How to Paint a Cat (Cats and Curios Mystery) by Rebecca M. Hale Page B
Authors: Rebecca M. Hale
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The current trip to City Hall was a rare outing. As he topped the stairs, raindrops streaked down a face stained with sadness. His suit and overcoat were a mix of muted browns and blacks, matched by a similarly drab tie. The only color contrast could be found in his closely cropped mustache, which was growing whiter by the day.
For a man once known for his stylish panache and perpetually cheerful smile, it was a remarkable change.
The death of Spider Jones had left a sorrowful mark on the seasoned politician.
• • •
THE PREVIOUS MAYOR walked through City Hall’s gilded iron-and-glass doors, trying to suppress an involuntary shudder. It was the first time he had ventured into the building since the night of the fateful supervisors’ meeting.
A flood of emotions swept over him as he navigated through the security station and approached the rotunda. He paused on the pink marble floor to reach inside his jacket for a handkerchief. Dabbing his eyes, he stared up at the domed ceiling.
Spider had been the perfect protégé, the likes of which the PM feared he might never see again.
The young man had exhibited innate skill, keen perception, and sharp political wits. The PM had quickly taken him under his wing. How could he not? The intern had reminded him of an earlier version of himself.
The PM’s biological children were all grown and married, with their own careers and hobbies to keep them busy. Despite his best efforts, none of them had shown any interest in the family business—that is, running the city.
He had begun to despair for the future of San Francisco, which seemed devoid of suitable leadership candidates, particularly of late.
But then he’d met Spider.
The PM soon began to regard the intern as his heir apparent. He’d sent the lad on training missions designed to hone his natural talents. Spider had succeeded at every task. Be it sneaking around City Hall’s many corridors to pick up information, tailing soon-to-be-mayor Montgomery Carmichael, or even breaking into the building that housed the Green Vase antique shop, Spider had exceeded all expectations.
The PM had even started to work on Spider’s social etiquette, grooming him for the many power lunches, dinners, and cocktail parties ahead. To his view, the first requirement for any successful Bay Area politician—other than a proficiency in espionage—was the development of a fine palate.
He smiled, remembering Spider’s initiation to French cuisine and the intern’s valiant attempt to finish off platters of both oysters and snails.
With a sigh, he shook his head.
“Such a waste,” the PM muttered under his breath. He turned away from the rotunda and headed for one of the narrow staircases leading to the basement.
“I had so many more dishes for him to try.”
As he started down the steps, he grinned, despite his grim mood.
“I think Spider would have liked calamari.”
• • •
THERE HAD ALWAYS been a danger, the Previous Mayor reflected, his somber mood returning as he descended into the building’s basement. The young man was just the sort to get in over his head—and not realize the risks he was taking.
The engrossing research project Spider had taken up the last weeks of his life had set off alarm bells from the get-go. The PM had puzzled at all of the late hours the intern had spent digging around unsupervised in the City Hall archives. He had puzzled at the air of secretiveness and the covert nature of the intern’s investigations.
It was one thing for Spider to sneak around the building and report his findings to the PM, quite another for him to keep the spoils to himself.
The PM had followed up on his suspicions. Using his extensive information network, he had quickly managed to determine what Spider’s secret project was not.
It was not, for example, part of the intern’s regular duties. Nor did it involve any of the currently pending or contemplated legislation being discussed by the board
The current trip to City Hall was a rare outing. As he topped the stairs, raindrops streaked down a face stained with sadness. His suit and overcoat were a mix of muted browns and blacks, matched by a similarly drab tie. The only color contrast could be found in his closely cropped mustache, which was growing whiter by the day.
For a man once known for his stylish panache and perpetually cheerful smile, it was a remarkable change.
The death of Spider Jones had left a sorrowful mark on the seasoned politician.
• • •
THE PREVIOUS MAYOR walked through City Hall’s gilded iron-and-glass doors, trying to suppress an involuntary shudder. It was the first time he had ventured into the building since the night of the fateful supervisors’ meeting.
A flood of emotions swept over him as he navigated through the security station and approached the rotunda. He paused on the pink marble floor to reach inside his jacket for a handkerchief. Dabbing his eyes, he stared up at the domed ceiling.
Spider had been the perfect protégé, the likes of which the PM feared he might never see again.
The young man had exhibited innate skill, keen perception, and sharp political wits. The PM had quickly taken him under his wing. How could he not? The intern had reminded him of an earlier version of himself.
The PM’s biological children were all grown and married, with their own careers and hobbies to keep them busy. Despite his best efforts, none of them had shown any interest in the family business—that is, running the city.
He had begun to despair for the future of San Francisco, which seemed devoid of suitable leadership candidates, particularly of late.
But then he’d met Spider.
The PM soon began to regard the intern as his heir apparent. He’d sent the lad on training missions designed to hone his natural talents. Spider had succeeded at every task. Be it sneaking around City Hall’s many corridors to pick up information, tailing soon-to-be-mayor Montgomery Carmichael, or even breaking into the building that housed the Green Vase antique shop, Spider had exceeded all expectations.
The PM had even started to work on Spider’s social etiquette, grooming him for the many power lunches, dinners, and cocktail parties ahead. To his view, the first requirement for any successful Bay Area politician—other than a proficiency in espionage—was the development of a fine palate.
He smiled, remembering Spider’s initiation to French cuisine and the intern’s valiant attempt to finish off platters of both oysters and snails.
With a sigh, he shook his head.
“Such a waste,” the PM muttered under his breath. He turned away from the rotunda and headed for one of the narrow staircases leading to the basement.
“I had so many more dishes for him to try.”
As he started down the steps, he grinned, despite his grim mood.
“I think Spider would have liked calamari.”
• • •
THERE HAD ALWAYS been a danger, the Previous Mayor reflected, his somber mood returning as he descended into the building’s basement. The young man was just the sort to get in over his head—and not realize the risks he was taking.
The engrossing research project Spider had taken up the last weeks of his life had set off alarm bells from the get-go. The PM had puzzled at all of the late hours the intern had spent digging around unsupervised in the City Hall archives. He had puzzled at the air of secretiveness and the covert nature of the intern’s investigations.
It was one thing for Spider to sneak around the building and report his findings to the PM, quite another for him to keep the spoils to himself.
The PM had followed up on his suspicions. Using his extensive information network, he had quickly managed to determine what Spider’s secret project was not.
It was not, for example, part of the intern’s regular duties. Nor did it involve any of the currently pending or contemplated legislation being discussed by the board
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