A Midwinter's Tail Read online

  Owen meowed again, sounding even more pitiful than the first time.

  I started for the kitchen and as I passed him, Marcus reached out and trailed his hand down my arm. For a moment I seriously entertained the idea of staying home and kissing him for the next four hours.

  But there were people counting on me. I really wanted to expand Reading Buddies, and I couldn’t do that without money to buy books for the little ones in the program. So I took a deep breath, exhaled and went into the kitchen.

  Marcus stood in the doorway and watched me while I gave each cat three more crackers and got fresh water for both of them. I gave Owen a scratch under his chin and stroked the top of Herc’s head. “I’ll be late,” I whispered to them before I straightened up.

  “You talk to Owen and Hercules like they’re people,” Marcus commented.

  “So do you,” I said, smiling, as I crossed to the sink to wash my hands.

  He gave me a sheepish look. “I know. They look at me like they understand what I’m saying, and the first thing I know, I’m having a one-sided conversation with them.”

  It didn’t seem like a good time to tell Marcus that in my experience the boys understood way more of what was said to them than you’d expect, and no conversation with them was ever one-sided. The cats had an opinion on everything and they were pretty good at making their thoughts very clear. I tried not to say that out loud. I knew it made me sound like the crazy cat lady.

  Owen was in front of Marcus. He made a snippy little “murp.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Marcus said, moving so the cat could get past him.

  “Are you sure the conversations are one-sided?” I said with a laugh.

  I put on my coat and slipped the tiny jet-beaded evening bag Taylor King had loaned me over my shoulder. The teenager had shyly offered the purse after our last tai chi class.

  “You know, if you’re going to protect yourself from some wild animal making noise in your kitchen, I think you need something bigger than that,” he said as we passed the broom, still leaning against the wall by the back door.

  He knew! I should have guessed he’d figure out why I’d leapt into the kitchen swinging the broom like I was Johnny Depp doing Captain Jack Sparrow.

  “Have you ever thought about getting a cat?” I asked, partly to hide my embarrassment as we walked out to Marcus’s SUV parked out on the street. It was clear and cold, the sky an inky canopy overhead.

  He nodded as he unlocked my door for me. “I almost took Desmond.”

  Desmond was Roma’s cat. Actually he was the clinic cat. He was sleek and black and he had the soul of a jungle cat.

  It was because of Desmond that Roma had found out about the feral cat colony at Wisteria Hill, the old Henderson estate that was now Roma’s home.

  “Why didn’t you?” I asked as I fastened my seat belt.

  “I work a lot of long hours. I didn’t want to leave him alone for all that time.”

  “I can’t picture Desmond anywhere but ruling Roma’s clinic,” I said.

  “I saw him back Harry Taylor’s dog, Boris, right under a chair,” Marcus said as he pulled out onto Mountain Road.

  “That’s because Boris is an old softie. He looks intimidating but he’s not.”

  Marcus shot me a sideways look. “So you’re a dog person, too.”

  “I like Boris,” I said, smoothing the woolen fabric of my coat down over my knees. “But don’t tell that to Owen next time you two talk.”

  “I’ll try not to let that slip,” Marcus said, a smile pulling at his mouth.

  We drove down the hill in silence while I ran over a mental list of last-minute things I needed to do when we reached the theater.

  “You’ve thought of everything,” Marcus said quietly.

  I looked over at him. He kept his eyes fixed on the road, but he reached over for a moment with his right hand and squeezed both of mine.

  “This isn’t the first fundraiser I’ve organized,” I said as he turned on his blinker to pull into the main parking lot at the theater. “But it’s the first time I’ve been so nervous.”

  “So what’s different this time?” he asked.

  “The kids, I guess.” I shifted in my seat. “I know every one of them—the little ones who are learning to read and the older ones who’re the buddies. I’ve seen the moment when the letters on the page become a word and the word means something.” I stopped to clear my throat. “I have twenty-seven kids on the waiting list. I want this to work.”

