I looked up at Burtis. “These magazines are in excellent condition.”
“I got some older than you are,” he said with a grin.
I carefully removed one from the box. “I don’t recognize the magazine.”
“Unless you’re a big ball fan you wouldn’t,” he said. “They do a college football edition and one for the pros. Been puttin’ them out since 1973. Phil Major wrote for Sports Illustrated in the sixties and then went to work for ABC Sports after that. He died about ten years ago. Sports Illustrated bought the magazine and kept the name. I have every issue right up to the most recent two. These three have articles with references to Lewis Wallace back in his college days. I thought they might save you some time.”
I carefully removed one of the magazines from the box. The librarian in me was intrigued even without my desire to know more about Lewis Wallace. “Do you know where he played his college ball?” I asked.
Burtis nodded. “Saint Edwin University. It’s in Pennsylvania. Good football school. Wallace got a degree in business. The boy was a decent player pretty much all four years he was there. Had a couple scouts lookin’ at him in his freshman year but in the end he was just too small. He did stay and even got his degree but he struggled with the academics and had to be tutored to graduate.”
He patted the side of the metal box. “There’s a mention of a cheating incident Wallace was supposedly involved in during sophomore year.” He smiled. “Don’t mean to ruin the ending but it didn’t amount to anything.”
“Thank you, Burtis,” I said. “I’ll be very careful with your magazines and I’ll get them back to you as soon as I can.”
“I know you will,” he said. “I hope you find something to help.”
When I got home that evening, I discovered that Ethan was making spaghetti sauce, Derek was on his phone, Hercules was hiding under that table, Owen smelled like oregano and Milo was standing on a kitchen chair washing the ceiling above my stove.
Milo was the only one who didn’t avoid my gaze. “Trust me, you really don’t want to know,” he said. Since I saw no need for bandages or the fire department, I decided he was right.
After supper Milo and Derek headed to their bed-and-breakfast, and Ethan decided to go for a walk. I’d taken Burtis’s magazines upstairs to my bedroom. I set the storage container on the bed and pointed at the cats. “Stay on the floor,” I said. “These belong to Burtis and I don’t want anything to happen to them. That means no kitty paw prints, no kitty drool and no kitty hair anywhere near these magazines.”
Hercules made disgruntled grumbles and retreated to the closet, probably to rearrange my shoes again. Owen made a show of washing his face even though he’d already done that downstairs. I could see him sneak peeks at me from time to time.
I was on my second article when Marcus called. He was going to be testifying in a case that went back more than two years and the prosecuting attorney was going over every tiny detail with him.
“We’re taking a break,” he said. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“I’m glad you called,” I said. “Burtis loaned me several magazines. I’m reading about Lewis Wallace.”
“Have you discovered anything yet?”
I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “Both articles I’ve read so far are pretty short. The most interesting thing was a photo of Lewis Wallace in his freshman year where he looks more like sixteen than nineteen.” Wallace had been standing in front of a large brick building next to a large wall plaque with what I guessed was the college seal featuring the words “Virtus, Veritas, Honestas.”
Marcus lowered his voice. “I’ve been looking into some of the people who lost their businesses to Wallace and his partners, but so far I haven’t come across anyone I think might have murdered the man.”
“If I find anything at all in the last magazine I’ll let you know,” I promised.
I’d just said good night to Marcus and laid my phone down on the bed when Owen launched himself from the floor. The metal storage box went over sideways and though I thought the top was secure, it opened and the third plastic-covered magazine slid onto the bed.
Owen made a wide circle around the box and the magazines and made his way up to the pillows.
“Hey! What did I say?” I asked. Burtis’s magazine seemed to be fine.
“Merow,” the cat replied.
“Exactly!” I retorted. I didn’t have a clue what Owen’s response had been but given the way he was ducking his head and looking everywhere but at me I was pretty sure he knew what he’d done was wrong.
I pointed at the door. “Out,” I said, maybe a bit more dramatically than was needed.
Owen walked to the side of the bed, jumped down and left, complaining all the way. I got up and closed the door, peeking in the closet on the way by to see that Hercules was asleep, curled up on my favorite black pumps.
I picked up the magazine that had fallen out of the storage box and slipped it from the protective cover. It turned out to contain a short article about whether or not college athletes were getting meaningful degrees, or as the author of the piece asked, just a useless piece of paper so they managed to stay academically eligible to play. The article referenced the cheating scandal at Saint Edwin University during the previous football season. Lewis Wallace and two other members of the team had been accused of selling the answers to an accounting final—a required course for many of the players—to their team members, the same way they were alleged to have sold the answers to the midterm. As Burtis had already told me, Wallace turned out not to have been involved.
My phone rang then and I stretched to reach it. It was Melanie Davis.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Kathleen,” she said, “but I have a potential quilt show problem.”
“What is it?” I asked. I thought Patricia had gone over every detail. What could have gone wrong?
“Our chef tried the cookie recipes that Patricia dropped off. The lemon crinkle top ones are fine but he thinks the almond shortbread are too crumbly when the recipe is changed to make so many at once. And it’s just not practical to make them in small batches. For what it’s worth, I agree with him.”
I put the magazine I’d been reading back in its protective sleeve. “How can I help?”
“Before I tell Patricia, I need a third opinion. I know she doesn’t like last-minute changes and I’m hoping there’s strength in numbers.”
“I can come down and try a cookie right now if that helps.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Melanie asked. I could hear voices in the background, which told me she was still at the St. James.
“You’re offering me cookies,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
I told her I’d be there in a few minutes and ended the call. I put all the issues of Burtis’s magazines back in their storage container and made sure the lid was secure. I opened the closet door partway. Hercules in turn opened one eye and yawned.
“I have to go down to the hotel for a few minutes. I won’t be long. Ethan will be back . . .” I had no idea when Ethan would be back. “At some point,” I finished.
Hercules yawned again.
There was no sign of Owen in the hallway, the living room or the kitchen. He was probably in his lair in the basement, plotting something like the mustache-twirling villain in an old black-and-white movie. Or maybe he was chewing on a catnip chicken. I knew I was guilty of attributing human motivations to much of Hercules’s and Owen’s behaviors, when sometimes they were just being regular cats.