by Kelly, Sofie
“Uh-huh. Why?”
She shook her head and started for the dummy. “No,” she said. “His right leg is crooked.”
I watched her twist the dummy’s leg. Even though he was just a mannequin I caught myself cringing in sympathy.
I was still wearing my hat. I pulled it off and shook my head as Rebecca came out of the kitchen. She waved, and I dropped my toque on the chair and went over to her.
“Hello, Kathleen. What are you doing here?” she asked. She was wearing a long white apron tied at the neck and waist and she smelled like cinnamon.
“Just giving Maggie a hand.”
Maggie was on her knees now, doing something to Eddie’s knee that would’ve had him writhing on the floor if he’d been a real person.
“Have you had a chance to look at the photographs?” Rebecca asked, gesturing to the display.
“A little,” I said. “They’re fascinating.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “They take me back.”
Behind her Everett appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was wearing an apron, too. He had a vegetable peeler in one hand and a carrot in the other. “Hello, Kathleen,” he said.
Rebecca turned at the sound of his voice and every bit of her face smiled.
Everett held up the carrot. “This is the last one. I think we need to do another bag.”
“All right,” Rebecca said. “I’ll be right there.” He lifted the peeler in acknowledgment and disappeared back into the kitchen.
I smiled at Rebecca. “The things we do for love.”
Her eyes sparkled and a blush of pink spread across her cheeks. “Isn’t it grand?” she said. She gave my arm a squeeze. “I’ll look for you tonight.”
I watched her go back to the kitchen, hoping I’d be that happy when I reached Rebecca’s age.
The door to the hall pushed open and Ruby came in. She looked around, caught sight of me, and hurried across the floor “Am I late?” she asked, yanking off her gloves.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Maggie’s adjusting Eddie’s legs.”
Ruby looked over at Mags pulling on Eddie’s leg like a demented chiropractor, and handed me a canvas bag. “These are the lights Maggie wanted.”
“Thanks,” I said. I studied her face for a moment. She seemed unsure whether to go or stay. Before I could ask her if everything was all right, Lita poked her head out of the door to the kitchen.
“Ruby, hang on for a moment,” she called. “I have something for you.” Lita skirted the long tables and joined us. She was carrying a black cloth bag from the grocery store. “I was so sorry to hear about Agatha,” she said.
Ruby nodded. “Thank you.”
“I know the two of you were close.” She held out the bag. “Agatha left this here the night she . . . died. I didn’t know what to do with it.”
“What is it?” I asked. I remembered Agatha had had the bag at Eric’s.
“Just odds and ends,” Lita said.
Ruby took the bag, hugging it to her chest. “Thank you,” she said in a low voice.
Lita nodded and went back to the kitchen.
Ruby pressed her lips together and swallowed a couple of times. “I’m not very good at this.”
“You’re doing fine,” I said. Agatha’s death had hit her hard. Her usual resilience seemed to have deserted her.
“David—Agatha’s son—called me. It’s going to be at least another three or four days before he can get here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He asked me to pick some clothes for her to be . . .” She let the end of the sentence trail off. Then she cleared her throat and continued. “And check on the house.” She had to clear her throat again, and I could see the effort it was taking for her not to give in to tears. “I said I would, but when I think about it . . .” She took a shaky breath.
“I’ll go with you if that would help.”
Ruby looked at me. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders sagged. “That would help a lot. Thank you.”
“When do you want to do this?”
“Any chance we could go before the supper tonight?”
“I don’t see why not,” I said. “The library is closing early because of Winterfest. Where did Agatha live?”
It turned out the older woman had lived close to the Stratton Theater, ten minutes, maybe less, from the library. We agreed to meet just before five thirty.
“It won’t take long,” Ruby promised, setting the bag on a chair and shedding her coat. She took the lights back from me. “I appreciate this, Kathleen.”
“It’s not a problem,” I told her.
Maggie was standing back studying Eddie again. From where I was standing, his legs didn’t look any different from the way they did before she started pulling and twisting them. Ruby walked over, gave Maggie the bag and studied Eddie, too. Whatever it was they were concerned about, I couldn’t see.
“Hello,” a voice said behind me.
Startled, I jumped.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” It was Ruby’s boyfriend, Justin. He smiled. “Ruby says she’s going to stick a warning bell on me. She says I must’ve been a cat in a past life.”
I thought about Hercules and Owen sneaking around the house. They were always catching me unawares.
“Hello, Justin,” I said. “Ruby’s helping Maggie. She shouldn’t be too long.”
He pulled off his gloves and stuck them in the pocket of his brown leather jacket. “Actually I was hoping to talk to you. Ruby said you’d probably be here. Could you answer a couple of questions about the reading program you set up at the library?”
I frowned. “You mean Reading Buddies?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You got a Franklin grant for that, didn’t you?”
“We did,” I said.
Reading Buddies was a program we were doing through the schools. It paired kids in kindergarten and grade one with older kids in grades four and five—supervised, of course.
