Copycat Killing: A Magical Cats Mystery Read online

  “Maggie and I didn’t talk about the boots,” I said over my shoulder to Hercules as I got to the living room doorway. He was zealously cleaning the bottom of his left paw and didn’t even look up. Even though I’d said Maggie’s name, neither did Owen.

  “I distracted her,” I added.

  Nothing, not even a tail twitch, or two.

  I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand. “Yep, tossed a dead rat right at her. Of course, it turns out it wasn’t exactly dead.”

  I would have sworn both cats did a double take. They bolted across the floor. Owen skidded to a stop just in front of me. Herc was a little more dignified. Throw the word rat into a sentence and suddenly they were interested.

  They trailed me upstairs and sat just inside the bathroom door while I got cleaned up and told them what had happened at the co-op store and later at Wisteria Hill. I knew it was a little weird, okay, probably more than a little weird that I talked to the cats like they understood what I was saying, but I’d found it helped me to sort things out. There were times when it really did seem like they were following the conversation. And I told myself that talking to Owen and Hercules wasn’t as bad as walking around talking to myself.

  Owen gave me the cold shoulder while I got dressed. Clearly in his kitty mind I had wronged Maggie. But he came around once I started spreading peanut butter on toast for a peanut butter and banana sandwich. I gave each cat a small bite, glad Roma wasn’t around to catch me. Then I pulled one of the other kitchen chairs closer so I could prop my left foot on it. I’d left the support bandage on in the shower, tying a plastic bag over it so it was only a bit wet on the top edge.

  I poured a second cup of coffee and I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the sensation of the earth dropping out from under me again. It was that same stomach-falling sensation as being on a roller coaster— without being belted in the seat—with the world flipping upside down at the same time and dirt flying everywhere.

  I shook my head and opened my eyes. A furry black-and-white face and a furry tabby face were both studying me. “I’m okay, really,” I told them, folding both hands around my coffee cup. “But I should call Roma.”

  At the sound of Roma’s name both cats made little growly sounds in their throats. Hercules and Owen didn’t exactly like her. They’d either been born out at Wisteria Hill, or abandoned out there as very young kittens. I’d found them when I was exploring the old estate, after I first moved to Mayville Heights. They’d followed me and I ended up adopting them. Sometimes I thought they’d adopted me. They didn’t have the best people skills. A visit to Roma’s vet clinic always involved a lot of yowling, hissing and a Kevlar glove.

  Luckily Roma was between patients. I explained what had happened out at the old estate. “When the bank let go, Marcus thinks it disturbed some kind of grave site.” I told her about the bones, picturing that dirt-encrusted skull again in my mind. I shook my head to chase away the image. “There’s going to be a lot of uproar out there for the next few days and I’m worried about the estate cats,” I said.

  “And are you all right?” she immediately asked.

  “I look worse than I feel,” I said. “But I’m more concerned about the cats with all the people wandering around out there. They’re not used to it.”

  Roma sighed. “I don’t want to move them unless I absolutely have to. The change would be incredibly stressful.”

  “Maybe you don’t need to,” I said. “Marcus seemed to think the bones were from an unmarked burial site from a smallpox epidemic back in the 1920s. He said there have been other sites found in this area.”

  “He’s right,” she said. “A couple of rock hounds stumbled over one near here maybe a year and a half ago.”

  I pictured her, mouth pulled to one side as she thought about what to do. “I have time,” she said. “I think I’ll take a drive out there, talk to Marcus and see things for myself.”

  “Any chance you could swing by and pick me up?” I asked. “I’d love to get my truck.”

  “Are you safe to drive?”

  “Marcus didn’t think so, but I am,” I said, shifting in the chair and wincing when more weight went on my bruised hip. “Bring your bag if you want to check me out first.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” she retorted. “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes or so.”

