He laughed. “I tapped on the window and almost gave him a heart attack.”
“Has he asked her out?”
Hercules had followed us out to the porch. He’d jumped up onto the bench and seemed to be intently following the conversation, head tipped to one side. I reached over and stroked his fur.
Harry shook his head. “Lord no! He’s the opposite of the old man. Larry pretty much moves at a snail’s pace when it comes to women. But I’m thinking she might like him. He said they spent a lot of time talking. She even brought a cup of coffee down to the basement to him while he was working.”
I thought about all the cups of coffee Marcus and I had shared while we were getting to know each other. “It sounds like she might be interested,” I said.
“At least she’s real,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “And we know she’s a woman.”
“Your father’s not going to do anything stupid,” I said.
“I hope you’re right, Kathleen.” He smiled again. “I’ll call you about dinner.”
I nodded.
Hercules watched Harry disappear around the side of the house. Then he looked at me and meowed. I leaned down and picked him up, heading back into the kitchen.
Before I could set him down the phone rang. I went back to the living room to answer it. It was Marcus.
“How was the rest of your afternoon?” he asked.
“Good,” I said. “I have every program from the library relocated, and Harrison came for coffee. By the way, did you know Thorsten got a piercing?”
“You’re kidding.”
The seemingly straitlaced caretaker of the community center didn’t seem like the type for a piercing.
I dropped onto the footstool, still holding on to the cat. Hercules kneaded my lap with his paws and stretched out. “No, I’m not.”
“I just saw him about an hour ago. I didn’t notice an earring.”
“That’s because it wasn’t in an ear,” I said, struggling not to laugh.
“Well then, where was— No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
I did laugh then, picturing him holding up one hand and shaking his head even though I couldn’t see either gesture.
“Okay, let’s change the subject,” I said. Hercules was eyeing me as though he was trying to figure out what was so funny. “How was the rest of your afternoon?”
“I went out to The Brick,” Marcus said. “Mary’s in Red Wing so I couldn’t confirm Solomon’s alibi with her. Did you know they record their amateur shows?”
“No,” I said slowly.
“Solomon wasn’t lying,” he said. “Let’s just say I’ve seen way more of him and Mary than I ever wanted to see.”
“Oh, I know what you mean,” I said. I heard him laugh on the other end of the phone. “So now what?”
He sighed and I pictured him running one hand back through his hair the way he did when he was frustrated. “I don’t know. It looks like we’re back to square one.”
15
I’d planned to sleep in Saturday morning, but Owen had other ideas. He’d swatted my face with a paw and grumbled because I didn’t seem to be getting dressed fast enough for him.
“Do you have plans this morning?” I asked as I followed him down to the kitchen.
“Merow!” he said loudly.
Owen had already started his breakfast when Hercules wandered in, yawning. He came over to me, leaned against my leg and eyed his brother curiously.
“He has plans,” I said, reaching down to scratch the top of Herc’s head.
I put half an English muffin in the toaster and scrambled an egg with onions, pepper and tomatoes. It made a very good breakfast sandwich—not quite what Eric served but delicious just the same.
Owen finished breakfast, washed his face and then headed toward the back door like a cat with a purpose. At the door he looked back over his shoulder and meowed sharply at me.
“I’m coming,” I said, padding across the floor to let him out. I paused with my hand on the doorknob. “I didn’t hear any ‘please.’”
“Murp,” he said, much to my amusement.
I opened both doors and let Owen out onto the back step. He headed down the stairs and I wondered if he was going to Rebecca’s.
“I’m going to the library if I hear back from Marcus this morning,” I said.
That got me another murp, but he didn’t even slow down.
I finished my breakfast, threw a load of bedding in the washer and then sat at the table, making a list of things I wanted from the Farmers’ Market, with Hercules settled on my lap. “Do you think the Jam Lady will have any marmalade?” I asked.
The cat’s whiskers twitched. He liked the occasional dab of marmalade on a sardine cracker, information we didn’t share with Roma.
I pulled on my hoodie and got my cloth shopping bags from the hall closet. Hercules followed me out into the porch and watched while I tied my sneakers. He looked a little at loose ends to me.
“You want to come for a ride in the truck?” I asked, canting my head in the direction of the driveway and feeling a little foolish as I said the words. At least half of a cat’s life was spent lying around at loose ends, as far as I could see.
He had been washing the white fur on his chest. He lifted his head, shook himself and then went to sit by the outside door. That was a yes.
I stood in the middle of the backyard and called Owen several times. There was no sign of him. Hercules meowed at me from the steps. “I know,” I said. “He’s probably over at Rebecca’s mooching a treat. Let’s go.”
I found a parking spot on the street not too far from the market. “I won’t be very long,” I told the cat, grabbing a bag from the floor on the passenger side of the truck. He stretched out on the seat.
“Maybe we’ll go to Tubby’s when I’m done,” I said, “as long as you promise not to tell Roma—or your brother.” I wasn’t really sure who would be more annoyed to find out I’d let Hercules have a taste of Tubby’s bestselling strawberry frozen yogurt: the cat or the vet.
I’d long since come to the conclusion that not only were the boys not exactly ordinary house cats; they didn’t have the digestive systems of regular cats, either. But I didn’t want to take any chances on their health, so when Roma had gotten after me about feeding them people food, I’d gotten a lot stricter about what they ate.
Hercules looked at me and at the same time crossed one paw over the other. Was that cat for “cross my heart”? It was good enough for me.
I got some onions, a dozen brown eggs, the marmalade and some spring lettuce and onions from the greenhouse Taylor King’s parents kept. I was just about to head back to the truck when I bumped—literally—into Diana Holmes. I was surprised to see the owner—or to be exact, half owner—of the Weston drawing. I hadn’t had any contact with her since Margo’s death.
“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching down to pick up the bag of lettuce she’d knocked from my hand. “I had my eye on a red velvet cupcake and wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” She was wearing a long, slim black-and-white-patterned skirt with a white cotton sweater and a short jean jacket. I felt a little underdressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt.
“It’s all right,” I said. “I’ve been distracted by Georgia’s cupcakes more than once myself.” I took my lettuce from her and put it back in my shopping bag. “I didn’t realize you were still in town.”
Diana smiled with more politeness than genuine warmth. “Marshall has been discussing some business with Everett Henderson. He decided to stay for a few more days. It’s such a lovely little town, even with everything that happened, I thought I’d do the same.”