Black Cat White Paws_A Maggie Dahl Mystery

by Mark McNease

  “Oh, of course. Well listen, about the money, I’m a little short on time …”

  “Not my problem, Maggie.”

  After all the times she’d told people to call her Maggie instead of Mrs. Dahl, the way he said it sent a chill through her.

  “Right. I appreciate your talking to me …”

  Click. The phone went dead. Whoever the man was, he’d decided the conversation was over.

  She looked up and saw Janice watching her through the window. It wasn’t an intrusive stare, not prying, but enough to remind Maggie she was sitting in her car having just called a loan shark.

  She waved at Janice again, slid her phone into her sweater pocket and headed back inside.

  CHAPTER Fifteen

  “A LOAN SHARK?” GERRI SAID, astonished. “Are you out of your mind?”

  They were eating a late lunch at Bernadette’s, a popular restaurant on Union Street near Bridge, not too far from the Dahl House storefront. It had been a favorite of Maggie’s and David’s since they’d moved to Lambertville. The owner, a young woman named Rachel who had named the restaurant after her late mother, had taken a liking to the Dahls and knew what they each enjoyed for lunch. She still waited tables and had taken Gerri’s order without even asking Maggie what she wanted—she already knew.

  Their salads had arrived shortly afterward and they were halfway through them when Maggie explained her plan. She wanted to meet this mysterious loan shark and see if he could shed any light on the darker side of Alice Drapier’s life.

  The man had called Maggie back while she was on the other line with Gerri arranging to have lunch. She’d quickly finished the call with her sister, then gotten instructions from the man on when and where to meet him: the Java Flow in New Hope, 6:00 p.m. that evening.

  “What do you look like?” she’d said to him. “How will I know you?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” he’d replied. “I’ll know you.”

  How he would recognize her was a mystery she did not want to ponder too deeply. She’d agreed to be there at the arranged time and hung up, all the while glancing at the office door to make sure Janice and the others couldn’t hear her. Then she’d hurried off to Bernadette’s to meet Gerri for lunch.

  “You could have come to me,” Gerri said, spearing a piece of asparagus in her salad bowl. “I don’t have much money, but still …”

  “You’re not listening. I don’t need money. This is not about borrowing cash from a loan shark. This is about trying to get information on what—and who—happened to Alice.”

  “And you believe he’s just going to tell you what he knows, if he knows anything. Think about it, Maggie. If this man has information about Alice’s death, wouldn’t telling you be the last thing he would do? What if he’s involved in it?”

  “I have to try.”

  Gerri set her fork down. “And why is that? Why are you so invested in pursuing something that could have serious and possibly life-threatening consequences for you?”

  “What consequences?”

  “Let’s start with getting yourself killed. Murderers don’t like being apprehended. Have you thought about that?”

  “I’m not going to chase him out of the coffee shop! And if he had something to do with her murder, don’t you think he would have ignored me? I’ll take whatever I find out straight to Sergeant Hoyt and let him deal with it. As for why I’m invested, I can’t explain it. Guilt, I suppose.”

  “How ridiculous. Why would you feel guilty?”

  Maggie finished her salad and slid the plate to the side. “I keep thinking there’s some connection between Alice coming into my house that morning and ending up dead in her kitchen.”

  “I don’t see it. You’re mistaking coincidence for fate.”

  “You’re right, Gerri, I’m aware of that. There is no logical explanation for why I’m pursuing this. But I found her body, you understand? I rushed her out of my home, treating her like a nuisance, and I found her dead twelve hours later. I just feel a sense of responsibility.”

  “To Alice.”

  “To Alice … and to the cat.”

  “Okay,” Gerri said. “I know I can’t stop you, but I can go with you.”

  “If he sees me there with someone else he may not show himself. Remember, I don’t know what he looks like. He can just keep walking, or finish his coffee and leave, with me none the wiser.”

  “He won’t know who I am. I’ll find a parking spot in front, or nearby, and I’ll just be there, inconspicuous, watching.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “If I were you I wouldn’t talk about good ideas, since this is all a bad one. But you’re going to go because that’s who you are, and I’m going with you. End of discussion.”

  She was right, Maggie knew. Gerri couldn’t stop her from meeting the loan shark, and she couldn’t stop Gerri from tagging along in the shadows. She waved at Rachel for the check. She needed to do some more work at the storefront. Gerri could help her, then they could drive over the bridge to New Hope and put their flimsiest of plans into action.

  CHAPTER Sixteen

  MAGGIE WANTED TO INSPECT EVERYTHING again, fretting over each shelf and its contents, the color scheme, the choices she had made for what to display and where to display it. David was supposed to help with all that, and Maggie felt his absence every time she walked through the door. They had looked at three empty stores before settling on one. She’d second guessed herself many times since then: was it the right location? Was it really affordable in the long run? Did she have what it takes to sustain the factory and succeed with a flagship store?

  A flagship store … She smiled at the thought. They had talked about making it a chain. For all his claims to want out of the big city, David had been a very ambitious man. Achieving was part of his nature, his DNA. He could no more not compete than he could stop breathing.

