Sleight of Paw

by Kelly, Sofie

  Maggie had her skates off in half the time it took me, so she watched me, head cocked to one side. “Marcus was a pretty good skating teacher,” she said.

  “Marcus is a dip wad,” I said darkly.

  “Let me guess. He told you not to play Law & Order with this case.”

  “He has tunnel vision,” I said, getting to my feet.

  She gave me a hip bump. “He probably says that about you.”

  We headed up to the street. As we crossed the parking lot we bumped into Roma. Literally. “We’re going to Eric’s,” Maggie said. “Wanna come?”

  “Yes.” Roma pulled off her crocheted red hat. “I can’t feel my toes. I was in that infuriating maze for a half hour. I thought they were going to have to send a scent dog to find me.”

  I felt the prickle of goose bumps up my spine.

  “We were skating,” Maggie said. “We haven’t tried the maze yet.”

  And we are not going to, I added silently.

  “Where are you parked?” Roma asked. “Because I’m right here.”

  “I walked,” Maggie said.

  “Me, too,” I added.

  “C’mon, I’ll drive,” Roma said.

  I was happy to climb into the backseat of her SUV. My feet hurt. My knees ached. When I moved it sounded like someone deboning a turkey. And when I sat down it was clear I’d bruised my tailbone.

  Maggie buckled her seat belt and then leaned forward to look out the windshield. “You giving us a ride isn’t going to start a rumor that we’re dating, is it?” she said to Roma.

  “No, everyone’s pretty convinced I’m seeing Eddie Sweeney,” Roma said with a smile, putting the car in gear. Her expression changed. “I heard about Ruby.”

  Maggie nodded. “Kathleen called Everett. He sent one of his lawyers.”

  “Good. It’s ridiculous to think that Ruby would kill Agatha.”

  We drove slowly up to the café. There were a lot of people on the sidewalk, headed for the Winterfest site. Roma slid into a parking spot as a minivan pulled out.

  Our waiter, a high school student with green hair who I knew had an interest in medieval armaments, brought us three mugs of steaming hot chocolate and a bowl of marshmallows.

  Eric was behind the counter. He didn’t so much as wave, let alone come over. Agatha’s death had clearly hit him hard. I didn’t want to make him feel any worse, but I did want to talk to him.

  I was grasping at straws, because I felt guilty about the piece of glass I’d given to Marcus. But maybe Eric had seen something or even someone and didn’t realize it was important.

  “I know Ruby seems tough,” Maggie was saying. “But that’s an act. We were taking summer courses at the university at the same time.” She smiled as she remembered. “She was living in this real dive. I mean, the place was falling apart. There was a mouse in her apartment. Anyone else would have moved out, or at least gotten a trap.”

  “Let me guess,” Roma said. “She kept it as a pet.”

  “And did two paintings of the thing,” Maggie said with a smile.

  That sounded like Ruby.

  Our waiter came back with a carafe of cocoa and we all had a second cup.

  I glanced over at the counter, still trying to come up with a way to talk to Eric without being too pushy.

  “Why do the police think Ruby killed Agatha?” Roma asked, setting down her mug. “What’s her motive supposed to be?”

  “Maybe they think it was an accident and she panicked,” I said.

  “I can’t believe the rumor’s true. I can’t believe Agatha had half a million dollars,” Roma said. “You know, a couple of times I paid for a tank of heating oil because I knew she skimped on heat and I thought she couldn’t afford it.” She gestured to Eric, who was making change for someone at the cash register. “Eric let her stay in his office on really cold nights.”

  She picked up her cup again. “She lied to us.” She traced a square on the tablecloth. “You know, I would have said Agatha Shepherd was the one person who wouldn’t lie. Why didn’t she spend some of that money on herself?” She looked up at us. “Then she goes and leaves everything to Ruby’s boyfriend.”

  “She had to be suffering from some kind of brain damage from the stroke,” Maggie said. Her blond hair was standing up from when she’d pulled off her hat. She looked like a curly blond lamb. “Maybe she’d been having small strokes and nobody knew about it. You’ve seen those TV shows about hoarders. Only in her case it was money.”

