A Tale of Two Kitties

Book 9: Magical Cats

by Sofie Kelly

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Animal Cozy Mysteries; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

With a well-placed paw on a keyboard or a pointed stare, Kathleen's two cats, Hercules and Owen, have helped her to solve cases in the past—so she has learned to trust their instincts. But she will need to rely on them more than ever when a twenty-year-old scandal leads to murder . . .

The arrival of the Janes brothers has the little town of Mayville Heights buzzing. Everyone of a certain age remembers when Victor had an affair with Leo's wife, who then died in a car accident.

Now it seems the brothers are trying to reconcile, until Kathleen finds Leo dead. The police set their sights on Leo's son and Kathleen's good friend Simon, who doesn't have much of an alibi. To prove her friend innocent, Kathleen will have to dig deep into the town's history—and into her sardine cracker supply, because Owen and Hercules don't work for free . . .

Release date: September 5, 2017

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 336

Sample

***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof***

Copyright © 2017 Sofie Kelly

 

Chapter 1

You’d think by now it wouldn’t bother me to step on a body in the middle of the kitchen floor, but I was in my sock feet and the body—missing its head, no surprise—was damp.

With cat slobber.

“Owen!” I yelled, hopping on one foot while I rubbed the other against my pant leg.

The cat stuck his gray tabby head around the living room doorway and looked at me, face tipped quizzically to one side.

“Come and get this,” I said, pointing at the headless yellow catnip chicken, aka Fred the Funky Chicken, I’d just stepped on.

He craned his neck to see what I was referring to, then gave a murp of recognition almost as though he were saying, “So that’s where I left it.” He came across the floor, picked up the chicken body in his mouth and deposited it next to his food dish beside the refrigerator, nudging it out of the way with one paw. Then he turned to look at me.

“Thank you,” I said. I leaned down to pick up the few bits of catnip that had fallen out of the mangled cat toy. Owen had a thing for catnip in general, and neon-yellow chickens stuffed with it in particular, and I had friends who bought them for him just about as fast as he could chew them apart.

I dumped the bits of dried catnip in the garbage and reached for my shoes on the mat near the back door.

“Mrr?” Owen said.

“I have a meeting at the library.”

He immediately raised his paw and took a couple of passes at his face with it. Then he crossed to sit in front of the kitchen door.

I knew what that meant. “No, you can’t come with me,” I said.

He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Mrr,” he said again.

I shook my head. “You can’t come. Cats don’t belong at the library.” They didn’t belong at the library, but both of mine had ended up there more than once. “Just because I’m the head librarian doesn’t mean that you and your brother get special privileges.”

Owen narrowed his golden eyes. His whiskers twitched, and then he disappeared.

Literally. It was his superpower, so to speak, the way the Flash could run faster than anyone else on the planet, although I was pretty sure Owen hadn’t gotten his ability due to the explosion of a particle accelerator during a thunderstorm.

I’d gotten very blasé about Owen’s ability to just vanish whenever he wanted to. I remembered how it had made me think I was losing my mind the first few times I’d seen it happen, and then the stomach-churning fear I’d felt when I realized what could happen to him and his brother, Hercules, if anyone had found out about my cats’ unbelievable abilities. Hercules couldn’t become invisible at will; he could walk through walls. Both cats also had a seemingly uncanny ability to understand what was said to them. And now, to make things ten times more complicated, I was almost positive that Marcus’s little ginger tabby, Micah, had the same vanishing skill as Owen.

My Marcus. Detective Marcus Gordon, who only believed in the facts, in things he could see and touch. If I was right about Micah there was a lot I’d need to explain. Not that I had any explanation. All three cats came from the old Henderson estate, Wisteria Hill. That had to have something to do with their abilities. I just had no idea what.

I’d sold my car when I’d moved to Mayville Heights from Boston two and a half years ago to supervise the renovations at the library. I spent my first few weeks in town exploring, walking for miles, which is how I’d stumbled on Wisteria Hill. At the time the property was abandoned. Now my friend Roma owned it, and the old farmhouse was full of life again. Back then it had seemed lonely and forgotten.

Owen and Hercules had peeked at me from a tangle of raspberry canes, two tiny balls of fur, and then trailed me while I explored the overgrown English country garden behind the old house. When I left, they’d followed me down the rutted gravel driveway. Twice I’d picked them up and carried them back to the empty house, but they were undeterred. They were so tiny and so determined to come with me that in the end I’d given up and brought them home. They were affectionate with me, but I’d quickly learned that because they had been feral they didn’t tolerate anyone else touching them.

