A Case of Cat and Mouse Page 3

  “Merow,” he said sharply.

  “Is there any point at all in having our usual conversation about how spoiled you both are?” I asked, one hand propped on my hip.

  Once again they exchanged a look.

  “Mrr,” Hercules said and he almost seemed to give an indifferent shrug.

  I took that as a no.

  I gave them each three of the crackers. The tiny birds did smell like roast chicken and gravy. I had no doubt they were going to be a hit.

  I went upstairs to get ready to head to the library. I needed to leave a bit early because I wanted to stop and see Eugenie. I was on tiptoe trying to reach my favorite sweater at the back of one of the shelves in the closet when I heard a meow behind me.

  “No,” I said without turning around. Just as I managed to snag my sweater with two fingers Owen wrapped himself around my right ankle. I looked down at him. “No,” I repeated.

  He cocked his gray tabby head to one side and gave me his cutest face.

  I crouched down so my face was close to his. “I love you, too, but no more treats.” I stroked the fur on the top of his head. “You should know by now that all of this ‘I’m so adorable’ stuff isn’t going to work.”

  He sighed—at least that’s how it sounded to me—and looked at the sweater in my other hand. Then he wrinkled his nose.

  I stood up, shook out the sweater and held it against me, but Owen continued to make the face. I set the sweater back on the shelf and pulled out a blue, fitted, three-quarter-sleeved shirt that Maggie had convinced me to buy because she insisted it flattered my brown hair and eyes. Maggie Adams was one of my closest friends in Mayville Heights. She was a mixed-media collage artist and past president of the artists’ co-op. She had short blond curls, green eyes and aside from small furry rodents, nothing rattled her. She was also the most creative person I had ever met. If she suggested I try a certain color combination, I generally listened to her.

  Owen seemed to consider the shirt for a moment and then gave me a mrr of approval. I held it up, checked my reflection in the mirror and decided the cat was right.

  Owen had already disappeared, maybe literally, maybe figuratively.

  “Thank you,” I called. I received an answering murp from the hall.

  Once I was dressed for work, I grabbed lunch from the refrigerator—a container of chicken soup and a cheese and bacon biscuit. I pulled on my jacket, picked up my messenger bag and called, “Good-bye.”

  There was an answering good-bye from upstairs—Hercules. I waited another minute and Owen meowed from the living room. I knew what he was doing in there. He was stretched out in my big wing chair with his hind feet propped against the chair back and his head almost hanging over the edge of the seat. I decided to pretend I didn’t know that.

  I drove down Mountain Road and parked in the community center’s parking lot, turning down my driver’s-side visor to display my show parking pass. The building where the actual filming took place was set up beside the boardwalk running along the waterfront. It was a temporary structure that Burtis Chapman and his crew had assembled with a PVC roof, steel cladding and two steel roller doors. There was no other place in town large enough to work. The building looked very utilitarian on the outside. On the inside the space had been set up to resemble a cozy country kitchen with (faux) exposed wooden ceiling beams, retro-look appliances and white Shaker-style cabinets.

  The walking trail that the boardwalk was part of was one of the highlights of the downtown area for me. It curved its way from the old warehouses down by the point, went past the downtown shops and businesses, including the library, and continued all the way out beyond the marina, past Wild Rose Bluff. The path was shaded most of the way with tall elm and black walnut trees. I’d walked it a lot when I had first arrived in town.

  While filming of each episode took place on the kitchen set, a practice continued from the original Baking Showdown, the community center was where everything else was happening for the duration of the production.

  I was just about to step in the back door when someone breezed by me without speaking. Kassie Tremayne, one of the show’s judges. She wore a pale mint-colored dress with short sleeves and a triangle cutout at her midsection. Her ankle-strapped, stiletto-heeled pumps had to add close to four inches to her height, which still put her below my five foot six. Her blond hair was pulled into a sleek, low ponytail. She looked so elegant and pulled together. I took a quick glance down at my gray trousers to see if there was any cat hair stuck to them.

