A Case of Cat and Mouse Page 6

  Owen was sitting on one of the chrome chairs when I stepped into the kitchen. “We’ve talked about this,” I said. “Chairs are for people. You are a cat.” I pointed at the floor. Owen jumped down and came over to me. I reached down to stroke his fur. He sniffed my hand and then made a face.

  “Whipped cream,” I said. “It’s a long story.”

  “Mrrr,” he replied, cocking his head to one side as if to say, “Tell me.”

  “Let me get out of these sticky things.” I needed a piece of toast and a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows. I had a feeling it would be a long time before I wanted whipped cream.

  I hung up my bag and took off my jacket. It would have to be washed as well. There was a sticky stain on the left side and up the right sleeve.

  Owen trailed me up the stairs. I stuffed my clothes in the laundry basket and put on an old pair of paint-spattered jeans and an equally worn sweatshirt.

  “Merow,” he said.

  I nodded. “Absolutely.”

  We went back down to the kitchen. I had just put a mug of milk in the microwave to heat when there was a knock on the back door. “That’s Rebecca,” I said to Owen, running a hand back over my hair. I had forgotten she’d said she would bring some of the bread over for me to try.

  It was Rebecca. She had her big flashlight in one hand and in the other she was holding a large plate with one of her beeswax wraps over the top. I could smell honey and something that reminded me of toasted nuts. “I made two loaves so I brought you some of each,” she said. “Everett thinks my honey sunflower loaf is best but I’m not one hundred percent sure.” She took in my old clothes and my probably pale face. “Kathleen, are you all right?” she asked.

  I hesitated.

  “The fact that you didn’t say yes right away tells me the answer is no,” she said. “What happened?”

  I sighed softly. “You better come in.”

  She followed me back into the kitchen, setting the plate on the table.

  “I had to make a stop at the community center on the way home,” I said. I put a hand on her arm. “I had to drop something off to Eugenie. I . . . I, uh, found Kassie Tremayne in the kitchen. She . . . wasn’t breathing. I did CPR and the paramedics took her to the hospital.”

  Rebecca closed her eyes for a moment. “Oh my word,” she said softly. “Do you know how she is?”

  I shook my head. I wanted to tell Rebecca that Kassie was dead, but once again my promise to Marcus meant I couldn’t.

  The microwave beeped.

  “Sit,” Rebecca said, making a “move along” gesture with one hand.

  I sat. I suddenly realized just how tired I was. Owen jumped onto my lap. I wrapped one arm around him and stroked his fur with the other hand.

  Rebecca made my hot chocolate and dropped two of the Jam Lady’s marshmallows on top before she put the cup in front of me. Then she went to the cupboard where I kept the sardine crackers and offered one to Owen. He dipped his head in thanks and took it, setting it on my leg so he could sniff it suspiciously before he ate it. He had some odd quirks when it came to food.

  Meanwhile, Rebecca had taken the wrap off the plate of bread. There were four slices from each of the two loaves she’d made. They smelled delicious. “Spelt or honey-sunny?” she asked.

  “You don’t have to wait on me, Rebecca,” I said. “I’m all right.”

  She smiled. “I know that. Spelt or honey-sunny?”

  I looked at Owen. He looked over at the plate and then back at me. “Merow,” he said.

  “Honey-sunny,” I said to Rebecca. Owen licked his whiskers.

  “Toasted?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Please.”

  Once the bread had been toasted and buttered, Rebecca joined me at the table. I told her what had happened, sticking to the details that Marcus and I had agreed on.

  “Do you think she could have had a seizure of some sort?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.” I gave Owen a tiny bite of toast. He murped his thanks before carefully checking it out. “Do you know if Kassie had any kind of seizure disorder, like epilepsy, or if she was diabetic?”

  “She didn’t say anything about any health issues and I didn’t see her taking any medications.” Rebecca’s expression changed. “What will happen to the show? What about the people who are working on it?” She gave her head a little shake. “It’s horrible of me to even think that, isn’t it?”