I stepped into my red Keds and bent down to tie the laces. “You’re wasting your time,” I said in the general direction of the last place I’d seen Owen. “You can’t go with me in the truck because I’m going to walk.”

I counted silently to three and he appeared again.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m going to a meeting. You’d be bored.”

Owen made grumbling noises in the back of his throat and turned his head, pointedly looking away from me.

“I think you left a Funky Chicken in my closet,” I said.

One gray ear twitched but he still didn’t look at me.

“Look in my black pumps.”

Owen shook himself and started across the kitchen floor. “Mrr,” he said softly when he got to the living room doorway.

“You have a good day, too,” I said.

It was a gorgeous morning as I started down Mountain Road. The sun was high in the sky over Lake Pepin and it was already warmer than the typical high for a day in early November.

It had been a while since I’d walked to the library. It was something I used to do every day. When I’d discovered everything I wanted to do was within walking distance, I hadn’t bought a car. Eventually, Harrison Taylor had gifted me with a truck that could make it through even the worst Minnesota snow, a thank-you because I’d discovered some papers that had helped him find his daughter. Harrison’s son, Harry Junior, took care of the yard work at my small house. The old man and I had met when he’d accompanied his son one day. I’d stepped into my backyard and for a moment thought Santa Claus was sitting on one of my Adirondack chairs. Harrison and I had quickly become good friends.

Mountain Road curves in toward the center of town, so as I headed down the hill the roof of the library building came into view. The library sits just about at the midpoint of a curve of shoreline, protected from the water by a rock wall. The two-story brick building has an original stained-glass window at one end and a copper-roofed cupola, complete with the restored wrought-iron weather vane that had been placed on the roof when the library had been completed more than a hundred years ago.

The Mayville Heights Free Public Library is a Carnegie library, built in 1912 with money donated by philanthropist Andrew Carnegie. I’d originally come to town to supervise the restoration of the building for its centenary, as well as update the collections and set up Internet access for the library’s patrons. Very quickly the town and its people began to feel like home and when I’d been offered the chance to stay I’d said yes.

At the bottom of the hill I waited for two cars to pass and then crossed over to the same side of the street as the library. My friend Maggie, who was an artist, had created a collage map of the hiking trails in the area for the new Tourism Coalition that would be ready to hand out in the spring. Now Everett Henderson had her working on some ideas for a similar map of Mayville Heights. Everett had financed the repairs to the library as a gift to the town. The self-made businessman knew how to get things done and I felt confident that we’d have a town map by spring.

Ella King drove past me, waving when she caught sight of me. I waved back. I was guessing that she had just dropped her husband, Keith, at the library for the same meeting I was headed to.

Several weeks previous, a crew working on renovations to the main post office had torn down a wall and discovered a small cache of photos and undelivered mail. No one had any idea how it had all ended up there. Based on the postmarks, the mail had been behind the wall a bit more than twenty years. Some of the photos were of the same vintage, others were much older. The letters and cards had all been delivered, but no one was quite sure what to do with the photos, and before I knew what was happening the library board had offered to take them. Several days later a small cardboard box had been delivered to the library.

Mary Lowe and I had opened the box at the front desk and looked through the photos. Mary was my most senior employee. I’d hoped she might recognize some of the people in the pictures. In the end she’d taken seven photos to give to, if not their original owners, at least to family who’d probably be happy to have them.

As far as the post office was concerned the photos were now the property of the library. I hated the thought of them sitting in a box on a shelf in our workroom. What I wanted to do was reunite the pictures with the people in them or at least a family member. I thought of how much fun my sister and brother and I had gotten from looking at old photos a friend of our parents had unearthed from early in their acting careers. I knew there had to be people who would treasure these images if I could just find them. That’s what this meeting was about.

Maggie was coming because I knew whatever we ended up doing would benefit from her artistic eye. Rebecca Henderson and Keith King were on the library board. Rebecca was a long-time member, while Keith was the newest addition, and I felt both of them would have some good suggestions. I’d also asked Sandra Godfrey, who was a mail carrier now but who had worked in the main post office at one time, to join us.

It looked like I was right about Ella having dropped off Keith. He was standing on the walkway in front of the building, talking to Abigail Pierce, another of my staff members. She was wearing a chocolate-brown coat sweater she’d knit herself, which went well with her red hair streaked with gray. Abigail was also an author and I was hearing lots of great buzz about her new children’s book.

Keith caught sight of me and smiled. He was about average height, wiry and strong with dark hair and a pair of black-and-stainless-steel-framed glasses. The glasses were new in the last month. “Hey, Kathleen,” he said, nudging one corner of the frames.

“Good morning,” I said. I pulled my keys out of my pocket and started up the library steps. “Why don’t you come wait inside?”

