Cat Trick

When he reached the first tent, Hercules looked back over his shoulder at me, then walked right through the heavy canvas panel and disappeared inside. I was maybe half a minute behind him. I had to duck around the tent flap because I couldn’t just pass through it.

“Hercules, wherever you are, get over here right now!” I called, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the canvas structure before I started looking for him.

Turns out I didn’t need to look for the cat at all. He was sitting on the grass next to a plastic lawn chair. Mike Glazer was in the chair. Even in the dim light, I was almost positive that the man was dead.

3

Hercules looked over at me and meowed.

“Yes, I see him,” I said. I let the bag slip from my shoulder onto the grass and made my way carefully over to where the body was slumped in the white resin chair. A square metal table sat maybe four feet or so away, a tangle of dark fabric piled on top.

Mike’s eyes were closed, and his head sagged to one side. I knew he was gone even before I felt for his pulse, but I swallowed down the sour taste at the back of my throat and touched the side of his neck with two fingers just to be certain. His skin was cold and mottled and I couldn’t feel the thrum of a heartbeat.

I closed my eyes for a moment and mentally wished his spirit safe passage, and then I straightened up and looked down at Hercules, who was sitting patiently at my feet. “We have to call the police,” I told the little tuxedo cat.

Hercules picked his way carefully back across the grass to where I’d dropped the carrier and climbed inside. I followed him, trying to stay in my original footprints on the grass. I grabbed the shoulder strap of the bag and stepped back outside.

Ruby was across the street on the sidewalk, looking up and down, probably wondering where I was. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911, and when she looked in my direction, raised a hand in recognition. She started over to me.

“Admiring Burtis’s handiwork?” she asked with a smile as she reached the curb. Her red and blue hair was pulled back into a short braid, and she was wearing earrings only in the piercings in her left ear.

Something in my expression as I ended the call must have told her there was a problem. “Kathleen, is something wrong?” she asked, two frown lines appearing between her eyes.

I looked back over my shoulder at the tent. “Mike Glazer’s . . . dead.”

The color drained out of her face. “Good dog,” she said softly, closing her eyes for a moment. “Have you called the police?” she asked when she opened them again.

I held up my phone. “I just did.”

Ruby crossed one arm over her midsection. “Have you called Detective Gordon? I know the two of you are . . . friends.”

I exhaled slowly. I had been planning to call Marcus.

“I think you should.”

I punched in his number from memory, thinking I should program it into my phone.

He answered on the fourth ring. “Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “I already know, and I’m on my way. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Stay where you are. There’s a cruiser on the way, and I’ll be there in about five minutes.” He ended the conversation, and I put my phone back in my pocket.

Ruby had been staring out at the water, but she looked back at me. “Ruby, could you take Hercules over to your studio?” I asked. I didn’t want him getting out of the bag again, or even worse, demonstrating his walking through walls—or canvas tents—skills to the Mayville Heights police department.

I put my hand on the bag, and Hercules meowed from inside. “As long as you don’t touch him, you’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” she said.

I handed over the carrier and cat. Ruby headed back to River Arts, holding the bag out in front of her body by the strap as though it might spontaneously combust.

A couple of minutes later, a police car came down the street, lights flashing but siren silent. It stopped nose-in at the curb. Officer Derek Craig got out of the driver’s side. According to gossip around town, the young policeman had applied to the University of Minnesota for winter admission. He’d been reading everything we had or had been able to request about the law and law school for months, so I suspected the rumors were true.

The other officer, Stephen Keller, was a little older than Derek. His serious expression and straight-backed posture made me think he’d been in the military before he’d become a police officer.

They both nodded at me.