  Kassie was beautiful. Or she would have been if she hadn’t had a slightly dissatisfied expression on her face all the time. She scrawled her signature in the sign-in log and swept up the stairs without even acknowledging that I—or anyone else—was there.

  To my surprise Harry Taylor was at the security desk just inside the back door. “What are you doing here?” I asked as I signed in.

  “I’m filling in for Thorsten,” he said. “He had to go rescue the camera crew that went to film some background shots over by the marina and somehow managed to get their van stuck.” Harry smiled. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to bring some information to Eugenie,” I said, patting my messenger bag. “She is here, isn’t she?”

  He nodded and gestured to the cup and saucer on the desktop. “She brought me tea and a cookie about five minutes ago.”

  Harry had helped set up the cooking stations and he had built a set of cupboards when the ones that had been shipped in from Chicago had been deemed to be too small for the back wall of the set. He had also unearthed a cabinet for Eugenie’s office since she was very particular about keeping her research organized. She in turn had been sharing her tea with him. For her there was none of the pop-a-teabag-in-a-cup-of-microwaved-hot-water stuff that the crew drank. Eugenie had her own kettle and a china teapot complete with quilted cozy.

  Rebecca and I had watched the two of them talking on set one day. “I think she likes the cut of Harry’s trousers,” Rebecca had whispered. Based on the gleam I’d noticed in Eugenie’s eyes when she talked to Harry, I had a feeling Rebecca might be right.

  I went up the stairs and headed toward Eugenie’s office. Kassie was several steps ahead of me.

  Kate Westin, one of the contestants on the show, came around the corner, wrapped up, as usual, in one of her long sweaters, her hands jammed in her pockets. She pulled a hand out and held out something to Kassie. It looked like a gold cell phone case. “I found this on the set,” she said. “Norman said he thought it was yours.”

  Kassie took the phone from her. “Where did you find it?” she asked.

  “It was on the floor by the ovens,” Kate said.

  “It must have fallen out of my bag.” Kassie swept a finger across the screen and seemed satisfied with what she saw. Still looking at the phone, she moved around Kate and disappeared around the corner. It didn’t seem to occur to her to say thank you.

  Kate stood there for a moment and then she turned and went the same way.

  I didn’t think either one of them had noticed me.

  I found Eugenie in her office.

  In my opinion she’d been an excellent choice to host the show. Eugenie Bowles-Hamilton was not just an acclaimed cookbook author, she also owned a very successful bakery in Vancouver, Canada. As one of the two co-hosts of The Great Northern Baking Showdown, she was the straight woman to musician Russell Perry. The lead singer for The Flying Wallbangers was a lot funnier than I’d expected.

  Eugenie was tall, easily two or three inches above my five six. I’d guessed that she was in her fifties but I wasn’t really sure. She wore her silver hair in a short bob with bangs. She tended to dress in gray or navy and she always wore a pair of oversized earrings and a Cartier Tank watch with a black leather strap. She reminded me of actress Helen Mirren.

  “My face just disappears in the crowd without
my earrings,” she had told me when we first met and I had complimented her on the blue baroque crystal dangling earrings she’d been wearing.

  Eugenie had an impeccable British accent, even though she’d live on the Canadian west coast for the past twenty years. It added a level of credence to everything she said. I loved listening to her read out loud whatever notes I brought her.

  I found her sitting behind the wood and metal desk that Harry had managed to shoehorn into her office. Her co-host, Russell, was perched on the left front corner of the desk. If he had an office of his own, he was never in it. He was almost always in Eugenie’s. The singer was dressed in his ubiquitous black skinny jeans and one of his many pairs of Vans shoes—red-and-black plaid this time. He wore a black, short-sleeved T-shirt that showed off the muscles in his arms. His spiked blond hair and the mischievous smile on his face made him look more like a teenager than a grown man. “Hey, Kathleen,” he said.

