Copycat Killing: A Magical Cats Mystery (5 page)

The answer seemed to satisfy him. He turned to watch his brother still poking at my hoodie. I knew Herc had no intention of touching it. Not only did he dislike having wet paws, he didn’t like having dirty ones either. Owen had found the little purple thingie I’d picked up out at Wisteria Hill. He gave it a swipe with one paw and it slid over the floor like a curling rock, ending up at my feet.

I bent to pick the thing up before Owen sent it underneath the refrigerator. I still had no idea what it was. A wig for some kind of tiny forest sprite, perhaps? It wasn’t the oddest thing to be discarded out at the old estate. I knew that Harry Taylor and his younger brother, Larry, had found a full-sized, claw-foot bathtub out there in the woods. Being practical guys, they’d loaded it in the back of Larry’s truck and it had eventually
ended up in Larry’s bathroom—with the approval of Everett Henderson, of course.

My entire right side ached and I guessed I was probably turning into a giant bruise all over that part of my body. I needed coffee and a shower and a couple of aspirin.

I looked at the cats. “I don’t suppose you two know how to work the coffeemaker,” I said. Owen’s head immediately swung in my direction. He knew the word coffee generally meant I’d also be eating something he probably could wheedle a few bites of. “Yes, we’ll have something to eat, too,” I assured him.

I stood up, stretched and groaned a little, partly because everything hurt and partly for effect. Not only do cats not get sarcasm, they don’t get shameless bids for sympathy either. I set the tiny purple puff on top of the refrigerator, washed my hands, started the coffee and headed upstairs for the shower.

“Maggie and I didn’t talk about the boots,” I said over my shoulder to Hercules as I got to the living room doorway. He was zealously cleaning the bottom of his left paw and didn’t even look up. Even though I’d said Maggie’s name, neither did Owen.

“I distracted her,” I added.

Nothing, not even a tail twitch, or two.

I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand. “Yep, tossed a dead rat right at her. Of course, it turns out it wasn’t exactly dead.”

I would have sworn both cats did a double take. They bolted across the floor. Owen skidded to a stop just in front of me. Herc was a little more dignified. Throw the word rat into a sentence and suddenly they were interested.

They trailed me upstairs and sat just inside the bathroom door while I got cleaned up and told them what had happened at the co-op store and later at Wisteria Hill. I knew it was a little weird, okay, probably more than a little weird that I talked to the cats like they understood what I was saying, but I’d found it helped me to sort things out. There were times when it really did seem like they were following the conversation. And I told myself that talking to Owen and Hercules wasn’t as bad as walking around talking to myself.

Owen gave me the cold shoulder while I got dressed. Clearly in his kitty mind I had wronged Maggie. But he came around once I started spreading peanut butter on toast for a peanut butter and banana sandwich. I gave each cat a small bite, glad Roma wasn’t around to catch me. Then I pulled one of the other kitchen chairs closer so I could prop my left foot on it. I’d left the support bandage on in the shower, tying a plastic bag over it so it was only a bit wet on the top edge.

I poured a second cup of coffee and I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the sensation of the earth dropping out from under me again. It was that same stomach-falling sensation as being on a roller coaster— without being belted in the seat—with the world flipping upside down at the same time and dirt flying everywhere.

I shook my head and opened my eyes. A furry black-and-white face and a furry tabby face were both studying me. “I’m okay, really,” I told them, folding both hands around my coffee cup. “But I should call Roma.”

At the sound of Roma’s name both cats made little growly sounds in their throats. Hercules and Owen didn’t exactly like her. They’d either been born out at Wisteria Hill, or abandoned out there as very young kittens. I’d
found them when I was exploring the old estate, after I first moved to Mayville Heights. They’d followed me and I ended up adopting them. Sometimes I thought they’d adopted me. They didn’t have the best people skills. A visit to Roma’s vet clinic always involved a lot of yowling, hissing and a Kevlar glove.

Luckily Roma was between patients. I explained what had happened out at the old estate. “When the bank let go, Marcus thinks it disturbed some kind of grave site.” I told her about the bones, picturing that dirt-encrusted skull again in my mind. I shook my head to chase away the image. “There’s going to be a lot of uproar out there for the next few days and I’m worried about the estate cats,” I said.