  I pulled on a clean sweatshirt and put my wallet in the pocket. My rubber boots were still damp, but it didn’t take long to dry them with the hair dryer—a trick I’d learned from Maggie. I was ready when Roma tapped on the back door.

  She frowned and pressed her lips together when she saw my face. “Ow! Are you sure you feel all right?”

  “Scout’s honor,” I said solemnly.

  “And when were you a scout?” she asked, tucking her dark hair behind one ear and leaning in to get a better look at my scraped forehead.

  “Okay, librarian’s honor then,” I said.

  Roma shook her head but there was a hint of amusement in her brown eyes.

  I stuck out my leg. “I twisted my ankle.” I touched the side of my face. “I scraped a little skin off my face.” I put one hand on my hip. “And I have some bruises that you’re just going to have to take my word on. That’s it.”

  “Your hand?” Roma asked, pointing.

  “That doesn’t count,” I said. “I didn’t do that out at Wisteria Hill.” Like Maggie, the paramedic had put on a bandage that was a lot larger than I really needed. “I did that while I was helping Maggie.”

  “Kathleen, has it occurred to you that maybe you should have just stayed in bed today?”

  “Hey, I’ve done worse,” I said.

  “I know,” she said, dryly. “I’ve seen your worse.” She crossed her arms over her chest and studied me. I had the feeling that any moment she was going to sprint back to her SUV and get her bag and I’d find myself being examined by some instrument that was usually used on the working end of a farm animal.

  She gave me a stern glare. Or it would have seemed stern if there hadn’t been the beginnings of a smile making her lips twitch. “Okay, let’s go. But if you feel dizzy, or nauseated—”

  “I’ll say something, promise,” I finished.

  “And make sure you roll the window down,” she said, letting the smile loose.

  I locked the house and followed Roma out to her car. As we drove back out to Wisteria Hill I told her more about the hill collapsing. She shot me a quick, sideways glance. “You’re really lucky you didn’t break something, or worse.”

  I remembered the feeling of falling, out of control, as dirt rained around me. I blew out a breath. “I know,” I said. “I was just trying to pick up that weird little purple piece of litter. You know what Harry Taylor would say? No good deed goes unpunished.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, quietly, without taking her eyes from the road. She reached over and patted my leg.

  There were more cars and police vehicles at the old estate. A lot had happened in the last hour and a half. The carriage house had been blocked off with plastic crime scene tape and Derek Craig was on “guard duty.” Roma and I skirted the tape and circled the building so she could get a look at the collapsed slope.

  “Good heavens,” she said, softly.

  My stomach did flip-flops, looking at how much of the hill had fallen away underneath my feet.

  The entire field behind the carriage house was cordoned off as well. Marcus was at the far end, watching a woman who was sitting on her heels, examining something. It was a pretty safe bet she was looking at the bones that had been unearthed. There were two other people staking off a grid. Roma followed the yellow tape around the edge of the muddy, rocky ground and I limped behind her, working our way over to Marcus.

  He turned as we got close, said something to the woman kneeling in the dirt, who nodded without looking up, and then came over to us.

  “Hi,” he said, peeling off a pair of mud-covered latex gloves. I couldn’t miss the quic
k once-over he gave me before he turned his attention to Roma. “I was going to call you,” he said to her.

  “Thank you for sequestering the carriage house,” she said, glancing back at the old building. “Are we going to have to move the cats?”

  Marcus frowned. “For now, they’re probably okay. Beyond that, we’re waiting for Dr. Abbott to tell us more about the bones.” He tipped his head in the direction of the woman hunkered down in the dirt. “She’s an anthropologist.”

  “Do you think this is another of those unmarked graveyards from the smallpox epidemic?” Roma asked.

  He shifted from one foot to the other, the wet ground pulling at his boots. “Probably.”

  She looked past him. “I don’t know Marcus,” she said, frowning. “That’s Henderson land all the way back through the trees. Maybe you should talk to Everett.”

