Cat Trick

Mags and Ruby went back to discussing possibilities for framing the cat portraits, and I went back to my pasta salad. By the time they had settled on a charcoal frame, I was done eating. I stretched my arms up over my head, which caught Maggie’s attention.

“Do you have room for a cup of hot chocolate?” she asked. “I have more of those homemade marshmallows you like.”

I glanced at my watch. “Okay,” I said. It was chocolate. I didn’t need much persuading.

She looked at Ruby. “Rube? Hot chocolate? With marshmallows from the farmers’ market?”

Ruby smiled. “Mmm, that sounds good.”

Maggie got up to put the kettle back on and get out the mugs and cocoa.

“How’s the setup going for the art show?” I asked Ruby.

“Better,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You had problems with Mike Glazer as well.” There seemed to be no shortage of people who did.

Ruby slid her bracelets along her arm and sighed. “Kathleen, I think everyone had problems with Mike. If he hadn’t died when he did, I swear someone would have smacked him with a two-by-four by now.” She shrugged. “Maybe me. Or Burtis. Wednesday night, Burtis was pounding in tent pegs with a sledgehammer and there was a moment when I actually thought he was going to take a swing at Mike.”

“It’s sad,” Maggie said. “He spent the last days of his life arguing with people.”

I thought about Wren Magnusson’s face when she came into the library. She seemed to be the only person who really felt bad about Mike Glazer’s death. “What was Mike like when he was younger?” I asked.

Ruby smiled a thank-you as Mags set a steaming mug in front of her. “I don’t know. He was older and we didn’t have any of the same friends.”

Maggie handed me a cup and sat down holding her own hot chocolate. I snapped the lid of the marshmallow container open and held it out to Ruby, snagging a couple for myself. They smelled like spun sugar and vanilla.

“He was the kind of guy everyone liked, pretty much,” Maggie said. “Popular, smart enough to do well in school without having to work very hard.” She reached for the marshmallows, popped one in her cup and after a second’s thought dropped in two more.

I leaned my forearms on the table and laced my fingers around my mug. “So when he came back a few days ago, he was different?” I said.

She nodded. “It was like he had something to prove.”

“Maybe he did,” I said.

“Small-town boy makes good?” Ruby asked. “You really think it was that old cliché?”

I shrugged. “Things become clichés for a reason: because they happen a lot.”

“So you don’t think he’d been taken over by a malevolent entity or replaced by an evil twin?” Ruby asked, eyes twinkling.

“Probably not,” I said.

Ruby told me a little more about some of the artwork that was going to be on display and then available for sale online. I really hoped everything worked out.

I finished the last of my hot chocolate and stood up. “Thank you. Lunch was delicious,” I told Maggie. “But I need to get back to the library.”

She wrapped me in a hug. “Anytime,” she said. “I wish Roma could have made it.”

“Maybe we could have dinner sometime next week.”

“Good idea.”

I tugged on my sweater and slipped my purse over my shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I said to Ruby.

She smiled. “Thanks for letting me paint the cats. Tell Owen I have fish crackers.”

I grinned back. “And Maggie right across the hall. Two of Owen’s favorite things in the same place. You might never get rid of him.”

I gave them both a little wave and headed out. As I came level with the tents set up by the Riverwalk, I felt a chill, like a cold finger trailing up my spine. What was going to happen when everyone found out Mike Glazer’s death hadn’t been an accident? Because no matter what Roma said, I couldn’t shake the feeling it hadn’t been.

7

Owen woke me the next morning by sticking his face about an inch away from mine, and when I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw were his golden ones. He meowed at me, so I got a blast of kitty morning breath, too.

“What have you been eating?” I asked, rolling on to my back and stretching.

He was already at the bedroom door. He stopped long enough to glance back over his shoulder. “Merow!” he said. Then he kept on going. I knew cat for “Get up” when I heard it.

I yawned and sat up. Another meow, louder and more insistent, came from the hallway. Translation: “Now!”