“I would,” I said, pulling my hat down over my ears a little better. “Roma said she’s been coming to eat about every second day.”
“I take it she hasn’t had any luck with the cage,” he said.
I shook my head. “No. She asked me if I’d try.”
Marcus smiled and pulled off his gloves to help me get the food ready. “You’re the Cat Whisperer. Maybe you can catch her.”
I fished the two extra dishes out of the bag. He filled one with water while I opened the can of food and put it in the other bowl.
“Wait here,” I said to Marcus, handing the bag of used dishes to him.
I put the food and water down in a small area Roma had shoveled out at the base of a large tree near the carriage house. Then I backed away, stuffed my hands in the pockets of my old brown jacket and waited. Two, maybe three minutes passed and I saw movement in the snow behind a tangle of bushes.
It was Micah.
At the same time I realized that Marcus was behind me, not over by the steps. I reached one hand behind me and caught his arm. The small ginger cat continued to creep slowly forward until she reached the food. She began to eat, watching us between bites.
“Don’t stare at her,” I whispered to Marcus.
“Why?” he asked softly.
“I don’t want to spook her. You wouldn’t like it if someone stared at you while you were having breakfast, would you?” I took a couple of steps backward, which meant he had to take a couple of steps back as well.
He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me back against him. “Is it okay with you if I do this instead?” he teased in a low voice.
I looked up at him and nodded wordlessly.
We stood there while the little cat ate and I watched her out of the corner of my eye. When she finished she seemed to take a minute to study us and then she meowed softly.
“You’re welcome,” I whispered.
As soon as the cat was out of sight, I collected the dishes and added them to the other ones I was taking with me to wash.
“I’ll take the empty cans with me,” Marcus said, walking over to the steps to pick up the empty water jugs. “They can go in my recycling bin.”
We got into the SUV and I retrieved the thermos I’d left on the floor on the passenger side. I poured a cup of coffee and handed it over to Marcus, then poured a second for myself.
He had peeled off his heavy gloves and the goofy red hat and now he wrapped his fingers around the plastic cup and smiled at me. “Thank you for this,” he said. “It’s colder than I thought it would be out here.”
The warmth was soaking into my own fingers, thawing them out a little. I took a long drink of coffee and then shifted sideways. “There’s something I wanted to tell you that I found about Dayna Chapman.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“Did you know that she was a witness in a robbery about six years ago?”
He nodded, head bent over his cup. “The pawnshop. Yeah, I knew.”
“The owner, the man who was shot, did you know his son is here in Mayville Heights?”
His blue eyes narrowed, just slightly, and the muscles along his jawline tightened. Again, it was barely noticeable. Most people probably wouldn’t have noticed it, but I knew every angle of Marcus’s face, every line.
“What makes you think so?” he asked.
I had another sip of coffee before I answered. “You didn’t know,” I said. “Did you?”
After a moment he shook his head. “Why are you so sure about this?”
“The owner’s name was Nicolas Sutton Sr.,” I said. “The guy who works for Eric, the new artist in the co-op, the one who did the chocolate boxes for the fundraiser, is Nic Sutton. He came from Minneapolis.” I exhaled softly. “I might be wrong.”
“I’ll check it out,” he said. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Nic bumped into Dayna at the party,” I said. “She gave him the brush-off. I didn’t think anything of it until I discovered that they have a connection.”
Marcus pulled his free hand back through his hair. He did that when he had a lot on his mind. “Sometimes it’s just a small world,” he said. “But I’ll check that out, too.”
I checked my watch. “We should get going,” I said.
He drained the last of his coffee and handed me the cup. “Thanks.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant for the coffee or the information.
“Can you get one of the cages from the clinic when you go to see Smokey?” Marcus asked as we headed down the driveway. “We could bring it up tomorrow and see if we can catch Micah.”
“I can do that,” I said. “I should bring something a little more enticing than regular cat food, though.”
We spent the rest of the drive home debating the merits of cooked chicken versus sardines, settling in the end on the little fish, mainly because of the enthusiasm Owen and Hercules had for them.
Marcus pulled into my driveway, put the SUV in park and leaned over to kiss my cheek. “Have a good day, Kath,” he said.
I smiled. “You, too.”
“Let me know what you find out,” he added.
I frowned uncertainly at him.
He held up one hand. “I know you’re not going to stay out of this, so I’m not going to waste my time telling you to. If you come up with anything, call me. Deal?”
I nodded. It felt a little odd not to be arguing about this.
I slid out of the SUV and headed for the back porch with my thermos and the bag of cat food dishes. It seemed to me that I had two pretty much impossible tasks—capture a small and extremely skittish cat and figure out who killed Dayna Chapman. I had the feeling that catching Micah was going to be a heck of a lot easier than catching Dayna Chapman’s killer.
16
I couldn’t do anything with my hair, probably because it had been smashed down weird under my hat. I finally got it lying more or less smoothly in a ponytail. Hercules sat by the bed and watched. Owen, as usual, had disappeared somewhere.
Since I was running behind and more than a little frustrated by my hair, I decided to stop into Eric’s for a breakfast sandwich and some soup to warm up for lunch.
“I’ll talk to Maggie tonight at tai chi and see what I can find out about Nic,” I said to Hercules as I pulled on my boots.
He gave me a blank look.
“I’m sorry. I forgot,” I said. “I didn’t tell you what I found online.” I shook my head and reached for my woolen beret. “Nic Sutton might have known Dayna Chapman. I don’t have time to bring you up to date. Ask your brother.”
I leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Have a good day,” I said.
I locked the door and headed around the house for my truck thinking if anyone ever did hear me talking to the boys, they really would think I was a few marbles short of a game.
It was a busy morning at the library with both the seniors and the preschool story time. Harry had come in with the tree, a beautiful, bushy fir, about nine thirty. Abigail and I had helped him get it set in the stand, although Harry did most of the work.
“Would you like me to start with the lights after story time?” Abigail asked as we stood back to get a good look at the tree.
“Yes, please,” I said. “The boxes are in my office. I have to take the budget estimates over to Lita, but I’ll help you once I get back.”
She smiled and bumped me gently with her shoulder. “I don’t mind. I like decorating.”
“Good,” I said. “Come and do my house. All I have is a wreath on the front door and it’s plastic.”
She put her hands on her hips. “I’m pretty sure we can have you put in stocks down on the Riverwalk for that.”
“It was a plastic wreath or the head of a Fred the Funky Chicken, and putting a yellow chicken head on my front door just didn’t say peace and goodwill to me.” I grinned back at her. “Seriously, though, I spent so much time on the fundraiser, holiday decorations just kind of fell by the wayside.”