Copycat Killing: A Magical Cats Mystery (15 page)

“I was nine. It was a Saturday morning, it was raining and I had maybe four more papers to deliver. I was on Mountain Road, just a couple of houses above yours, and there was this little ginger cat, scrawny and wet under a tree.”

“And you rescued it,” I said, glancing over at the feeding station where the cats were still eating.

“I put her inside my raincoat and took her home. I had this crazy idea that I could hide her in my bedroom without anyone finding out.”

“I take it that didn’t work?”

Marcus laughed. “Well, it might have if I hadn’t had the idea to dry the cat with a blow dryer.”

“You didn’t?” I couldn’t help laughing myself.

“It wasn’t one of my better ideas,” he said. “I probably scared her out of one of her nine lives. She managed to squeeze into this little space behind my dresser and she wouldn’t come out.” Something changed in his expression and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “My father, in his three-piece suit and white shirt, spent a good fifteen minutes on the floor, coaxing the cat out with a sausage.
I thought for sure he’d take her to the animal shelter. But he just said, ‘Put up posters and if you can’t find out who owns her, you better start saving that paper money because she’s going to need shots.’”

He shrugged. “No one came for her so that’s how I ended up with Abner and I guess that’s how I became a cat person.”

I frowned, eyes narrowed. “Abner? I thought you said the cat was a she?”

“She was.”

Was Marcus blushing? I couldn’t tell in the dim light. “Why did you name her Abner?” I asked. “I’m not criticizing. I’m just curious.”

He ducked his head for a moment. “She was wearing an old collar with a metal name plate, but all that was legible were the first two letters, ‘A’ and ‘B.’ I thought the cat’s name was Abner.”

“It didn’t occur to you that maybe, I don’t know, Abigail might have been a more likely name?” It was hard not to laugh.

“Well, now, yes. But I couldn’t tell the difference between a boy cat and a girl cat back then.”

“Roma did explain the difference before you signed on to help with these cats, didn’t she?” I teased.

“I know the difference between boys and girls now,” Marcus said, his eyes locked on mine.

For a moment it seemed as though there was no air in the room. Or maybe I’d just forgotten how to breathe for a second or two. Then from across the carriage house the yowl of a couple of squabbling cats cut the silence. Marcus took a step sideways to see what was going on and I took a breath.

One of the younger cats had tried to eat from the
same dish as an old tom. The disagreement was over almost as fast as it had started.

We stood in silence after that, until all the cats had eaten, stretched, and in the case of Lucy, washed off the remains of breakfast. She finally headed for the far corner of the old building and I stepped away from Marcus and made my way over to the feeding station. I gathered the dishes and picked up a couple of pieces of stray cat kibble, while Marcus put out fresh water.

Once we were outside again, he took both the water jugs and the bag with the cats’ dishes. “Go carefully,” he said. “It’s a little slippery.”

I put one hand on the wall of the carriage house. The old shingles were gray and cracked with age. At the truck I reached for the thermos as Marcus set the canvas tote and the empty water bottles on the passenger side floor mat. “How about some coffee?” I asked.

“Umm, please,” he said.

The thermos had two cups—one nested inside the other—so I poured coffee for both of us and handed him the larger cup. I knew I could make more when I got home.

Marcus leaned against the side of my truck, wrapping both of his big hands around the plastic cup. He took a long sip and then smiled at me. “You make good coffee.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Library opening today?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I’m hoping tomorrow, if we don’t get any more rain.” I looked around. “When will you be finished out here?”

He shrugged. “That depends on Dr. Abbott and her team.” When I didn’t say anything his eyes narrowed and he frowned at me over the top of his cup. “Aren’t you
going to ask me how Thomas Karlsson’s body ended up out here?”

I took another mouthful of coffee before I answered. “No.”

“No?” He shifted, crossing one long leg over the other. I could see he was trying to stifle a smile.

“You’re good, but there’s no way you could have figured that out yet.” I smiled at him. “You were pretty fast at identifying those bones, though.”

“A lot of that was luck.”

“And Roma recognizing her father’s ring.”

