by Sofie Kelly
Maggie stood perfectly still and straight and studied Peter for a long moment. “Why did you lie about who Jaeger was?” she said finally.
Just a hint of color flushed Peter’s cheeks. “He was my client.”
“Was it your idea for Jaeger—excuse me—Christian Ellis to start over here in Mayville Heights?”
Peter shook his head. “No.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “That case was my very first solo case. I’ve always wondered if I could have done better. Christian didn’t deserve the sentence he got. When he showed up here using a different name, looking for a new start, I didn’t see how it could hurt to let him have it. And it’s not as though anyone asked me if Jaeger Merrill was Christian Ellis.”
I thought about Ruby who had been so certain she’d recognized Jaeger from somewhere. What would have happened if she’d figured out who he really was when he was still alive?
“You’re splitting hairs, Peter,” Maggie said, her tone cool. “I vouched for Jaeger—excuse me—for Christian with Sam, so he could get studio space at River Arts”—she gestured to the counter—“and with Eric for a job, and with the other artists at the co-op, and it turns out I didn’t even know who I was speaking for.”
He slid a hand back over his hair. “I am sorry about that, Maggie,” he said. “Christian was punished more severely than anyone else in that scam.” He held up his hand. “I know he broke the law and I’m not excusing what he did, but he didn’t even realize what was going on in the beginning and when he did figure it out, he stayed in because he needed the money to take care of his sick mother.”
He shook his head and laughed. “I know it’s a cliché, but it’s the truth. Christian cooperated with the authorities when the whole scheme was exposed, he took responsibility and pled guilty, and then he ended up serving the most time because a judge threw out the plea deal.”
“He wouldn’t have had to serve any time at all if he hadn’t broken the law in the first place,” Maggie said.
Peter traced the edge of the table with a finger. “I know. But in the real world people make mistakes. And Christian didn’t kill anyone. He wasn’t selling drugs to kids. He faked paintings. I’m not saying it was a victimless crime, but…” He shrugged.
Mags took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know that,” she said. “And I don’t want to fight with you.”
He smiled, the first genuine smile I’d seen from the man since we’d walked into Eric’s. “Were we fighting?” he asked.
Maggie let that pass and answered Peter’s smile with one of her own. “Do you know who Jaeger’s executor is? There are boxes of his things at his studio and more at the store.”
“I don’t know for sure,” he said. “Probably me.” He looked at his watch. “I have to be in court this afternoon. Are those things going to be okay where they are for a day or so? I’ll see what I can find out.”
“They’re fine,” she said. “A lot of his stuff was packed in boxes already because of all the water.” Her face clouded over. “If it hadn’t rained so much, if those stairs hadn’t been wet…”
“It’s wet all over town,” Peter said. “What happened to Christian was just a stupid, careless accident. It could have happened to anyone. It could have happened to you.”
A shiver slid up my back. I remembered how Maggie had slipped on those wet, wooden steps when we’d found Jaeger, and almost ended up in the filthy water herself.
Peter looked at me. “I hear you had an accident out at Wisteria Hill. You’re all right?”
I nodded. “Yes, I am. Thanks.”
He held up his left hand. There was a large, bandage on most of the palm. “I did this in the parking lot of my own office.” He leaned sideways and looked out the front window of the restaurant. “At least it looks like the worst of the rain is over.”
He turned his attention back to Maggie. “I am sorry about all the turmoil Christian’s death caused for you. If there are any repercussions—for the co-op or you personally—call me. I’ll take care of anything that needs a lawyer, free of charge. And I’ll find out who his executor is.”
He pulled out a pen and a business card and wrote something on the back of the card before he handed it to her. “That’s my cell number on the back.” He looked from Maggie to me. “Enjoy your lunch,” he said and then he turned and went back to his own table.
“I have a question,” I said as we sat down. Claire was already on her way over with menus. We ordered and Claire poured me a cup of coffee, then she headed for the kitchen, detouring to top up Peter’s cup.
“What’s your question?” Maggie asked as I added cream to my coffee.
“Peter said that Christian Ellis was his first solo case.”
She nodded, pouring tea into a cup from the little pot Claire had brought her.
“That case would have been five or six years ago. How long has he been a lawyer?”
“Here in town? About four years or so. Peter worked in Chicago for about a year before that. The time frame fits.”
“He didn’t go to law school right away,” I said, sipping my coffee.
Maggie looked in the direction of the lawyer’s table. “Peter didn’t go to university right away. He didn’t even finish high school.”
“Seriously?” Peter Lundgren was so well spoken I never would have guessed he’d quit school. Being at the library and seeing what books people read, what music they liked to listen to, and what movies they were watching gave me a little peek into who they were. And often left me even more curious. For example, I’d learned that Peter liked heavy metal music, which didn’t exactly fit with my image of a lawyer.
“He’s literally a self-made man. There were ten kids in that family. Poor as dust. Peter quit school in ninth grade, went to work at a garage. Eventually he became a mechanic.”
She picked up her cup. “You’ll like this: he all but lived at the library in his free time. Eventually he got his GED. Then he got a scholarship to university. He did four years in three and got accepted to law school and he’s helping three”—she held up the corresponding number of fingers—“three of his younger siblings with college right now.”