  Poor choice of words, she thought. He did stop breathing, and you didn’t hear him. How long had he been dead when you tried to wake him, Maggie? How many hours had passed between his last breath and the terrifying realization you would never be able to say goodbye?

  “What’s on your mind?” Gerri asked, startling Maggie out of her reverie.

  They were moving customized jam jars from one shelf to another, more prominent, display case.

  “Just thinking about it all. And how much I appreciate you being here.”

  “‘Being here,’” Gerri said. “I notice you didn’t say ‘moving here.’”

  “You’ve only been living with me for two days, let’s give it some time.”

  Maggie knew her sister was worried it wouldn’t work out and she would be forced into moving back to Philly, or, if that wasn’t an option for Gerri, then somewhere else not too far away. The more she was honest with herself about the challenges she faced—from the factory and store to the house renovation, and from being half of a couple all her adult life to being alone—the more Maggie hoped it would work out with Gerri, at least for a while. A year, maybe two.

  The women looked up at the sound of the bell. Maggie glanced at the door, sure she had left the ‘Closed’ sign facing out. She had.

  A tall man wearing a blue and yellow windbreaker, tan Timberland boots, and a baseball cap with the words Davies Hardware stenciled across the front, stepped into the store and closed the door behind him.

  “Afternoon, ladies,” he said.

  “Cal, how are you?” Maggie said. She knew Cal Davies from several trips she’d taken with David to the town’s longest running hardware store. She didn’t know much about the store’s history, but she knew Davies had taken over from his father and that Davies Hardware had been established “circa 1959,” according to a sign over the front window. Maggie guessed him to be in his mid-fifties.

  “I’m doing well, Mrs. Dahl.”

  “We’re not quite open yet.”

  “I can see that,” he said, turning back and pointing at the sign. “I just thought
you might need some help. I know Chip’s been giving you a hand at the house.”

  At some point in time the elder Davies had purchased the building, kept his store in the ground floor retail space and rented out the three floors of apartments above it. Maggie had no idea if the Davies family had ever lived there, but she knew Cal Davies had a house on Delevan Street, two blocks over from her own.

  “And doing a great job of it,” Maggie said, a little too eagerly, as if she needed to vouch for Chip’s work ethic. The truth was he’d been late a couple times and had once not shown up at all, rumored to have gone on a bender.

  “Good to hear that,” Cal said. “I’ve been a little worried about him.”

  “Really? Why would that be?”

  “I don’t know, he just seems more distracted than usual, like he’s got something on his mind.”

  Maggie did not want to pursue the subject. She worried the more they said, the more likely they would be to discuss Chip’s drinking problem when he wasn’t there to defend himself.

  Davies walked further into the room and looked around, nodding approvingly.

  “You’ve done a great job here, ladies …”

  On the word ladies he tilted his head slightly and smiled at Gerri.

  “This is my sister, Gerri Lerner,” Maggie said, introducing them.

  Gerri stepped up to Davies and extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Lerner … Lerner …” said Cal, as if trying to recall something about the name.

  “That’s my maiden name,” Gerri said. “I’m not the sort who keeps an ex-husband’s name. What’s the point?”

  Maggie could see Gerri making a quick estimation of the man. She knew Cal was a widower of some years and that he had no children. She remembered David telling her that after he’d first met Davies.

  “I hope you like your visit,” Cal said to Gerri, letting her hand go with a slight, additional brush of the fingertips.

  “Oh, I’m more than visiting, Mr …?”

  “Davies,” Maggie said quickly. “I’m so sorry. This is Cal Davies. He owns Davies Hardware. A lot of the work that Chip’s been doing is with supplies from Cal’s store.”

  “That’s right.” Cal looked down, averting his gaze. “I’m so sorry about Mr. Dahl. I wish we’d had more time to get to know each other.”

  “Thank you,” said Maggie. “Now, I really should be getting back to work.”

  “What’s the hurry?” Gerri said.

  Maggie glared at her. “We have an appointment, and we should go home first, feed the cat, that sort of thing.”

  “You have a cat?” asked Cal. “Mr. Dahl never mentioned it. Not that he would! But we do sell litter, ‘America’s Finest Cat Litter,’ to be exact. It says so on the package. I don’t have a cat myself but I’m told it’s good stuff.”

  “And I’m grateful for the suggestion. I’ve never had a cat before.”

  “I see,” said Cal. “Is it something you decided after Mr. Dahl passed? To keep you company? I was tempted after my wife died but never went through with it.”

  “No, it wasn’t because of that. Actually, Checks—the cat—belonged to my neighbor, Alice Drapier.”

  Cal looked at her. “What a terrible situation, and in a place like Lambertville.”

  “Awful,” said Maggie. She did not want to get into a discussion about the murder, or the cat, or anything else. “I appreciate the information about the litter, truly. We’ll stop by the store soon and you can remind me.”

  “Be sure to bring your sister,” he said, turning and offering Gerri a small wave.

  “I’ll do that. And thank you again. I hope to see you at the opening.”

  Stepping outside, Cal said, “Absolutely. It’s the biggest event we’ve got going, except for Halloween.”

  Maggie was reminded how quickly time passed. The store had to open before Halloween, and that was just around the corner.

