“He isn’t good about anyone other than me touching him,” I explained.
“So what does he do if someone else touches him?” John asked.
“Have you ever seen any old Looney Tunes cartoons?” I said. While Owen was busy giving adoring kitty eyes to Maggie, I moved around to Rebecca’s side of the table.
“Sure,” John said. “There was a local station that used to run them every Sunday morning when I was in college.”
“Remember the Tasmanian Devil?”
John looked at Owen, who was now sniffing the stack of books in front of Rebecca while she smiled indulgently at him. “You’re kidding?” he said.
I shook my head. “No, I’m not.” I should have walked down the hill, I thought. When Owen finally materialized on the seat of the truck I should have grabbed him and made like a running back.
“Some people don’t like to be touched by someone they don’t know,” Rebecca said.
I could have pointed out that Owen was a cat, not a person, but it would have made me a bit of a hypocrite given that I was the one who most often treated him like he was anything but.
Meanwhile, the little tabby had moved closer to the pile of journals. He poked them with a paw. He was going to damage something if I didn’t get him out of the room. I reached across the table to pick him up, but Owen was having none of it. He tried to leap over the stack of notebooks but misjudged his launch. One paw caught the books, knocking them over, the top one flopping open and skidding like a curling rock across the table to Maggie, who caught it before it fell off the edge.
Owen looked around, not at all shamefaced, and this time I did manage to grab him, mentally crossing my fingers that he wouldn’t “disappear” on me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I let out an impatient breath and glared at Owen. “Cats do not belong in the library.”
He gave me the typical cat stare, cool and unblinking.
“There’s no harm done, dear,” Rebecca said.
Beside her John grinned at me. “You weren’t kidding when you said you had a lot of interesting things at your library.”
Maggie—who was usually quick to leap to Owen’s defense—was silent, her blond head bent over the open journal in front of her and a furrow forming above the bridge of her nose. “I think I found something,” she said slowly, looking up from the page.
John’s laughing expression immediately grew serious. He pushed his chair back and moved around the table. “What is it?” he asked.
Mags tapped the open page with her index finger.
From my side of the table everything was upside down but I could see a drawing of some kind of flower and about half a page of writing in Rebecca’s mother’s neat script.
“Leedy’s roseroot,” John said. “Rhodiola integrifolia.”
“I’m almost positive I’ve seen it,” Maggie said.
“Recently?” I asked. Owen’s golden eyes flicked away from her face for a moment to give me a look that was . . . smug?
A completely preposterous idea began to spin in the back of my brain. I looked at the little gray tabby, who was back to watching Maggie with full kitty adoration. No. No. I was wrong.
“Couple of weeks ago,” she said, leaning forward to study the drawing again.
John put both hands flat on the table and, like Owen, gave her his full attention. “Are you absolutely sure?”
She looked up again and nodded. “You know where the brook goes from Roma’s property to Ruby’s land?”
I nodded.
“Brady and I climbed up the embankment on the right side. I know I saw that plant.” She glanced at John. “It has thick leaves that come off a center stem.”
John nodded, all his attention on the drawing.
“That’s good, isn’t it,” Rebecca asked, phrasing her words as more of a statement of fact than a question.
John scanned the page again. “Maybe,” he said slowly. I could see the beginnings of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Maggie, can you describe the plant you saw?”
“Of course,” she said. “The leaves are waxy and the plants grew in clumps.” She gestured elegantly in the air, almost as though she had a paintbrush in her hand. “I’ve seen the plants before. The flowers are a deep red.”
“And where did you see the plant? You said some kind of an embankment?”
“Out at Wisteria Hill,” Maggie said. “There’s a field behind the house and the old carriage house. Beyond that there’s woods and a brook. That’s where I saw it.”
John turned to look at Rebecca. “Wisteria Hill is where your mother worked?”
“Yes, it is,” she said. “She knew those woods as well as she knew the inside of that house.” She gestured at Maggie. “Look on the back of that page. There should be a description of where she found that plant. Not all the landmarks are going to be the same, of course, but it should give you an idea if you saw the plant in the same place.”
Maggie turned the page and began to read, nodding slowly as she did.
“Does this help?” I asked John.
“Maybe,” he said, pulling a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m pretty sure I saw Rhodiola integrifolia on the federal endangered species list. That could work in our favor.” He glanced at the journal again. “I know it grows in Minnesota.”
“It doesn’t grow anywhere else?”
“New York State. The plant has a very specific habitat. It only grows in crevices on north-facing cliffs where there’s groundwater coming through the rock. Maggie’s description of the leaves sounds exactly like Leedy’s roseroot.” He glanced at her again. “Because she’s an artist she’s going to be more aware of color shading and proportion than a lot of people would be. The big issue is was she on Wisteria Hill land or land that’s part of the proposed development?”
Maggie pulled a hand back through her blond curls. “I don’t know for sure. Once you get back there, nothing’s marked. I could have been on Roma’s property. I could have been on the little bit of land Ruby owns.”
John held up a finger. “Hang on a sec,” he said. He moved back around the table and rummaged through the messenger bag he’d hung over the back of his chair. He pulled out a folded map and spread it out on the table. “Okay, here’s Long Lake.” He pointed to the middle of the map. “This area bordered in yellow is the area proposed for the resort. Can somebody show me exactly where Wisteria Hill is?”
I leaned over to get a better look, keeping a firm hand on Owen. He craned his neck for a look as well, reaching out to touch the creased paper with one paw before I could stop him.
Rebecca pushed her glasses up her nose and stood up, moving closer to John for a better look. “Let me see,” she said. “It should be a little southwest of the lake proper.”
“It’s right there where Owen is pointing,” I said.
Rebecca squinted at the map. “Well so it is,” she said. She beamed at Owen. “You are such a big help today.” The same impossible idea I’d had before began to spin in my head again.
“Pretty smart cat you’ve got there,” John said, grinning up at me.
“He certainly thinks he is,” I muttered.
Owen made an indignant murp as though he’d understood every word I’d said—which I felt confident he likely had.
“I’m going to put the furry genius in my office,” I said. I looked at Owen. “Say good-bye to Rebecca and Maggie.”
“Merow,” he said.
John laughed at the cat’s perfect-as-always timing.
“You are a very smart cat,” Rebecca told Owen. She looked at me. “He really should get some kind of treat for helping us,” she said. Owen tipped his head to one side and licked his whiskers. If he’d been a person I would have said he was gloating.
“I’m sure you and Maggie will take care of that,” I said to her with a sweet smile.
Mags and John were still bent over the map. I touched her arm. “I’ll be in my office,” I said.