Free Faux Paw: A Magical Cats Mystery by Sofie Kelly

and left the light on over the stove.
    “I have no idea how long this will take,” I said. Owen meowed and disappeared down the basement stairs. I made a mental note to figure out why he was spending so much time down there.
    Hercules wound around my legs as I pulled on my favorite low leather boots. I reached down to pet the top of his head. “I know it’s asking a lot,” I said in a low voice, “but please try to get along with your brother while I’m gone.”
    He suddenly found the edge of the mat where I put my shoes incredibly fascinating.
    Rebecca had turned on the light at her back door. I cut across my backyard and then hers. She was watching for me and she opened the back door before I could tap on it.
    “Hello, dear,” she said. “Everett told me what happened. Are you all right?”
    Rebecca was one of the kindest and gentlest people I’d ever met. She was tiny, with silver hair and blue eyes and a smile that lit up her entire face. She also had a will of iron. “I’m all right,” I said, shrugging off my jacket.
    As promised, she made hot chocolate and topped each pottery mug with two fat marshmallows that smelled of vanilla before she set one cup in front of me. “Would you like a rhubarb muffin?” she asked.
    “This is good for now. Thank you,” I said.
    Rebecca sat opposite me with her own cup. “The way Everett spoke . . .” She hesitated. “What happened to Margo Walsh wasn’t an accident, was it?”
    “I uh . . . I don’t think so,” I said slowly. I hated that Margo was probably dead because of a drawing.
    “That’s very sad,” she said.
    “It is. Very,” I agreed.
    “Everett said the Weston drawing is missing?”
    I looped my finger through the handle of the cup. “It looks that way, unless Margo put it somewhere for safekeeping, and I don’t know where that would be, or even why she would.”
    Rebecca gave a soft sigh. “I’ve seen the drawing, you know. It’s quite lovely and surprisingly detailed, but it’s not worth killing another human being over, no matter how much money it’s worth.”
    There was a knock on the back door then. Rebecca got up to answer it, reaching out to pat my arm for a moment as she moved past me.
    It was Gavin Solomon. I wasn’t surprised to see him. I’d figured that Everett would have called him as well. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt and his hair was mussed as if, like Marcus, he’d run his hands through it several times.
    “Hello, Kathleen,” he said. He didn’t seem surprised to see me, either.
    “Kathleen and I were just having hot chocolate,” Rebecca said to Gavin. “Would you like to join us? Or I could easily make a pot of coffee.”
    Gavin pulled a hand across his neck. He seemed much more subdued than usual. “I think I’ve had more than my share of coffee today. A cup of hot chocolate sounds great.” He looked at me. “I can’t believe Margo is dead. I was just with her a couple of hours ago.”
    He joined me at the table and by the time Rebecca had the hot chocolate ready Everett was walking through the back door.
    We spent the next couple of hours deciding how we would handle the inevitable press inquiries and whether or not the library should be closed. It was after eleven thirty when Everett pushed back the lined yellow pad on the table in front of him and said, “I think we’ve done all we can do.”
    Gavin nodded, shifting sideways in his seat and propping one forearm on the chair back. “You’re right,” he said. “Everything else is going to have to wait until morning.” He closed the leather portfolio in front of him on the table. “I’m meeting Detective Lind at nine o’clock to go over the security system with her, but I’ll contact everyone else I need to before that.” He shook his head. “I was going to say I needed to call Margo.”
    Hope had called Gavin about half an hour after he’d gotten to the house, looking for more information about the temporary security system.