“You sure?” he asked.

I nodded. “You can have a cup of coffee before the meeting starts.”

“I can’t say no to that.” He grinned.

I unlocked the doors, shut off the alarm system and we stepped inside.

Abigail had switched on the main floor lights. She started for the stairs. “I’ll put the coffee on,” she said over her shoulder.

“You mind if I take a look at the magazines?” Keith asked.

I shook my head. “Go ahead. I’ll let you know when the coffee’s ready.”

I went upstairs and dropped my things in my office. It only took five minutes to get set up for the meeting since I’d gotten the room ready before I’d left the previous day.

“Napkins,” Abigail said, poking her head around the doorway.

“Thanks,” I said, taking them from her. I looked around the room. There were enough chairs around the long table, I’d brought down a whiteboard and there was a carafe of coffee along with another of hot water for tea.

Maggie arrived about five minutes after we opened. I was at the circulation desk sorting the books from the book drop when she walked in. She smiled when she saw me and walked across the mosaic tile floor to join me.

“Good morning. Is this really November?” she asked, unzipping her jacket. “I think it was colder in September than it is today.”

“According to the forecast we could hit close to seventy this afternoon,” I said.

“Global warming or something else?” Maggie cocked her head to one side and eyed me. “I know you know.”

“A weak La Niña that developed in October,” I said, feeling a little like that kid back in elementary school who had liked to read the encyclopedia for fun—which was exactly the kind of kid I had actually been.

Maggie grinned, playing with the fringe of the multi-colored scarf she’d wrapped twice around her neck. “You’re better than Google!”

I grinned back at her. “And I work even when there’s no Wi-Fi!”

“Am I the first one here?” She looked around the main floor of the library.

“Keith’s here,” I said, gesturing in the direction of the meeting room.

Just then Harry Taylor walked into the building. He looked around and when he saw us raised a hand to get my attention and headed over.

“Morning,” he said, nodding at both of us.

Harry was in his late fifties. There were deep lines carved around his green eyes from years of working in the sun, and the fringe of salt-and-pepper hair peeking out from under his Twins baseball cap was pretty much the only hair he had left. He was a quiet, thoughtful man, and very well read, I knew.

“I was hoping I’d catch you before it got busy, Kathleen,” he said. “I’ve pretty much done all I can do on those shelves in the workshop. Next step is to get them put together here.”

Harry was building a shelving unit to fit on one wall of our upstairs workroom. I was hoping that would help us finally get the space organized.

“I can get everything moved out of the way this afternoon,” I said. “You can get started tomorrow if you want to.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “And I’ll be back this afternoon to fix the broken seat in the gazebo.”

“You’re putting shelves in the workroom?” Maggie asked.

I nodded. “On the end wall that’s common with my office. And not just shelves. Harry is making a cupboard we can lock with a drawer underneath. That whole wall will be storage.”

Maggie turned to Harry. “Could you do something like that for me at my studio? I need a better way to organize supplies.”

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, pulling a small notebook and a pencil out of the pocket of his green quilted vest.

Maggie looked at me. “Do I have time to talk to Harry?” she asked.

I nodded. “Go ahead.”

They started toward a nearby cluster of tables, Maggie’s hands moving through the air as she talked.

I set the pile of books by my elbow on a cart as Susan came from the computer area, where she’d just booted up all of our public-access computers for the day.

“I have about half of the books from the book drop sorted,” I told her. “It’s almost time for the meeting to get started, so I’m just going to run up to my office for a minute.”

“I’ll finish the this,” she said, sliding into the chair behind the counter and reaching for the handle at the side to raise the seat.

Susan was tiny, barely five feet tall in her sock feet. She wore retro cat’s-eye glasses that made her look like anything but a stereotypical bespectacled librarian, and her dark curly hair was always pulled up in a topknot secured with anything from a pencil to a chopstick. This morning her hair seemed to be held in place with two white golf tees.

“And if you need me—,” I began.

“Don’t worry,” Susan said, pulling one of the rolling carts closer. “Abigail and I can handle things. If anyone gets out of line I can give them the Mom Look, and Mary taught Abigail some kind of one-legged takedown maneuver that kickboxers use.”

Mary—who looked like the sweet grandmother she was—was also the state kickboxing champion for her age. I didn’t want to think about what maneuver she’d taught to Abigail.

“Then I’ll just leave things in your capable hands . . . and feet,” I said, heading for the stairs.