  Marcus shut off the SUV and looked at me. “It will,” he said. He inclined his head toward the theater door and gave me a smile. “Let’s go.”

  The gala was a sellout. By my calculations, even after expenses, we’d already made a little money. What I was hoping for was that the evening would inspire people to make donations to the program. Reality was, I couldn’t go to Everett to fund everything.

  Susan and Eric arrived about five minutes after Marcus and I did. Marcus went out to help carry in the desserts from Eric’s van while Susan wiped the snow off her unbelievably high heels.

  “Wow!” I said as she took off her coat. She was wearing a formfitting sea green dress with strappy heels that had to be at least four inches high. Her hair was down, curling around her face. Eric couldn’t help smiling at his wife as he passed her while carrying a large covered tray.

  “Wow back at you,” she said.

  She looked over her shoulder toward the door. “And your detective. Yum!” Her eyes sparkled.

  “Susan!” I exclaimed.

  She tipped her head to one side and gave me a skeptical look. “Please,” she said, making a dismissive gesture with one hand. “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice that he cleans up really well.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me as Marcus came in carrying a large box of something that smelled like cinnamon.

  I leaned over so my mouth was next to her ear. “Yes, he does, doesn’t he?” I whispered.

  She laughed and clapped her hands together.

  We stowed Susan’s coat in the coatroom and walked through the main auditorium doors together. She took a couple of steps and stopped. “Oh my word!” she said softly.

  The stage really did look like a Parisian sidewalk café. I had no idea where Maggie and Ruby had found the wrought-iron chairs and small round tables. The potted trees, branches entwined with twinkling lights, had been rented from a nursery in Minneapolis. I hadn’t even known it was possible to rent trees, let alone do it in December.

  The tiny fairy lights continued up the edge of the outside seats on both the right and the left aisles. Curved ramps on both sides led from the floor to the stage. Again, I had no idea how Maggie and Ruby had done it, but they looked like two tiny stone bridges.

  “Good Caesar’s ghost,” Susan whispered softly as she stepped onto the stage and got a good look at the backdrop Ruby had painted. The huge canvas curtain covered the back of the stage from side to side and floor to ceiling. Ruby had re-created a Parisian street scene and Maggie had spent hours with the Stratton’s lighting tech, working out the lighting so the huge mural looked its most realistic. I knew what a perfectionist she could be, so I wasn’t surprised it had taken that long.

  “What can I do?” Susan asked.

  “Mingle. Answer questions if anyone has any,” I said. “Otherwise, just enjoy yourself.”

  “That I can do,” she said with a smile. “I’d better go see if Eric needs anything.”

  The next hour went by in a blur. Mary arrived looking very elegant in a rose-colored dress and heels that showed off the great legs she’d gotten from being the state kickboxing champion in her age group.

  “Bridget is sending someone to interview you,” she said. Mary’s daughter was the publisher of the Mayville Heights Chronicle.

  “Thank you,” I said, leaning down to give her a squeeze.

  “Kathleen.”

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Mia, our student volunteer. The seventeen-year-old looked ethereal in a c
ream-colored flapper-style vintage dress with a fringed hem, her grape Kool-Aid hair pulled back behind her ear on one side.

  “Mia, you look beautiful,” I said.

  “Thank you,” she said. She ducked her head for a moment as her face flushed a little. Then she looked at me again. “I, uh, wanted you to meet my dad.”

  I held out my hand to the man standing beside her. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Janes,” I said. “I’m Kathleen Paulson.”

  “Call me Simon, please,” he said.

  Simon Janes had a firm handshake and a direct gaze. He was close to six feet tall, rangy with hair buzzed close to his head and he didn’t look anywhere near old enough to be the father of a seventeen-year-old.

  “Mia’s doing an excellent job,” I said, shifting my gaze to give the teenager a smile.

  “Seriously?” he said. “Or are you just making polite conversation?”

  Mia’s face flooded with color.

  I had the urge to kick the guy in the shins. Not a good way to start the fundraiser, I reminded myself.