  “Thank you again for stopping by,” she said, standing in the doorway while Cal walked up the street.

  “What do you know about him?” Gerri asked.

  “Wife died maybe fifteen years ago. No kids. A fixture in town. Nice guy. I have no information on his assets or his interest in women who’ve been divorced three times. Now grab your purse, we need to go home, then head to New Hope. I’d like to get there early. It’s always better to see the other person coming.”

  “But you don’t know what he looks like.”

  “And he doesn’t know what I look like.”

  “You hope,” Gerri said, letting the implication hang there. She picked up her purse from under the front counter and followed Maggie out of the store.

  CHAPTER Seventeen

  LOCATED ALONG THE DELAWARE RIVER in Buck’s County, Pennsylvania, New Hope has been famous for decades as a tourist destination offering visitors a small but vibrant selection of shops, restaurants, bookstores, and the Buck’s County Playhouse. Every now and then you could catch Broadway regulars performing shows when they weren’t wowing audiences in Manhattan. A popular walking trail snakes alongside the river, and any summer day, rain or shine, the town’s population swells several times its normal size with people driving in to enjoy its pleasures.

  New Hope was where David had originally imagined moving to. Maggie was not as taken with the town and suggested they keep their options open rather than dive into something they might regret in six months. Then they’d walked across the bridge to New Jersey and found themselves in Lambertville. It was love at first sight.

  “What’s not to like about New Hope?” Gerri asked. She was driving, since Maggie planned to get out a block from the coffee shop while Gerri circled back for a parking spot.

  “There’s nothing not to like about it, I just prefer Lambertville. For one thing, there’s no free parking in New Hope.”

  “It’s a tourist town.”

  “But still, they have meters all the way to the town limit. It’s not very inviting. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We moved to Lambertville, I love it there, and I’m happy to visit New Hope. I can almost see it from my kitchen window.”

  It was an exaggeration but not by much: New Hope and Lambertville were effectively sister cities, and if you preferred one over the other, as Maggie did, all you had to do was walk or drive across the bridge to visit the other.

  “There,” Maggie said, pointing to a car pulling out from the curb.

  “But I’m just dropping you off. I’ll find something closer to the coffee shop.”

  “No, you won’t. Take this spot while you can.”

  “Fine then,” Gerri said, putting on her blinker and backing up as she parallel parked. “This will do. Just let me get ahead of you and find a seat.”

  “You’re coming in?”

  “Think about it, Maggie. What’s more obvious? Me standing outside in the dark pretending not to watch through the window, checking my watch as if I’m meeting someone, or me sipping a cappuccino at a table on a cold October night?”

  Maggie had to admit the sense of it. It would be better to have Gerri go inside first and situate herself where she could see what was happening.

  “I’ll act like I’m texting someone on my phone,” Gerri said. “Everybody does it. I can laugh a little, act surprised.”

  “You mean you can draw attention to yourself.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” said Gerri. She turned the car off and grabbed her purse, slipping the keys inside.

  “Give me five minutes,” she said. “I’ll be sitting down by the time you get there.”

  Maggie looked at her watch. She was ten minutes early. For all she knew, the man was already there, doing exactly what Gerri planned to do: sitting and watching who comes in the door. For that matter, he might think Gerri was her and make some kind of move.

  “I’m not sure about this …”

  “We can never really be sure about anything,” Gerri said, sliding out of the car. “Remember, wait five minutes and under no circumstances
are we to make eye contact.”

  Gerri slammed her door and headed up the street.

  Remembering the meter, Maggie quickly took out a credit card and paid for an hour.

  Nestled between an ice cream store that was closed half the year and a Mexican restaurant, the Java Flow was located on a prime stretch of Main Street, New Hope’s central thoroughfare. Unlike many stores that had tried to make a go of it in the small but famous town, the Java Flow had survived for six years and showed every sign of continuing. Maggie didn’t know the coffee shop well, although she and David had been there twice on their occasional walks across the river from Lambertville.

  The interior was well lighted, which suited her purpose this evening. She’d done as Gerri asked and waited several minutes, then walked casually to the coffee shop. She could see three or four people at the half dozen tables inside, one of them being her sister who kept her head down, pretending to read the Bucks County Herald.

  There was a man alone at one table. He looked up at Maggie when she walked in. Was he the loan shark? How would she know? He didn’t nod at her or acknowledge her in any way; he just looked up at the sound of the door opening, then went back to a book he was reading.

  There were two people working behind the counter, one middle-aged woman who looked to be cleaning up at the end of the day, and a pimply-faced teenaged boy with a braces and a ponytail.

  “Can I help you?” the boy said when Maggie walked to the register. She glanced at the display case that held a couple leftover muffins and two slices of banana nut bread.

  “I’ll take a blueberry muffin,” Maggie said, “and a decaf cappuccino.”

  The boy nodded and set about making the coffee.

  Maggie took the opportunity for another look around. She was now certain she’d gotten there before the loan shark. She felt silly, wondering again how she would recognize the man and if he would be obvious—would he have some kind of TV-movie mob look to him? Would he come in wearing an ill-fitting brown suit and holding an unlit cigar?