  I shifted Owen on my lap as he stretched a paw toward my plate. “No, it isn’t. I don’t see how the show can possibly continue. Not if Kassie is . . . incapacitated. I don’t know what will happen to the production crew, but the rest of us are probably done.”

  “I’ll hold a good thought for everyone.” Rebecca got to her feet. I stood up as well, setting Owen on the floor. I gave Rebecca a hug. “For what it’s worth, I’m with Everett. The honey-sunny is excellent.”

  She smiled. “Well, who am I to argue with such experts? Not that it matters anymore.” I walked her out. “Get some rest. And if you hear anything will you let me know?” she asked.

  “I will,” I promised.

  She turned on her flashlight and headed across my backyard to her own house. I watched until she reached her back steps and waved the flashlight at me. Then I locked the door and went back inside.

  I made a second cup of hot chocolate and gathered Owen on my lap again. He looked hopefully at the plate of bread. “We’ll have some for breakfast,” I said. He made a sound a lot like a sigh of resignation.

  I looked at my phone. I didn’t want to bother Marcus but I couldn’t stop thinking about Kassie. Was Rebecca correct? Could Kassie have had some sort of seizure? Was that how she had ended up facedown in that bowl of whipped cream?

  I went over the list of things that I knew could cause seizures: epilepsy, diabetes, a head injury. I remembered the abrasion I’d seen on Kassie’s lower lip when I started CPR. It looked recent. Could she have had a seizure and banged her mouth when her face hit the bowl? It was possible.

  “Or someone could have pushed her head into that bowl,” I said slowly. Owen’s golden eyes met mine. “I’m jumping to conclusions, aren’t I?” I asked him. He continued to look unblinkingly at me.

  Maybe I was jumping to conclusions, but based on my past experiences, maybe I wasn’t.

  chapter 5

  Marcus called a little after midnight. “Did I wake you up?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, pulling the quilt up a little higher. “I was reading. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”

  “It’s official, isn’t it?” I said. “Kassie’s dead.”

  Marcus hesitated for a moment. “Yes, she is. They pronounced her dead at the hospital.”

  I set my book aside. “I thought she was, but I wanted to be wrong.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you know what the cause of death was?”

  “The ER doctor said it wasn’t a heart attack or a stroke, at least as far as he could tell from looking at the body, but we won’t know anything definitive until the autopsy and that’s scheduled for later this afternoon. He thought it was possible she had had a seizure.”

  So Rebecca’s guess could turn out to be right.

  “Do you know what will happen to the show now?” Marcus asked.

  “I’m assuming that this will be the end of it,” I said. “Practically speaking, now they’re short a judge, and with Kassie dead I don’t see how anyone will want to continue. She died in the kitchen in the community center. Aside from filming the actual show on the set, everything was happening at the center. I don’t think anyone is going to feel comfortable working in there again.”

  I knew I wasn’t looking to spend any time in that kitchen. I could still see Kassie slumped over the table with whipped cream sp
illing down the side of the large bowl. My mind started to head in a dark direction.

  “What is it, Kathleen?” Marcus said. I’d been silent a little too long. “Did you remember something?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “It’s something from the crime scene, though.” I pictured him distractedly running his hand through his hair.

  “Maybe I’m overthinking things,” I said. “But did you notice the table and the wall behind it?”

  “Notice what? There was a little whipped cream on the table but the wall was fine.”

  “That’s what I mean. If Kassie had a seizure, why didn’t whipped cream get all over the table and the wall?”

  “I remember from my first-aid training that not everyone’s body jerks or twitches when they’re having a seizure.” I had the feeling he’d shrugged as he’d said the words.

  I adjusted the pillow behind my head. “That makes sense. But where was the mixer? And why didn’t the person who made the whipped cream actually use it for something? Or take it with them? Or at least stick it in the refrigerator.”

  “So you think someone made a bowl of whipped cream just to, what? Suffocate Kassie Tremayne? That’s a big stretch.”

