathleen. Things haven’t always gone so well for her.”

As it got darker I could see the first stars overhead. “You mean Travis,” I said.

“I thought he was past it all, I really did,” Marcus said. “I haven’t spoken to him since graduation and all he said to me then was that he was never going to forgive me.” He shifted on the seat of the swing so he was facing me. “I’m sorry Travis dropped all of that on you and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about them.”

“I have to admit, it didn’t sound like you—sneaking around with someone else’s girlfriend, I mean.”

“I’m not trying to make excuses,” he said. “But Dani did try to break it off with him. And for the record, the compromising situation Travis caught us in was me—without a shirt—kissing her just outside her dorm room. We weren’t in bed together.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, trying not to sound judgmental. I didn’t see why Dani couldn’t have ended things with Travis before she got involved with Marcus. “What do you mean she tried?”

Marcus made a face. “Travis was—still is, as far as I can tell—extremely persistent.”

“You’re saying he wouldn’t take no for an answer.” I leaned back and the swing began to sway gently back and forth again.

“Now I realize that’s a sign of a very controlling person. We’d call it obsessive or harassment. But back then . . . And it didn’t help that Dani’s family was crazy about Travis. They put a lot of pressure on her to try to work things out.” He blew out a breath. “We were kids. It . . . uh . . . it was complicated.”

There was more to what had happened between him and Dani. My instinct wasn’t wrong. “What do you mean by complicated?” I asked.

Marcus’s cell phone rang then. “Hang on,” he said. He leaned sideways and reached for his phone on the small table next to the swing. The only thing he said was, “Hello.” He listened and then his body went rigid. I saw him nod even though the person on the other end of the call couldn’t see the movement. “I’ll be right there,” he said finally, ending the call.

But he didn’t move. He just sat there, one hand still holding the phone.

I touched his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

He turned his head toward me and cleared his throat before he spoke. Even so, his voice was husky with emotion. “That was Hope,” he said.

Hope Lind was also a detective with the Mayville Heights Police Department.

“It’s . . . it’s Dani. She fell off an embankment out by Long Lake.”

“Are they taking her to the hospital in Red Wing or going to Minneapolis?” I wondered if John knew yet. And what about Travis?

Marcus shook his head. And then I knew. I didn’t need to see his face. I could see it in the slump of his shoulders and the way his hands just hung between his knees. “No,” he said. “She’s . . . she’s dead.”