Sleight of Paw (5 page)

Owen woke me in the morning, about a minute or so before the clock went off. I opened one eye and stared into his wide golden ones. “I’m awake,” I said. His response was to head-butt my forehead. There was no point in trying to sneak in an extra few minutes.

I sat up and stretched. “I’m up,” I said to the cat, who still stared at me without blinking. “Happy?” It seemed he was, because he dropped back to the floor and padded to the door.

Both cats were sitting by the refrigerator when I went downstairs. I fed them, leaning against the counter as they ate. Owen took a morsel of food from his dish and carefully moved it to the floor, the way he always did. Hercules was about to eat when he suddenly stopped and looked up at me, his eyes going from where I was slouched by the sink, to the table and back to me. He meowed softly, tipping his head to one side.

“I’m meeting Maggie for breakfast.”

He looked at the dish of food in front of him and covered his face with a paw.

“Oh, come on,” I said. “You know I can’t take you to Eric’s. How would I explain taking a cat out for breakfast? People would think I was crazy.”

Hercules continued to stare at me. Owen being Owen, he didn’t pay any attention at all; he continued taking food out of his bowl one bite at a time and then eating it.

“You have a perfectly good breakfast in front of you.” I rubbed the back of my neck. I already was a crazy cat lady. Someday, someone was going to catch me having a conversation with the cats and my secret would be out. Of course, as far secrets about the cats went, the fact that I talked to them like they were people was pretty tame compared to some of the other things I was hiding about them.

Deciding he’d won the stare-down, Herc dropped his head and started to eat.

I zipped around the little house, tidying up, while the cats had breakfast. Then I pulled on my boots and jacket and grabbed the broom to sweep away the snow that had drifted onto the back stoop.

Owen came up behind me and started down the side of the house. “I’m leaving in fifteen minutes,” I said. His ears twitched, which either meant he’d heard and would be back in time or he’d heard and was ignoring me.

Hercules sat by the door and watched while I brushed the stairs clear. “You need boots,” I said. “I bet the Grainery sells kitty boots.” The Grainery was where Rebecca bought Owen’s favorite catnip treat, Fred the Funky Chicken.

“They sell doggie sweaters.” Herc flicked his tail at me in the universal gesture that one didn’t have to understand cats to get. And then he turned and walked through the door. Literally
through
the door.

It still made my breath catch. I didn’t have a clue how he did it. In fact, the first time I’d seen him walk nonchalantly through an inch-and-a-half-thick wooden door at the library, I thought I was having hallucinations or even a stroke. Because cats can’t walk through doors or walls, can they?

Except Hercules could. Owen, on the other hand, couldn’t. What he could do was make himself invisible when it suited him. Which was usually when it didn’t suit me.

Both cats had some kind of magical abilities. Superpowers, if you will. I had no idea why or how. I had no idea if there were any other cats in Mayville Heights that could do the same thing. It’s not exactly something you can bring up in conversation. I couldn’t invite Roma over for coffee and then say, “Oh, by the way, any of those cats at your clinic able to walk through walls? Any of them go invisible on a whim?”

I couldn’t tell anyone. At best I would look like a mentally unbalanced person, and at worst someone would want to know how Owen and Hercules did what they did. I didn’t like thinking about what that might mean. Since I’d discovered what the boys could do, I’d tried to make sure no one else found out about it. Part of me kept hoping I’d discover some logical explanation, maybe some kind of genetic mutation, some leap up the evolutionary ladder. And the longer I lived with the idea the less strange it seemed.

Owen came back a minute or so before I was ready to leave. I heard him yowl at the porch door. When I opened it he darted past me into the kitchen. There was snow on his face. Unlike Hercules, Owen loved snow and had no problem sticking his head in a snowdrift if he thought there was something good in all that white stuff.

“Hold still,” I said. I grabbed a towel and wiped his face. He shook his head and took a couple of swipes at his fur with one paw. “You look handsome,” I assured him, patting the top of his head. I gave him a couple of kitty crackers and checked the water dishes.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” I said. Owen was too busy arranging his kitty treats on the floor to do more than “Murp” in my direction. “Hercules,” I called. “I’m leaving.” He stuck his head in for a second, then disappeared again.