  “Seriously,” I said, letting just a tiny edge of coolness come out in my voice. “She shows up on time, works hard and everyone from the four-year-olds to the senior citizens likes her.”

  I shot Mia a quick, encouraging—I hoped—smile. “She shows initiative. It’s hard to find in adults. It’s even rarer in young people without any work experience.”

  Simon Janes looked at his daughter. If he was chastised at all by my words, it didn’t show. “That’s good to know,” was all he said.

  “Kathleen, what can I do?” Mia asked.

  I gave her a full-on smile. “Talk to people. Have fun. And make sure you try some of Eric’s chocolate pudding cake.”

  She smiled back at me. “Okay, I will,” she said.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Brady Chapman standing in the wings of the stage. Maybe Maggie was with him. I turned to Mia’s father again. “Thank you for coming,” I said. “Please excuse me. I see someone I need to speak to.”

  He gave a slight nod, and the accompanying smile seemed more amused than polite.

  I started toward Brady. Burtis’s son was talking to someone and as I got closer I realized it wasn’t Maggie; it was his mother. And based on his body language, Brady was upset with her. As I’d backed away, I couldn’t help noticing Dayna seemed impatient, forehead furrowed and one hand restlessly playing with the catch on her purse. She reached out suddenly and touched her son’s arm. He brushed her hand away.

  I crossed the stage toward Rebecca and Everett, who had just arrived, and thought how different Simon Janes was from his daughter. Maybe he didn’t just look young. Maybe he was young, which might explain why he’d come across as, well, a little rude.

  “Your hair is perfect!” Rebecca exclaimed as I joined them, taking my hands in her own and giving them a little squeeze. “And your dress looks even prettier on you than it did on the hanger.”

  She was wearing a black evening suit with a slim skirt and a fitted jacket that coordinated perfectly with Everett’s dark suit.

  “And you look beautiful,” I said. I let go of her hands to shake hands with Everett.

  Everett Henderson always made me think of actor Sean Connery. They had the same charm with just a tiny edge of ruthlessness.

  “You’ve done an outstanding job,” he said, nodding as he looked around.

  Eric was set up on one long wooden trestle table. I could smell the chocolate pudding cake keeping warm in a gleaming warming tray. Georgia Tepper from Sweet Thing was at another table with a selection of tiny perfect cupcakes, and Peggy Sue from Fern’s Diner was at a vintage sideboard with coffee, tea and espresso.

  “Thank you,” I said to Everett, “but the credit should go to Maggie and Ruby.”

  “I’ll make sure the right people get the credit,” Everett said.

  I smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  Abigail joined us then. She was wearing a simple black dress with a red–and-gold scarf draped at the neckline. But the biggest surprise was that she’d cut her hair.

  “Abigail, your hair looks beautiful,” I exclaimed.

  She beamed at me. “Thank you.”

  Her auburn hair, shot with streaks of silver, had been partway down her back and usually she’d worn it in a long braid. Now it just brushed her shoulders with a fringe of long bangs swept to one side.

  I noticed that Rebecca was smiling, too. “You did this,” I said.

  She nodded. “Abigail said she wanted a little update. Do you really like it?”

  “Yes, I do,” I said. Rebecca had helped me grow out my own hair after an ill-advised haircut I’d gotten just before I arrived in Mayville Heights. Unlike Maggie, I didn’t have the bone structure for that short a cut.

  “Is there anything you can’t do?” I asked Rebecca.

  Everett smiled and lightly touched her arm. “No, there isn’t,” he said. Pride was evident in his voice

  “Kathleen, may I borrow you for a minute?” Abigail asked.

  “I’ll talk to you a little later,” I told Everett and Rebecca.

  Abigail had set up a small table next to the coffee station with more information about the Reading Buddies program. She also had a receipt book and several pens.

  “Susan and I are going to take turns being here,” Abigail explained. “No hard sell, I promise.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “Thank you for doing this.”

