Sleight Of Paw

15

Before I could get up, the phone rang. We both jumped. Herc teetered on my lap like a high-wire walker in a windstorm, and almost fell off.

I put one hand on the cat and picked up the phone with the other. It was Rebecca.

“Hi,” I said. “Maggie gave me your message from earlier.”

“Oh, good,” she said. “I’m hoping you can do me a favor. It’s for Ruby, actually.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“Her lawyer called. Ruby needs clothes for court in the morning. I have Violet’s keys, so I have a key to Ruby’s apartment, too.”

“And you’d like me to go with you.” It was only a couple of days ago that I’d gone with Ruby to find clothes for Agatha.

“If you don’t mind. Ruby’s style is quite a bit different from mine.”

I smiled. “Mine, too, but between the two of us we should be able to find something that will work.”

We settled on a time in the morning and said good night.

“This is a sign,” I said.

Hercules looked at the phone and then at me.

“All right, so I don’t believe in signs,” I said. “But if I did, this would be one.” He just kept staring at me. “Rebecca wants me to help her find something for Ruby to wear to court. I’m going to meet her at Ruby’s apartment in the morning.” He still didn’t so much as blink. “Ruby’s apartment,” I repeated. “Where she probably took that bag of Agatha’s things Lita gave her. You know,” I leaned close to his furry black and white face. “That bag that may have the envelope everyone was fighting with her about.”

His green eyes narrowed. “Agatha had that envelope with her, and it seems to have disappeared. Maybe it had nothing to do with her death, but I have to start somewhere.”

Hercules lifted a paw and smacked me on the arm.

“Ow!” I said. It didn’t actually hurt, but I was trying to make a point. Why did he suddenly have to develop standards about me poking around in one of Marcus’s cases?

“Look, all I want to do is look in that bag,” I said. “If Ruby wasn’t in jail you know she’d let me.” Hercules actually seemed to consider that thought. “I’d wait if I had the time”—I leaned in even closer—“but I don’t.”

I set him on the floor, brushed off my lap and headed for the stairs. He was in front of me before I’d taken more than a couple of steps.

“It’s for a good cause,” I said. “And I’m not asking you to help me.” I closed my eyes and pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. I’d lost my mind. I really had this time. I was trying to justify to a cat what I was going to do.

I opened my eyes and looked into deep green cat eyes in a cute, furry black-and-white face. He looked like any other house cat, ready to rub against my leg or chase dust balls under the bed. But he wasn’t someone’s cute, cuddly house pet.

Would I have figured out how Gregor Easton died without Hercules? Or Owen? Herc had found a bead and a piece of very unique musical notation that helped me put all the pieces together. Not only had Easton’s killer been caught, but Rebecca and Everett had gotten back together.

And when the house was broken into last summer, Hercules had gone for help while Owen had helped me fight off the intruder.

I imagined for a moment telling Maggie or Roma that Owen and Hercules had helped me find Gregor Easton’s killer. They’d laugh. They’d think it was some kind of joke.

But the cats had. Which didn’t mean they had to do it again.

“Marcus isn’t going to look for another killer,” I said to the cat. “At best, all he’s going to do is look for more evidence against Ruby.” I shrugged. “She’s my friend. She’s Maggie’s friend. We’re just going to have to agree to disagree.”

I turned and headed for the kitchen instead, trying to ignore the insanity of telling a cat we were going to have to agree to disagree.

I filled the sink with hot water and bubbles and I was just starting to wash the glasses when I heard a noise. What the heck were those two doing now?

I went to the living room doorway. Hercules was coming across the floor, backward, from the closet, dragging my messenger bag, the strap in his teeth. His way, I realized, of telling me he’d help.

I walked over and crouched down to his level. He let go of the woven strap and looked at me. I suddenly had a giant lump in my throat. I kissed the top of his head. “Thank you,” I said hoarsely.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Owen by the end of the couch doing his neglected-cat pose. I reached out my right hand to him. “I love you, too, fur ball,” I said. He scooted over and leaned against the side of my leg.

We were the Three Musketeers. We were Batman and Robin and a librarian.

We were probably nuts.