His face grew serious again. “And that.”

“When are you going to be finished at the co-op store?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said, ducking his head for another drink. “There are still some things I need to check, people I need to talk to again.”

“Maggie,” I said.

“Among others, yes.”

I hesitated, shifting my cup from one hand to the other. “Marcus, you know that Maggie had nothing to do with Jaeger slipping on those steps? I know they’d argued, but she didn’t give him her keys and she didn’t let him in the basement. You know Maggie. She wouldn’t lie about that. She wouldn’t lie about anything.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m just talking to people, Kathleen,” he said. “That’s all. I’m not saying
I
think Maggie had anything to do with Jaeger Merrill’s death.”

Was I imagining his emphasis on the word “I”?

“Are you saying someone else might? Or does.” I asked.

“You know I can’t answer that,” he began.

“Because this is a police investigation,” I finished. I
sighed, pulling a hand over my neck. “I do understand that. And I really will try to stay out of it. But do you understand that I won’t stop being Maggie’s friend?”

Marcus took another sip of his coffee. “Yes. I’ve learned by now how loyal you are to the people you care about.”

“Marcus, have you come up with a good explanation for why Jaeger created this new persona?” I asked. “I think the whole secret identity thing is very melodramatic.”

He shrugged, but didn’t say anything. It was as good as a no.

“Maggie thinks he was planning another scam and I’m starting to think maybe she’s right. I did a little digging. Some people think Jaeger was a lot more involved in the whole forgery business that sent him to jail than he ever admitted. What if he was going to use the co-op in some way? What if he already was?”

Marcus’s deep blue eyes fixed on my face. “Do you have any reason to think that’s what he was doing?” He drank the last of his coffee, and handed the cup back to me.

“If you mean can I prove it, no,” I said. I put my cup inside his and screwed the whole thing back on the thermos. “But what was Jaeger doing in the basement? And how did he get a key? During the meeting earlier in the morning, Maggie had taken everyone to see how much water had come in. If there was something he wanted to see down there, why not ask her?”

“She wasn’t there, or he figured she’d say no, since they’d already had one argument.”

I reached through the open driver’s window and set the thermos on the seat. “Or he didn’t want Maggie—or anyone else—to know what he was looking for.”

Marcus stuffed his hands in his pockets, taking a quick
glance at his watch as he did so. “You think he was looking for something?”

“Have you ever been in Play it Again, Stan?” I asked.

“You mean the repurpose store out by the highway? The place with the secondhand furniture and salvaged building supplies?”

I nodded. “I was out there maybe a month ago. So was Jaeger, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I didn’t even speak to him, I just saw him. He was at the very back where all the salvaged wood and trim is stored.”

“Maybe he was looking for something for his mask-making.”

“Jaeger Merrill’s masks were made out of metal—not wood. But those religious icons he went to jail for forging—some of those were painted on wood—old wood.”

“You think he was in the basement looking for a piece of wood?” Marcus said, skepticism evident in his voice.

“Maybe. What if Jaeger was back in the forgery business? What if, when Maggie took them all down to see how much water had come in, he saw something useful and he went back to get it?”

“Okay,” Marcus said. His face was unreadable. Sometime while I was talking he’d gone into police officer mode. I had no idea if he’d taken anything I’d said seriously.

“Anyway, I better get going,” I said. “So, uh, have a good day.”

“I will.” He took a couple of steps back from the truck.

I leaned around him and raised a hand in good-bye to
Derek Craig. Then I got into the truck, fastened my seat belt and as I put the key in the ignition a shiny black pickup bumped its way up the driveway. What was Burtis Chapman doing out here?

The thermos rolled against my hip. There were at least a couple more cups of coffee in it. I picked it up and held it out the window to Marcus. He turned toward me. “Here,” I said.

“You sure?” he asked.

I nodded. “You work better when you have a supply of coffee. I think you might get a little crabby without it.”

He took the stainless steel flask and I put the truck in gear. “Thanks,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to be annoying.” He stepped back again.