Locking the back door, I trudged around the house and down the driveway. As I walked down Mountain Road I thought again that I really needed to buy a car. I’d left my life in Boston to move to Mayville almost a year ago, and I’d also left most of the things I owned. Because the town was small, it wasn’t that hard to get around, and all the walking up and down the hill was giving me the kind of thighs I’d always envied in more athletic women. Still, there were days when it felt like I was on the edge of the Arctic Circle as I was walking to work.

Maggie was already sitting at one of the tables by the window when I got to Eric’s. She waved at me through the glass.

Surprisingly, Eric wasn’t behind the counter, but Claire was working again. She held up the coffeepot with a quizzical look, and I nodded. She met me at the table.

“Thank you,” I said, setting my briefcase on the floor.

“Do you know what you want or would you like to see a menu?” she asked.

“I already ordered,” Maggie said. “I’m starving. Go ahead.”

“Could I have a couple of blueberry pancakes and the citrus bowl, please?” I said.

Claire smiled. “Got it. It’ll just be a couple of minutes. We’re a little slow this morning. Eric’s not here.”

“Eric’s not here?” I’d never been in the restaurant when Eric hadn’t been there.

“He broke a tooth,” Claire said, making a face.

“Ow!” I winced in sympathy.

Claire gave me a wry smile. “It’ll just be a few minutes,” she repeated, heading to another table with the coffeepot.

My right boot was untied. I bent down, redid the laces and shook a clump of snow out of the cuff of my gray pants. “Did you get everything back to the studio last night?” I asked as I straightened up.

Maggie nodded.

“And how late did you stay working?”

“Not that late.”

I looked at her.

“Okay, kind of late, but”—she leaned forward—“I figured out what to do with the pig.”

“Make a BLT?” I asked.

“Ha, ha,” she said.

“So?”

“So I’m not telling you. You have to wait and be surprised like everyone else.”

I picked up my cup, lacing my fingers around it to warm them up.

“Can I at least have a hint?”

Maggie leaned back with her own cup. “No,” she said. “If I give you a hint, you’ll figure it out and the surprise is gone.”

I noticed her eyes dart to the window again. “Are you waiting for someone else?”

“Ruby. She’s bringing the bulbs I need for the overhead lights, and she has a couple of sets of small lights I think I might be able to use.” She glanced at her watch and shook her head slightly. “New boyfriend.”

“What?” I said.

“Ruby met someone. She’s in the goofy, rose-coloredglasses stage. Remember, when you lose track of time because all you can concentrate on is the guy?”

“Yeah, I vaguely remember some kind of feeling like that,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. I drank my coffee and thought about Andrew, who I’d left back in Boston when I left everything else. Andrew with his blue eyes, broad shoulders and great laugh. Andrew, who went on a two-week fishing trip after we’d had a fight and came back married to someone else.

I blew out a breath and blew away the memory. “Who’s Ruby seeing?”

“His name is Justin. He was a counselor at an alternative school in Minneapolis. Now he’s working on some kind of project to build a wilderness camp for troubled kids.”

“I can’t picture Ruby getting all dewy-eyed over a guy.” Ruby was funny and unconventional. Her hair changed color about every two weeks, plus she had more piercings than anyone I’ve ever seen.

Maggie leaned over to look out the window again. “Where is—” She didn’t finish the thought because the door to the restaurant flew open and a blast of cold air blew over my back. Mags turned from the window, her eyes widened and she set her cup blindly on the table.

Ruby stood in the doorway, flakes of snow swirling around her. Her hair, hot pink this week, was wind tossed, her scarf was twisted and her face was ashen.

“Somebody help me,” she said, closing her eyes for a second.

I stood up. “What’s wrong?”

She held out both hands helplessly and looked over her shoulder out the door. “I think she’s . . .” She shook her head. “She’s in the alley. She’s not moving.”

Everyone was staring at Ruby but no one was moving. I pulled on my coat. “Ruby, who’s in the alley?” I said, crossing to the door. “Show me.”

She nodded and hurried down the sidewalk, half running, half stumbling. It was slippery and the snow had drifted over the pavement in places.