  Was that why that old envelope had been so important? Was there something inside that had to do with all that money? I wondered what had happened to the envelope. Agatha had had words with Eric over it. And I remembered Harry Taylor’s gesturing at it as he stood on the sidewalk arguing with her. It couldn’t be connected to her death, could it?

  No. What could she have been carrying around in a recycled Mayville school-system envelope that would make someone kill her? Investment statements? On the other hand, the envelope hadn’t been with Agatha’s body or at her house, as far as I’d seen. And it had been important to her, given the way she held on to it, and it did have some significance to Harry and Eric, because they’d both argued with her about it. Could she have had any other secrets besides half a million dollars?

  Across the table, I looked at Roma, who was gesticulating as she talked to Maggie. I didn’t want to go home and spend the rest of the day obsessing about Agatha’s death.

  “Hey, guys,” I said. “Why don’t you come have supper with me?”

  “Yes,” Roma said.

  “Don’t you want to know what we’re having?” I asked.

  “Do I have to cook anything?”

  “No. I have beef stew in the slow cooker.”

  “As long as I don’t have to cook, I’ll eat just about anything. Heck, I’d probably eat those smelly crackers you make for the cats.”

  “Mags?” I said.

  “Are you making dumplings?” she asked. “I’ll come even if you aren’t . . . But are you?”

  “Yes, I’m making dumplings.”

  Roma picked up her cup, drained it and set it back on the table. “Let’s roll,” she said.

  Owen came out at breakneck speed when he heard the back door open. He skidded to a stop, sliding into the leg of the kitchen table when he saw Roma. Tail twitching, he glared at me.

  Maggie came in behind us, spotted the cat and said, “Hey, Fuzz Face.” Owen’s entire demeanor changed. His tail went down and his eyes narrowed with happiness. He made a wide berth around Roma and stopped about three feet in front of Maggie.

  “I brought you something,” she said, giving the cat a conspiratorial grin. She pulled a little brown paper bag from her pocket. I recognized the logo.

  “Maggie, you didn’t,” I said. “You’re as bad as Rebecca.”

  Owen recognized the bag, as well. He was squirming so much that I thought he would wiggle right out of his fur.

  “Ignore her,” she said to the cat. She took Fred the Funky Chicken of the bag. Owen shifted from one foot to the other. Maggie set the yellow catnip chicken on the floor and pushed it toward him. He pounced on it, picking it up in his mouth. As he turned to take off with it, he gave Maggie an adoring look. Again he made a wide berth around Roma, glaring at her and me as he went by.

  Hercules appeared in the doorway then. He didn’t even look at Roma, acting as though she wasn’t there. Instead he looked at Maggie. “I didn’t forget you,” she said, reaching into the bag again.

  “You’ve lost your mind,” I said, crossing my arms and shaking my head. Hercules walked over to her, obviously curious about what Maggie had brought him. I was curious, too. Herc was the type of cat who didn’t go for toys.

  “I had to get some wine,” she said. “And then I saw the chickens and that made me think of Owen. And how could I get something for him and not get something for this one?” She gestured at Hercules, who modestly ducked his head.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I muttere
d.

  Maggie pulled a little box out of the bag. Hercules looked at it, intrigued.

  “Organic fish-shaped cat treats,” she said, holding up the box so Roma and I could see it. Herc’s whiskers wiggled when she said “fish.” “Can I give him a couple?”

  I sighed. “Yes.”

  She opened the top of the tiny carton, dumped a half dozen crackers into her hand, set them on the floor and then backed away.

  Hercules strolled over, trying to act uninterested. He sniffed the crackers. I wouldn’t say that he shoved his face in the tiny pile and started eating like a bear in a picnic basket, but the effect was very close.

  Maggie handed me the box. I looked at the ingredients. Roma leaned over to take a peek, as well. No chemicals. Nothing I couldn’t pronounce. “Looks fine,” Roma said.

  I set the box on the counter. Herc gobbled the last fish and licked the crumbs off his face. He walked over to us, stopping in front of Maggie to meow a thank-you.

