Cat Trick Read Online Free Page B

The collapse had
     uncovered remains that had turned out to be those of Roma’s long-lost father. Burtis
     had known the man. They’d both worked for Idris Blackthorne, who had been the town
     bootlegger back in the day. I’d had breakfast with Burtis early one morning, looking
     for any kind of information that would answer the questions Roma had about what had
     happened to her father.
    “No, you don’t,” I said. I could feel Marcus’s eyes watching me. “But does it have
     to be at six o’clock in the morning?”
    “Now, don’t be telling me you need your beauty sleep.” Burtis grinned. “Because nobody’s
     gonna believe that.” He turned and, with one hand, swung the heavy sledgehammer up
     into the back of the one-ton truck parked at the curb. Then he looked at me again.
     “C’mon over to Fern’s some morning. I’ll tell you all about the good old days. Peggy
     makes some damn fine blueberry pancakes.” His eyes darted over to Marcus for a moment.
     “Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I got work to do.” He headed for the half-finished
     tent.
    For a moment neither Marcus nor I said anything. Then he cleared his throat. “You’ll
     notice I’m not asking you why you were having breakfast with Burtis Chapman,” he said.
    “I appreciate that,” I said. Before I could say anything else, Mary Lowe came around
     the side of the half-finished tent. Mary worked at the library when she wasn’t baking
     the best apple pie I’d ever tasted or practicing her kickboxing. She was state champion
     in her age and weight class.
    Her gray hair was disheveled and she looked exasperated, but she smiled as she drew
     level with us. “Hello, Kathleen, Marcus,” she said. She made a sweeping gesture with
     one hand. “Welcome to the circus.”
    I knew she didn’t mean the tent.
    “Problems?” Marcus asked.
    “Nothing that can’t be fixed,” she said, her gaze flicking over to where Mike Glazer
     was standing by the river wall. “Oh, and I’m probably going to drop-kick that boy’s
     backside between those two light poles before we’re done here,” she said. “Just so
     you know.”

2
    “S hould I go get my handcuffs?” Marcus asked. I could tell by the gleam in his eye that
     he wasn’t serious.
    Mary folded her arms over her chest. “Teaching that young man some manners would be
     a public service, not a crime,” she said tartly. “But, no, I promise I’ll behave.”
     She gave me a cheeky grin. “Not that I couldn’t take him on if I wanted to.”
    “I have no doubt about that,” I said. And I didn’t. I’d seen Mary compete. I’d also
     seen her dancing onstage in a feathered mask and corset to Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love
     a Bad Name” during amateur night at the Brick, a club out on the highway, last winter,
     but I was trying to get that image out of my head.
    “I need to go light a fire under Burtis,” Mary said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kathleen.”
     She gave Marcus a little wave. “Good night, Detective.”
    “She wasn’t serious, was she?” Marcus said, as Mary disappeared inside the tent.
    I shook my head. “I don’t think so. But trust me; Mary would be perfectly capable
     of drop-kicking Mike Glazer between those two light posts”—I pointed at the streetlights
     along the boardwalk—“if she felt like it. Just like a football through the middle
     of the uprights.”
    He opened his mouth as though he were going to say something, then closed it again
     and gave a little shake of his head.
    “What?” I asked.
    “I was just thinking that you know a lot of interesting people,” he said, a hint of
     a smile on his face.
    I was saved from having to answer because Maggie was cutting across the grass to us.
     Years of yoga and tai chi had given her excellent posture, and she moved with a smooth
     gracefulness, not unlike my cats.
    “Hi, guys,” she said. She looked from Marcus to me and she was almost grinning. “What
     are you two doing down here?”