Ruby led the way into the alley two doors down from the café, and stopped so suddenly I banged into her. She pointed at something with a trembling hand. I put my own hand on her shoulder. “Stay right here,” I said. I could see tire tracks in the dusting of snow and crumpled fast-food wrappers.

There was something lying farther down the alley.
A bag of garbage,
I told myself as I eased closer, my heart pounding. A cat. An injured dog. My hands were shaking and I clenched them tightly in my heavy mittens. Then I stopped, because I could see what was on the ground. It wasn’t a bag of garbage or a dog that had been hurt. It was a red-and-black-plaid mohair coat covered with a dusting of snow. It was Agatha Shepherd.

And she was dead.

A
gatha lay partly on her stomach. I tried to stay in Ruby’s footprints as I reached the body. It seemed pretty clear, based on the waxy appearance of Agatha’s skin and the fact that she wasn’t moving, that she wasn’t alive, but still I felt I had to check.

I crouched in the snow and pulled off one mitten. Agatha’s eyes were closed. I felt for a pulse at her neck. Nothing.

I closed my eyes for a second, silently sending up a prayer that whatever had caused the woman to die had been swift and painless. Then I got to my feet and turned back to Ruby. Maggie was beside her, one arm around Ruby’s rigid shoulders. I shook my head, and Ruby sagged against Maggie.

My phone was in my briefcase back in the restaurant, I realized. “Do you have your phone?” I called to Maggie.

She pulled it out of her pocket and held it up.

“Call nine-one-one.”

Maggie gave Ruby’s shoulder a squeeze, took a few steps away from her and flipped the phone open. Ruby started back toward the body, and I moved to intercept her.

“Kathleen, please, can you help Agatha?” she said, gesturing at the body with a shaking hand.

I caught her by both arms and turned her away. “Maggie’s getting help,” I said.

“I can’t leave her there covered in snow,” Ruby stammered, lips quivering.

I started walking back toward Maggie. There were several people at the mouth of the alley. Maggie had her free arm extended, making it clear no one should go any farther.

“The police are on their way, Ruby,” I said gently.

She looked at me as though the words had washed over her without registering. “I have a blanket in the truck,” she said, swiping at her face. “I’ll just . . . I’ll just go . . . go get it so we can cover her up.” She started to pull away from me, and I tightened my grip on her arm.

“Ruby, we can’t do that.”

She looked at me, stricken, tears tracing a track down each cheek. “I can’t . . . I can’t just leave her . . . there, like a . . . like nothing, covered in snow.”

I swallowed a couple of times. “I know,” I said. “But we can’t touch anything, not more than we already have.”

Ruby took a shaky breath.

“Did you move the . . . Agatha?” I asked. “Did you pick anything up?”

She shook her head. “I was cutting through the alley because I knew I was late and I’d had to park around the corner. When I saw her and realized . . . it was Agatha, I just ran for help. I didn’t . . . I didn’t touch anything.” She looked back over her shoulder. “Kathleen, are you sure she’s . . . ?” She didn’t finish the sentence, and I hated having to be the one to destroy that faint spark of hope in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Ruby. She is,” I said softly.

She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. The hand looked raw and red in the icy air.

Maggie half turned as we reached her. “They’re on their way,” she said.

I looked from Mags to Ruby and inclined my head in the direction of the café.

“Can you manage?” Maggie asked, her voice just above a whisper, realizing what I wanted.

“Police will be here any minute.”

She nodded and moved to circle Ruby in a hug. “C’mon, Ruby. It’s freezing. Let’s go to Eric’s and get some tea.”

Ruby hesitated. “I should stay,” she began.

“I’ll stay,” I said. “I promise I won’t leave until the police get here.”

Ruby looked down the alley again. Her whole body was shaking from shock and the cold.

“There isn’t anything you can do for Agatha,” I said. “You’re freezing. Go with Maggie.”

“Okay,” she said softly.

Maggie led her away, and I stayed at the mouth of the alley, listening for sirens, my hands jammed in my pockets, shifting from one foot to the other, partly to stay warm and partly to keep the creeping sense of dread I was feeling under control.