Paws and Effect Page 5

  I shook my head. “No, I’m not.” I should have walked down the hill, I thought. When Owen finally materialized on the seat of the truck I should have grabbed him and made like a running back.

  “Some people don’t like to be touched by someone they don’t know,” Rebecca said.

  I could have pointed out that Owen was a cat, not a person, but it would have made me a bit of a hypocrite given that I was the one who most often treated him like he was anything but.

  Meanwhile, the little tabby had moved closer to the pile of journals. He poked them with a paw. He was going to damage something if I didn’t get him out of the room. I reached across the table to pick him up, but Owen was having none of it. He tried to leap over the stack of notebooks but misjudged his launch. One paw caught the books, knocking them over, the top one flopping open and skidding like a curling rock across the table to Maggie, who caught it before it fell off the edge.

  Owen looked around, not at all shamefaced, and this time I did manage to grab him, mentally crossing my fingers that he wouldn’t “disappear” on me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I let out an impatient breath and glared at Owen. “Cats do not belong in the library.”

  He gave me the typical cat stare, cool and unblinking.

  “There’s no harm done, dear,” Rebecca said.

  Beside her John grinned at me. “You weren’t kidding when you said you had a lot of interesting things at your library.”

  Maggie—who was usually quick to leap to Owen’s defense—was silent, her blond head bent over the open journal in front of her and a furrow forming above the bridge of her nose. “I think I found something,” she said slowly, looking up from the page.

  John’s laughing expression immediately grew serious. He pushed his chair back and moved around the table. “What is it?” he asked.

  Mags tapped the open page with her index finger.

  From my side of the table everything was upside down but I could see a drawing of some kind of flower and about half a page of writing in Rebecca’s mother’s neat script.

  “Leedy’s roseroot,” John said. “Rhodiola integrifolia.”

  “I’m almost positive I’ve seen it,” Maggie said.

  “Recently?” I asked. Owen’s golden eyes flicked away from her face for a moment to give me a look that was . . . smug?

  A completely preposterous idea began to spin in the back of my brain. I looked at the little gray tabby, who was back to watching Maggie with full kitty adoration. No. No. I was wrong.

  “Couple of weeks ago,” she said, leaning forward to study the drawing again.

  John put both hands flat on the table and, like Owen, gave her his full attention. “Are you absolutely sure?”

  She looked up again and nodded. “You know where the brook goes from Roma’s property to Ruby’s land?”

  I nodded.

  “Brady and I climbed up the embankment on the right side. I know I saw that plant.” She glanced at John. “It has thick leaves that come off a center stem.”

  John nodded, all his attention on the drawing.

  “That’s good, isn’t it,” Rebecca asked, phrasing her words as more of a statement of fact than a question.

  John scanned the page again. “Maybe,” he said slowly. I could see the beginnings of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Maggie, can you describe the plant you saw?”

  “Of course,” she said. “The leaves are waxy and the plants grew in clumps.” She gestured elegantly in the air, almost as though she had a paintbrush in her hand. “I’ve seen the plants before. The flowers are a deep red.”

  “And where did you see the plant? You said some kind of an embankment?”

  “Out at Wisteria Hill,” Maggie said. “There’s a field behind the house and the old carriage house. Beyond that there’s woods and a brook. That’s where I saw it.”

  John turned to look at Rebecca. “Wisteria Hill is where your mother worked?”

  “Yes, it is,” she said. “She knew those woods as well as she knew the inside of that house.” She gestured at Maggie. “Look on the back of that page. There should be a description of where she found that plant. Not all the landmarks are going to be the same, of course, but it should give you an idea if you saw the plant in the same place.”

  Maggie turned the page and began to read, nodding slowly as she did.

  “Does this help?” I asked John.

  “Maybe,” he said, pulling a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m pretty sure I saw Rhodiola integrifolia on the federal endangered species list. That could work in our favor.” He glanced at the journal again. “I know it grows in Minnesota.”

  “It doesn’t grow anywhere else?”

  “New York State. The plant has a very specific habitat. It only grows in crevices on north-facing cliffs where there’s groundwater coming through the rock. Maggie’s description of the leaves sounds exactly like Leedy’s roseroot.” He glanced at her again. “Because she’s an artist she’s going to be more aware of color shading and proportion than a lot of people would be. The big issue is was she on Wisteria Hill land or land that’s part of the proposed development?”

  Maggie pulled a hand back through her blond curls. “I don’t know for sure. Once you get back there, nothing’s marked. I could have been on Roma’s property. I could have been on the little bit of land Ruby owns.”

  John held up a finger. “Hang on a sec,” he said. He moved back around the table and rummaged through the messenger bag he’d hung over the back of his chair. He pulled out a folded map and spread it out on the table. “Okay, here’s Long Lake.” He pointed to the middle of the map. “This area bordered in yellow is the area proposed for the resort. Can somebody show me exactly where Wisteria Hill is?”

  I leaned over to get a better look, keeping a firm hand on Owen. He craned his neck for a look as well, reaching out to touch the creased paper with one paw before I could stop him.

