Final Catcall: A Magical Cats Mystery (20 page)

And then I got it. I looked at the tin of bacon mints in my hand and suddenly I wasn’t trying to push a square peg in a round hole. I’d been had. By a small gray tabby cat, and not for the first time.

I sat back on my heels. Owen let me catch him on the footstool to divert my attention from the greater sin of rummaging through my mother’s purse in search of the almost irresistible smell of bacon. Could a cat really be capable of that much subterfuge and misdirection? I was fairly certain this one could.

Suddenly it was as if everything had shifted just a little to the right and now everything was lined up properly, every peg sliding into the right hole. If Owen could misdirect my attention, why couldn’t someone who’d spent their life creating a fantasy, making people believe in fairies and forget about the wires, do the same thing?

I put everything back in Mom’s purse except the little white tin and then I went to the kitchen. Owen was under the table doing his shamefaced act. I leaned down and looked at him. “Come out from there,” I said. “I know what you’re up to.”

He came to stand in front of me and I held out the little tin. “Were you looking for these?”

He meowed and reached out a paw before he remembered he was supposed to be pretending to be guilty over rolling on the footstool. He hung his head again.

I patted my lap. “Give it up, Fuzz Face,” I said. “I know you went through Mom’s purse and spread everything all over the floor looking for these and then you couldn’t get them open. You left teeth marks on the package.”

He understood either my words or my tone because he gave up the act, climbed onto my lap and leaned over to lick the plastic wrapping around the tin.

I shook my head. “That’s just sad,” I said. “These are not for cats.” I set the mints on the table.

He got a sulky look on his face. “They’re breath mints with the taste of bacon. No real bacon.” I shook my head. “No bacon.”

He clearly understood the “no bacon” part. He leaned his head against my arm and made a sound a lot like a sigh.

I stroked his fur. “You should be in trouble,” I said. “You should be on the kitty equivalent of bread and water for the next couple of days.”

He lifted his head and looked at me. We both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

I gave him what I hoped was a stern look. “What you did was bad. Very bad. You don’t go through people’s things just because you think you smell bacon. Are we clear?”

“Merow,” he said after a moment.

I picked him up and got to my feet. “The only thing that’s saving you is that thanks to your little stunt I think I know who killed Hugh Davis and maybe even why.”

Owen nuzzled my chin, looking very pleased with himself. I kissed the top of his head. “Now all I have to do is prove it.”

M
y laptop was in my briefcase. I set it on the kitchen table. The moment I sat down Owen jumped onto my lap. Clearly I was going to have help with the research I needed to do.

He squinted at the screen as I brought up my favorite search engine. There was a lot more information about the play
Yesterday’s Children
than I’d expected. I scanned several articles written about the first production of the play. Then I typed in Ben Saroyan’s name to narrow the search. Owen stayed perched on my lap, eyes on the screen as though he was reading as well. And for all I knew, maybe he was. It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for.

There was one more thing I wanted to check on. “Cross your paws that these archives are online,” I said to Owen.

He looked down at his feet and then up at me.

I scratched the top of his head. “Never mind,” I said.

Some newspapers have their entire archive of back issues searchable online. The paper I was interested in turned out to be one of them. It didn’t take long to finish my search.

I leaned back in the chair. Owen shifted on my lap and tipped his head to one side, eyeing me with curiosity. I stroked his fur. “I know the who,” I said. “And now I think I understand the why.”

He meowed softly in what I decided to believe was agreement.

I stretched and looked at my watch. It was almost time to head down to the Stratton. I set Owen on the floor, put the computer away and ran upstairs for a sweater.

I thought about calling Marcus and decided that part of the puzzle could wait until later.

Ben and Abigail were in the production office at the theater. “Hi, Kathleen,” Abigail said, getting up from her makeshift desk. “I think your mom’s upstairs. I’ll go tell her you’re here.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “She’s wonderful.”

“There’s no rush,” I called after her. I leaned against the door frame.

Ben got up and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Would you like a cup?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No thanks. How did rehearsals go today?”

“A lot better than yesterday. Your mother’s a good director. I think we’re going to be ready for next week.”

I grinned at him. “So the festival’s not jinxed.”

He exhaled loudly and shook his head. “Why do people believe in that rubbish?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s easier to believe in a jinx or a curse than it is to accept that bad things happen and sometimes we don’t have any control over that.”

“The first time Hugh mentioned
Yesterday’s Children
I should have said no,” Ben said, adding sugar to his coffee.

“Weren’t you supposed to direct the original production?”

He nodded. “The producers replaced me with Hugh before rehearsals even started. His vision was a lot darker than the way I saw the script. That’s why I considered adding the play to the lineup here. It would have been my chance to show a different interpretation of the script. I don’t see it being as bleak a play as Hugh—and pretty much every director since—did.”