Up in my office I grabbed a pen and a notebook. Then I stood for a moment by the wide window behind my desk and looked out over the water. For me, one of the most beautiful parts of Mayville Heights was the waterfront, with all the big elm and black walnut trees that lined the shore, and the Riverwalk trail that made its way from the old warehouses at the point, past the downtown shops and businesses, all the way out beyond the marina. I could see the barges and boats go by on the water just the way they had more than a hundred years ago.

As I headed back down the stairs Sandra Godfrey came into the building. Rebecca was with her. The latter was carrying a large, round metal cookie tin and I knew there would be something good inside.

“Are we late?” Sandra asked. Her sandy blond hair was parted in the middle and pulled back into a low ponytail. She wore jeans and a red cable-knit sweater with a navy quilted vest over the top. Even in flat sneakers she was several inches taller than my five foot six. Rebecca seemed very tiny beside her.

I shook my head. “You’re right on time.”

Rebecca handed me the cookie tin. “Mary’s cinnamon rolls,” she said. Her blue eyes twinkled. “She said the leftovers are for the staff.”

“That’s assuming there will be any leftovers,” I said with a smile.

It turned out to be a productive meeting. Everyone liked the idea of returning the photos to the people in them, or at least to their families. Sandra asked about leaving the box of pictures at the circulation desk and encouraging people to look through them when they came in. I explained that many of the photos were dry and brittle and wouldn’t stand up to a lot of handling. Keith suggested putting them on a large table and covering them with a piece of glass. I thought that idea had potential and he volunteered to price the glass for me. Rebecca and Sandra offered to stay behind and sort through the pictures again. Rebecca had spent her whole life in Mayville Heights and Sandra had been a mail carrier for years. Between the two of them they knew a lot of people in town and I was hopeful they would find some faces they recognized.

I walked Maggie to the front entrance. “You were quiet,” I said.

She ran a hand over her blond curls. “I like Keith’s idea to display the pictures,” she said. “But I think we need a way to get more people in here to look at them.”

“Any suggestions?” I asked.

She frowned. “I don’t know yet. Do you think I could come back and take a look though the photos some other time?”

I nodded. “Of course. Just let me know what works for you.”

She hugged me, promised she’d call about the photos and left.

I went back to the meeting room to tidy up. Rebecca and Sandra had taken the box of photos and moved to a table in the main part of the library. I tucked the chairs in against the table and opened the window blinds about halfway to let a little sun in. Abigail tapped me on the shoulder and when I turned around she handed me a coffee mug.

“Oh, thank you,” I said. “You read my mind.” I took a long drink.

“Dishes are done,” she said, “and there are three cinnamon rolls left for our break.”

I wrapped both hands around my cup. “Thank you,” I said. The seniors’ quilting group was set up in our other meeting room and I could see Susan through the open door, checking someone out at the circulation desk. It was going to be a busy day.

The temperature was in the high sixties by lunchtime, so I decided to go for a walk. Marcus was out of town taking a course on crisis negotiation. He’d left a message on my voice mail and when I called him back I’d had to settle for doing the same.

I walked down along the Riverwalk as far as the hotel before turning back. I knew that a month from now the wind would be coming in off the water and pulling at the tree branches, so I was glad to take advantage of the out-of-season warmth while it was here.

I had just turned the corner toward the library when a man stopped me on the sidewalk. He looked to be in his late sixties or early seventies; a tourist, I was guessing, since his face didn’t look familiar. “Excuse me,” he said with a polite smile. “Could you tell me if I’m headed in the right direction for the library?”

“Yes, you are,” I said. “I’m headed there myself. I can show you.”

The man smiled. “Thank you,” he said. He offered his hand. “I’m Victor Janes.”

Victor Janes was maybe five foot nine, with salt-and-pepper hair. He was on the thin side, I noticed, and there were dark circles under his eyes, but his handshake was strong.

“I’m Kathleen Paulson,” I said. “Are you related to Simon Janes?”

“Simon is my nephew,” he said. “His father and I are brothers.” We started walking. “Is Simon a friend of yours?”

Were Simon and I friends? I wasn’t sure how to answer that. We’d met at a fundraiser for the library’s Reading Buddies program. At the time his daughter, Mia, had been our student intern. Simon and I had gotten to know each other better over the past few weeks, working together to try to figure out if a proposed development out at Long Lake had had anything to do with the death of an environmentalist. Did that make us friends?

I settled for saying, “Mia works for me.” I gestured at the library building. “I’m actually the librarian here.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the library,” Victor said. “And I wasn’t what you’d call the studious type back in the day.” He smiled and looked up at the roof and the copper-topped cupola. “That can’t be the original weather vane?”

“It is,” I said. “It had a bit of a cant to one side, but we managed to get it straightened out. Rumor has it that happened one year at Homecoming, when a surprisingly lifelike effigy of the high school principal ended up on the roof.”