“I guess it makes sense that he’d go to bat for Jaeger.”
Maggie gave me a half smile. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
Claire came back then with our sandwiches and more coffee and we stopped talking. I’d almost finished my sandwich—as usual Eric’s sourdough bread was better than any I made—when Sam Ingstrom, Mayville Heights’s mayor came in. He raised a hand in recognition to us and crossed to the counter. After he’d spoken to Claire he came over to the table.
“Hello Kathleen, Maggie,” he said. Sam didn’t look like a man who was almost seventy. He was heavier than he’d been in that high school photo I’d seen, but he was in good shape and there was still some dark hair mixed in with the gray.
“Hello, Sam,” I said. Maggie, whose mouth was full, just nodded.
“You know that the street’s clear and the library can reopen tomorrow?”
“I do,” I said. “Thank you.”
He studied my face and frowned. “I heard what happened at Wisteria Hill,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “It looks worse than it is.” I seemed to be saying that a lot.
“Glad to hear it,” Sam said.
“You were friends with Tom Karlsson and Pearl Carver weren’t you, back in high school?”
He shook his head. “No. I mean I knew Tom, Mayville Heights was pretty small back in those days, so we all knew each other at school, and he was a star athlete, but we weren’t friends. I was a year younger. I barely knew Pearl at all.”
Sam wore his own high school class ring on his right hand. I noticed he was rubbing the back of it with his thumb.
“I was surprised to hear those remains turned out to be Tom Karlsson,” Sam continued. “Everyone always figured he just ran out on his responsibilities. He was that kind of man.” He half turned. Cl
aire had just come from the kitchen with what was likely Sam’s order in a take-out bag. He gave me his politician’s smile. “Good to see you, Kathleen,” he said. He nodded at Maggie and walked back to the counter.
I was so intent on watching Sam that I didn’t notice for a minute that Maggie was watching me. “You have that look,” she said.
I turned my attention to her. “What look?”
“That ‘something’s off’ look.” She set down her cup and pushed her plate away. “Sam said something that didn’t sit right with you.”
I leaned back in my chair, thinking of the photo I’d seen in that accordion file of old high school yearbook photos at the library. “He said he barely knew Pearl, which isn’t true. Why would he lie about that?”
17
“What makes you think Sam’s lying?” Maggie asked, gesturing to Claire for our checks. “You didn’t want dessert, did you?”
I shook my head. “I found the high school yearbook for the year Roma’s father graduated. There are a bunch of pictures that didn’t make it into the book, mostly candid shots. Sam’s in one of them, so is Pearl and some other girls. It’s pretty clear from the way Sam is looking at Pearl that he had a thing for her.”
“That’s probably the reason,” Maggie said, getting to her feet as Claire approached the table.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I think I told you that I was a little late discovering boys.”
“You did.” I smiled at Claire as I pulled out my wallet.
“Did you want a cup of coffee to go?” she asked as she handed over my bill.
“I did,” I said. I looked at the cardboard take-out cup she was holding. “Is that for me?”
“It is,” she said with a smile.
I took the coffee and gave her the money for my meal plus a tip because Claire always gave great service.
“I heard about Jaeger,” she said to Maggie. “I’m sorry.” She looked past us, out the front window of the restaurant where the sky looked a little lighter than it had earlier. “Maybe it’s finally stopped raining and things can get back to normal.” She turned back to us again. “Have a good day,” she said and then she turned and headed back to the counter.
I pulled on my hoodie, careful not to catch the edge of the bandage wrapped around my thumb.
Maggie watched me. “I still think that thumb needs stitches.”
“I know,” I said with a small smile.
We started back to the shop. The sky really did seem less gray. Maybe Claire was right and we’d be able to get back to normal.
“Okay, so explain to me what you being slow to notice boys has to do with Sam lying about knowing Roma’s mom,” I said.
She brushed a stray blond curl off of her face. “My first year of college I had a huge crush on the guy who sat in front of me in my calculus tutorial.” She grinned. “The back of his head was gorgeous. The front was pretty cute too.”
“So what happened?”
“Nothing,” she said. “He pretty much didn’t know I was alive. I mooned over the guy for the entire semester. Everybody who sat near us knew I had a thing for the guy because I had that goony, love-struck look on my face all the time and trust me it wasn’t because I loved calculus.”
We stopped at the corner while a couple of cars and an SUV turned up the hill, then we crossed the street.
“The thing is,” Maggie continued, “I literally sighed over the guy for months and never even talked to him. So even now, if someone were to ask me if I’d known him, my first reaction would be to say no, just because I still feel a bit embarrassed about the way I acted.”
It was hard to imagine Maggie being tongue-tied and awkward around anyone. Last winter when we’d been trying to figure out who had killed Agatha Shepherd, we’d ended up at a club up on the highway. She so totally charmed the bartender, for a moment he’d forgotten how to do anything other than grin at her like an idiot.
“So you think Sam is just embarrassed about a teenage crush?” I said. I knew I looked skeptical. That’s how I felt.
Maggie leaned sideways. “Dried-up raisin,” she said, slowly and clearly.