  Rebecca pushed her glasses up her nose and stood up, moving closer to John for a better look. “Let me see,” she said. “It should be a little southwest of the lake proper.”

  “It’s right there where Owen is pointing,” I said.

  Rebecca squinted at the map. “Well so it is,” she said. She beamed at Owen. “You are such a big help today.” The same impossible idea I’d had before began to spin in my head again.

  “Pretty smart cat you’ve got there,” John said, grinning up at me.

  “He certainly thinks he is,” I muttered.

  Owen made an indignant murp as though he’d understood every word I’d said—which I felt confident he likely had.

  “I’m going to put the furry genius in my office,” I said. I looked at Owen. “Say good-bye to Rebecca and Maggie.”

  “Merow,” he said.

  John laughed at the cat’s perfect-as-always timing.

  “You are a very smart cat,” Rebecca told Owen. She looked at me. “He really should get some kind of treat for helping us,” she said. Owen tipped his head to one side and licked his whiskers. If he’d been a person I would have said he was gloating.

  “I’m sure you and Maggie will take care of that,” I said to her with a sweet smile.

  Mags and John were still bent over the map. I touched her arm. “I’ll be in my office,” I said.

  She nodded. “Thank you, Owen,” she said, giving him a smile. In my arms the little tabby began to purr.

  I carried him back through the library, crossing my fingers that we wouldn’t meet anyone—and luck was with me because we didn’t. I put Owen back in the canvas tote, gathered my things and headed up the stairs, careful to keep my hand on the top of the bag—something I should have done the first time.

  Once we were inside my office, with the door closed, I set the carryall on the floor. Owen jumped out, shook himself and hopped
onto my desk, where he looked expectantly at me.

  I folded my arms over my chest and tried to keep my expression stern. “Just because Rebecca thinks you should have a treat doesn’t mean I do.”

  He continued to eye me without making a sound.

  “You were supposed to stay in the bag.”

  He blinked but nothing else changed.

  “You were lucky,” I continued. “Instead of finding that drawing you could have damaged those journals.”

  Once again I was arguing with a cat and it was a completely one-sided argument. I really should have known better.

  I sat on the edge of the desk next to him and stroked his soft, gray fur. And gave voice to the incredibly ridiculous idea that had been buzzing in my brain. “Did you know that drawing was there?” Those journals had been part of a display at the library and they’d been at my house before that. No. It was too far-fetched to believe that Owen had remembered something he’d seen in one of them.

  I closed my eyes for a moment and shook my head. Yes, Owen seemed to understand most if not all of what was said to him. And there was his ability to become invisible, which was far-fetched by anyone’s definition of the word, but for him to be able to remember what had been in that book would mean he had some kind of incredible memory and had understood what had been going on.

  I opened my eyes to find Owen looking quizzically at me. I couldn’t really explain why the idea of a cat with an almost photographic memory seemed ridiculous but one who could disappear at will was a lot more believable. It just was.

  I got the cat settled in my office, brushed his hair off my sweater, grateful that it was dark gray so the bits I missed wouldn’t show, and decided to go back downstairs to see what was going on. My cell phone buzzed then, making Owen, who had jumped down onto my desk chair so he could poke his nose inside my bag, jump back and almost end up on the floor. He did a little undignified dance before righting himself.

  I retrieved my phone and the little bag of cat crackers I kept in one of the inside pockets of the tote. I was guessing that was what he’d been after.

  It was Marcus calling. “Hi, I got your message,” he said, an edge of weariness in his voice.

  “Are you all right?” I asked. I leaned against the desk and fished two crackers out of the bag, handing them over to Owen, who immediately set them on the seat of my chair so he could examine them because that was what he did with his food.

  “I’m sorry about this morning, about Travis, for not telling you about them.” I heard him blow out a breath. “I’m sorry about everything.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Really.”

  “Could we have supper tonight since you don’t have tai chi? I could fill in some of the blanks for you.”

  “I’d like that but I switched my shift, remember?”

  He groaned. “I forgot. You’re working late.” I heard voices in the background. “Hang on a second, Kathleen,” he said.

  I waited for maybe thirty seconds and he was back. “Did you bring any dinner with you?” he asked.

  I hadn’t, I realized. The soup and the muffins were my lunch. “No,” I admitted.

  “I could get something from Eric’s and stop by for a few minutes. That way I could at least see you.”

  I wanted to see him. I wanted to make sure he knew Travis’s words hadn’t changed how I felt about him. It didn’t matter what had happened between him and Dani all those years ago. “That would be wonderful,” I said.

  “Did you see John when you left?” Marcus asked. “I was wondering where he went.”

  “He’s here. He’s downstairs checking out the herbarium with Maggie and Rebecca.”

  He laughed. “You work fast. I should have guessed you’d help him. Thanks.”

  “I don’t want this development to happen any more than your friends do,” I said. “And John actually might have found something.”

  “That would be good.”

