Cat Trick

I got breakfast for both cats, setting Owen’s dishes in the usual place, but moving Hercules’s a bit farther away. “You are the soul of discretion,” I whispered to Herc, giving him a little scratch under his chin as I put the food in front of him.

I washed my hands and stuck my oatmeal in the microwave. I turned around in time to see Hercules pick up a couple of pieces of cat kibble, carry them over and drop them by Owen’s bowl, then go back to his own food. After a moment, Owen sniffed the peace offering, moved each triangle a couple of inches and ate them.

All was well in my small corner of the universe.

I had more than an hour before I had to leave for the library, so after we’d all had breakfast and washed hands (me), and face and paws (Hercules and Owen), I got the laptop so I could do some research into Legacy Tours. It took some digging, but I finally found what I was looking for in a six-month-old article in the archives of an online business magazine.

“Listen to this,” I said to Hercules, who had been sitting patiently at my feet.

Legacy Tours had been started by Alex and Christopher Scott while the twins were still in university. The company had found its niche putting together all-inclusive getaways for corporate clients. Almost three years ago, Mike Glazer, an old friend from law school, had joined Legacy as a full partner. According to the article’s author, the new collaboration hadn’t worked from the start. About a year ago—six months before the piece had been written—the rumblings about Mike Glazer had turned from hints that the Scott brothers were planning to buy out their old buddy to whispers that Mike had been taking kickbacks from businesses the tours patronized and was about to be ousted. The author even cited a couple of his “questionable” deals. But in the six months since, nothing had changed. The rumors persisted, but Mike had remained at Legacy.

Hercules moved closer to my chair. I patted my thighs and he jumped onto my lap and immediately leaned forward, as if he wanted to read the article for himself. Feeling a little foolish, I scrolled down the screen.

“You think it’s possible his partners had something to do with Mike’s death?” I asked. Hercules didn’t seem to have an opinion.

“I don’t see it,” I said, stretching my arms over my head. “Why kill him? The business was doing well. If they wanted Mike out, they could have just bought him out. And if he was taking kickbacks, they could have had him arrested. Heck, they should have had him arrested.”

Hercules touched the screen with one paw.

I leaned in to see what had caught his attention. It was a photograph of Mike Glazer at some kind of travel conference, smiling at the camera. He was flanked by his partners, who, it turns out, were identical twins. But that wasn’t what made me stare at the computer and then click on the picture to enlarge it so it filled the screen.

I had no idea which one, but one of the Scott brothers had been in Mayville Heights. I’d spoken to him. He was the man I’d talked to at the library, the same one I’d seen at Eric’s getting directions from Claire the night Marcus and I had gone for dinner.

The night Mike Glazer had died.

“Holy molars, Batman,” I said to Hercules, who looked at me blankly.

My brother, Ethan, had reintroduced me to the campy sixties TV show when I was back in Boston. Unlike his brother, Herc didn’t see the fun in watching old episodes of Batman online, although I suspected what Owen really liked was sprawling across my stomach and getting scratched behind his ears.

Owen wandered in from the living room, pretending he needed a drink. I knew what he really wanted was to see what Hercules and I were doing. Seeing him reminded me about the button he’d found. Like I’d told Marcus, it didn’t look like something plastic or mass-produced.

I closed my eyes and tried to picture the jacket whichever Scott brother I’d seen had been wearing—red and black wool and denim collar and cuffs. It had struck me as being something Ethan would wear. I was pretty sure it hadn’t been mass-produced either.

Finding photos of Alex and Christopher Scott online was surprisingly easy. Scrolling through to see if I could find one of them wearing that jacket wasn’t. Hercules’s furry black-and-white head kept getting in the way.

“I appreciate your help, but you need to get down,” I told him. Muttering, he jumped to the floor.