He’d heard what I’d said to Lucy. I could feel my face getting red. I was all the way at the bottom of the driveway before I realized that if Marcus had heard me tell Lucy I thought he was annoying, he’d also heard me say I thought he was cute.

Crap on toast!

T
he phone rang as I was hanging up my coat by the back door. “Hello, Katydid,” my mother said when I answered.

“Hi,” I said, sinking into the wing chair. “How are things in Boston?”

“Wonderful. The sun is shining. The birds are singing in the trees and for once your father is taking direction.”

My parents taught and ran the drama program at a private school in Boston. They did a lot of theatre as well—especially Shakespeare, although my mother was moving more into directing, which meant butting heads with my father when he didn’t like her suggestions. Which was only two or three dozen times in a production.

They were very dramatic people—on stage and off—which was why they’d been married, divorced and then married again.

“Is it still raining there?” Mom asked.

“Not at the moment,” I said. “I don’t want to jinx anything,
but I may have even seen a sliver of blue sky a little while ago.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, sweetie,” she said and I could hear the smile in her voice. “I take it the library is still closed?” My mother read the
Mayville Heights Chronicle
online so she was usually up to date on what was happening in town.

“If the rain holds off I’m hoping we can open tomorrow.” Hercules wandered in from somewhere. I patted my legs and he jumped onto my lap and stretched out on my chest. “I’ve been helping Maggie move things at the store. There’s water in the basement,” I said. “Cross your fingers that somebody finds a pump, as well.”

“Fingers, toes, arms, legs and eyes,” Mom said solemnly.

“Thanks,” I said.

“The reason I called was to tell you I’m going to Los Angeles for a few days.”

I straightened up a little, which meant Hercules had to move too. He glared at me. “Los Angeles? What for?”

She hesitated for a moment. “I’m going to do a small part—well, actually it’s quite a significant part, very integral to a major storyline, what I really should call it is a limited run part”—she paused, for effect of course—“in a soap opera.”

“A soap?” I said. “After the last time you said you were never going to do another daytime drama.” She’d said more than that, mostly about the skills or lack thereof of the director.

“Sweetie, never is a long time.”

“Yes it is,” I agreed, grinning at Hercules.

“The executive producer asked specifically for me. He
said the part required an actress of my vintage with my unique skills.” Then she laughed, a big, warm sound that rolled into my ear and gave me a small pinch of homesickness. “What he really meant was he was looking for an old broad who wasn’t in rehab and who hadn’t been tucked, tightened and Botoxed up the ying yang. And when I saw how much money they were offering, it seemed petty to say no.”

I laughed. “That was very big of you, Mom,” I said. “You’ll be terrific.”

“Well, of course I will,” she said.

We talked for a few more minutes and she promised to call me again when she’d gotten to LA and been to the set.

After I’d hung up I stayed sprawled in the chair, stroking Hercules’s fur. “I talked to Marcus about Jaeger,” I told him.

The cat lifted his head and looked inquiringly at me. At least that’s how I decided to interpret his look.

“I told him I think Maggie may be right,” I said. “That Jaeger was up to something. The problem is, I don’t have any proof.” I pulled a hand back through my hair, sucking in a sharp breath when I touched my bruised forehead. “Ow,” I said.

Hercules got up, jumped to the floor and started for the kitchen. “Good idea,” I said, getting to my feet. “I need coffee.”

The cat positioned himself by the counter and looked at the toaster. Cats are not subtle.

I gave him the Mr. Spock eyebrow. “How about coffee with toast and peanut butter?” I said. That got an enthusiastic “meow.”

I turned around to start the coffee and Owen was suddenly
right in front of me. “You have ears like a, well, like a cat,” I told him. He murped his agreement.

I made coffee and toast and peanut butter and then we settled ourselves around the table—me in one chair with my ankle propped on another because who was I kidding, it still hurt a little, and the boys at my feet with their little bites of toast.

“Okay, so what do we know?” I asked. Neither cat answered. Peanut butter tended to have that effect on them. “We know Jaeger was really Christian Ellis and that he had gone to jail for forgery. He was pushing Maggie to make changes at the co-op store. I saw him at the repurpose store and digging around in a dumpster.”