  I smiled back. It was impossible not to. Russell just had that kind of personality. Being a co-host on the show was a chance for him to clean up his image a little. This past winter a video clip of him had shown up online and gone viral. Russell was dancing to Taylor Swift. It wasn’t the dancing or his choice of music that was the problem. Although it was a surprise to most people that the alt-rocker was a Swiftie, it was the fact that he was wearing nothing but a red beanie and a pair of Sorels as he danced, back to the camera, to “Shake It Off.” According to Ruby, Russell’s arms weren’t the only muscular part of his body.

  “Hi, Russell,” I said.

  Eugenie looked up and smiled. “Hello, Kathleen. Thank you for bringing next week’s notes on such short notice.”

  “It wasn’t a problem,” I said. “I had everything ready. All I needed to do was print out a copy for you.” I pulled a brown envelope out of my bag and handed it over the desk.

  Eugenie undid the flap. “Do you have time to wait while I skim the material to be certain there’s nothing else I need? Not that I believe I will. You’re always so thorough.”

  “I have time,” I said.

  Eugenie indicated the lone chair in front of her desk. Before I could sit down Russell frowned and leaned toward me. “You have something caught in your hair,” he said.

  It was likely a clump of cat hair or some part of a yellow catnip chicken. I lifted a hand but before I could run my fingers though my hair Russell reached over and pulled a cherry—complete with the stem still attached—from behind my ear. He immediately looked at Eugenie.

  “Better, but I could still see a bit of the stem when you palmed it,” she said without actually looking up from the notes she was reading.

  “I need longer fingers,” Russell said, shaking the cherry as though it were a tiny bell.

  “No, you just need a little more practice,” Eugenie countered.

  “I didn’t see anything, if that matters,” I said.

  “No offense, but the camera is more observant.” Russell slid off the edge of the desk. “I’ll go work on it in front of the mirror.” He smiled. “Later, Kathleen.” With a wave of the cherry he was gone.

  Now I understood why Eugenie had asked me to find out if the fruit grew in Minnesota.

  I sat down as she glanced up from the papers in front of her. “I had tea with your friend Maggie last evening at her flat. You have a pair of very photogenic cats.”

  I smiled. “Owen and Hercules do love the camera.”

  “Maggie told me the calendar is a promotional tool for the town.”

  I nodded. “It is. The first printing sold out and we had to do a second one, and people are already asking if there’s going to be a follow-up calendar.”

  “What a smashing idea,” Eugenie said. “How did your cats end up being the models?”

  I explained how Ruby had worked with the boys before, painting both of their portraits to be auctioned to benefit the charity Cat People.

  “Both Owen and Hercules are feral. They came from a property just outside of town. They won’t let anyone aside from me touch them, but they do like Ruby.” I smiled. “Probably because she gives them treats.”

  “They’re clearly very intelligent and talented creatures.”

  You don’t know the half of it, I thought.

  “Would it be possible to obtain a copy of the calendar?” Eugenie asked. “I’d like to hang it on the set. I don’t think Elias would object.”

  Since Elias Braeden was a big supporter of promoting Mayville Heights, I didn’t think he would mind, either.

  “If the former version of the show is any indication, after each episode we’ll hear from viewers looking for more information abut something they’ve noticed on the set—everything from our vintage refrigerators to that intricate metalwork sun hanging above the cabinets on the rear wall. In the past they even had inquiries about the aprons the contestants wore.” She adjusted her glasses again. “The cameras are always panning around the kitchen so it’s quite possible your calendar will attract some attention. Owen and Hercules are very striking.”

  “Yes, I can get you a copy of the calendar,” I said. “And thank you for thinking of displaying it on the set.”

  Eugenie smiled. “You’re most welcome.”

  I decided to check with Lita over at Henderson Holdings. Everett and Rebecca had bankrolled the calendar project and Lita, who was Everett’s assistant, might still have a copy or two. If she didn’t, I would give Eugenie the one I had hanging in my office at the library. “The library closes at eight. I could leave the calendar at the security desk on my way home tonight,” I offered.

