“I brought you something,” she said, giving the cat a conspiratorial grin. She pulled a little brown paper bag from her pocket. I recognized the logo.
“Maggie, you didn’t,” I said. “You’re as bad as Rebecca.”
Owen recognized the bag, as well. He was squirming so much that I thought he would wiggle right out of his fur.
“Ignore her,” she said to the cat. She took Fred the Funky Chicken of the bag. Owen shifted from one foot to the other. Maggie set the yellow catnip chicken on the floor and pushed it toward him. He pounced on it, picking it up in his mouth. As he turned to take off with it, he gave Maggie an adoring look. Again he made a wide berth around Roma, glaring at her and me as he went by.
Hercules appeared in the doorway then. He didn’t even look at Roma, acting as though she wasn’t there. Instead he looked at Maggie. “I didn’t forget you,” she said, reaching into the bag again.
“You’ve lost your mind,” I said, crossing my arms and shaking my head. Hercules walked over to her, obviously curious about what Maggie had brought him. I was curious, too. Herc was the type of cat who didn’t go for toys.
“I had to get some wine,” she said. “And then I saw the chickens and that made me think of Owen. And how could I get something for him and not get something for this one?” She gestured at Hercules, who modestly ducked his head.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I muttered.
Maggie pulled a little box out of the bag. Hercules looked at it, intrigued.
“Organic fish-shaped cat treats,” she said, holding up the box so Roma and I could see it. Herc’s whiskers wiggled when she said “fish.” “Can I give him a couple?”
I sighed. “Yes.”
She opened the top of the tiny carton, dumped a half dozen crackers into her hand, set them on the floor and then backed away.
Hercules strolled over, trying to act uninterested. He sniffed the crackers. I wouldn’t say that he shoved his face in the tiny pile and started eating like a bear in a picnic basket, but the effect was very close.
Maggie handed me the box. I looked at the ingredients. Roma leaned over to take a peek, as well. No chemicals. Nothing I couldn’t pronounce. “Looks fine,” Roma said.
I set the box on the counter. Herc gobbled the last fish and licked the crumbs off his face. He walked over to us, stopping in front of Maggie to meow a thank-you.
“You’re welcome,” she said with a smile. Hercules rubbed against my leg and headed back to the living room.
“So if I bring bribes will the cats like me?” Roma asked.
“They’re not bribes; they’re gifts of love,” Maggie said, squaring her shoulders and sticking out her chin.
“Bribes,” Roma repeated.
I took both women’s coats. “It’s not that Owen and Hercules don’t like you . . .” I began.
Roma gave me a skeptical look.
“Okay, so it is that they don’t like you, but in their defense, every time they see you, you stick them with a needle.”
“I wouldn’t like you that much if you poked me with a needle every time I saw you,” Maggie said, peeking in my cookie jar to see if I had any brownies. “I guess you’ll have to stick to hockey players.”
Roma held out her hands and grinned. “I guess so.” She seemed to have found her sense of humor about the Eddie rumor.
We moved into the living room and I turned on the lamp. Maggie curled in her favorite corner of the couch. Roma sat in the leather chair.
“You know, if Owen were a guy, I’d date him,” Maggie said as the cat came over to sit by her feet.
Roma and I both laughed.
“No, really,” Maggie said. “He’s cute. He’s crazy about me. Why not?”
“Mags,” I said. “He has morning breath that would make your eyes water and a major addiction to catnip, and he smells every bite of food before he eats it.”
Roma shrugged. “I’ve gone out with worse.”
We all laughed.
“Have you ever thought about getting married again?” Maggie asked Roma.
“Well, not to a cat,” she said.
Maggie threw a pillow at her. Roma caught it with one hand and tucked it behind her back. Her smile faded. “I don’t even know if I’d be good at marriage,” she said. “Luke and I were married only two years—he was killed by a drunk driver.” She studied her left hand for a moment. “We were so young and married for such a short time, there wasn’t a chance to find out what kind of a marriage it would’ve been.” Then she smiled. “But I have Olivia.”
Roma’s daughter was a biologist and commercial diver working on a new TV show for the Exploration Channel.
“What about you, Maggie?” Roma asked sweetly. “Ever been married that you know of?”
Maggie stretched her hands behind her head. “No. First of all, I was what people call a late bloomer. I think I was maybe fifteen before I figured out why all my friends were so gaga about boys. Then I was concentrating on school. It was just my mom and me.” She smiled down at Owen, still sitting adoringly by her side of the sofa. “In college I was a geek, working in the summer and studying every term, trying to hold on to my scholarship.”
“What about you, Kathleen?” Roma asked.
Maggie and I exchanged glances. “I was almost married,” I said.
“In Boston?” Roma leaned forward, clearly interested.
“Yes.” Hercules appeared at my feet and I reached over to stroke the top of his head. “His name was . . . is Andrew. He’s a contractor. He specializes in restoring old houses.”
“What happened?” Roma asked. She held out both hands palms up. “You chose all of this instead?”
That made me laugh. “In a way. We had a fight. Andrew went away on a two-week trip with his friends. He married someone else while he was gone.”
“You’re kidding.”
I shook my head. “True love, tequila style,” I said. Telling the story didn’t hurt the way it used to.
“So you decided if he could get married, you could come to Minnesota.”
I grinned. “Pretty much.”
Roma propped her feet on the footstool. “I think Toby Keith wrote a song about something like that. Was she a waitress at a honky-tonk?”
“Fifties diner, I think.”
Roma shrugged. “Close enough.”
“Maybe you were supposed to come here,” Maggie said. “Maybe you’ll meet Mr. Right here.”
“I don’t believe in soul mates or destiny,” I said. “And don’t even try to sell me on Marcus Gordon as my one true love.”
“What’s wrong with Marcus?” Roma asked.
I frowned at her and pulled up my feet. “He arrested Ruby,” I said, holding up a finger. “He thought I was having an affair with Gregor Easton and that I might’ve killed him.” Now I was holding up two fingers. “And he’s annoying.” I added one more finger to the other two.
Roma held up a finger of her own and waved it at me. “He’s my best volunteer.” She added another. “And he rescued Lucy and Desmond.”
I folded my arms and watched her, amused. Now she was holding up three fingers. “And he helps coach the boys’ hockey team.”
So that’s why he was such a good skater. “He arrested Ruby,” I said.
“He’s a police officer,” she said. “He’s doing his job. It wasn’t just his call. And Marcus won’t stop investigating just because Ruby’s been arrested. He’ll follow the evidence wherever it takes him, and he will figure out Ruby didn’t do this.”
“You like Marcus.”
“I do. He’s a good person. Give him a chance.”
Owen chose that moment to meow his agreement.
“Not you, too,” I said. He flicked his tail at me and went back to giving Maggie googley eyes.
I stood up. “As much as I like listening to you act like Marcus Gordon’s cheerleader, I have to go make dumplings.” The word “dumplings” got Owen’s attention. He turned his head toward me. “C’mon,” I said.