I nodded. “I think so.” I was about to ask if he’d like to go with me when Marcus knocked a cheese-topped cracker onto the floor and made a face. Owen’s head came up again. The cat eyed the piece of cheese and then narrowed his gaze questioningly at Marcus.
“Okay if I let him have that?” Marcus asked. “It’s already on the floor.” He reached for my empty glass.
“Go ahead,” I said, propping my feet on the blue vinyl seat of the chrome chair at the end of the table. “Although you do need to work on your whoops-I-knocked-the-cheese-on-the-floor routine.”
He turned to look at me, lemonade pitcher in one hand. He looked guilty. Owen, waiting at my feet, was all wide-eyed innocence. He could give his coconspirator lessons. “Are you saying I dropped that cracker on purpose?”
“Are you saying you didn’t?” I countered, struggling to keep the corners of my lips from twitching.
“Where’s your evidence?”
The cat had scooted under the table while we were talking, grabbed the bit of mozzarella and retreated back to my side.
“Owen’s eating it, Detective,” I said.
Marcus held out both hands, palms up. “Sorry. Without the evidence you don’t have a case.”
I shook a warning finger at him. “If Roma gets after me about his cholesterol levels, I’m sending her to you.”
His smile got wider, and he refilled my glass, his fingers brushing mine for a moment as he handed it to me.
Owen finished eating, took a couple of passes at his face with a paw and looked around. I knew what he really wanted to do was nose all over Marcus’s house. I patted my legs. “C’mon up.” He started washing his tail instead. “Owen,” I said, a little more insistently.
“Kathleen, there’s nothing he can hurt in this house,” Marcus said, threading his fingers around his own glass. “Let him look around if he wants to.”
“He sheds,” I warned.
He ruffled his hair with one hand. “So do I.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “I’m serious.”
“Sadly, so am I,” he said with a grin. “Let him go.”
Owen’s golden eyes were fixed expectantly on me. “Stay out of trouble, and stay off the furniture,” I told him sternly, shaking a finger for emphasis, “and come when I call you.” I got a low murp for an answer, which might have meant he would. Or might have meant he wouldn’t.
Marcus and I sat at the table for maybe another half an hour, talking about our respective jobs and what was going on around town. It reminded me of the first time we’d sat across a table from each other. I’d discovered the body of conductor Gregor Easton at the Stratton Theater the summer before this past one. Marcus was the investigating officer on the case. We’d gotten off on the wrong foot when he raised the possibility that maybe I’d been at the theater to meet the conductor—who was older than my father—for a romantic rendezvous. I’d taken offense at what he’d been suggesting, and he’d taken offense at what he saw as me poking around in his case.
Gregor Easton’s murder wasn’t the first case of Marcus’s that we’d butted heads on, but in the past few months we’d been trying not to do that. It helped that there hadn’t been a major crime in Mayville Heights in a while.
I stretched my arms up over my head. I’d been stuck behind my desk at the library all day. “I should collect Owen and head home,” I said.
“Have supper with me,” Marcus said. Conversations with him sometimes veered off in unexpected directions. “We could go down to Eric’s Place—that is, if you don’t have plans.”
“I don’t,” I said. “But I have to take Owen home first, assuming he hasn’t decided he’s going to live with you now.” I got to my feet and called the cat. After a minute, he sauntered back into the kitchen. His fur was rumpled and there was a dust ball stuck to his tail. I picked him up and he licked the side of my face, clearly pleased with the way his visit had turned out.
“Thank Marcus for his hospitality,” I said. Owen meowed his appreciation.
Marcus nodded at the cat. “You’re welcome.” To me he said, “I’ll follow you.”
I grabbed my purse from the back of my chair and carried Owen out. I didn’t completely trust him to stay where I could see him, so to speak.
Once we were headed along the road toward home, I glanced over at him on the passenger seat. He was looking out the windshield.
“So did you have a good time?”
“Merow,” he said. His gaze flicked to me and then he went back to staring straight ahead.
“Think of this little visit like it was two visits,” I said darkly. “A first one and a last one.” I didn’t get so much as a whisker twitch for the rest of the ride.
I pulled into the driveway at home, and when I turned off the truck, Owen climbed onto my lap, put a paw on my shoulder and rubbed the side of his face against my cheek. “You’re in big trouble,” I warned, trying to sound mad but not really getting there. “Being cute is not going to save you.”
He licked my chin.
“That would be a whole lot more adorable if you didn’t have fish breath,” I told him.
I carried Owen inside and left him in the kitchen. Hercules was nowhere to be seen. I ran upstairs, undid my ponytail, and ran a brush through my hair. I was still growing out my hair—with help from Rebecca, who used to be a hairdresser. I had layers with side-swept bangs, but I could finally pull it back off my face when I wanted to.
Owen was sitting by the refrigerator when I came down. “Nice try,” I said. “You’ve already eaten. More than once.” I made sure I could see him as I closed and locked the door behind me.
Marcus was waiting in the driveway. I climbed into the passenger side of his SUV.
“Is Owen okay?” he asked as he backed onto the street.
“Are you kidding?” I said. “He had sardines in hot sauce, a hunk of mozzarella cheese, and he got to poke his furry little nose into who knows what at your house. It was just about the perfect cat outing.” I shifted sideways in my seat a little so I could watch him drive.
We started down Mountain Road, and Marcus glanced over at me. “So have you decided what you’re going to do?” he said.
I didn’t have to ask, “About what?” I knew he meant had I decided if I was going to accept the offer Everett Henderson had made to me on behalf of the library board and stay in Mayville Heights, or go back to Boston when my contract expired in about six months. I had until the end of the month to give the board my answer. I fiddled with the strap of my purse to buy a little time. “I’m not sure,” I said finally.
His eyes stayed focused on the road ahead.
“I didn’t think I’d miss my family so much.” I cleared my throat. “One of the reasons I came here was to get some breathing room.”
Marcus nodded without speaking.
“My mother and father, and Sara and Ethan, they sometimes tend to suck all the air out of the room.”
My parents were both actors. My sister, Sara, was an aspiring filmmaker. Her twin, Ethan, was a musician. They were all dramatic people. I’d always been the practical, responsible one in the family. Moving to Mayville Heights to supervise the refurbishment of the library had been the first impulsive thing I’d done in my life.