Cat Trick

Harrison stroked his close-cropped beard. “You think it was someone in town or someone from away? I hear the boy was pretty much making an ass of himself. More than a couple of people had words with him.”

I slid my palms over the armrests of my chair. “His two partners were at a fund-raiser in Minneapolis in front of a couple hundred witnesses. As for the people who had words with Mike Glazer, Liam Stone was helping someone who’d had a flat tire. That leaves me with Mary”—I dipped my head toward the circulation desk—“Burtis Chapman and the woman who’s the new baker over at Fern’s, who doesn’t look like she’s big enough to kill a grasshopper.”

He gave a snort of laughter. “Mary wouldn’t kill anybody. She might have left him singin’ soprano, but that’s about it.” He frowned in thought. “Baker over at Fern’s? Didn’t she do those fancy cupcake things for the reception after the music festival?”

I nodded. “That’s her. Her name’s Georgia.”

Harrison took a long pull from his coffee. He folded his hand around the mug. The skin on his hand was heavily lined, like a close-up of a street map. “She’s about the size of a piece of dandelion fluff. I can’t see her killing Glazer. Why would she want to? Because he didn’t like those little chocolate sprinkles?”

I put both feet on the floor and leaned forward. “Tell me about the Glazers. I know about the accident that killed Mike’s brother.”

He sighed and fingered his beard again. “That was a terrible thing. If anyone had predicted that one of the Glazer boys was going to end up dead the way he did, well, no one would have figured it to be Gavin. It tore that family apart. And now both boys are dead.” He shifted in his chair. “You know, Kathleen, when you have kids, you love them for different reasons. Hell, they’re different people. When I met Elizabeth for the first time—” He patted the left side of his chest. “It was as though a little part of myself that had been missing had been given back to me. But that didn’t mean I loved my other children one bit less.”

“It wasn’t that way in Mike’s family,” I said.

Harrison shook his head. “I’m sorry to say it wasn’t. I can’t say I know what it’s like to lose a child, because I don’t and I hope I never find out. But I know what it’s like to be without a child, and you just don’t hold that against your other ones.”

“Gavin Glazer was the golden boy.”

“And I guess you could say Michael was young and reckless.” He drained the last of his coffee. “I had a bit of a reckless streak myself when I was young,” he said, the twinkle coming back to his blue eyes. “I grew up, and who’s to say young Michael wouldn’t have done the same thing, except Gavin died, and once he was dead, well, I don’t mean to criticize, but some people turn the dead into saints.”

“Do you think it was just a coincidence that Mike died here in Mayville Heights?” I asked.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harry Junior come in the front door; at the same time, the old man reached for his cane and pushed himself to his feet. I wasn’t sure if he’d seen his son or somehow just known he was coming. I offered my hand and he took it, giving it a squeeze.

“I don’t put a lot of stock in coincidences, Kathleen,” he said. He handed me his cup. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“Ready to go, Dad?” Harry said.

“Would it matter if I said no?” the old man asked.

“Not in the slightest,” Harry said. He smiled at me. “Thanks, Kathleen.”

“Anytime,” I said.

Harrison stopped at the desk where Mary was working. I saw him smile at her and thought—not for the first time—what a handsome man he must have been in his prime. Even stiffened with arthritis, he was striking.

“Mary, you make a fine cup of coffee,” I heard him say. “If you weren’t a married woman, I’d be camped on your doorstep.”

Mary gave him a flirtatious smile. “If I weren’t a married woman, you wouldn’t be camped out there very long.” She winked. He laughed, and Harry Junior looked back at me and shook his head.

I took the empty cup and headed upstairs, thinking about what Harrison had said about coincidences. Was the fact that Mike Glazer had died here, not somewhere else, not anywhere else, important? Was that the key to figuring out why he’d died and who had been involved?

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