The smell of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls competed with the aroma of coffee as Heather descended the stairs of the Wells mansion. She entered the dining room with mouth wide open in a yawn and dug crusty matter from the corner of her eyes. Instead of gracefully lowering herself into a chair, she plopped down and yawned again.
Steve looked fresh, clean-shaven, and dressed for the day.
“I hope you look better than you sound,” he said as he raised his mug of morning stimulant to his lips.
“Sleepless night.”
“Uh-huh. I thought so. It would’ve helped if you’d eaten a couple of cookies and had a glass of milk.”
She rose and went to the coffee service to pour her first cup of the day. “Your home remedies will have me with more cellulite than six menopausal women signing up for Weight Watchers.”
Steve chuckled. “Not bad for someone who stayed up most of the night, but it’s a mental image I can live without. Was it Jack you were talking to?”
“Yeah. He caught some of my wrath, too.” She poured too much coffee in her cup and had to concentrate on not spilling it as she returned to the table. “I thought he was interested in hearing about the blow-up I had with my father. I think he was for the first fifteen minutes, but then I heard him snoring.”
“I did something similar once to Maggie. I still don’t know why she put up with me.”
Heather looked into her overfilled coffee cup. “Relationships aren’t easy, are they?”
“Speaking of.” Steve whispered. “Can anyone hear us?”
Pans clanged in the kitchen. Otherwise, the house was quiet. “Not if we keep our voices down.”
“We need to press Babbs about her mother’s relationship with Rodney Wells.”
“I thought you wanted to focus on Amanda’s murder.”
“The longer I thought about it, the more I believe they’re linked.”
Heather bumped a table leg, sending a small wave of coffee over the rim of her cup. While dabbing her mess with a paper napkin, she responded. “The crimes are eighty years apart. How could they be connected?”
“Not directly, but keep your eyes open today. I’m counting on you to give me full descriptions of what you see. After you have breakfast and get ready for the day, we’ll visit Babbs and her cats.”
Heather took her first sip of coffee by bending over and slurping. “Do we need to do anything else in Mattherson before we go home?”
“I don’t think so. You need to get to your office and unwind your big railroad deal. We’ll start fresh tomorrow morning. Ever been to Hermann Park in Houston?”
“Once. Jack and I went to the Art Gallery. It’s a beautiful park.”
“I want to make sure that’s where Amanda was killed.” He pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “I’ll be poolside. Take your time with breakfast and getting ready. I have plenty to think about and I’m not sure how receptive Babbs will be to our questions.”
“Do you think her memory comes and goes?”
“I’m sure it does, but what I don’t know is how much of that is real and how much she does because she wants to be left alone with her cats.” He unfurled his collapsible cane, but didn’t turn to leave. “I’d like for you to record our conversation with her today.”
“Is that necessary?”
Steve walked toward the door to the hallway that led to the back door. “She’s trained herself to give evasive answers to hard questions, but there might be something important if we read between the lines.”
When Heather heard the back door close, she went to the sideboard and helped herself to half of a cinnamon roll that covered a fair portion of her plate. She added a helping of scrambled eggs and a patty of sausage. Instead of enjoying the meal, her mind whirled around thoughts of her father and the railroad deal, a continuation of the same loop that played in her head most of the night. Had she made a terrible mistake? She pushed away the half-eaten breakfast and stood.
Across from her, a mirror hung between an oil painting of the Wells mansion and one of a train belching smoke and steam as it pulled into a long-ago depot boasting a sign that read MATTHERSON, TEXAS. She only glanced at the paintings, but took a longer look at the woman staring back at her. She had tired, worried eyes. The hair looked like a pack-rat had made its nest in it, and her mouth gave the impression she never smiled. “No,” she said to the mirror. “It was no mistake to drop the bullet train.”
An hour later, Heather joined Steve at the pool. In the meantime, she’d showered, fixed her hair, carefully applied makeup, packed, and most importantly, secured a supper date with Jack. Her world eased back into its proper orbit.
Steve lifted his head as she approached. “Glad to see you came to grips with your decision to drop the rail project.”
She tented her hands on her hips. “Go ahead, Detective Smiley. Tell me how you deduced that.”
“The pace of your steps. You skipped down the back steps and approached in what I’d describe as a confident stride. That told me you’ve given up second guessing your decision.” He paused. “I also caught a whiff of your perfume. You must have called Jack and patched things up. I’m guessing you have a date tonight.”
All she could do was shake her head in wonder. He might not have vision through his eyes, but he could see people in ways that astounded her. Instead of wasting her breath by telling him he was right, she took a step toward him. “Latch on. This train is going to see a cat lady about a murder.”
Steve placed his hand on her arm and they soon found their way through a gap in the hedges that deposited them close to Babbs’s bungalow.
Babbs, wearing a rainbow-colored tie-dyed T-shirt and a purple peasant skirt, looked up from filling a series of dishes with fresh water. “There you are. I thought you might have forgotten to come. Pearl and Clarence would have been so disappointed.”
“Sorry we’re late,” said Heather. “It’s my fault. I should have gotten up an hour earlier.”
“Nonsense.” She gave a sweeping motion with her hand. “I gave up on tracking time my freshman year of college. None of my little friends own a watch, so why should I? Let’s go inside. I thought about offering you some nice herbal tea, but I don’t have any fresh milk. My friends would be upset if I served tea and didn’t offer milk.”
“Don’t worry about serving us tea,” said Steve. “We’re both morning coffee drinkers, and we’ve had our quota.”
Heather chimed in. “I love your bungalow. It’s the perfect size for you and your friends.”
Babbs accepted the compliment without commenting and motioned for Heather to follow her.