The door frame was digging into my back and I shifted sideways a little. “So you weren’t mad at Hugh because he took your job?”

Ben’s blue eyes narrowed. “What?” he said.

“I’ve heard a couple of rumors that you two didn’t speak for a long time because he got the
Yesterday’s Children
directing job.”

He gave a snort. “Hugh and I stopped speaking more than once, but not because of that play. He was a good director, but he could be a first-class prick.” He picked up his coffee. “Getting replaced was the best thing that could have happened to me. I did
Lesser Mortals
instead. I spent a semester teaching at Tisch. It was all good.”

That was pretty much what I’d put together from my Internet search.

“So why did you offer him the festival director’s job if you thought he was a jerk?”

He sighed. “Sentiment. We went to college together. He lobbied hard for the job and I figured I could keep him from making a total ass of himself.” He swiped his hand over his chin. “Maybe I was wrong.”

I heard a noise behind me then and saw my mother coming down the stairs, pulling bobby pins out of her hair. She smiled as she caught sight of me.

I smiled at Ben. “Have a good night,” I said.

“How did things go?” I asked Mom as we drove up the hill.

“Good,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand. “I have to say it’s a little peculiar to step in like this at the last minute, but everyone’s trying to pull it all together.”

“They like you,” I said, slowing down to let a man walking a golden Lab cross the street.

Mom leaned her head against the back of the seat. “I mean no disrespect to the man, but that’s because they didn’t like Hugh.”

“Ben said he was a good director.” I glanced over at Mom, who turned her head to look at me and rolled her eyes.

“Ben sees the best in people, Katydid. He’s that kind of man. And to be fair, I think Hugh Davis was a good director. But he got results through intimidation. Plainly spoken, he was a bully.”

From the corner of my eye I saw her lean her head back and close her eyes. “I don’t work that way.”

“Why do you think someone as nice as Chloe Miller was involved with him, then?” I asked.

She lifted her head to look at me. “Chloe Miller and Hugh Davis? I don’t think so, sweetie. In fact, I was surprised to see her here, but Ben said she lobbied hard for the part. Anyway, she isn’t Hugh’s type. She doesn’t have the attributes he went for.”

I put on my turn signal and pulled into the driveway. “And those would be?”

Mom put a hand to her mouth and yawned. “What your brother euphemistically refers to as ‘big teeth.’” She shook her head. “The man was such a stereotype. He was canoodling with the wardrobe assistant and she’s all of twenty. Very . . . toothy.”

“Canoodling?” I said as we walked around the side of the house.

“I was trying not to be crass, sweetie,” she said, reaching over to pat my cheek. “Would you rather I say he was—”

“Never mind,” I interrupted, holding up both hands.

“What can I get you?” I asked as we stepped into the kitchen, where Owen and Hercules were waiting. “Another cup of tea?”

She nodded. “That would be wonderful. I want to take a look at both scripts before I go to bed.” She smiled down at the cats. “Hello, you two. What a nice welcome to come home to.”

“The big chair in the living room has the best light,” I said. “I’ll bring your tea in when it’s ready.”

Mom took her overflowing tote bag into the living room, trailed by her furry fan club.

I put the water on to boil and fished my cell phone out of my bag. Marcus answered on the third ring. “Hi, Kathleen,” he said.

“Hi, Marcus,” I said. Why did I smile whenever I heard his voice? “Is Hannah there?”

“She just walked in the door. Do you want to talk to her?”

I slid the container of tea bags across the counter. “Would it be okay if I came over for a few minutes?”

“You figured something out,” he said.

“I think so.”

“We’ll be here.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

When the tea was ready I took a cup in to Mom, along with two of the brownies I’d taken out of the freezer earlier. She was in the wing chair, feet tucked underneath her, with her glasses on her lap. Owen and Hercules were curled up on the floor beside the footstool.

“Umm, how did you know I needed some chocolate?” she said when she saw the brownies.

“I know you,” I said.

Two furry heads swung around at the word “chocolate.”

I wiped my hands on my jeans. “I need to go out for a little while,” I said. “Could I get you anything else before I go?”

Mom shook her head. “Are you going to see Detective Gordon?”

“Yes,” I said. “But not for anything . . . romantic.”

She leaned forward and set her glasses on the footstool. “Katydid, do you know why I married your father?”

“Which time?” I said dryly.

She laughed. “Okay. I deserved that.” She shifted in the chair. “The first time we were married he drove me crazy. I didn’t see how I could ever live with him for the rest of my life. I was sure I wasn’t going to make it to Tuesday. But when we were apart I hated it. I didn’t want a man I could live with. I wanted someone I couldn’t live without.”

She looked at me for a long moment and then she reached for her glasses again. “I appreciate you not rolling your eyes,” she said.

I leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “I love you,” I said. “I’ll see you later.” I thought about her words all the way to Marcus’s house. It wasn’t as simple as she made it out to be.