I stopped walking and glared at her. “Not the same thing,” I said.
She was referring to a cereal commercial my dad had done years ago. He’d played a dried-up raisin in the competitor’s not quite as good product. And developed a cult following. He’d actually had a fan club for a while called—you guessed it—The Raisinettes.
I’d been mortified and I admit I’d cringed a little when the company had decided to revive that ad campaign just a couple of months ago. And I hadn’t exactly told many people it was my father in the commercial.
Maggie was still looking at me with the same unblinking gaze I sometimes got from the cats.
“It’s not the same thing,” I said huffily.
She laughed then.
“Fine. You win,” I said, and started walking again.
Hercules was curled up on Maggie’s desk chair when we got back to the store. He opened one green eye and studied us for a moment. I got the carrier, set it on the floor by the chair and opened the top.
“Let’s go,” I said. The cat made a show of yawning, stretching, and taking his time getting in the bag. I closed the top and slung the bag over my shoulder.
“I need to get going,” I said to Maggie. “Susan and Mary are meeting me at the library.” I’d called both of them to come in for a couple of hours so we’d be ready to open on Friday. “Call me later and let me know how the pump’s working.”
“I will,” she promised. “And I’m going to call Roma too.”
“Good,” I said. “I’ll try her when I get home.” I put a hand on the carrier. I could feel Hercules moving inside.
“Thank you Hercules,” Maggie said, leaning in to look at him through the side mesh panel.
He meowed loudly in acknowledgment.
Susan was standing by the front steps and Mary was coming from the mostly dry parking lot when I got to the library. I unlocked the door and turned off the alarm. “The first thing I need to do is put Hercules in my office,” I said, putting a hand on the top of the bag.
“Did I miss Take Your Cat to Work Day again?” Susan asked. Her hair was up in its usual topknot, a silver skewer poked through it.
“I’m sorry, Susan,” Mary said, all mock-seriousness. “I forgot to forward the memo.”
“You two are so funny,” I said.
Susan waggled her eyebrows at me. “We think so.” She gestured at my bag. “Why did you bring Hercules with you? Are you planning on making him shelve books?”
I shook my head. “I was thinking that I’d get him to add new books to the system. He’s a pretty good two-pawed typist.”
Herc picked that moment to meow with great enthusiasm and volume. Mary and Susan both laughed.
“He was over at the co-op on rodent patrol for Maggie,” I said.
“Eric told me what happened when you had the job,” Susan said.
I felt my face getting red.
“What am I missing?” Mary asked, hands on her hips.
“Nothing,” I said, quickly.
“Kathleen was the previous rodent wrangler,” Susan said. “Turns out it’s not one of her strengths.”
Hercules chose that moment to meow loudly yet again. It was like having a feline Greek chorus on my hip.
“Details,” Mary said.
Susan made a go-ahead gesture with one hand.
“There was a dead rat floating in the basement over at the co-op store,” I said. “I fished it out and took it outside. That’s all.”
Susan smirked at me. “You left out the part about throwing it at Ruby.”
“You threw a dead animal at poor little Ruby?” Mary said, frowning at me.
“No,” I said. “I was just putting it outside and Ruby kind of got in the way.”
“Now you see, the way I heard it, you used a shovel like it was a tennis racquet and the rodent
in question wasn’t exactly dead,” Susan said, still smirking.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Mary interrupted, holding up a hand. “You threw a live rat at Ruby?”
“No,” I said. “Not exactly.” I should have stopped talking. “At least not on purpose.” I slid the cat carrier down off my shoulder. “It’s complicated.”
The one-cat Greek chorus took the opportunity to add his two cents. “Don’t start,” I said darkly to the bag.
Mary and Susan were shaking with laughter.
“Seriously,” I said. “And Maggie doesn’t know the rat—”
“—had more than one life to live?” Susan finished.
“Please don’t tell her,” I said.
They both held up their little fingers, linked them, and chanted, “I will not bend, I will not break, this pinky swear I now do make.” Then they gave me big, goony smiles.
I shook my head slowly. “I swear sometimes the two of you are worse than a couple of six-year-olds.”
They grinned and high-fived each other.
“Moving along, I think the first thing we need to do is open some windows and get some fresh air in here,” I said, heading for the stairs.
“I’ll open a couple down here,” Susan said, heading for the computer area.
Mary gestured at my take-out cup. “Should I start the coffeemaker?”
I looked at her without saying a word and she mock-slapped her forehead. “Oh what am I saying? I forgot who I was talking to.”
We started up the steps together. “Your forehead looks sore. I heard what happened. Do you feel all right?”
“I do, thanks,” I said. “I have some pretty spectacular bruises, though.”
Mary hitched her oversized, quilted tote bag a little higher on her shoulder. “As long as you weren’t badly hurt, that’s all that matters.” She stopped on the step below me, one hand on the dark wood railing. “I didn’t believe it at first when I heard Tom Karlsson’s body was out there.”
The image of that dirt-encrusted skull flashed into my mind. “It’s difficult for Roma,” I said.
“And Pearl too, I imagine,” Mary said. “You know, I haven’t seen her in a long time.”
