by Sofie Kelly
Moving that one quilt turned out to be the only change that was needed to Patricia’s plan. She seemed happy with Oren’s suggestions for suspending the quilts from the ceiling so they could be seen but not handled. “There are just too many grubby little hands in here in the run of a day,” she said. “No offense, Kathleen,” she added.
“None taken,” I said. I felt sure Patricia would have been appalled to see what some of those grubby little hands did to our library books.
“Thank you,” I said to Oren after Patricia left. “We wouldn’t be able to do this without your help. If we couldn’t hang the quilts they wouldn’t be safe from little hands and big ones, too.”
Oren ducked his head. “You’re welcome. I’m happy I can help.”
“Is there anything you need?” I asked.
He looked up at me. “Would you mind if I checked the hooks in the computer area? I noticed one that doesn’t look quite right.”
I smiled. “Go ahead.”
Oren headed to the loading dock to get the tall stepladder.
I picked up my notepad and the folder of papers Patricia had given me and turned around just as Georgia Tepper walked into the building. So she was back in town from her workshop. I wondered if Marcus knew.
Georgia looked around, smiling when she spotted me.
I walked over to join her. “Hi,” I said. “How was the workshop?”
Her smile got even bigger. “It was wonderful. I think I’m still on a sugar high.”
She was holding her cell phone in one hand. I gestured at it. “Any pictures to share?”
Her gaze slipped away from mine for a moment. I’d noticed she sometimes tended to downplay her skills. “Yes,” she finally said.
I waited while she scrolled through her photos. Then she held out the phone to me.
“Oh, Georgia, that’s beautiful!” I exclaimed. The cake pictured on the screen was a four-tiered creation with alternating black and white layers decorated with a curving cascade of flowers from pale violet to dark purple down the front. “It’s almost too pretty to eat.”
She smiled again. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I can’t resist asking; what kind of cake? Chocolate and vanilla?”
“Close,” she said. “The dark layers are dark chocolate and the light layers are hazelnut.”
“That’s even better,” I said. “You’re really talented.” I looked at the screen a second time “Those flowers, they look so real.”
“They’re not hard to make,” she said, swiping her index finger across the phone screen to show me a closer image of the delicate blooms. “I could teach you, I mean, if you’re interested.”
I nodded. “Yes. I’m absolutely interested. As soon as the quilt show is over I’ll have some free time.”
“We’ll set up a time then.” She tucked her phone in the pocket of her jacket. “The quilt show is actually the reason I’m here. Patricia Queen sent me an e-mail—well, several e-mails— while I was out of town.”
“She wants the show to be perfect,” I said. I knew some people found Patricia’s dogged attention to detail annoying, but I admired her work ethic.
“I understand that,” Georgia said. “I can be pretty single-minded myself when I’m baking. It turns out Patricia wants one of my gift baskets as a thank-you gift for Melanie Davis but she couldn’t give me any ideas about what to put in it. I don’t want to deliver a basket of, say, banana muffins, if what Melanie would really enjoy is chocolate cupcakes.”
“Chocolate cupcakes, definitely,” I said at once. I knew that Melanie loved chocolate. She’d asked for the recipe after she tried one of my brownies. And I was positive that she wouldn’t feel like banana muffins—or any other kind of muffin—at the moment.
Georgia scrolled through her phone once again and showed me some of the cupcake possibilities. I’d tried all of them, I realized.
“They all look so delicious,” I said, “and I know how good they taste, but I think Melanie would like the mix of double chocolate, mint chocolate chip and mocha fudge.” Just looking at a picture of those cupcakes made me hungry, and right on cue my stomach growled. Loudly.
I put a hand on my midsection. “Sorry,” I said, feeling my cheeks get red with embarrassment.
Georgia laughed. “Don’t apologize. I take that as praise.” She tucked her phone in her pocket again. “By the way, was your brother happy with his muffins?”
His muffins?
I gave her a blank look. “I’m sorry, what muffins are we talking about?”
“The peanut butter banana ones I made for the workshop he was teaching on Sunday.”
“Ethan ordered peanut butter banana muffins from you? For the songwriting workshop at the hotel?” I knew I was parroting her words but I couldn’t help it. I was trying to have them make sense because they didn’t at the moment.
Georgia frowned. “Kathleen, was there something wrong with them?” she asked.
“No, no,” I said. “It’s just that the workshop was canceled. You probably didn’t hear because you left early on Sunday morning.”
“Yes,” she said, still looking very confused.
How was I going to explain this? “A guest at the hotel . . . died.”
She put a hand to her chest. “That’s horrible!” she whispered.
I exhaled softly. “There’s something else you should know. That guest was, uh, Lewis Wallace.”
Georgia stared wide-eyed at me. “Oh my word. You mean the man from Fern’s who . . . who . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence.
“Yes,” I said.
“What happened?”
I hesitated for a moment. I couldn’t bring myself to say he was murdered and I didn’t think Marcus would want me to say anything at this point, anyway. “The police are still investigating but it looks as though he died from an allergic reaction.” I hoped she wouldn’t make the connection, but she did.