“It was tied to the weather vane and it was a lot heavier than it looked.” He shifted his gaze to my face. I was having a hard time keeping a grin in check. Victor Janes cleared his throat. “Or so I heard.”

“I’m sure it was,” I said.

I led him down the sidewalk to the main entrance. Inside he stopped and looked around, taking in everything from the wide plaster medallion on the ceiling over the circulation desk to the sun coming through the stained-glass window. “I heard the building had been restored, but I didn’t expect anything like this,” he said. “Very nice.”

“Thank you,” I said. I looked in the direction of the stacks. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

“Could you tell me where I could find whatever you have on vegan cooking?”

“The subject in general or cookbooks?”

“The subject in general,” he said. “I’ve been following a vegan diet throughout some . . . health issues, but I left my books at home.”

I wondered if those health issues were why he seemed a little gaunt and pale. “They would be in the 613s.” I pointed across the room. “Go down to the end of those shelves and turn right.”

Victor smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

“If you need any help please let one of us know,” I said. He headed for the stacks and I turned and walked over to the front desk. Mary was there, staring unabashedly after Victor Janes.

She shook her head. “Lord love a duck, it can’t be,” she said, more to herself than to me, it seemed.

“Can’t be what?” I asked.

“That can’t be who I think it is.” She was still staring after Victor, who had disappeared “I didn’t really think he’d come.”

“It’s Simon’s uncle.”

She turned her attention to me then. “I know that. You might want to go get a fire extinguisher.”

I frowned at her. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“If Victor Janes is back in town there’s a good chance we’re going to be struck by lightning.” Mary made a face, two lines forming between her eyebrows. “Don’t tell me no one told you?”

I stifled a sigh of frustration. “I think it it’s pretty clear no one did since I’m completely lost.”

She patted her heavily hair-sprayed gray curls. “I don’t want to be a gossiping old busybody but since darling little Mia works here you should probably understand the nuances.” Her expression was serious.

“All right,” I said.

“Like you said, Victor is Simon’s uncle, his father—Leo’s—twin. Victor had an affair with Simon’s mother, Meredith. He convinced her to run off with him and shortly after she was killed in a car accident.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Simon was about fourteen or fifteen. Leo was devastated and disowned his brother. No one in that family has spoken to Victor in more than twenty years.”

“Why would he come back now, after all this time?” I said.

“He’s sick,” Mary said flatly.

I stared at her. I’d never heard so little compassion in her voice.

“Apparently he has cancer. I don’t know what kind. Leo’s here for the first time in years and I’d heard that he invited Victor to come for a visit, and maybe even for some kind of reconciliation.” Her mouth twisted. “I guess blood is thicker than water.”

Something of what I was thinking must have shown in my face.

“I must sound cold to you,” Mary said. She was several inches shorter than I am and she cocked her head to one side and looked up at me. “Meredith was my friend, Kathleen. I haven’t told Mia that because as far as I know Simon never talks about his mother and I didn’t want to go stirring things up. I know Meredith wasn’t blameless in what happened. But there was a rumor that she was on her way back to Leo and Simon when she was killed.” She stared past me, at some memory maybe. “I didn’t realize how much I still blame him. I guess I’m more judgmental than I thought.” Her gaze came back to mine.

I reached over and touched her arm. “I don’t think you’re judgmental,” I said. “I think you’re a good friend.

The phone rang then and Mary reached for it. I headed up to my office.

I had just finished updating the public-access computers later that afternoon when Mia Janes came in—half an hour early—for her shift. I didn’t need Mary or anyone else to tell me the man with her was her grandfather, Simon’s father and Victor Janes’s twin brother. I could see the resemblance.

As usual Mia was sedately dressed in a white shirt, gray jacket and dark pants with no holes or worn spots. Her hair was streaked a deep plum color, which looked good with her fair skin.

Leo Janes was smiling at Mary across the circulation desk as I joined them. “Mary, it’s good to see you,” he said.

“It’s good to see you, too, Leo,” she said.

Leo turned to his granddaughter. “Mary was friends with your grandmother.”

“I didn’t know that,” Mia said.

“I probably have some pictures of us from high school,” Mary said. “Would you like me to see if I can find them?”

Mia beamed at her. “Yes,” she said. “I mean, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s not any trouble,” Mary said. “You have to promise not to laugh at my clothes.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Mia said, looking a little puzzled.

“I have two words for you. Go-go boots.”

Mia pressed her lips together in a valiant attempt not to laugh. I did laugh and then tried to disguise it into a cough. It didn’t work.

Mary turned, pointing an accusing fi