  “You’re welcome,” she said with a smile. Hercules rubbed against my leg and headed back to the living room.

  “So if I bring bribes will the cats like me?” Roma asked.

  “They’re not bribes; they’re gifts of love,” Maggie said, squaring her shoulders and sticking out her chin.

  “Bribes,” Roma repeated.

  I took both women’s coats. “It’s not that Owen and Hercules don’t like you . . .” I began.

  Roma gave me a skeptical look.

  “Okay, so it is that they don’t like you, but in their defense, every time they see you, you stick them with a needle.”

  “I wouldn’t like you that much if you poked me with a needle every time I saw you,” Maggie said, peeking in my cookie jar to see if I had any brownies. “I guess you’ll have to stick to hockey players.”

  Roma held out her hands and grinned. “I guess so.” She seemed to have found her sense of humor about the Eddie rumor.

  We moved into the living room and I turned on the lamp. Maggie curled in her favorite corner of the couch. Roma sat in the leather chair.

  “You know, if Owen were a guy, I’d date him,” Maggie said as the cat came over to sit by her feet.

  Roma and I both laughed.

  “No, really,” Maggie said. “He’s cute. He’s crazy about me. Why not?”

  “Mags,” I said. “He has morning breath that would make your eyes water and a major addiction to catnip, and he smells every bite of food before he eats it.”

  Roma shrugged. “I’ve gone out with worse.”

  We all laughed.

  “Have you ever thought about getting married again?” Maggie asked Roma.

  “Well, not to a cat,” she said.

  Maggie threw a pillow at her. Roma caught it with one hand and tucked it behind her back. Her smile faded. “I don’t even know if I’d be good at marriage,” she said. “Luke and I were married only two years—he was killed by a drunk driver.” She studied her left hand for a moment. “We were so young and married for such a short time, there wasn’t a chance to find out what kind of a marriage it would’ve been.” Then she smiled. “But I have Olivia.”

  Roma’s daughter was a biologist and commercial diver working on a new TV show for the Exploration Channel.

  “What about you, Maggie?” Roma asked sweetly. “Ever been married that you know of?”

  Maggie stretched her hands behind her head. “No. First of all, I was what people call a late bloomer. I think I was maybe fifteen before I figured out why all my friends were so gaga about boys. Then I was concentrating on school. It was just my mom and me.” She smiled down at Owen, still sitting adoringly by her side of the sofa. “In college I was a geek, working in the summer and studying every term, trying to hold on to my scholarship.”

  “What about you, Kathleen?” Roma asked.

  Maggie and I exchanged glances. “I was almost married,” I said.

  “In Boston?” Roma leaned forward, clearly interested.

  “Yes.” Hercules appeared at my feet and I reached over to stroke the top of his head. “His name was . . . is Andrew. He’s a contractor. He specializes in restoring old houses.”

  “What happened?” Roma asked. She held out both hands palms up. “You chose all of this instead?”

  That made me laugh. “In a way. We had a fight. Andrew went away on a two-week trip with his friends. He married someone else while he was gone.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  I shook my head. “True love, tequila style,” I said. Telling the story didn’t hurt the way it used to.

  “So you decided if he could get married, you could come to Minnesota.”

  I grinned. “Pretty much.”

  Roma propped her feet on the footstool. “I think Toby Keith wrote a song about something like that. Was she a waitress at a honky-tonk?”

  “Fifties diner, I think.”

  Roma shrugged. “Close enough.”

  “Maybe you were supposed to come here,” Maggie said. “Maybe you’ll meet Mr. Right here.”

  “I don’t believe in soul mates or destiny,” I said. “And don’t even try to sell me on Marcus Gordon as my one true love.”

  “What’s wrong with Marcus?” Roma asked.

  I frowned at her and pulled up my feet. “He arrested Ruby,” I said, holding up a finger. “He thought I was having an affair with Gregor Easton and that I might’ve killed him.” Now I was holding up two fingers. “And he’s annoying.” I added one more finger to the other two.