The color drained from her face. “An allergic reaction? What? To the peanut butter? Do you mean— Did I kill the man?”
“No!” I said, vehemently shaking my head. “You had nothing to do with Lewis Wallace’s death. Absolutely nothing.” I reached out and gave her arm a squeeze. “Talk to Marcus, Georgia. He’ll tell you the same thing. Please.”
She nodded. “I . . . I think I’ll do that.” She patted the pocket that held her phone. “I’m sorry. I need to get going. Thanks for your help, Kathleen.”
“If I can do anything else—anything—please call me or stop in.”
“I will,” she said. She raised a hand in good-bye and headed out.
I folded my arms over my chest and blew out a breath. My stomach felt as though a troupe of circus acrobats were doing a tumbling routine in there.
Ethan ordered those muffins.
Ethan.
Why hadn’t he said so?
chapter 8
I thought about texting Ethan or even calling him, but I decided not to. He was doing another song-writing workshop with a Boys and Girls Club in Red Wing and I didn’t want to disrupt that. And I wanted to see his face when I asked him what the heck he’d been thinking. I kept telling myself that he had to have had a good reason for not mentioning to Marcus or to me that he’d bought the muffins that had caused Lewis Wallace’s allergic reaction. I just couldn’t come up with one.
I ate the last of the lo mein for supper, grateful that Ethan had made lots of it. Owen kept me company while I washed the dishes, going through his own elaborate personal hygiene routine.
My thoughts kept going back to what I’d learned from Georgia. That’s all that I’d been able to think about since she’d stopped by the library. “Why did Ethan order those muffins and why didn’t he say anything?” I said, more to myself than to the cat. “And how did they get to the hotel?”
“Merow!” Owen said loudly
.
I turned to find him eyeing me, one paw hovering in the air and what to me seemed like a confused expression in his golden eyes. At the same time Hercules came in from the porch, stopped halfway across the kitchen floor and looked from his brother to me. “Mrr,” he said as though he was asking what he’d just missed.
I gestured to his food and water dishes by the refrigerator. “You missed supper.”
He glanced over at his food but his gaze came back to Owen. They stared silently at each other in that way that once again made me think that they somehow had the ability to communicate without making a sound. Finally, Hercules looked at me and gave a soft murp while Owen went back to meticulously washing his face.
It really did seem as though Hercules had been asking what I’d been talking about and I knew it would help me sort out my thoughts as well as work out what I was going to say to my brother if I talked to the cats.
“Ethan bought those muffins,” I said. “He knew that Lewis Wallace had died from an allergic reaction. Marcus even said the man had eaten a peanut butter and banana muffin.”
I remembered how Ethan had started to cough and said it was because his coffee had gone down the wrong way.
I pointed a fork in the cats’ direction and drops of water spattered onto the floor. “The little weasel must have gotten them to the hotel somehow. They weren’t here in the house.”
Owen gave a very enthusiastic meow. “Yes, I know they’re your favorite,” I said, setting a bowl in the dish rack to drain. “That’s because they’re Maggie’s favorite.”
Hercules had come to sit beside me. The cats looked at each other again then they both fixed their kitty gazes on me. I felt as though I was missing something. Along with a delicious selection of cupcakes, Georgia offered a few muffin choices: banana chocolate chip—my favorite—blueberry, apple spice and peanut butter banana—Owen and Maggie’s favorite.
Maggie.
I dropped the glass I was washing back into the soapy water and leaned against the counter. “He bought those muffins for Maggie, didn’t he? Ruby convinced her to sign up for the workshop.” I had noticed the way Ethan had smiled at Mags, how he’d grinned with pleasure when she’d complimented his singing, how he’d referred to Brady as her boyfriend or whatever he was. I wasn’t wrong about him having a crush on her.
“He probably picked them up from Georgia and dropped them off at the hotel before they went out that Saturday night.” Which was something Marcus needed to know, I realized. It could possibly help him tighten up the timeline.
“But how did Ethan know peanut butter and banana muffins were Maggie’s favorite?” I asked Hercules. As soon as I said the words out loud I knew the answer. “That was me. I gave him that muffin for her from the batch Abigail brought to the library, the day we had lunch at Eric’s. That’s how Ethan knew they were her favorite.” I blew out a breath. “Crap on toast.”
Hercules’s whiskers twitched. I took that as an indication that he agreed with me.
“He definitely has a big crush on her,” I said, reaching for the dishcloth. “And he didn’t want me to know. That’s why he didn’t say anything. Still, he should have said something to Marcus.”
Hercules was already on the way to his dishes. He gave a flick of his tail. I knew the cat version of “Duh” when I saw it.
“No wonder I couldn’t come up with a reason for Ethan to keep his mouth shut. I was looking for a good reason, not a lame one.”
Owen gave a murp of agreement and started washing his tail.
I checked the time and realized I could make it to tai chi. I had just enough time to change and get down the hill. It would be a while before Ethan got back. I knew going to class was a better use of my time than wandering around the house grumbling about Ethan to the cats.
