Part 22 (2/2)

”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 b.a.l.l.s 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 gla.s.ses 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 hoa.r.s.ely.

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.

16.

I got up Monday morning to warmer weather and no snow. While Hercules and Owen ate, I sat at the table with a cup of coffee.

I was having major second thoughts. Maybe I should wait until Ruby was out on bail, then get her to let me check the bag. But what if she doesn't make bail? a voice in my head asked.

Hercules finished his breakfast, walked over to the messenger bag I'd hung over one of the chairs the night before and gave it a swat with one paw.

”No,” I said.

He hit the bag again.

I took it off the back of the chair and set it on the seat. ”I'm happy you've decided to help,” I said. ”I really am. But I can't take you with me. How would I explain that to Rebecca?”

He jumped, landing on the chair seat and sending the nylon bag to the floor. Then he turned and stared defiantly at me.

”Oh, like that's going to work.” I scooped the bag from the floor and set it on top of the fridge.

I should have known he wasn't going to give up easily. He hopped down and headed for the porch.

”Where are you going?” I asked.

Owen glanced up from his food, decided he had no dog-or in this case, cat-in this fight and went back to eating. I set my cup down and scrambled after Hercules. I knew if he wanted to he could get outside on his own. On the other hand, how likely was that? Outside meant snow, cold and wet feet.

That wasn't going to stop him. He was already in the yard. Hercules had committed to the plan and he was going to see it through. I yanked on my boots and hurried after him. He was halfway around the house, walking slowly, almost gingerly, stopping every few steps to shake one paw or another.

”Hercules, c'mon,” I called. It was cold and I didn't have a jacket. I hugged myself, trying to stay warm. He looked back over his shoulder at me. ”I can't take you,” I said.

He headed for the driveway again.

This was stupid. I lunged for him, intending to scoop him up and go back inside. He darted forward, faster than I'd ever seen him move in the snow. I overreached, skidded on a small patch of ice and went sprawling on the path.

Hercules turned and craned his neck toward me.

”I'm fine,” I grumped. I got slowly to my feet, brus.h.i.+ng off the snow that clung to my sweater and pants. The heel of my left hand was red where it had sc.r.a.pped along the frozen snow. I looked down at the cat. ”You can come,” I said. ”This is completely insane, but you can come.”

He lifted one front paw and shook it, then gave a pitiful-sounding meow. ”Oh, for heaven's sake,” I said. I bent and picked him up. ”I'm the one who went tail over teakettle on the ice, and you're the one who's getting carried.”

He snuggled into the crook of my arm and gave me a self-satisfied smirk.

Inside I set Hercules on the kitchen floor and brushed off the last bits of snow sticking to my sweater. The side of my hand stung where it had sc.r.a.pped across the ground. Owen and Hercules exchanged looks, then Owen turned to stare at me. Again I wondered if they shared come kind of cat telepathy. Considering everything else they could do it wasn't that far-fetched.

On one of the shelves in the hall closet I found a piece of orange fake fur. I stuffed it in the bottom of the messenger bag. Hercules came over, looked inside and shook his head.

”It's left over from the mad-scientist costume I wore at Halloween,” I said. ”It'll be warm.”

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