  “The medical examiner will probably say that Kassie had a seizure,” I said. “She was standing by the table and fell forward. With the whipped cream covering her mouth and nose she couldn’t breathe.”

  “But you don’t think that’s what happened,” Marcus said. “You think someone killed her.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m seeing monsters where there aren’t any.”

  He sighed. “I’m sorry. I can’t do that. Not yet.”

  That’s what I was afraid of.

  * * *

  The next day didn’t get off to a great start because I woke up late. There were no glowing red numbers on the clock next to my bed and no fuzzy face breathing sardine breath onto mine. The clock’s plug had been knocked out of the wall. I had no idea where my furry alarms were, either.

  I scrambled around and got dressed and ready for work. Downstairs, I discovered Owen sprawled on his back in the wing chair, his head hanging over the edge, his golden eyes slightly out of focus. Someone had been into the Fred the Funky Chicken stash. That explained a lot, including, most likely, how my clock had ended up unplugged. He looked at me upside down and meowed good morning.

  “Breakfast in one minute,” I said, heading for the kitchen.

  I started the coffeemaker, put out food and fresh water for both cats and made myself a messy-looking peanut butter and banana sandwich. I stuffed the sandwich in my bag and filled my travel mug with coffee.

  By then Owen had wandered in from the living room. I bent down to give him a scratch on the top of his head. “Have a good day,” I said.

  “Mrrr,” he answered with a loopy smile.

  I pulled on my shoes and grabbed my bag and car keys. “Hercules, I’m leaving,” I called. About fifteen seconds later I heard an answering meow. It sounded like he was upstairs. I hoped he wasn’t doing something he shouldn’t be, like spreading my shoes all over the bedroom.

  I made it to the library right on time. As I got out of the truck the strap on my messenger bag caught on the seatbelt catch. I yanked at it and when it suddenly let go, I was caught off guard and stumbled back a step. My arm automatically flew up and my hand lost its grip on my mug. The mug arced in the air, landed with a small bounce and rolled along the pavement. The lid hadn’t even come off. I sighed with relief. My coffee was safe.

  Then Harry Taylor drove into the lot.

  The front tire on the driver’s side of his truck flattened the metal cup and splattered coffee everywhere.

  Harry stopped the vehicle and got out. “Kathleen, I’m so sorry,” he said. He bent to look at what was left of the container. The knobby tires on his truck had reduced it to something close to the thickness of a Belgian waffle.

  “It’s okay,” I told him. “I’m the one who dropped the mug. It’s not a big deal.”

  It started to feel like a big deal, though, when I got inside the building and realized there was no coffee there, either. We had run out the day before.

  I stood in the staff room and took several deep calming breaths the way Maggie had taught us at tai chi. I decided I’d rather have coffee. I realized then that Susan hadn’t arrived yet. I sent her a quick text:

  Could you bring me a large coffee, please?

  Harry ran over mine. Long story.

  A few second later she sent back a thumbs-up emoji and a happy face. All was well.

  Except it wasn’t.

  Susan was coming up the front steps about five minutes later just as Harry was coming out the main doors carrying a stepladder so he could put a new bulb in one of the outdoor lights. As best as I could put together afterward, Susan moved left, Harry moved right and it went downhill from there.

  Inside the building all I heard was, “No, no, no! Not the coffee!” I hurried outside just in time to see the take-out cup tumbling end over end toward the parking lot, where it came to rest, upright, with the lid still securely on, between two very startled squirrels.

  Apparently squirrels like coffee. And are stronger than they look. They grabbed the cup and started hustling it across the pavement.

  Susan threw her head back and looked at the sky. “I shouldn’t have added the hazelnut creamer,” she said. Then she pulled a knitting needle from her bag and gave chase as the two furry rodents dragged the cup over the asphalt. “Bring that back, you mangy furballs!” she shouted.

  “Be careful! They bite!” Harry called to her. He dropped the ladder on the grass and grabbed a broom.