When I got out of my truck Simon Janes was waiting on the sidewalk for me. Simon was the father of Mia, my former intern. He was also my friend. At least I hoped he still thought of me as a friend. Simon had wanted more than that and maybe if I’d never met Marcus . . . but I had.
Mia’s mother had died when she was born and Simon had raised her with the help of his father. She and I had gotten close in the time she’d worked for me, especially after her grandfather was murdered. That close relationship hadn’t diminished when she’d gone away to college.
Simon smiled when he caught sight of me. “Hi,” he said. He was wearing jeans and a fitted navy down jacket. “I was hoping I hadn’t missed you.”
Simon was tall with a rangy build and hair buzzed close to his scalp. He had a crescent-shaped scar that ran from the end of his right eyebrow to just below the eye.
“I was out of town on business and stopped to see Mia. She sent this for you.” He handed over a small brown paper shopping bag. The handles were tied together with a pink ribbon.
Inside the bag was a folded black T-shirt.
“Mia said you’d get it.”
I unfolded the shirt and laughed. I held it up so he could see. Across the front was my favorite Groucho Marx line: Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.
Simon smiled.
“Thank you for bringing this,” I said. “I’ll call Mia as soon as I get home.”
“She’d like that.” He studied me for a moment, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. “How have you been?”
“Busy. My brother and two of his friends are here.” I hesitated for a moment. “How are you?”
“You know me,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “Eat. Sleep. Work. Repeat.”
“Maybe you could add fun to that list,” I said.
He nodded. “Maybe I could.”
He said good night then and walked away down the sidewalk.
When I got upstairs I found Rebecca changing her shoes.
It occurred to me that she and Everett might be able to tell me more about Lewis Wallace’s proposed business and maybe even a little about the man.
I sat down next to her. “Hello, my dear,” she said. “How are you?” She had a gorgeous smile. No wonder Everett had been in love with her for basically his entire life.
“I’m well, thank you,” I said. “Is Everett back from his trip?”
She leaned down to tuck her boots under the bench. “He is.”
“Could I come by for a minute in the morning? I’d like to talk to both of you about something.”
“You’re welcome anytime,” she said, patting my arm. “You know we’re early birds so just walk over when it works for you.”
I thanked her and said that I would. Roma came up the stairs then and that was the end of the conversation.
When I got home I settled into the big chair in the living room with a lap full of cat and called Mia to thank her for the shirt. We talked for half an hour. I could tell she was doing well and that she was happy. That made me happy, too.
I was at the table working on staffing schedules on my laptop when Ethan came through the back door. I could feel the energy coming off of him. He was in a great mood. “Hey, Kath,” he said. “Oh man, you should have been there. The kids were great. They all know so much about music—which bands and artists are hot, what the trends are. The questions? I feel like my brain got a workout. And they’re all so creative. You wouldn’t believe what they came up with for lyrics and music.” He finally seemed to realize I hadn’t said a word. “What’s up?” he asked.
My arms crossed over my chest. “You need to talk to Marcus,” I said.
“Sure.” He opened the fridge and looked inside, frowning at the contents. “You know what he wants?”
I got to my feet. “I didn’t say he needs to talk to you. You need to talk to him.”
He shrugged. “Okay. And what do I need to talk to him about?” His tone was flippant.
“You need to tell him that you were the on
e who bought those muffins that Lewis Wallace had the allergic reaction to.”
Ethan straightened up, shut the refrigerator door and turned to face me. There were two bright spots of color high on his cheekbones. “What makes you think that?”
I leaned forward and snapped the side of his head with my thumb and index finger. “I talked to Georgia. She asked me how you liked the muffins you ordered from her for the songwriting workshop. That’s what makes me think that.”
His mouth moved and I waited for him to start arguing with me. Instead he gave me a long look and said, “Butt out of my life, Kathleen.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“You heard me.” His voice was surprisingly even and controlled. “This is none of your business.”
“It is my business,” I retorted. My voice, in contrast, sounded harsh and loud. “Marcus needs to know that you’re the one who bought those muffins and it should be you who tells him, not me.” I folded my arms over my chest again and glared at him.
“Who says he doesn’t?” he said.
I stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Who says that Marcus doesn’t know that I bought them?”
“So you did tell him?” I said. “You didn’t say anything to me.”
His chin came up. “No, I didn’t tell you,” Ethan said. “That doesn’t mean that I didn’t say anything to Marcus. Give me a little credit, Kath. I’m not stupid.”
For a moment I truly didn’t know what to say. “I don’t understand,” I finally managed to mumble.
“No, you don’t,” Ethan replied, a little aggravation in his voice now. “You treat me like I’m still running around in footie pajamas, Kath. I have a mother. I don’t need another one.”
I looked at him and suddenly all I could see was baby Ethan with his hair going every which way just like it was now, smiling and holding up his arms as I reached to lift him out of his crib in the middle of the night so we could watch cheesy late movies on TV. I’d always been more than just an older sibling with Ethan and Sara and not just because of the age difference between us. Because our mom and dad were actors and could get very caught up in whichever characters they were creating, sometimes it had seemed like I was the only adult in the house.
