Cat Trick

Given that Mike Glazer’s body had been found in one of the tents that was going to be used as part of the presentation to Legacy Tours, I was pretty confident that the worst had already happened. “I forgot to ask you,” I said, switching on the downstairs lights. “What’s Eric making for the tasting?”

Susan grinned at me. “Three kinds of pudding cake—chocolate, apple spice, and lemon—and little mini muffins—cheddar and spinach, cinnamon streusel, blueberry, and ham and Swiss.”

I groaned. “You’re making me hungry.”

“Eric said you’d say that.” Susan held up her fabric tote. “That’s why he sent a little care package.” She held the top of the bag open, and I looked inside. It was actually a big care package, assuming all the food was staying at the library.

“Your husband is wonderful,” I said.

“Yeah, he is pretty great,” she agreed as we headed for the stairs. “He snores, but I kick, so it all works out.”

I dropped my things in my office while she headed for the staff room. The coffee was started, and Susan was putting a selection of muffins on a glass plate when I got there. There was a metal crochet hook skewered through her updo.

“Susan, why do you have a crochet hook in your hair?” I asked.

She pushed her dark-framed glasses up on her nose and put two mugs on the table. “I couldn’t exactly leave it lying around the house,” she said. “The boys would put someone’s eye out with it.”

She was right about that. The twins were scary smart. Literally. They generally used their smarts to do something involving heights and electrical appliances.

“I didn’t know you crocheted,” I said.

Susan gave a snort of laughter. “I don’t. Abigail is trying to teach me how to make a scarf, but let’s just say it’s not going well and leave it at that.”

I looked at her, eyebrows raised. She sighed and inclined her head toward her bag, hanging on the back of a chair at the end of the table. “Take a look,” she said.

I set the bag on the table, reached inside and pulled out a tangle of soft, cranberry-colored yarn that filled both my hands. “It’s not that bad,” I said. “All you need to do is wind this into a ball and you can start your scarf.”

She turned from the counter, coffeepot in her hand. “Kathleen, that is the scarf.”

My cheeks reddened. “Oh. Well, it’s soft.”

Susan filled my mug and pushed it toward me. “It’s a mess.”

“It’s not that bad,” I said, turning the clump of wool over in my hands. “It’s just kind of twisty.”

She filled her own cup and put the pot back. “It’s supposed to be that way. It’s one of those spiral scarves—you know, with a ruffled edge.” She made a circular motion with one finger.

“Well, at least you got that part right,” I said.

Susan started to laugh. “Honestly, Kathleen, I appreciate the fact that you always say something nice, but that is not a spiral scarf. It’s not any kind of scarf. It’s a tangle of yarn that might make a good bird’s nest, but that’s about it.”

I handed the scarf back to her and she stuffed it back in her bag. “Maybe you’d be better at knitting,” I suggested, eyeing the muffins, wondering which one I should try first.

“Maybe I’d be better at buying a scarf,” she said. She pointed at the plate. “Try that one. It’s ham and Swiss. I think you’ll like it.”

I bit into the muffin and made a little moan of happiness. “Could we just keep the doors locked and maybe stay here and eat muffins all morning?”

Susan shook her head. “We have a ninth-grade English class coming for a tour at nine thirty. You have five minutes to eat as many muffins as you can, and then it’s time to get this show on the road.”

It turned out I could eat three of the tiny muffins in five minutes. Then Susan and I went downstairs to open the building for the day.

It was a busy morning. It seemed like half of Mayville Heights had run out of reading and viewing material, and the ninth-grade class had dozens of questions about the reference section. I was glad I’d asked Abigail to come in early. Things finally eased off about twelve thirty.

I found Abigail still in the reference section, reshelving some books. “You were great with that class,” I said. “Thank you.”

She smiled. “It was fun. They asked some great questions.”

I smiled back at her. “They were trying to stump you.”

“I know.” Her hair, red-gold shot with streaks of silver, was in its usual braid, and she flipped it over her shoulder. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I used to do when I was that age, so I can pretty much guess what the questions will be.”