  Off to my left I heard someone yell, “Give ’em hell, Harry!”

  The Seniors’ Book Club had arrived. Based on the cheering, most of them seemed to be Team Squirrels. I could see why. They worked really well as a team.

  It was maybe thirty minutes later that Harry appeared in my door with a take-out cup from Eric’s, plus a bag of ground coffee and a replacement mug for the one he’d run over.

  He set everything in the middle of my desk. “You don’t have to talk to me until next week,” he said. Then he turned and left.

  I reached for the coffee, took a long, very satisfying drink and then leaned back in my chair. All was right with the world. I swung around in my chair so I could look out the window.

  What looked to be a large tractor tire sat in the middle of the gazebo.

  I swung back around so I was facing the door and had another drink.

  Harry changed the burned-out light bulb and dealt with the giant tire. He made a point of staying away from me.

  Eugenie called midmorning. “Elias has called a meeting for this afternoon at one thirty. It will take place on the set since the community center is still off-limits. Are you able to be there?”

  “I am,” I said.

  “I’ll see you then.” She ended the call before I had the chance to say anything else.

  It seemed like everyone in Mayville Heights came into the library that morning.

  “Karmic punishment for my saying it was too quiet last night,” Susan said with a grin as she checked out a towering pile of books for a seven-year-old.

  I didn’t get a chance to eat, but we did close on time, which meant I made it over to the meeting with a little time to spare. My stomach growled its objections but I decided to wait until after the meeting to eat my sandwich. The streets that ran from one end of Mayville Heights to the other all followed the curve of the shoreline, more or less, so it was a quick and almost straight-line drive across town.

  I parked at the community center. Stacey Foster was just coming out the back door of the building. She waited for me. “I take it you’re going to the meeting, Kathleen?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Yes, I am.” We started toward the s
treet.

  “That’s horrible about Kassie,” Stacey said. Her dark hair was cropped in a pixie cut and often stood straight up when she was cooking. She was wearing a green-and-black-striped T-shirt dress with a black sweater over the top. Her hands were jammed into the sweater pockets. “‘Poor Silas, so concerned for other folk,’” she quoted in her gentle voice. “‘And nothing to look backward to with pride.’”

  “‘And nothing to look forward to with hope,’” I finished. “The Death of the Hired Man.” Robert Frost. It struck me that in some ways the words fit Kassie. I wondered if that was why Stacey had chosen to recite them.

  Someone had set up folding chairs on the set. About three-quarters of them were already filled.

  “It was good to see you, Kathleen,” Stacey said. She started making her way across the room to a couple of people who had waved when she’d walked in. Rebecca spotted me and held up her hand. I made my way over to join her.

  “I knew you’d be coming from the library so I saved you a seat,” she said, patting the empty chair next to her.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Caroline was sitting on the other side of Rebecca. She leaned sideways to look at me, a frown of concern knotting her forehead. “Hello, Kathleen. How are you?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” I said. I had a feeling that word had gotten around that I had been the one to discover Kassie. Caroline’s next words confirmed that.

  “I heard you found Kassie and tried to help her.”

  “I wish I had been able to.”

  “I wish we’d noticed that she wasn’t with us when we left,” Caroline said.

  “How did you end up going to Eric’s Place anyway?” I asked.

  “Oh, that was because of Norman.” Charles Bacchus had spoken. He was seated in front of Rebecca, half-turned in his chair.

  Charles pointed a finger toward the left front corner of the kitchen set. A young man carrying an iPad, his blond hair pulled back in a man bun, was standing there talking to Ray Nightingale. “Norman Prentiss. He’s one of the production grunts. Seems he had the chocolate pudding cake at lunch yesterday and he couldn’t stop running his mouth about it. And it is pretty damn good by the way. It was going for six o’clock. Everyone was trying to figure out where to eat and there was some talk about a short meeting for the contestants. First thing you know the whole damn bunch of us are headin’ down for supper. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. And we packed the place.”