Coffee with Rick and Clawdia
This scene is from chapter 27 of Crime Skein. April and Megan visit Rick Ransan thank him for jumpstarting a car and see how his new cat, Clawdia is settling in. The original scene, from Megan’s point of view is first, followed by the same scene from April’s point of view.
Megan’s point of view:
“H-hi, April.” Rick beams. “Oh, and hi t-to you, too, Megan. This is a pleasant surprise, like finding a d-double yolk in your egg when you only expect one yolk.”
To the best of my recollection, this is the first time someone has likened April and me to an egg. Rick invites us inside, and next thing we know, April and I are slipping off our winter boots in his foyer.
While April thanks Rick for jump-starting Tamara’s car yesterday and gives him a box of snowball cookies and cranberry-orange-banana bread, I glance around Rick’s small, cozy home and get a feel for his space.
Rick’s home is cozy. It’s clean and tidy, yet lived in. His furnishings are neither old nor new, and a few antique collectibles stand out. Family heirlooms, I assume. Judging by the shelf of cookbooks and the extensive herb and spice collection in his kitchen, Rick is a culinary hobbyist. I wonder who he cooks for?
“And we couldn’t forget Clawdia,” April says, pulling a white confectionery bag from her coat pocket. “Sardine flavoured,” she divulges, handing Rick the bag.
Ewww. Sardine cookies sound gross to me, but I’m sure to a cat they sound pawsitively purrfect.
“Oh, I brought Clawdia a small housewarming gift too,” I add, handing Rick the gift bag of knitted mice.
“Thank you, both!” Rick responds. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll make us some coffee to have with these treats.”
We offer to help make the coffee, or plate the sweet treats, but Rick insists he’s fine and directs us to the living room. On the sofa, April discreetly nudges my leg with her knee.
“What?” I mouth, looking at her.
She raises her eyebrows and nods toward the dining room. I follow her gaze to a suitcase. It’s upright against the wall beside the hutch. There’s something on top of the suitcase. I stand up and take two quiet steps toward the dining room to get a better look. It’s a passport.
As I take two quiet steps backward toward the sofa, my phone dings. I sink back into the sofa next to April and take my phone out of my bag.
April: Is that a passport? Do you think he’s going on the lam?
She’s texting me from the next sofa cushion. I turn my head and look at her in disbelief.
“What?” she whispers. “It’s not like I could say it out loud.”
“I’m not sure how you take your coffee, so I brought everything.” Rick places a tray with three mugs of coffee, spoons, and coffee condiments.
“Is Clawdia settled in?” I ask, then sip my coffee.
Rick nods while he chews a snowball cookie.
“Are you getting used to each other?” April adds.
“She’s been here less than a week, but it feels like she’s always been here,” Rick replies. Then he calls for the cat. “Miss Clawdia! Come here, Miss Claaaawdia. Sssspssssp.”
To my surprise, Clawdia bounds into the room from the hall that leads to the bedrooms.
“Here she is,” April says, lowering her hand to cat-level and rubbing her fingertips against her thumb, hoping to coax Clawdia to come within stroking distance.
It’s hard to believe this is the same small, timid cat Rick and I rescued from Saxon’s house. She looks the same, but she acts completely different. This version of Clawdia is friendly and confident. She visits each of us, making certain everyone has a chance to rub her, then jumps onto Rick’s lap, puts her front paws on his chest, and headbutts his beard, before coiling herself into a content pile of furry warmth on his lap.
Sophie has taught me that animals have a knack for seeing the essence of who people really are. Animals are neither fooled nor impressed by the facade many people project when they are out in the world. Surely, if Rick were a cold-blooded murderer, Clawdia wouldn’t be this comfortable with him. I’m not a cat, but I get a calm, peaceful vibe from Rick too. I just can’t believe he’s a heartless killer.
“Your hair looks great,” I compliment Rick on his new do. “Kelly is a great hairdresser, isn’t she?”
Rick looks cleaner and more put together with his new style. Before Kelly worked her magic, Rick’s head of thick brown curls resembled a curly helmet. Now, the sides and back are super short, and the curls on top of his head are shaped to complement his rugged features. He looks like a different person.
“I hardly recognize myself when I look in the mirror,” Rick responds with a chuckle. “But I expect I’ll get used to it.” He runs his hand through his curls.
We chat about the weather, the best places to buy pet food and supplies, and other generic topics. I drink my coffee, nibble at my slice of cranberry-orange-banana bread, and wait patiently for an opportunity to ask Rick about the suitcase and passport in the next room.