If I went back to Boston with Andrew, things would be easy—no complications, no turmoil. It was tempting. Marcus and I couldn’t seem to get a relationship started, let alone keep it going. But if Andrew was a man I could live with, did that mean Marcus was the man I couldn’t live without?

Marcus was sitting on his back steps, elbows propped on his long legs.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi.” He gestured at the back door. “Hannah’s inside.”

“Did you tell her I was coming?”

He nodded. “You know who killed Hugh Davis, don’t you?”

“I think so. I know who and I think I know why. And I can’t prove any of it.”

He looked up at me. I could see the stubble on his chin in the light from the kitchen window. He looked tired. “You figured out how Hannah is tied up in this.” He didn’t phrase it as a question.

“I did.” I shifted from one foot to the other. “I can just . . . I can just go.”

“No.” He exhaled slowly. “Somebody killed the man. I know it’s not my case, but I can’t do nothing and take the chance that maybe
that
somebody is going to walk away.” He stood up and brushed off his jeans. “C’mon in.”

Hannah was in the living room, curled up in one corner of the sofa with a script. She was wearing gray sweatpants and a red hoodie. Her bare toes were tucked down between two sofa cushions.

“Hi,” she said. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

Marcus sat on the arm of the chair and I took the chair.

“Hannah, do you remember telling me that Ben didn’t really like Hugh?”

She nodded.

“Who told you that?”

She frowned. “Chloe, I think. She’s worked with them both. Why?”

I rubbed my fingers over the arm of the chair. “It’s not true.”

She looked at me, clearly puzzled. “Why would Chloe lie about something like that?”

“Because it made Ben look like a suspect in Hugh’s death,” I said.

Her blue eyes widened. “You think Chloe killed Hugh? That’s crazy. Why would she want to kill Hugh?”

I took a deep breath. “Because of what happened when you were all working on
Yesterday’s Children
.”

The color drained out of her face. “That stupid play,” she whispered.

“Hugh bullied his actors, didn’t he?”

Hannah nodded. “He did. He pulled some incredible performances out of people, but I didn’t like the way he went about it. “

I glanced over at Marcus. I couldn’t read his expression. “I heard a story that he rode one actress so hard she started cutting herself.”

Hannah pulled at the fabric of her sweatpants. “I heard that, too. I don’t know if it’s true.”

“I think it is,” I said. “I think the actress was Chloe. I think that’s how she got those scars on her arm.”

Hannah shook her head. “No. She was in a car accident.”

My palms were sweating and I wiped them on my jeans. “I don’t think so. I did a search in the archives of the newspaper in Chloe’s hometown in Florida. I can’t find anything about an accident. I don’t think there was one.”

“Why did she lie?” Marcus asked.

“I’m not positive, but I think probably because she didn’t want anyone to know she’d had psychological problems. She probably thought she wouldn’t get hired if word got around.”

“She wouldn’t have,” Hannah said. She looked at me and something changed in her face. “You think Chloe killed Hugh.” She shook her head again. “No. Not Chloe.”

I leaned forward, arms on my knees. “I think she lied about when she got to town. She told me that Hugh wanted her to take part in the festival when really she was the one who went after the job.”

“Why would Chloe want to kill Hugh? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does when you know that Chloe had to back out of a movie role because of her psychological issues—issues that Hugh contributed to. That same part turned out to be the breakout role for the actress who replaced her. There’s already talk of an Oscar nomination for a movie she has coming out later this year.”

“Chloe thought that could have been her life, if it hadn’t been for Hugh,” Marcus said. He shook his head.

I steeled myself for my next question. “Hannah, did you see anything that night at the marina?”

“I already told you, Kathleen. I wasn’t there.” Her eyes never left my face and nothing in her expression gave her away, but I saw her left hand clench tightly into a fist.

“I know about the Share the Change, Be the Change contest,” I said.

“What contest?” Marcus asked.

I didn’t say anything. I kept my eyes fixed on Hannah and waited for her to answer.

“How did you figure it out?” she said in a low voice.

“Chloe told me you were working on a script when the two of you were rehearsing
Yesterday’s Children
. She said it was based on your volunteer work with a program for teenage alcoholics.”

Hannah nodded. “Hester’s Girls. It was a terrible script,” she said softly.

“But it was a winning article.”

She gave me a small smile. “They’d all heard about the Share the Change, Be the Change contest, where people could vote online for the most deserving project. They needed the money so badly.” She chewed the corner of her lip. “There’s never enough money. It’s a program for teenage drunks. There’re no cute little puppies or big-eyed seals, just kids who get into fights and puke on their shoes.”

She shrugged. “Deidre—the piece was her story—had them all convinced she could write an article that would get Hester’s Girls enough votes to win. When I read what she’d written, I knew it was a pipe dream. And I knew I could do better.”