Cat's Quill (18 page)

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Mikey was a difficult person to negotiate with. For every suggestion Tomas made, the kid had a counter one. In the finish they'd each sat down on the floor opposite each other, holding onto their own pile of letters while they hammered out an agreement. Mikey refused to part with his letters until he was sure that he could trust Tomas, and nothing Tomas said convinced him that he could.

A promise to meet in the field next to the inn the next afternoon to work on the skateboard ramp was about the closest they'd got to a truce. Once the ramp was built, they'd talk further. All of this could be simply solved by telling Heidi that Mikey had the letters, but for the moment Tomas wanted some privacy in which to sort through and read them before being placed in a position in which he'd have to share the reason why he wanted them in the first place.

That was his problem, not Mikey's, but of course Mikey didn't see it that way. If anything, the kid was stubborn as hell and smug with it. Tomas wanted nothing better than to wipe the smirk off his face. By the end of the conversation his mind had also come up with a list of rather inventive uses for the pink gum, none of it pleasant, the common theme being ways in which to shut Mikey up. Once he had started talking, he didn't stop.

It took all of Tomas's willpower to stay polite and relatively calm. After all, he reminded himself, Mikey held the upper hand, at least for the moment. Once that changed, so would the way in which this game was played. Revenge could be sweet if executed at just the right moment in the correct fashion.

"Tomas, are you finished yet?" Heidi called from the bottom of the stairs. "Mrs. O'Neil is here."

"I'll be down in a moment," Tomas replied in kind, dropping his voice in volume and tone before giving Mikey a final word of advice. "You tell anyone about this and the deal's off. This is our secret, okay?"

"Do I look stupid?" Mikey stuffed his letters into the front of his zipped-up hoodie. "Don't worry. I'll keep your precious letters safe. I want to figure this out as much as you do."

Tomas very much doubted that, but he wasn't about to argue the point yet again. He'd had enough of that for one day. Following Mikey's example, he used his jumper to hide his own stash of letters. He'd go downstairs via his room and put them in his bag with his writing journal. They'd be safe there for the time being. For a moment he wondered whether he should share them with Cathal. Perhaps he might be able to help put the puzzle pieces together?

Hold on! Realization struck, and Tomas dived back into the trunk, retrieving the card that had gone with the vase and adding it to his letters. It was another clue and possibly the only thing he had which hadn't originated from Alice herself but from her husband.

"Finished?" Mikey was watching him carefully but making no move toward the door.

"You're not coming down for morning tea?" Tomas thought Mikey would have jumped at the opportunity to eat more of Heidi's cooking judging by the way he'd wolfed down what she'd served him for breakfast.

"Nah." Mikey shook his head. "I have stuff to find for the jamboree still." He grinned. "Besides, why would I butt into your quality time with Heidi and Mrs. O'Neil? After all, I have manners, remember?"

Tomas snorted. "So you keep saying." He smirked, a thought suddenly crossing his mind. "Do you want me to remind Heidi you're still here? I'm sure Mrs. O'Neil would love to see you too."

"Fuck no." Mikey looked at Tomas in horror. "She'll ask me how school is and all that crap old ladies think is way important."

"Just you make sure you look after my letters," Tomas reminded him, "and don't touch anything else in that trunk, or I might accidentally remember you're not finished already and gone home."

"Bastard," muttered Mikey. "Just you make sure you're at the field tomorrow to help me build my skateboard ramp, or I might accidentally remember you've got those letters."

"You've got some too." Tomas rolled his eyes. The kid had a lot to learn about blackmailing techniques.

"Yeah, so?" Mikey grinned. "You're the adult. I'm just a kid who's been led astray because I didn't know any better."

"Brat." Tomas ignored the way in which Mikey's grin widened. The bloody kid was enjoying this.

"Yep." Mikey turned his back on Tomas and started walking toward the racks of old-fashioned clothing. "Have fun!" he called out in a stage whisper.

"Oh, I intend to." Tomas glared at the kid's back, wishing just for a moment that looks could kill. This whole incident had not gone the way he'd planned at all.