  “The program is a great idea,” she said, running a hand over the stack of children’s books she had piled on the table. “I love watching the kids coming in after they’ve learned to read and picking out books to borrow.”

  I remembered the check from Hannah. I took it out of my purse. “Would you write a receipt for this and give it to Marcus, please?” I asked.

  She smiled. “Of course. Now go mingle and be charming.”

  I walked around welcoming people. It was fun to see everyone dressed up.

  All three of the Taylors had shown up. Young Harry and his brother, Larry, looked like a couple of bankers in their unaccustomed suits. Their father, Harrison Taylor Senior, was striking in a black suit, set off by his white hair and beard.

  “Kathleen, my dear, you look beautiful,” he said. His blue eyes twinkled and I thought, as I always did, how much he reminded me of Santa Claus.

  “And the three of you look very handsome.”

  “It’s good to put this monkey suit on and not be laid out at Gunnerson’s,” Harrison said.

  “Good for us, too, Dad,” Harry Junior said dryly.

  “Since we’re on the subject, don’t bury me in this suit,” Harrison said. “There’s a lot of wear left in it.”

  Harry ran a hand over his chin. “I’ve got a tarp in the shed. How about that?”

  “Fine with me,” the old man retorted.

  “This is a party,” I interrupted. “Could we please talk about something other than people being laid out?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, somewhat contritely. I could still see the glint of mischief in his blue eyes.

  I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you’re here,” I whispered.

  “My pleasure,” he whispered back.

  He turned to his younger son. “I see Peggy over there and I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.” He glanced at Harry Junior. “The good stuff,” he added.

  Harry shook his head as he watched his father and brother make their way across the stage. “There’s no point in taking him to the doctor,” he said. “He flirts with her while he’s there, and then he comes home and does the exact opposite of what she told him.”

  “I know he’s stubborn,” I said. “But that stubbornness has gotten him this far.”

  “That it has,” Harry said, nodding. “Sometimes I think it’s the reason he’s still with us.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Kathleen, this is for your reading program.”

  “Thank you,” I said.
“If you take that over to Abigail”—I pointed over to the table where she was standing, talking to Vincent Starr—“she’ll give you a receipt.”

  He looked across the room. His father already had a cup of coffee and some kind of cream-filled tart balanced on his saucer. He was talking to Mary and even from this distance I knew he was flirting with her.

  “Good thing the old man’s as tough as a barbecued shoe,” he said. He rolled his eyes and started for Abigail.

  I turned around to take in the entire space for a moment and found Maggie standing behind me. The sparkle in her green eyes matched the sparkling clip in her short blond hair.

  She grinned at me. “I knew that dress was perfect for you,” she said. “What did Marcus say when he saw you in it?”

  I felt my cheeks get warm. “Um . . . wow.”

  She laughed. “He’s right. And he’s looking very wow himself.”

  “He is, isn’t he?” I agreed. I looked around and finally caught sight of Marcus standing by the front row of seats on the theater’s main floor, talking to Ella King and paramedic Ric Holm. As if he could feel my eyes on him, he turned and smiled at me.

  I raised one hand for a moment and then turned back to Maggie. “You were right about him, about us.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “You know, you look very ‘wow’ yourself.”

  She was wearing a slim, pale yellow calf-length dress that went beautifully with her fair skin and cropped blond hair.

  “It’s fun to see everyone dressed up,” she said. “Have you seen Lita and Burtis?”

  I shook my head.

  “I almost didn’t recognize Burtis when I saw him in the parking lot. He was wearing this wonderful dark gray fedora. Very forties film noir.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing that.”

  “Kathleen, is that one of your book experts talking to Mary?” Maggie asked, looking past me. “She looks familiar.”

  I turned sideways to see who she was talking about.

  “No,” I said, slowly. “That’s Dayna Chapman.”

  Her eyes widened. “Brady’s mother? Burtis’s ex-wife?”

  “Yes.”

  She frowned at me. “What’s she doing here? Here at the party and here in Mayville Heights?”