  “I’ll likely be here at that time,” she said. “We have a production meeting and Russell and I are going to work on another magic trick.”

  Over the two weeks I’d been working with her I had noticed how Eugenie always made an effort, in her understated way, to work references to Minnesota in general and Mayville Heights in particular into the show. She had already managed to get both the library gazebo and the Stratton Theatre in the opening credits.

  Before she went back to scanning her notes, Eugenie handed me a piece of paper. “I thought perhaps you would like to see this. It’s a mock-up for an advertisement that will be running in People magazine.”

  “So the show’s been picked up by someone?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Not as far as I know. Elias is just trying to generate some interest.”

  I studied the ad. It featured Eugenie and Russell on the Riverwalk. Russell was sitting in a tree with what looked to be a tiny paper bird on his shoulder. They were joined by Kassie and the other judge, Richard Kent. Richard was leaning against the tree with one hand on the trunk. There were no paper birds on his shoulder, just his black Longines diving watch on his right wrist.

  “I like this,” I said. The boardwalk and the shoreline were highlighted by the new leaves on the trees, and the cloudless, deep blue sky seemed to go on forever.

  “We all do look rather attractive,” Eugenie said. She bent her head over the notes again and went back to reading, one finger making its way rapidly down the page.

  I made a mental note to send my mom a quick e-mail—she wasn’t much for texting—to tell her to watch for the ad. Mom and Richard Kent had worked together recently. My mother played a recurring character on the daytime drama The Wild and Wonderful. She was immensely popular with fans and the soap would have happily signed her to a long-term contract. A standing offer was on the table. But Mom’s heart belonged to the stage. She wasn’t willing to make a commitment to television. Still, she was happy to stop in for a short stint on the show two or three times a year.

  “All those fans that are clamoring for me to join the show permanently would probably get tired of my face if they saw it all the time,” she had said to me after the last offer from The Wild and Wonderful producers.

  Given her popularity, I doubted that was
true. My mother had that undefinable quality that drew people to her. It was more than charm, more than the fact that she was beautiful and funny. There was just something about her that made people want to be around her. I was a little biased because she was my mother, but I had always thought it was her genuine interest in people that made her so compelling.

  Richard Kent had guested on The Wild and Wonderful just over a year ago, playing himself in a short scene set at an extravagant gala in which an evil twin came back from the dead with a new face. Mom and the celebrity chef had had the briefest of encounters in the scene. Richard and her character had bumped into each other on the fictional gala’s red carpet and exchanged quick apologies with each one going in the opposite direction. Then they had both turned back to take a second look.

  Their chemistry was electric: my mother’s character smiling over her shoulder and Richard looking at her like he had just seen the woman of his dreams. Their pairing had fans before the one-hour episode was over. The fact that Richard was about half Mom’s age bothered no one. As Maggie—who was a big fan of the show—had explained, “They almost shorted out my TV.”

  Not something you really want to hear about your mother and a man who isn’t your father but is a couple of years younger than you are.

  But Mom had that effect on people—men and women—and I could see why viewers of the show had liked Richard. He was the most popular member of The Great Northern Baking Showdown at least as far as online, preshow buzz went. Eugenie came a close second. Richard had gone to study at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris when he was just sixteen. He’d gone from pastry chef to head chef at a popular New York City restaurant in less than five years. He was tall and lean and he didn’t look like he indulged in any of his decadent desserts very often. He wore his short dark hair trimmed close on the sides, longer on the top. His most striking feature was his deep brown eyes.

  Maggie had told me that a group of fans had started a petition to get Mom and Richard together on the show once again. I had a feeling that he might be open to the idea. When I’d been introduced to him the very first thing he’d said to me was, “You’re Thea’s daughter, aren’t you?” If he thought that anything other than a fictional relationship would ever happen with Mom, he was going to be disappointed. My father was the only man for my mother. They were crazy about each other, and sometimes they were just plain crazy, which is why they had been married, divorced and then married again.