"Tomas!" Heidi was definitely not the type of person one kept waiting.

"Coming!" Tomas yelled a little more testily than he intended, banging the attic door closed behind him, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the landing of his own floor. The letters quickly stashed, he made his way down the rest of the stairs, slowing down when he reached the bottom, taking a couple of deep breaths and running a hand through his hair, resetting his outward composure to cool, calm, and collected.

"Good morning, Mr. Kemp." Mrs. O'Neil glanced in his direction when he entered the kitchen before returning her attention to the cat on her lap. Blackthorn yawned, stretched, and licked at Mrs. O'Neil's hand lazily. "How nice of you to finally join us." Reaching over, she picked up one of the mini quiches off one of the plates on the table.

"I was busy," Tomas said defensively, unsure why he even felt the need to explain himself.

"So I see." Mrs. O'Neil began picking peas out of the quiche, placing them on a saucer to the right of her own plate.

"Would you like some coffee, Tomas?" Heidi gestured to one of the empty chairs, and Tomas slid into it, noticing they'd set a place for him. There seemed to be an awful lot of food for a mere morning tea: mini quiches, sandwiches, and scones, although the latter appeared to be of the cheese and bacon variety rather than sultanas like the day before.

"Thanks." Tomas debated informing Mrs. O'Neil that taking apart food before eating was in very bad taste.

Blackthorn purred, sat up, and looked at her attentively.

"You're such a good kitty, aren't you?" Mrs. O'Neil broke the quiche in two and placed the halves on her lap, petting Blackthorn as she devoured one and then the other. "This cat just loves human food," she explained. "Doesn't she, Heidi, dear?" Blackthorn pawed her lap and looked pitiful. "I always feed her when I visit. We're good friends, Blackthorn and I." Another quiche joined the first, the peas already carefully removed.

"Someone needs to tell her that it's important to eat your greens," Tomas noted dryly, earning a dirty look from the cat for his comment.

"But she doesn't like peas," Mrs. O'Neil said, stroking the cat under the chin. Blackthorn gave Tomas another look and then purred louder, lapping up the attention. "Nasty little squishy round things, they are, aren't they, Blackthorn?"

"Spoilt brat," Tomas muttered under his breath. He helped himself to one of the scones. "This is very nice, Heidi."

Heidi beamed. "Thank you, Tomas." She pushed the plate of sandwiches toward him. "You must try one of these as well."

"I will when I've finished this," Tomas said through a mouthful of scone.

"Heidi said you were researching the area for your book." Mrs. O'Neil's sudden change of subject took Tomas by surprise, a piece of his scone going down the wrong way. Coughing, he took a swig of coffee to wash it down, using the action to compose himself before answering.

"Yes," he admitted, holding his hand up to indicate to both women that he was all right and there was no need for them to fuss. The last thing he needed was mothering times two. Blackthorn settled back down on Mrs. O'Neil's lap, having arched her back, her tail twitching as she kept a careful eye on him. "I have some questions I was hoping you might be able to answer."

"There is very little that goes on that Mrs. O'Neil doesn't know about," Heidi said, smiling, pouring the older woman another cup of tea. She refilled her own coffee and settled back in her chair, both of them watching Tomas intently.

He cleared his throat, ignoring the fact that he was the center of attention. For a moment he debated forgetting this whole thing and slinking back into the shadows where it was easier to hide. No, he told himself firmly, this was information he needed, and Mrs. O'Neil was the person to talk to. "I'd like to find out more about Alice Finlay," he said. "She was a local artist, and her family used to own this inn."

"I know who she is." Mrs. O'Neil frowned and sipped her tea. Blackthorn snuggled into her lap, still purring but more quietly, her eyes never leaving Tomas. "Why do you want to know about her?"

For a moment Tomas wondered whether to tell or not. Several days beforehand he would have decided against it instantly, but for some reason that didn't seem the right thing to do now. But he also did not want to tell the whole story. Or rather, more importantly, he did not want to share the fact that Cathal existed until he knew more.