  “I plan to,” he said. He turned his attention to me, lowering his voice. “I didn’t expect to see you back here. You okay?”

  I nodded, a little surprised. I’d expected him to give me a hard time about coming back out to Wisteria Hill. Behind him the anthropologist, Dr. Abbott, got to her feet and started toward us.

  “Detective Gordon,” she called. She was holding something in her gloved hand.

  As she came level with us I realized it was a heavy gold ring. From the size it looked as though it was a man’s ring and the insignia on the front looked familiar.

  “That’s an old Mayville Heights High School graduation ring,” Roma said, leaning past Marcus for a better look. “My father wore one,” she added by way of explanation. “Those were his glory days. According to my mother, he never took it off.”

  “I thought it was a high school ring,” Dr. Abbott said. She looked to be about forty, tall, with blond hair in a low ponytail.

  “With the ring facing you, the date’s on the left,” Roma continued. “See the sixty-three right there?” She pointed, and then paused for a moment. “Funny. That’s the same year my father graduated.”

  She looked up at Marcus. “It would have been a pretty small graduating class. It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out who owned that ring.” She shifted her attention back to the piece of jewelry. “In fact, some of the kids had their initials in raised lettering on the other side. I know my father did. T.A.K.”

  T, A, K? That didn’t make any sense. Roma’s dad’s name was Neil Carver.

  Dr. Abbott stiffened, still holding the ring between her gloved thumb and index finger. Beside me, Roma had gone rigid as well. It almost seemed as though she’d stopped breathing. “What are the initials on that ring?” she asked. The tightness in her body was in her voice too.

  The anthropologist hesitated. Her eyes went to Marcus and back to Roma.

  Marcus cleared his throat. “Thanks for the information about the ring,” he said to Roma. “Dr. Abbott and I need to get back to work.”

  Roma ignored him, or maybe his words didn’t register. “What are the initials on that ring?” she said again. “I can see a T. What are the other two letters?”

  Her hand was at her side and her fingers were moving, bending, flexing, then closing into a fist again. I touched her arm. “Roma, we should go check on Lucy and the other cats,” I said.

  But her entire focus was on Dr. Abbott. “T.A.K.,” she repeated, her voice low and insistent. “For Thomas Albert Karlsson.”

  It couldn’t be her father’s ring. Even if he’d changed his name—and it appeared that he had—how could his high school ring have ended up in the ground with the bones of someone who’d died in 1924?

  Usually I’m not that slow.

  “Those are the initials, aren’t they?” Roma asked.

  “Yes,” Dr. Abbott said, in a voice so quiet I almost missed the word.

  Roma swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them she looked out across the grass and dirt to where the skull and a few other bones were resting on a tarp. “That’s my father,” she whispered.

  4

  “What do you mean, that’s your father?” Marcus asked, eyes narrowed in confusion.

  I put my arm around Roma’s shoulder. “We don’t know who that is,” I said. “We have to let Dr. Abbott get back to work so she can figure that out.”

  Roma turned her head to look at me. She opened her mouth to say something then closed it again. Her gaze went back across the field.

  I gave her shoulder a squeeze so she’d look at me again. “Even if it is your father’s class ring, it doesn’t mean that’s…him.”

  “It’s his ring,” she said in a low voice.

  “Roma, are you sure?” Marcus asked, his voice surprisingly gentle. I knew he liked Roma, as a person, not just for all the work she did with the cat colony and pretty much every other stray animal in the area.

  “I have a picture somewhere of him wearing it,” she said. She couldn’t take her eyes off those bones spread on a blue tarp. “I’ll see if I can find it.”

  He nodded.

  “He walked out on us,” Roma continued, “when I was a little girl. At least that’s what I thought. My mother always said he was just too young for the responsibility of a family.”

  “It’s just a ring,” Marcus said. “We don’t know how it ended up out here. Let Dr. Abbott do her job. Let me do my job. I’ll call you later.”