“I’ve been working on a project to build a camp for at-risk kids. You know, the ones who for whatever reason don’t fit in at a regular school.” He pulled a brochure out of his pocket and handed it to me. “It’ll give them the chance to learn responsibility and life skills.” His face got dark. “We have a piece of land, but the funding for the next stage fell through.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“People can be shortsighted.” His voice was laced with anger. He took a deep breath. “Ruby thought maybe I would be eligible for a Franklin grant.”
“Maybe,” I said, glancing at the pamphlet he’d just given me. “With a Franklin grant you have to document the need when you apply. They like numbers. They like statistics.”
He rolled his eyes. “Isn’t it kind of obvious that there are kids living on the street? Kids that need a chance?” He snapped the two elastics around his wrist.
“It’s easier for some people to connect with the problem—whether it’s kids who can’t read or kids who are homeless—if they have specifics.”
He sighed and shook his head. “I’ve been working on this project for over a year. So many pieces of paper, so many trees used, and nothing happens.”
His dark hair was slicked back with gel. He smoothed a hand over the top of it, then let out a breath and smiled at me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I get a little crazy about this.”
He looked over at Maggie and Ruby. “I’m worried about her,” he said quietly.
“She was close to Agatha,” I said. “It’s understandable that she’s upset.”
“She’s not getting any sleep. She has nightmares,” he said shifting restlessly from one foot to the other.
“She found Agatha’s body. That would give anyone nightmares.”
At that point Ruby caught sight of Justin. She waved to him, said something to Maggie, who was on her way down the ladder, and walked over to us.
“Hi,” she said. “Did Kathleen answer all your que
stions?”
He nodded, reaching to brush something from her cheek. His fingers lingered on her skin for a moment. “Yeah, she did.”
I did? I didn’t think he’d actually asked any. I touched Ruby’s shoulder. “I’ll see you later.” She smiled and nodded, but her attention had already been pulled back to Justin.
I walked over to Maggie, tucking Justin’s brochure in my pocket. “Am I just a bitter, cynical person? Because he gets on my nerves,” she said.
I held up my thumb and middle finger about an inch apart. “Maybe just a bit,” I said. “I thought you liked Justin.”
“I don’t dislike him.” She leaned in close to me. “He’s just so intense,” she said, stressing the words the way Justin did when he spoke.
I couldn’t help laughing.
Maggie grinned and then her attention went back to Eddie.
“He looks good, Mags,” I said.
“Are you saying that because it’s really what you think or because you’ve decided I’ve crossed the line into Wack-a-doodle Land?”
I waggled one hand at her. “About sixty-forty.”
“I can live with that.”
She turned her attention to the photo collages. The new lights were clear and natural, a lot more like outdoor sunlight than anything else. Maggie looked up at the ceiling.
“Would it help if I went up the ladder and you nitpicked over how the lights are positioned?”
“Yes.” She smiled at me. Sometimes Maggie was like Owen and Hercules; sarcasm was totally wasted on her.
I moved the ladder about a foot to the left, checked to make sure it was steady and climbed up. For the next ten minutes or so I made miniscule adjustments to the lights until Maggie was satisfied.
“That’s it,” she said, holding out both hands. “I’m not touching anything else. I swear.”
Rebecca came across the tile floor, beaming. “Maggie, this is fantastic,” she said.
Maggie’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you.”
“And I love Roma’s young man.”
“Excuse me?” Maggie said.
Rebecca pointed at the dummy. “That’s Eddie Sweeney, right? The hockey player Roma’s seeing?”
“Roma’s not dating Eddie Sweeney,” Maggie said, looking at Rebecca like she had a second head.
“She’s been driving around with him all over town.”
Maggie looked at me. I looked at her. We both burst out laughing at the same time.
Rebecca looked at us like we were crazy.
“Yes, Roma was driving around town with Eddie,” Maggie said, giggling. “But it was this Eddie.” She pointed at the mannequin.
Rebecca looked at me. I nodded. “That’s how we got him down here,” Maggie explained, gesturing with both hands. “He wouldn’t fit in my car, so we belted him into the front seat of Roma’s SUV.”
“And people thought it was the real Eddie,” Rebecca said with a laugh.
“I guess we were invisible in the backseat,” Maggie said softly to me.
I looked at my watch. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“No,” she said, giving me a quick hug. “Go back to the library. I’m headed back to the studio. I’ll meet you here about six o’clock.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Don’t eat for the rest of the afternoon,” Rebecca said. “They’ll be lots and lots of food.”
I got my coat and pulled on my hat. Then I headed down the stairs, cut across the lot and made my way to the corner. Waiting for a car to turn so I could cross the street, I noticed Marcus come out of Eric’s. He paused on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, then made his way down two buildings and disappeared into the mouth of the alley.
I waited on the curb for a moment, but he didn’t come back out.
This wasn’t good. I just knew it wasn’t good.
10
We closed the library at five. Susan quickly bundled herself into her coat and boots and left. I pulled up my hood against the slight wind and started down the street toward the Stratton Theater.
It was a beautifully restored building—older than the library. Unfortunately, the first time I’d been inside I’d found a dead body. I’d been back to the theater for the summer music festival, for a couple of plays, a concert and a wonderful production of A Christmas Carol. My feelings about the old building were a lot happier now.
