I didn’t know what to do with what I had figured out. Did I call Marcus? Did I turn around, drive back down the hill and confront Melanie? I knew that Marcus would say the fact that Melanie Davis went to the same university as Lewis Wallace didn’t necessarily mean anything—assuming I was right about that, and I was certain that I was. Even though it was a small campus, there could be hundreds or thousands of students in a given year. Melanie and Lewis Wallace could have both gone to Saint Edwin and never met. But it felt like too much of a coincidence to me. I’d heard Burtis quote Yogi Berra on that subject: “That’s too coincidental to be a coincidence.” Made sense to me.
But if I went to talk to Melanie, what would I say? “I think you went to the same college as Lewis Wallace. I think you knew him better than you’re letting on and I think you may have a connection to his death.” I needed more than that.
I parked in the driveway and climbed out of the truck. Owen jumped down and headed for the back door.
I let him into the house and he went directly to sit in front of the cupboard where I kept the sardines. He stared at me. I folded my arms and stared back.
“Mrr,” he said.
“Why do you think you deserve a sardine?” I asked. “You snuck into the truck, you snuck into the hotel and you snuck into Melanie’s office. That’s a lot of sneaking. And I had to climb up a ventilation shaft. In the dark.” I brushed dirt off the right arm of my jacket. “Carrying you, by the way.”
He swiped a paw over his face.
I nodded. “Yes, I concede that you are very cute, but that has nothing to do with you getting a sardine. What else do you have?”
He continued to stare at me without a meow or a murp or a grumble as though the reason should be obvious. I knew that if he hadn’t snuck into the truck and the hotel and then into Melanie’s office I might not have made the connection that Melanie and Lewis Wallace likely knew each other better than she was letting on. Or at least it would have taken a lot longer. I could have done with not having to climb my way up that narrow brick shaft, though that was on me, not the cat.
It seemed Owen knew that, too. I got out a can of sardines and gave him part of one without comment.
He was just finishing eating it when Ethan came in.
“How far did you walk?” I asked.
He swept a hand over his hair. “I didn’t exactly walk very far. I’ve been over talking to Rebecca.”
That and eating pie, I suspected. His teeth looked a little blue.
He yawned and stretched both arms over his head. “So what were you doing? Did you just come from somewhere?”
My keys were on the table.
“I had to deal with a cookie emergency,” I said.
“As in we don’t have any?”
“No. As in I need about a hundred and fifty for the quilt festival at the library.”
He opened the fridge door and peered inside. “No offense, but just about everything they do in this town has food associated with it.”
I laughed. “You’re right. It’s the unofficial town motto: We have cookies.”
I left Ethan making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a small, furry supervisor. I went into the living room and called Susan, explaining the cookie problem.
“Do you think Eric would be able to make his new maple cookies for the opening of the festival?”
“Crappy timing, Kathleen,” she said. “He’s catering the regional tourism coalition’s breakfast that day. There’s no way he could get all those cookies made and they won’t have the right texture if he makes them in advance and freezes them.”
I exhaled loudly. So much for my solution to the cookie problem.
“Hang on, though,” Susan continued. “I think there’s a chance he would be willing to share his recipe for the cookies with the chef at the St. James. All of Eric’s recipes can stand up to being doubled or tripled.”
“That would work, as long as Eric feels comfortable with someone else using his recipe. Please tell him he doesn’t have to say yes.”
“I’ll tell him,” she said, “but I’m pretty sure he will say yes. I’ll let you know in the morning.”
I thanked her and said good night.
It wasn’t that late but there wasn’t anything else I could do about the cookies or Melanie or talking to Marcus about the cats.
I poked my head around the kitchen doorway. “I’m going to take a bath,” I said to Ethan. Owen had disappeared. Not literally, I hoped.
“You mind if I play a bit?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Go ahead. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I filled the tub with hot water and one of Maggie’s herbal bath remedies for achy muscles. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to lift my arms over my head in the morning.
The sound of Ethan’s guitar playing floated up from downstairs. It had been a long time since I’d listened to him play like this, without having to share the music with anyone else.
Hercules was stretched out on the bath mat. “I hate that he’s going home in a few days,” I said.
The cat gave a soft murp of sympathy.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I was going to do a Scarlett O’Hara and think about that—and everything else—tomorrow.
Susan arrived for her shift in the morning with a copy of the cookie recipe. “Eric said—and this is a direct quote—‘Tell Kathleen I have worked with Patricia Queen before. Here is the recipe, with my sympathy.’”
“Thank you and Eric,” I said, giving her a hug. “And for the record, Patricia isn’t really that difficult.”
Susan nudged her cat’s-eye glasses up her nose. “Kathleen, she reminded you to clean the screens of all of our computers the week of the festival so there would be no unsightly fingerprints.” She said the last few words in perfect mimicry of Patricia. “The only reason that wasn’t a problem is because you would have done that anyway!”
I felt my face get red as Susan laughed.
“Seriously,” I said. “I owe both of you. How about I babysit the boys so you and Eric can go out?”
Susan regarded me with a fair amount of skepticism, one hand on her hip. “Are you insane? Not that I’m not taking you up on the offer.”
I assured her about my mental health and the genuineness of my offer to watch the boys. She headed up to get coffee.
Just before lunch I called Melanie and explained about the maple cookies and how I had Eric’s recipe for the St. James chef to use with Eric’s permission. “The cookies are traditional enough for Patricia, with enough of a different twist for people to remark on them—and I’ve already cleared the change with Patricia.”
Melanie thanked me profusely. “I owe you,” she said. “A kidney, help moving, I’m your woman.”
I wondered what she’d say if I just asked her for the truth about Lewis Wallace.
Marcus stopped by with lunch about quarter after twelve. “How did you know I forgot mine?” I asked.
“I talked to your brother.” He handed me a brown paper bag. “Meatloaf sandwich from Fern’s with a chopped apple and carrot salad on the side.”
My stomach growled in appreciation. “Where did you see Ethan?” I asked.
“He was at the co-op store. He and his friends are putting a couple of new locks on the doors.”
Ethan was still trying to make points with Maggie. Hearing about the door reminded me that I needed to tell Marcus what I’d figured out about Melanie. I left out the part about crawling up the ventilation shaft. My shoulders still ached.
Marcus made a face. “Why would she lie about something like that? She admitted she knew the man. Why not just say they knew each other in college?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Wallace played football. A lot of people would have known who he was. And I think if she’d wanted to kill the man she wouldn’t have done it in her own hotel. So why keep that secret?”