Cat Trick

He gave me a small smile. “Hello, Kathleen,” he said. Oren was tall and rangy with sun-bleached blond hair. His large hands had long, slender fingers, and he was an accomplished pianist as well as a talented carpenter. He turned and looked back over his shoulder at the tent.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Do you have your cell phone with you? I don’t have one.”

“It’s right here.” I pulled the phone out of my pocket.

Oren wiped his hands on his brown work pants and then looked at them. They were streaked with dirt. “Kathleen, would you mind calling the police?” he asked. “I was moving some of the booths—getting them leveled and secured a little better. I found something that might be important. I don’t know.”

“What was it?”

Oren glanced at the tent again. “I thought I saw a glint of something shiny by one of the end tent pegs when I was tying back the sides to let some sun in, so I went to take a look.” He made an apologetic shrug. “Maybe it doesn’t mean anything, but it looks like there’s a knife stuck in the ground.”

“A knife?”

“A butter knife, I think. I’m not sure. It’s small with a thin blade.” His shifted his weight from one side to the other. “Thing is, I tied that line myself and there sure as heck wasn’t any knife in the ground when I did.”

I nodded slowly. “I’ll call Marcus,” I said.

I punched in the number with a strong feeling of déjà vu, thinking maybe I should put Marcus on speed dial. The phone rang half a dozen times before he answered it. I explained where I was and what Oren had found.

He exhaled loudly and mumbled something I didn’t catch. “Okay, I’m on my way.”

“Do you need me to stay here?” I asked. I could hear voices in the background.

“Can you?” he asked.

I looked at my watch. “Yes,” I said. “But I do have to open the library and I’m walking.”

“I won’t be long. I promise,” he said, and then he ended the call.

“Marcus is on his way,” I told Oren, putting my phone back in my pocket.

“Thank you,” he said. He tried to brush more of the dirt off his hands. “I know the police are still investigating Mike Glazer’s death. I don’t know if that knife means anything or not.”

I looked past him at the tent. “Oren, could you show me where it is?” I asked. I held up both hands. “I won’t touch anything.”

“All right,” he said.

I followed him across the grass. He lifted the canvas flap and pointed. “Right there. I’m not sure if you can see it.”

“I see it,” I said. With the other flaps tied open, the tent was flooded with early-morning sun. The light was glinting off the rounded end of what looked like a knife handle, the blade jammed down into the earth, less than a foot away from where Owen had dug up that brass button from Alex Scott’s jacket. How had it gotten there? I’d checked the area very carefully after Owen had discovered the button and there hadn’t been a knife, or anything else, stuck in the grass.

Oren looked at me. “You think it’s a butter knife?”

“Looks like one,” I said. We took a couple of steps away from the tent, and I set my bag on the grass at my feet.

“Doesn’t make a lot of sense. If someone was trying to hide it, they didn’t do a very good job.”

“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” I said, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my hooded sweater. “Maybe that knife has nothing to do with Mike Glazer’s death.”

He gave me an appraising look, eyes narrowed. “Do you really think so?” he asked.

I was spared having to answer because Marcus’s SUV pulled up at the curb then. He got out of the car and walked over to us. “Hi,” he said softly to me before turning his focus on Oren. “Kathleen said you found something in the tent.”

Oren nodded. “I was opening things up so I could get some light inside and see what I was doing. Looks like someone stuck some kind of a knife down in the ground.” He made the motion with one hand.

“Show me, please,” Marcus said.

Oren led him over to the open end of the tent and pointed inside. “See it? Follow that line.”

Marcus leaned forward, ducking his head. “Got it,” he said after a moment. He straightened and turned back to me. “Why were you here?” he asked.

“I wasn’t,” I said.

“She was just headed up the street,” Oren said. “I waved her over because I don’t have a cell phone.”

“All right,” Marcus said, pulling his own phone out of his jacket pocket. “You can go, Kathleen.” He looked at Oren. “I’d appreciate it if you could hang around for a few minutes, though.”

“I can do that,” Oren said. He smiled at me. “Thank you, Kathleen.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, picking up my briefcase.