Cat Trick

How had Mike Glazer died? That question had been rolling around in my mind since I’d stepped into the tent and caught sight of his body slumped in that plastic lawn chair. There had been no blood, no signs of a fight. The body had been cold and stiff.

But when I’d felt for a pulse, my fingers had brushed over something—a small bump, a little smaller than an egg, on the back of Mike Glazer’s head, behind his left ear.

I wasn’t sure that even mattered. Not compared to what I’d noticed on his face. Tiny red marks barely bigger than a needle prick—petechial hemorrhages was the medical term for them—and I knew they were a sign of suffocation, among other things. Which meant Mike Glazer’s death probably wasn’t an accident.

I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. A headache was starting to throb behind my eyes. I knew it was possible that I was wrong. But I was pretty sure I wasn’t.

5

The library got busier as the day went on, and I overheard more than one person speculating on what was going to happen to Mayville Height’s pitch to Legacy Tours. At lunchtime I tried calling Maggie, but all I got was her voice mail. I left a message telling her I knew what had happened and I’d see her later at tai chi class.

Both cats were waiting by the kitchen table when I got home. They seemed to have put their differences from the morning aside. I hung up my coat and bent down to pet them both. Owen had the slightly loopy look that told me he’d been into his Fred the Funky Chicken stash. Rebecca, whose house backed up to mine, kept him in the neon-yellow catnip chickens, using any excuse to buy him one, including Hug Your Cat Day and the summer solstice.

“How was your day?” I said to Hercules. He held up one front paw. There was a jet-black feather stuck between two toes on his right paw. I bent over to pull it loose. “Did you and that grackle get into it again?” I asked. Hercules had been having a war for months with what seemed to be one bird that liked to dive-bomb his head when he was in the backyard. I had nicknamed him Professor Moriarty because he was an arch-nemesis if a cat ever had one. He and Herc had had a couple of run-ins, one of which had ended with Hercules as the proud possessor of another large black wing feather. The bird had disappeared for a while after that. I was guessing he was back.

I pointed to his paw. “Do I want to know what happened?”

He immediately put his left paw on top of his right and looked at me, blinking his big green eyes.

“That’s fine with me,” I said. “Whatever happens in the backyard stays in the backyard.”

I turned to Owen. “And how was your day?” I asked, reaching over to scratch under his chin. He gave me a blissful if slightly stoned-looking smile, and leaned in to my hand.

After I’d gotten some cat love, I went upstairs, changed into my tai chi clothes and came back down to get supper. I made a grocery list while I ate, making sure I put sardines on the list so I could make the cats’ favorite stinky crackers on the weekend.

When the dishes were done, I realized I had enough time to walk down to tai chi class. I put my shoes and a towel in my bag—after picking out a little clump of black fur—pulled on a sweater and called good-bye to the boys. They had disappeared as soon as I’d started the dishes.

Roma was coming up the sidewalk from the other direction as I got close to the artist’s co-op store. She waited for me by the door. “Hi,” she said. “I heard about this morning. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “And, technically, it was Hercules who discovered Mike Glazer’s body.” We went inside and started up the steps to the second-floor tai chi studio.

“Ruby told me she’s doing another painting of Hercules,” Roma said, running her hand through her sleek, dark bob. “I hope it brings in as much as the last one. Cat People needs the money.”

Cat People was a rescue group that worked with feral cats in this area. The fund-raiser Ruby was donating the painting to was for them.

At the top of the stairs, Roma dropped onto the bench near the coat hooks to change her shoes. I pulled off my sweater and draped it over a hook.

“How did Hercules end up over by the tents in the first place?” Roma asked, tucking her sleek brown hair behind one ear. She slid to the right and I sat down beside her.