  After we ended the call I decided to go back downstairs and see what was happening. “You’re staying in here,” I told Owen, who had moved from the chair to the desk, where he sat carefully washing his face. “If you so much as stick a whisker outside the door there will be consequences.” He paused for a moment with a paw in midair, seeming to consider my words, and then he went back to his ablutions. It was hard to make consequences seem like more than an idle threat to someone who could become invisible on a whim.

  Maggie was just coming up the stairs. “Hi,” she said. “I’m heading over to the shop for a little while.” The artists’ co-op that Maggie was past president of had a small store and workspace a few blocks over.

  She looked at my office door. “How’s Owen?”

  “He’s fine,” I said. “Sitting in the middle of my desk as though it’s his office.”

  She smiled. “I can’t believe he knocked over the one journal with the one drawing that might be able to stop this whole development.”

  “Me neither,” I said.

  Maggie narrowed her green eyes at me. “So Marcus went to school with John and a couple of other people who are working with this environmental coalition?”

  I nodded, hoping she couldn’t read anything in my face. Maggie knew me well. “Dani—Danielle—and Travis.”

  “John is looking to see if there’s a sample of that plant in the herbarium. Abigail found the index. Either way, I’m going to talk to Roma and tomorrow I’ll take him out to Wisteria Hill.” She smiled at me. “Everything is going to work out. I have a good feeling.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said as we started down the stairs. I didn’t share that feeling.

  It was a busy day at the library. John and Abigail found a sample of Rhodiola integrifolia preserved in the herbarium, more evidence, hopefully, that he and Maggie were on the right track.

  John left the library mid-afternoon. I was putting away magazines in the children’s section after updating the software on our public access computers when he came to tell me he was done for the day.

  “I’ll be back in the morning, if that’s all right,” he said. “I need to make some calls and do a little more research. Rebecca has a couple more books for me to look at.” He hesitated. “And I want to check on Travis.”

  “If there’s anything else we can do, please give Abigail or me a call,” I said. “I’ll be here until closing.”

  “I will for sure.” He shifted the strap of his messenger bag higher on his shoulder. “Thank you for everything, and I don’t mean just for letting me look at your herbarium. You introduced me to Maggie and Rebecca and it may be a little unorthodox, but thanks to your cat I might have a way to stop the resort in its tracks.”

  I gave him a wry smile. “Maybe we could keep the cat thing just between us.”

  He laughed. “No problem, Kathleen. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  I had a quick meeting over at Henderson Holdings late in the afternoon. The library had been awarded a grant to be used on books and programs for our children’s department. I wanted to go over my plans for the money with Everett’s assistant, Lita, before I made my presentation to the library board at their November meeting.

  When I got to the office Lita was standing in her open doorway, talking to a man I didn’t recognize. I hung back, waiting for her to finish the conversation. She smiled when she caught sight of me and waved me over. “I’ll give Everett the new figures,” I heard her say as I joined them.

  “I appreciate that,” the man said, giving her a wide smile.

  “Kathleen, this is Ernie Kingsley,” Lita said.

  Ernie Kingsley, the main investor and driving force behind the development proposal for Long Lake.

  She gestured at me. “Ernie, meet Kathleen Paulson. She runs our library.”

  Kingsley was a heavyset man of average height with a ruddy complexion and ke
en brown eyes behind his horn-rimmed glasses. He had a strong handshake and a TAG Heuer stainless steel watch on his wrist. “Nice to meet you, Kathleen,” he said.

  “You as well, Mr. Kingsley,” I replied.

  “Tell Everett to call me,” he said to Lita. He glanced at his watch. “I need to get going. I have another meeting to get to.”

  “I’ll pass on the message,” she said.

  Kingsley nodded and left.

  “C’mon in,” Lita said. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I would.” She moved toward the credenza where she kept a coffeemaker and several pottery mugs.

  “So that’s the man who’s either the worst or the best thing that’s ever happened to this area,” I said, dropping my briefcase on one of the chairs in front of Lita’s desk.

  “Yes, that’s Ernie,” she said, reaching for the coffeepot.

  “What’s he like?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer right away. Instead she poured two cups of coffee and handed one to me. I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

  “I’m trying to think of an answer that won’t incriminate me,” she said, wrinkling her nose at me.

  I smiled at her. “Never mind,” I said. “I think you’ve answered my question.”

  * * *

  Abigail was at the circulation desk when I got back to the library. She held up a middle-grade chapter book. “What is this?” she asked, pointing to something sticky on the front cover.

  “Marshmallow Fluff,” I said. “Tommy Justason brought it back, didn’t he?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “Let me look.” She turned to the computer. After a minute she smiled. “How did you know that?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “It’s my librarian superpower.”

  “Oh, I want one of those,” Abigail said.

  “You already have one,” I said. “Writing great books is your superpower.”

  She smiled as her cheeks got pink. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Set it aside. I’ll talk to his mother. This is not the first time Tommy returned a sticky book. Our deal was that if it happened again he had to give me a Saturday morning of work here.”