On the way through the doorway, it pleasantly surprised Heather that a foul odor didn’t overwhelm her. Instead, she walked into a living room that served humans well, and cats even better. Sprouting from the floor along all the walls was a labyrinth of carpeted poles, platforms, walkways, and hiding boxes for felines. The walkways even went over the doors and windows.
The arrival of strangers caused a stir among the colony of cats. The timid ones raced to gain elevation or disappear into closed-topped boxes with holes big enough for the kitties to slink through. Others, sleek and plump, lay on their perches, looking down on their “mother” and the two strangers. Heather’s mouth gaped open until she spoke. “I’ve never seen anything so elaborate. Did you design all this for your cats?”
“Designed and helped build,” said Babbs. Pride seasoned her words. “Leon did the carpentry while Sara Jane, Traci, and I did the finish work with rope and carpet scraps.”
Heather remembered Steve and described the intricate kitty playground to him. Babbs interrupted her. “Let me take Steve around the room so he can touch what you're trying to describe. I once had a blind cat that I had to do the same thing with. After he knew the layout, he could go anywhere the others could. I named him Sampson.”
It took ten minutes for Steve and Babbs to complete their lap around the room. At about three quarters of the way, Steve made an observation. “Any cat would love to come live with you. Do you go out looking for them?”
“Oh, no. They simply show up. Some don’t like the rules I set for them and they leave.”
“What rules?”
“The main one is everyone must go outside to potty. I’ll not have my home smelling like a litter box. Next, I don’t allow fighting. It helps that they must agree to being spayed or neutered.”
Steve nodded. “I can see how that would cut down on the disagreements over who they cuddle with.”
Babbs stopped and looked at the tile floor. “Males fighting over females brings grief… so much grief.” The room remained quiet, as if the words needed to settle like dust on the floor. She snapped out of her silence and continued the tour. When she did, it was like she’d stuffed the memories in a closet in her mind and shut the door.
The tour ended at a doorway that led down a short hall. Babbs brought Steve back to a fabric covered chair, and she took her place in a short recliner that allowed her sandal-covered feet to touch the ground. “Steve, Clarence and Pearl want to say hello to you. I told them they could join you in your chair, but only on the armrests.”
On cue, both cats leapt to the arms of the chair. Steve welcomed them each by name and stroked the sides of their faces. The two felines soon settled amid deep purrs.
Heather issued a word of warning. “You’ll need to wash your hands before you go home. Max will be jealous if he smells other cats on you.”
“He’ll just ignore me. That’s his way of showing displeasure.”
Steve continued to pet both cats as he eased into a conversation with Babbs. “Tell me what you remember about your parents.”
The corners of Babbs’ mouth pulled down. “A lot of arguments behind closed doors. Separate bedrooms.”
“Do you have anything that belonged to your mother and father you can show us? Perhaps a wedding photograph, or an old love letter?”
“Some people say photos steal a piece of your soul.”
Heather realized Steve was getting nowhere fast with his questions. Babbs had put up her barrier to unpleasant memories. She scanned the room for something that might trigger a memory that wasn’t so unpleasant. When her gaze landed on a bookshelf, Heather rose from her seat and moved to where a series of books stood at attention, spines facing out.
“Is this your high school yearbook?” Heather touched the red-jacketed memento dated 1961.
A pleasant smile returned to Babbs’s face. “So long ago.”
“Do you mind if I look at it?”
“Go ahead, but why would you want to?”
“You’re our client. We like to know all we can about the people we work with.”
This seemed to pacify Babbs, so Heather took the yearbook from the shelf, moved a chair next to her hostess, and thumbed through the pages.
Babbs gave a page-by-page account of the students attending the small-town Texas high school. It took about twenty minutes to make it through the yearbook. The young woman on the pages looked so different from the one in front of Heather, but that wasn’t what struck her the most. The young woman living on the pages was the class valedictorian, the homecoming queen, and an all-around athlete. She had bright eyes, a disarming smile, and the look of a woman with a bright future ahead of her. One would never guess it by looking at the woman beside her now.
By the time Heather and Babbs ended the trip down memory lane, Steve had questions. “Did everything change for you in the sixties?”
A wistful look came into Babbs’s eyes. “Everything changed in the whole country in the sixties. The music, the clothes, and most of all, the drugs. In high school, I thought I was living on the edge if I scored a beer or shared a bottle of wine with my friends. College was an eye-opening experience. By the time I dropped out of grad school, I’d tried almost everything you can name. I eventually came out of the fog and moved back home.”
“Is that when you married?”
“Uh-huh. They picked my husband, so it wasn’t like a proper marriage. He served his purpose, received payment, and left without a word to me.”
The words “served his purpose” rang in Heather’s ears. “What do you mean, he served his purpose?”
Instead of answering, Babbs rocked side to side and hummed a tune Heather didn’t recognize.
Steve offered a likely explanation. “When you came back to Mattherson, you didn’t come alone, did you?”
Babbs stopped her rocking. “You’re clever, Steve. Just like Clarence.”
Instead of offering an explanation, Steve changed the subject. “Did both of your parents attend Mattherson High School?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What was your mother’s maiden name?”
“Dumont. Elsa Dumont.”
“Do you have your father’s or mother’s yearbook?”
“Only Mom’s.”
“Would you mind showing it to Heather?”
Wide-eyed fear flashed across Babb’s countenance. She rocked side to side again and hummed louder. Heather and Steve both asked two more questions that went unanswered. They left Babbs in her chair, rocking and humming, surrounded by cats.
Once outside in sunlight, Heather asked, “What caused her to shut down like that? Was it all the drugs she did?”
“We need to make a stop at the public library on our way home. Let’s see if we can find a copy of her mother’s yearbook. There’s something in it that haunts her to this day.”