“And are
you
all right?” she immediately asked.

“I look worse than I feel,” I said. “But I’m more concerned about the cats with all the people wandering around out there. They’re not used to it.”

Roma sighed. “I don’t want to move them unless I absolutely have to. The change would be incredibly stressful.”

“Maybe you don’t need to,” I said. “Marcus seemed to think the bones were from an unmarked burial site from a smallpox epidemic back in the 1920s. He said there have been other sites found in this area.”

“He’s right,” she said. “A couple of rock hounds stumbled over one near here maybe a year and a half ago.”

I pictured her, mouth pulled to one side as she thought about what to do. “I have time,” she said. “I think I’ll take a drive out there, talk to Marcus and see things for myself.”

“Any chance you could swing by and pick me up?” I asked. “I’d love to get my truck.”

“Are you safe to drive?”

“Marcus didn’t think so, but I am,” I said, shifting in the chair and wincing when more weight went on my bruised hip. “Bring your bag if you want to check me out first.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she retorted. “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes or so.”

I pulled on a clean sweatshirt and put my wallet in the pocket. My rubber boots were still damp, but it didn’t take long to dry them with the hair dryer—a trick I’d learned from Maggie. I was ready when Roma tapped on the back door.

She frowned and pressed her lips together when she saw my face. “Ow! Are you sure you feel all right?”

“Scout’s honor,” I said solemnly.

“And when were you a scout?” she asked, tucking her dark hair behind one ear and leaning in to get a better look at my scraped forehead.

“Okay, librarian’s honor then,” I said.

Roma shook her head but there was a hint of amusement in her brown eyes.

I stuck out my leg. “I twisted my ankle.” I touched the side of my face. “I scraped a little skin off my face.” I put one hand on my hip. “And I have some bruises that you’re just going to have to take my word on. That’s it.”

“Your hand?” Roma asked, pointing.

“That doesn’t count,” I said. “I didn’t do that out at Wisteria Hill.” Like Maggie, the paramedic had put on a bandage that was a lot larger than I really needed. “I did that while I was helping Maggie.”

“Kathleen, has it occurred to you that maybe you should have just stayed in bed today?”

“Hey, I’ve done worse,” I said.

“I know,” she said, dryly. “I’ve seen your worse.” She crossed her arms over her chest and studied me. I had the feeling that any moment she was going to sprint back to her SUV and get her bag and I’d find myself being examined by some instrument that was usually used on the working end of a farm animal.

She gave me a stern glare. Or it would have seemed stern if there hadn’t been the beginnings of a smile making her lips twitch. “Okay, let’s go. But if you feel dizzy, or nauseated—”

“I’ll say something, promise,” I finished.

“And make sure you roll the window down,” she said, letting the smile loose.

I locked the house and followed Roma out to her car. As we drove back out to Wisteria Hill I told her more about the hill collapsing. She shot me a quick, sideways glance. “You’re really lucky you didn’t break something, or worse.”

I remembered the feeling of falling, out of control, as dirt rained around me. I blew out a breath. “I know,” I said. “I was just trying to pick up that weird little purple piece of litter. You know what Harry Taylor would say? No good deed goes unpunished.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, quietly, without taking her eyes from the road. She reached over and patted my leg.

There were more cars and police vehicles at the old estate. A lot had happened in the last hour and a half. The carriage house had been blocked off with plastic crime scene tape and Derek Craig was on “guard duty.” Roma and I skirted the tape and circled the building so she could get a look at the collapsed slope.

“Good heavens,” she said, softly.

My stomach did flip-flops, looking at how much of the hill had fallen away underneath my feet.

The entire field behind the carriage house was cordoned off as well. Marcus was at the far end, watching a woman who was sitting on her heels, examining something. It was a pretty safe bet she was looking at the bones that had been unearthed. There were two other people staking off a grid. Roma followed the yellow tape around the edge of the muddy, rocky ground and I limped behind her, working our way over to Marcus.

He turned as we got close, said something to the woman kneeling in the dirt, who nodded without looking up, and then came over to us.