Agatha’s little house was up a tiny side street just past the Stratton. Ruby was waiting at the end of the driveway, a shopping bag tucked under her arm. She smiled as I walked up to her. “Thanks for doing this.”
“I don’t mind,” I said, giving her what I hoped was a reassuring smile in return.
Someone had plowed the driveway to the tiny brick house and cleared the path and steps. I trailed behind Ruby. Squinting at the door, she felt for the keyhole. I took a step back to get out of the light.
The key turned in the lock. Ruby leaned her weight against the old wooden door. It stuck for a second, then groaned open. I slid my hand around the left side of the frame, feeling for a light switch.
A light came on and I could see into what looked to be the kitchen, up a few steps to the left. I followed Ruby up the stairs, leaving my snowy boots at the bottom.
The kitchen floor was green-and-blue speckled linoleum, very old and faded but spotless. The walls were pale green; the cupboards painted white. The table was a vintage chrome set, blue flowers on a white background circa the 1960s, I guessed.
Other than that there was nothing in the room.
Nothing. No cookie jar on the counter. No calendar on the wall or funny pictures stuck to the refrigerator. Maybe her son had cleared a lot of things out when Agatha went to the rehabilitation center after her stroke.
Ruby looked around the room, lips pressed together.
I touched her arm. “Let’s see if we can find the bedroom.”
She nodded but didn’t speak. The little house was cold. Claire had said Agatha hadn’t always been able to afford the heat. It was a wonder the pipes hadn’t frozen.
A tiny hallway led out of the kitchen. An upright piano, dark chocolate brown, sat in a niche to the right. The room at the end of the hall looked like it could be Agatha’s bedroom. I could see a bed made up with a white chenille bedspread.
Ruby walked slowly down the hall, looking at everything. Clearly she’d never been in the house before. As in the kitchen, there was nothing personal in the hall. The hardwood floor was bare; there was nothing on the walls.
The double bed in the bedroom was made with the precision of a high-end hotel, the spread pulled tightly and with perfectly squared hospital corners. The night table held a clock and a box of Kleenex.
Ruby hesitated and pulled open the closet door in the wall to the left of the bed. The small storage space was organized with the same precision as the rest of the room. Blouses, skirts and dresses were arranged from white to dark. Two pairs of shoes, one black, one beige, sat on a shoe rack on the floor. Several sweaters were folded on the shelf above the rod.
All of the clothing looked old. Not “old” in the sense of worn-out, but in the sense of vintage. It was almost as though Agatha had gotten stuck at some point in time.
Ruby looked into the closet, one hand on the door. Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what to take.”
“Maybe a dress,” I suggested.
“Yeah. She wasn’t much of a pants person. She didn’t think they were very ladylike.” She caught the skirt of a black-and-white print, holding out the fabric. “But which one?”
“That’s pretty,” I said. “But why don’t you look at each dress. Maybe one of them will, I don’t know, spark a memory.”
Ruby did smile then. “That’s a good idea.” She looked around the room. “Would you see if you can find a suitcase? I don’t think the bag I brought is going to be big enough.” She hesitated. “And I know no one is going to see, but I don’t want things to be wrinkled. Agatha would care about that.”
I squeez
ed her arm. “I’ll see what I can find.”
Ruby started flipping through the hangers while I took a quick look around the room. There was no suitcase in the corner under the old spool bed. I went back into the hallway.
The living room was to my right. A three-sided bay window with a deep window seat looked out over the street. Like the rest of the house, the furniture here was all old—a maroon sofa and matching chair, plus a gray-and-maroon flowered wingback chair with matching footstool. There was a low walnut coffee table in front of the couch and a matching side table by the wingback. A brick fireplace filled the entire end of the room, the heavy brass andirons in the shape of watchful lions.
The living room was spartan. There were no magazines on the coffee table, no stacks of books anywhere. There were no pictures, no photographs, no artwork. There were no pillows on the sofa, no blanket to curl up in. Everything was functional, but there was nothing that told me about Agatha as a person. Even allowing for the fact that she’d spent the past several months in a rehabilitation hospital, the house still seemed lonely and empty.
I pictured my own house, with kitty treats cooling on the kitchen counter, Owen sneaking onto the footstool in the living room, Herc grooving to Barry Manilow, and pieces of Fred the Funky Chicken always needing to be vacuumed up. I felt sad for Agatha.
I went back out into the hallway, glancing in the bedroom as I passed the door. Ruby had a long-sleeved teal dress laid out on the bed.
The second bedroom in the tiny house was next to the living room. It was big enough for a single bed and dresser and very little else. I opened the closet door and found the suitcases Ruby needed, sitting on a large cardboard box with the name Ellis written on the side in spidery handwriting.
There was also men’s clothing hanging in the closet. Several gray suits, a navy blazer and a weathered aviator’s jacket, sheepskin lined and worn to a chocolaty softness on the outside. With the exception of the jacket, the clothes were very much out of style; in fact, the suit had probably been in and out of fashion several times.
I grabbed the smaller of the two suitcases and took it back to Ruby. She had everything spread on the bed—dress, slip, underwear, stockings, even a lacy, knit white cardigan.