“Who will take care of Clawdia while you’re away?” April asks, as if she can read my mind. Sometimes I swear she has mind- reading powers but won’t admit it.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Rick replies, looking confused.
“Oh,” I interject. “We noticed your suitcase and passport”—I gesture toward them with my almost-empty mug—“and assumed you were going on a trip. Maybe somewhere sunny and warm to escape winter for a few days.” I bring the mug to my lips and finish my coffee.
“Oh th-that,” Rick replies, turning to look at the suitcase and passport. “I told Trudy I’d drop off the suitcase at the library. It’s full of books and clothes and toiletries that someone donated to the book club. The book club collects d-donations for people displaced by natural disasters. They p-put together kits of clothes, toiletries, and books, then send them where they’re needed. I think they’re currently collecting donations for the hurricane that recently hit the Bahamas, but they take donations all year.”
“I can drop off the suitcase at the library,” I offer. “I have to drive past there today, anyway. I’m happy to do it.”
“That’s nice, Megan, thank you for the offer, but it’s heavy. It’s full of books. I’d h-hate if you hurt yourself. I don’t mind doing it.”
“Is the passport part of the donation too?” April asks.
“No,” Rick laughs. “The passport is going to the bank. I keep my important papers in a safe deposit box. I renewed my passport, and the new one just arrived in the mail. I need to switch out the new passport with the expired one.”
Rick’s explanation makes sense, but the suitcase and passport still look suspicious, especially considering Rick is a suspect in a murder investigation.
We thank Rick for the coffee and explain that we have to get back to our respective businesses. We tell him we’ll see ourselves out and insist that he not get up because neither of us can bear to disturb Clawdia who is fast asleep and purring on Rick’s lap.
“Thanks again, Rick. Bye,” I call as I open his front door.
“Wrap up the leftover cake or it’ll dry out,” April advises. “We’ll see you and Clawdia soon.”
“Thanks, guys. For everything. Bye,” Rick calls from the living room.
“What do you think?” I ask April as we walk to the car.
“I want to believe him about the suitcase and the passport, but I’m not sure I do,” she replies.
“Same,” I say, nodding. “But he knew we were coming over. If he’s planning to go on the run, he would’ve hidden the suitcase and passport before we arrived, wouldn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” April replies. “But I think we should let the police know, just in case he’s planning to skip town.”
I nod. “I think you’re right.”
April’s point of view:
“H-hi, April.” Rick beams. “Oh, and hi t-to you, too, Megan. This is a pleasant surprise, like finding a d-double yolk in your egg when you only expect one yolk.”
Did he just compare us to an egg?
Rick invites us inside, and Megan and I slip out of our winter boots in his small foyer.
I thank Rick for jump-starting Tamara’s car yesterday then hand him a box of snowball cookies and cranberry-orange-banana bread. Megan looks around Rick’s house, checking out his space.
His house is cozy and clean. It’s not cluttered by any means, but has a lived-in feel. His furnishings are simple and comfy, with a few antique, heirloom-looking pieces scattered throughout.
Apparently, Rick cooks. The bookshelf in his kitchen is crowded with cookbooks, and his spice rack boasts an extensive collection of herbs and spices. I wonder what he likes to cook?
“And we couldn’t forget Clawdia,” I say, producing a white confectionery bag from my coat pocket. “Sardine flavoured,” I whisper so I don’t spoil the surprise for his cat.
“Oh, I brought Clawdia a small housewarming gift too,” Megan adds, giving Rick a gift bag of knitted mice.
“Thank you, both!” Rick responds. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll make us some coffee to have with these treats.”
We offer to help make coffee, or plate the sweet treats, but Rick insists he’s fine and directs us to the living room.
I can’t believe my eyes when, passing the dining room, I catch a glimpse of a suitcase leaning against the wall beside the hutch. Is that Rick’s passport sitting on top? Did Megan see that? I’m staring at the back of her head so hard, I might burn a hole into it. She didn’t even glance at me when we passed the dining room. She didn’t notice.
On the sofa, I clear my throat and nudge Megan’s leg to get her attention.
“What?” she mouths.
I raise my eyebrows and point my chin toward the dining room. Megan’s gaze follows my gesture until it lands on the suitcase. She stands up and tip toes toward it for a closer look. Her eyes widen when she sees the passport on top of the luggage.
Just as Megan lowers herself back onto the sofa, her phone chimes. It’s me. I just sent her a text.
April: Is that a passport? Do you think he’s going on the lam?
Megan looks at me in amused disbelief. Not because of the suitcase and passport, but because I texted her when I’m right beside her.
“What?” I whisper. “It’s not like I could say it out loud.”