“Hi,” he said, peeling off a pair of mud-covered latex gloves. I couldn’t miss the quick once-over he gave me before he turned his attention to Roma. “I was going to call you,” he said to her.

“Thank you for sequestering the carriage house,” she said, glancing back at the old building. “Are we going to have to move the cats?”

Marcus frowned. “For now, they’re probably okay. Beyond that, we’re waiting for Dr. Abbott to tell us more about the bones.” He tipped his head in the direction of the woman hunkered down in the dirt. “She’s an anthropologist.”

“Do you think this is another of those unmarked graveyards from the smallpox epidemic?” Roma asked.

He shifted from one foot to the other, the wet ground pulling at his boots. “Probably.”

She looked past him. “I don’t know Marcus,” she said, frowning. “That’s Henderson land all the way back through the trees. Maybe you should talk to Everett.”

“I plan to,” he said. He turned his attention to me,
lowering his voice. “I didn’t expect to see you back here. You okay?”

I nodded, a little surprised. I’d expected him to give me a hard time about coming back out to Wisteria Hill. Behind him the anthropologist, Dr. Abbott, got to her feet and started toward us.

“Detective Gordon,” she called. She was holding something in her gloved hand.

As she came level with us I realized it was a heavy gold ring. From the size it looked as though it was a man’s ring and the insignia on the front looked familiar.

“That’s an old Mayville Heights High School graduation ring,” Roma said, leaning past Marcus for a better look. “My father wore one,” she added by way of explanation. “Those were his glory days. According to my mother, he never took it off.”

“I thought it was a high school ring,” Dr. Abbott said. She looked to be about forty, tall, with blond hair in a low ponytail.

“With the ring facing you, the date’s on the left,” Roma continued. “See the sixty-three right there?” She pointed, and then paused for a moment. “Funny. That’s the same year my father graduated.”

She looked up at Marcus. “It would have been a pretty small graduating class. It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out who owned that ring.” She shifted her attention back to the piece of jewelry. “In fact, some of the kids had their initials in raised lettering on the other side. I know my father did. T.A.K.”

T, A, K? That didn’t make any sense. Roma’s dad’s name was Neil Carver.

Dr. Abbott stiffened, still holding the ring between her gloved thumb and index finger. Beside me, Roma
had gone rigid as well. It almost seemed as though she’d stopped breathing. “What are the initials on that ring?” she asked. The tightness in her body was in her voice too.

The anthropologist hesitated. Her eyes went to Marcus and back to Roma.

Marcus cleared his throat. “Thanks for the information about the ring,” he said to Roma. “Dr. Abbott and I need to get back to work.”

Roma ignored him, or maybe his words didn’t register. “What are the initials on that ring?” she said again. “I can see a T. What are the other two letters?”

Her hand was at her side and her fingers were moving, bending, flexing, then closing into a fist again. I touched her arm. “Roma, we should go check on Lucy and the other cats,” I said.

But her entire focus was on Dr. Abbott. “T.A.K.,” she repeated, her voice low and insistent. “For Thomas Albert Karlsson.”

It couldn’t be her father’s ring. Even if he’d changed his name—and it appeared that he had—how could his high school ring have ended up in the ground with the bones of someone who’d died in 1924?

Usually I’m not that slow.

“Those are the initials, aren’t they?” Roma asked.

“Yes,” Dr. Abbott said, in a voice so quiet I almost missed the word.

Roma swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them she looked out across the grass and dirt to where the skull and a few other bones were resting on a tarp. “That’s my father,” she whispered.

“W
hat do you mean, that’s your father?” Marcus asked, eyes narrowed in confusion.

I put my arm around Roma’s shoulder. “We don’t know who that is,” I said. “We have to let Dr. Abbott get back to work so she can figure that out.”

Roma turned her head to look at me. She opened her mouth to say something then closed it again. Her gaze went back across the field.

I gave her shoulder a squeeze so she’d look at me again. “Even if it is your father’s class ring, it doesn’t mean that’s…him.”

“It’s his ring,” she said in a low voice.

“Roma, are you sure?” Marcus asked, his voice surprisingly gentle. I knew he liked Roma, as a person, not just for all the work she did with the cat colony and pretty much every other stray animal in the area.