"I'm researching the area for the novel I'm working on, and her name keeps coming up." Putting down his coffee cup, he pulled out his notepad from his shirt pocket, and his pen. "I'm also looking for a book, and I suspect she's connected to the author somehow." If what he'd observed of the gossip grapevine in this village already was accurate, it was alive and well, and he'd asked Phoebe about the book at the local library within earshot of several people.

Mrs. O'Neil snorted. "You'd be doing better than to worry about her, Mr. Kemp. Artists and writers, they're all the same." She tsk-tsked. "Like attracts like, I always say, although of course my dear husband never agreed with me. It was one of the very few things we never agreed on, God rest his soul."

Tomas filed that comment away in the compartment of his brain reserved for the unexpected. From the little he'd seen and heard about Mrs. O'Neil, he was surprised her late husband had had the nerve to disagree with her about anything. "Thanks for the compliment," he remarked dryly.

"Tomas is a very good writer," Heidi said proudly. "I've read all his books. You can borrow one to read if you'd like. I own copies." She topped up Tomas's coffee even though he'd never asked. The thought crossed his mind that she might ask for him to sign her copies, and he dismissed it quickly. No, Heidi had more sense than that, and she was much more down to earth than some of those women he'd met on the last book tour he'd been forced to take. He shuddered at the memory. It had been an experience he never wanted to repeat.

"That's nice, dear," Mrs. O'Neil replied, "but I prefer not to waste my time on such endeavors. It's not as though he's written anything worth adding to my own library." She suddenly gave Tomas a smile. He fought the urge to bolt as visions of a shark eying up prey entered his mind. "Detective stories, young man. Those I do enjoy. They're useful." Her head nodded slowly, her hand reaching for a scone. Blackthorn's eyes watched her hand, ever hopeful, returning her glare to rest on Tomas when Mrs. O'Neil ate the scone herself. "I always said this village would make a wonderful backdrop for a decent murder mystery, didn't I, Heidi?"

Heidi nodded, her eyes lighting up. "This inn would be the perfect place too. A body found under the old tree out there in a storm, of course...." She trailed off.

"Right." Tomas pretended to write down what they'd said. What was it with everyone trying to suggest ideas for his book? He already knew what he was writing about and certainly didn't need their help. A faint blush tinged his face as he remembered the last scene he'd written and how Cathal had helped him with it.

The two women exchanged a knowing look. "So what's the heroine's name and how does he meet her?" Heidi asked. "I was right, wasn't I? About the body under the tree?"

"There's no body under any tree," Tomas snapped. "Nor is there a heroine. I'm not writing a murder mystery."

"Manners, manners," chastised Mrs. O'Neil. "There's no accounting for taste, but of course that doesn't mean there might not be a heroine or a murder later." She winked at Heidi, and Tomas counted slowly to twenty, reminding himself that being rude would not be a bright idea at the moment. "Besides, every good book has a heroine for the hero to fall in love with. It's the very nature of these things."

Twenty obviously was not a high enough number to aim for, Tomas decided, and besides, he'd never done well with that method of controlling his temper. He didn't lose it often, but Mrs. O'Neil seemed to know exactly which of his buttons to push. There was no heroine because the hero was going to fall in love with another man. He opened his mouth to give that retort and then closed it again, grabbing hold of his sanity just in the nick of time.

"A writer doesn't reveal too many details until he's finished at least the first draft," he said instead, ignoring the little inner voice which appeared to have returned from its all-too-brief absence. He didn't care what that voice said; that comment was not as lame as it sounded.

"Or until he knows what is going to happen." Mrs. O'Neil sounded completely serious, but Tomas didn't trust her. "Now, if you are going to set your novel here, you need to get your facts straight. After all, there is nothing worse than shoddy research." She gave him a look that suggested he better not be contemplating the idea. "It shows."

"I research all my stories thoroughly," Tomas informed her, a little stiffly. The nerve of the woman!

"That's one thing I liked so much about your books." Heidi nodded her agreement. "Apart from the characters, that is; I really liked Roger and Alan." Her voice grew wistful. "I don't suppose you're going to write another story so I can find out what happened to them?"