  Roma held up a finger of her own and waved it at me. “He’s my best volunteer.” She added another. “And he rescued Lucy and Desmond.”

  I folded my arms and watched her, amused. Now she was holding up three fingers. “And he helps coach the boys’ hockey team.”

  So that’s why he was such a good skater. “He arrested Ruby,” I said.

  “He’s a police officer,” she said. “He’s doing his job. It wasn’t just his call. And Marcus won’t stop investigating just because Ruby’s been arrested. He’ll follow the evidence wherever it takes him, and he will figure out Ruby didn’t do this.”

  “You like Marcus.”

  “I do. He’s a good person. Give him a chance.”

  Owen chose that moment to meow his agreement.

  “Not you, too,” I said. He flicked his tail at me and went back to giving Maggie googley eyes.

  I stood up. “As much as I like listening to you act like Marcus Gordon’s cheerleader, I have to go make dumplings.” The word “dumplings” got Owen’s attention. He turned his head toward me. “C’mon,” I said.

  Owen kept up a murping commentary while I made dumplings and set them on top of the stew pot. The phone rang while I had my hands in the dough. “Maggie, would you get that and take a message, please?” I called.

  “Got it,” she said.

  I was just putting the lid back on the pot when Maggie stuck her head in the kitchen.

  “That was Rebecca,” she said. “Ruby’s okay. She has to spend the night in jail, but she’ll go before a judge in the morning.”

  “We expected that,” I said.

  She leaned against the doorframe. “I don’t understand how this got to be such a mess.”

  Roma came up beside Maggie as I started washing the few dirty dishes.

  “How did Agatha die?” Roma asked. “Do you know?”

  I hesitated. “I’m not certain.” I scraped bits of dried dough out of the mixing bowl I’d used for the dumplings. “She might have been hit by a car.”

  Roma looked away for a second and Maggie lightly touched her shoulder. “You mean someone ran her down and then . . . ?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Which proves it wasn’t Ruby,” Maggie said. “She would’ve never run someone over and just left them.”

  “No, she wouldn’t,” Roma agreed.

  “What was Agatha like?” I asked to change the subject. “When she was young, when she was teaching?”

  Maggie got out the pl
acemats, and I handed Roma salt and pepper.

  “Well, you saw her,” Roma said. “She was tiny and as tough as nails. I’ve seen her face down kids and parents that were twice her size. She was on your side all the way if you were going to give it your best effort. But if she thought you weren’t working, forget the excuses.”

  Maggie nodded. “Karen Anne Peary,” she said.

  Roma and I both turned to her.

  “After Agatha retired she still did substitute teaching. She taught our math class in grade six for a month because Mr. Kavanaugh broke his hand in gym, trying to teach the class how to climb the ropes. Not a good idea if you’re afraid of heights.” She waved away the mental picture.

  “Anyway, Agatha gave us a math test. Two-thirds of the class failed, including me, including Karen Anne Peary. Mr. Kavanaugh graded generously and on a curve. Agatha didn’t.”

  Roma was already smiling. Maggie handed her a fork and spoon. “Day after we got the tests back, Karen Anne’s father showed up. Ever seen Mike Peary?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  “Bigfoot,” Roma said. “Okay, maybe a little bit hairier.”

  Maggie nodded in agreement. “Back then we were in a portable classroom, like a Spam can with fake wood paneling inside. Agatha goes outside with Mr. Peary. He’s a roaring at her, shaking those massive hands. We were all at the windows, watching.”

  “What did she do?”

  “Nothing,” Maggie said, centering her placemat on the table. “She let him wind down and then she started to talk, and I swear you could see the man shrinking. All that hot air, gone.”

  “That sounds like her,” Roma said.

  “When she came back in she told us we were all going to get our grades up. And she promised Karen Anne in front of the entire class that she would have an A by the end of the year.”

  Maggie laughed. “The only subject Karen Anne Peary was interested in was boys. Getting an A in math didn’t seem very likely.”

  “But she did, didn’t she?” Roma said.

  Maggie nodded. “Agatha took a promise very seriously.”