“I’m not sure how you take your coffee, so I brought everything.” Rick places a tray with three mugs of coffee, spoons, and coffee condiments.
“How is Clawdia settling in?” Megan asks, then sips her coffee.
Rick nods and chews a snowball cookie.
“Are you getting used to each other?” I ask.
“She’s been here less than a week, but it feels like she’s always been here,” Rick replies. Then he calls for the cat. “Miss Clawdia! Come here, Miss Claaaawdia. Sssspssssp.”
To my delight, Clawdia prances into the room.
“Here she is,” I gush, lowering my hand to cat-level and rubbing my fingertips against my thumb, hoping to coax Clawdia over for a visit.
Clawdia isn’t anything like the small, shy cat Megan described. This cat is friendly and confident. Clawdia greets each of us in turn, purring and rubbing her furry body against our legs. When she’s satisfied everyone has had an opportunity to stroke her, she jumps onto Rick’s lap, puts her front paws on his chest, and headbutts his beard. Then she curls up into a purring bundle of contentment on his lap.
I believe animals have a sixth sense about people. They see who we truly are. Would Clawdia be this comfortable with Rick if he was a killer? I’m not a cat, and I don’t have a sixth sense about people, but I agree with Clawdia. Anyone this attentive and snuggly with their kitty can’t be a murderer. Right?
“Your hair looks great,” Megan says, complimenting Rick’s new hairstyle. “Kelly is a great hairdresser, isn’t she?”
The difference a new hairstyle can make is amazing. Rick looks like a new person since Kelly took her hairdressing shears to him. Before Kelly’s intervention, Rick’s head of thick brown curls resembled an out of control, curly helmet. Now, his trendy new ‘do is short and neat on the sides and back, with longer curls on top. If he walked past me on the street, I might not recognize him.
“I hardly recognize myself when I look in the mirror,” Rick responds, chuckling. “But I expect I’ll get used to it.” He runs a hand through his curls.
We complain about the weather, compliment the cookies and cranberry-orange-banana bread, compare the various local options for pet food and supplies, and sip our coffees.
When will Megan ask him about the suitcase and passport in the dining room? What is she waiting for? Am I supposed to mention it?
“Who will take care of Clawdia while you’re away?” I ask, hoping my question comes across as a natural extension of our casual conversation.
Megan shoots me a grateful grin.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Rick replies, confused.
“Oh,” Megan interjects. “We noticed your suitcase and passport”—she gestures toward them with her mug—“and assumed you were going on a trip. Maybe somewhere sunny and warm to escape winter for a few days.” She brings the mug to her lips and drains the last few drops of coffee.
“Oh th-that,” Rick replies, turning to look at the suitcase and passport. “I told Trudy I’d drop off the suitcase at the library. It’s full of books and clothes and toiletries. Someone donated it to the book club. The book club collects d-donations for people displaced by natural disasters. They p-put together kits of clothes, toiletries, and books, then send them where they’re needed. I think they’re currently collecting donations for the hurricane that recently hit the Bahamas, but they take donations all year.”
“I can drop off the suitcase at the library,” Megan offers. “I have to drive past there today, anyway. I’m happy to do it.”
“That’s nice, Megan, thank you for the offer, but it’s heavy. It’s full of books. I’d h-hate if you hurt yourself. I don’t mind doing it.”
“Is the passport part of the donation too?” I ask.
“No,” Rick laughs. “The passport is going to the bank. I keep my important papers in a safe deposit box. I renewed my passport, and the new one just arrived in the mail. I need to switch out the new passport with the expired one.”
Is Rick telling the truth? It’s a big coincidence that a murder suspect just happens to have a suitcase and passport on standby a few feet from his front door.
We thank Rick for the coffee and explain that we have to get back to work. We offer to see ourselves out and insist he stay put and not disturb Clawdia who is still fast asleep and purring on his lap.
“Thanks again, Rick. Bye,” Megan says as she opens the front door.
“Wrap up the leftover cake or it’ll dry out,” I remind him. “We’ll see you and Clawdia soon.”
“Thanks, guys. For everything. Bye,” Rick calls from the living room.
“What do you think?” Megan asks on the way to the car.
“I want to believe him about the suitcase and the passport, but I’m not sure I do,” I admit. .
“Same.” Megan nods. “But he knew we were coming over. If he’s planning to go on the run, wouldn’t he hide the suitcase and passport before we arrived?”
“I don’t know,” I reply with a sigh. “But I think we should let the police know, just in case he’s planning to skip town.”
Megan nods in agreement. “I think you’re right.”
Are you ready for the next Knitorious Murder Mystery? Click here for Sins & Needles: A Knitorious Murder Mystery book 7.