“According to Celia Hunter, and it wouldn’t be that difficult to check.” Owen had rolled onto his back and his back paws were moving through the air like some sort of low-impact aerobic workout. “She’s going to be here for a few more days,” I said. “If you want to read the letter she offered to show it to you.”
I heard him exhale. “Yes,” he said. “Do you have a phone number for her?”
“She’s staying at the St. James.”
“I’ll call her,” Simon said. “Thank you. I seem to be saying that a lot to you.”
“My mother would say it’s a sign you have good manners,” I’d said, lightly. I’d hesitated for a moment. “If you want company call me. Either way, please let me know what happens.”
“I will,” he’d said. “Good night.”
Now, Hercules meowed loudly from his perch on top of my bag. Owen had other priorities. He was sitting next to his food dish and he meowed just as loudly as his brother had in case I’d somehow forgotten it was breakfast time. Hercules, however, could be determinedly single-minded when it suited him. He jumped down from the chair and sat directly in front of me, staring up at me with serious green eyes. But Owen was not going to let anything get between him and his first meal of the day. He meowed a second time, a bit louder than he had the first time. Hercules turned to glare at his brother, his tail flicking restlessly across the floor. There almost seemed to be a challenge in his gaze. It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Owen immediately dropped his head and began nudging his dish across the floor toward me. As far as he was concerned everything else could wait until he’d eaten. Hercules stayed where he was. If Owen wanted to get to me and his breakfast, he was going to have to go through his black-and-white sibling. I could see where this was heading.
“That’s enough,” I said.
They didn’t even look at me. Owen was glaring at Hercules through slitted golden eyes. Hercules was unmoving, except for his lashing tail, like an ebony-and-alabaster statue.
I brought my hand, palm flat down, on the table. Hercules jumped at the sound. Owen’s head came up, catching the edge of his dish. Unfortunately he’d been pushing his water bowl across the floor, not his food dish. There wasn’t very much water in the bowl, but what there was splashed in his face. He yowled in outrage and began to vigorously shake his head.
I grabbed a dishtowel and hurried around the table. “Let me see,” I said getting down beside him on the floor. I’d heard Mary use the expression, “Mad as a wet hen,” but it seemed to me that “Mad as a wet cat” was a better description of someone truly outraged. I put a hand on Owen’s back as he continued to shake his head. “Let me see,” I repeated. I wiped his face with the towel. His wet fur was sticking up and there was a sullen expression on his face.
“Are you all right?” I asked, using a dry edge of the towel to smooth down his fur, being extra careful around his ear. His pride was clearly wounded but other than that he seemed fine. The contents of the dish had hit him but the bowl itself hadn’t.
I wiped up the water, got breakfast for both cats and a bowl of granola with almond milk and fruit for myself. Owen muttered to himself the entire time he was eating. Hercules glanced in his brother’s direction a couple of times but wisely kept his distance.
When I finished my own breakfast I cut the last sardine in the fridge in half and gave a piece to each cat. “I’m sorry,” I said to Owen. “That little incident with the water was partly my fault. I did hit the table a little harder than I meant to.”
Suddenly I thought of Harry Taylor smacking the top of the rain barrel after Leo Janes had walked away from him that day out by the gazebo. Could Harry be connected in some way to that piece of information Leo had discovered? I had no reason to think he was, but Harry wasn’t acting like himself, and it wasn’t as though I had anywhere else to start.
I checked my watch. Talking to Harry would have to wait. I was meeting Marcus out at Wisteria Hill to feed the feral cat colony that called the old carriage house on the property home. Roma was assisting on an early surgery in Red Wing and I’d volunteered Marcus and me to take care of the cats’ breakfast.
• • •
Marcus was waiting for me, leaning against his SUV, as I crested the top of Roma’s driveway. He gave me a quick kiss. “Good morning,” he said with a warm smile.
“Umm, good morning to you, too,” I said. I gestured at the house. “Roma left everything we need in the porch. I have her key.”
We walked across the gravel parking area, collected the cats’ dishes along with food and water and then headed for the carriage house.
“How did the shopping go last night?” Marcus asked.
“Good,” I said. “And that’s all I’m telling you because Eddie isn’t allowed to know what the dress is like. Apparently it’s bad luck.”
Marcus laughed. “I didn’t think Roma cared about those old superstitions.”
I grinned back at him. “It’s not Roma. It’s Maggie.”
We made our way around the side of the weathered old building. Marcus pushed the heavy wooden door open and we stepped inside. I waited a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.
It was because of Marcus that Roma had discovered that there was a feral cat colony out at the old estate. He’d found an injured Desmond and taken the big black tom to her clinic. Desmond was the clinic’s cat although he spent more time at Roma’s house than at the clinic these days. He had one eye and was missing part of an ear. Even though he wasn’t that big, his appearance and his attitude made him seem larger and very imposing. He’d backed more than one unruly dog under a clinic chair.
After Marcus had shown up with Desmond, Roma had gone out to Wisteria Hill to see if there were any more cats. She’d discovered nine in total. Now there were just seven. It had taken multiple attempts to capture them all. Roma had taken the cats back to the clinic, where they had been neutered. Then they had been returned to Wisteria Hill with Everett Henderson’s tacit, if not expressed, approval.
There was no sign of any of the cats now, which was typical. I looked around for any indication that anything was amiss but saw nothing. I remembered how surprised I’d been to learn Roma hadn’t tried to find homes for the cats.
“They’re not used to people,” she’d explained. “And they wouldn’t adapt well to living with them.”
Marcus and I set out the food and water and then retreated back by the door to wait. I leaned against his chest and he wrapped his arms around me, the warmth of his body keeping me warm.
After several minutes I heard a sound down near the feeding station. “Lucy,” I whispered.
The little calico cat may not have been the largest in the small colony, but she was its leader. She moved into view, sniffing the air, then she turned in our direction.
“Good morning, Lucy,” I said in a low voice.
Lucy and I had a connection I couldn’t explain. She’d come closer to me than she would to anyone else and sometimes it even seemed like she understood what I was saying to her. Roma believed it was because Lucy trusted me for some unknown reason, the same way Owen and Hercules had put their trust in me the day I’d come across them up here as tiny kittens. I sometimes wondered if Lucy, like the boys, had some kind of special ability and that was why we had connected.
The little cat moved closer to us, stopped and meowed softly. Then she made her way to the feeding station.
“You’re welcome, Lucy,” I whispered.
The rest of the colony made its way out to eat then. We both looked each cat over carefully for any sign that it was unhealthy or injured in any way.
“They all look good,” Marcus said softly against my ear.
After the cats had eaten they made their way back to their shelters. Lucy stopped to look in our direction before she disappeared again. Once the cats were gone, Marcus and I cleaned up the feeding station and set out more fresh water. Then we collected the empty food dishes and everything else and made our way back outside again.