  “C’mon, Roma, let’s go,” I said. I had no idea who those remains belonged to, but I knew it wasn’t good for her to be standing there, staring out at them. The pain I could see in her pale, still face made my chest hurt.

  I looked at Marcus, and mouthed the words thank you. He nodded.

  We made our way back along the edge of the field. I clenched my teeth, concentrating on not stumbling on the slippery, uneven ground. When we got level with the back of the carriage house Roma stopped and faced me. “Can we check on the cats and…and leave all of this until after? Please?”

  I nodded. “Of course we can.”

  Derek let us duck under the yellow crime scene tape and I followed Roma into the old building, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the light. My ankle hurt every time I took a step and I tried to concentrate on the cats, on Roma, on anything else to distract myself. “What are we looking for?” I said.

  Roma rubbed the top of her shoulder. “I don’t really know,” she said. “I’d feel better if I knew Lucy was here. The rest of the cats follow her lead.”

  Lucy wasn’t the largest cat, but she was the undisputed leader of the feral cat colony. She may have been a tiny calico, but she had the heart and the spirit of a jungle cat.

  There was no sign of Lucy anywhere. “Why don’t we take a look at the shelters,” Roma said.

  The cat shelters were made from oversized plastic storage bins, well insulated to keep the cats warm during the freezing Minnesota winter. They sat in the far corner of the building in a space that had probably once been used to keep feed for the horses. Harry Taylor—the son, not the father—had made a raised platform for the shelters to sit on, and straw bales around the three walls added extra insulation and warmth.

  I squinted in the dim light. There wasn’t so much as a twitching whisker to be seen. Beside me Roma let out a slow breath.

  “The cats could be asleep,” I whispered. “They could be out prowling around. They’re probably okay.”

  She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead, between her eyes. “You’re right,” she said. “I just don’t want them to get spooked and run.”

  I craned my neck, looking for some movement, some sign that some or any of the cats were around. Something caught my eye near the farthest stack of straw bales. I crossed my fingers it was a cat and not a field mouse.

  “Lucy, c’mere puss,” I called softly.

  Roma looked at me like I was crazy. “That’s not going to work,” she said.

  The cats were nobody’s pets. They were skittish around people—even the volunteers they saw regularly. They didn’t come when they were called. They were a lot more likely
to bolt, but Lucy and I had a rapport that was impossible to explain.

  I put a hand on Roma’s arm. “Hang on a second,” I said. I took a couple of steps closer to the shelter space and crouched down, biting my tongue so I didn’t groan out loud.

  “Lucy,” I called again. I kept my eyes on the corner where I thought I’d seen that flash of movement and held my breath.

  I saw the ears first. They poked up over the top of a straw bale, followed by the rest of a furry face. Lucy’s furry face.

  My shoulders sagged with relief. The small, calico cat tipped her head to one side and stared at me, almost as though she was wondering what the heck I wanted.

  “She’s fine,” I said to Roma.

  “As long as Lucy is here the other cats should stay around too,” she said.

  Lucy meowed and ducked back behind the straw. I had to put my good hand down on the rough wooden floor to push myself upright. My ankle objected and I almost fell over sideways.

  Roma was looking distractedly around the space, checking for leaks, I guessed, but I knew the bones out in the field behind the carriage house were foremost in her mind.

  I touched her shoulder. “Ready to go?”

  She nodded. I followed her, waiting while she made sure the door was tightly closed. We ducked under the yellow tape again and I thanked Derek. I waited for Roma to say something, about the ring, about her father. But instead she busied herself brushing dirt that only she could seem to see off her jeans.

  “Do you have time for coffee?” I said.

  She gave me a blank look and then shook her head. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asked.

  “Let’s go back to the house and have coffee. Do you have time?”

  Her eyes automatically went to the carriage house even though we couldn’t see Marcus or Dr. Abbott from where we were standing. I could tell that she wanted to walk back out to see what was going on.