by Sofie Kelly
“Hello, Kathleen. Is Margo here?” she asked.
“She’s inside,” I said. “She and Gavin are just taking care of a few last-minute details.”
“Perfect,” she said. “That means they’ll have time to bring me up-to-date on the changes to the security system.”
I didn’t think that was what it meant at all, but Diana had already started up the main stairs. I stood in the middle of the parking lot and sent a text to Maggie to see if she wanted to have lunch at her studio.
Please and thank you, she texted back.
The sky was cloudy but neither the morning’s weather forecast nor my left wrist was predicting rain, so I decided to leave my truck in the library lot and walk. Susan was sitting at the counter with a bowl of soup, heat spiraling up and steaming up her glasses, when I walked in to Eric’s.
I bumped her with my shoulder. “Hey, what is that?” I asked. “It smells wonderful.” My stomach gurgled as if to emphasize my enthusiasm.
Susan took off her glasses and cleaned them on the edge of her sweater. “Italian sausage soup with oregano cheese croutons.” She put her glasses back on and smiled at me. “Want to join me? I have an in with the owner.”
“Thanks, but I’m taking lunch to Maggie,” I said.
Claire was working, as she did pretty much every weekday lunch rush. She set the coffeepot she was carrying back in its place and turned to me. “Did I just hear you say you wanted takeout?” she asked.
“Please,” I said. I looked over at Susan, thinking that the soup really did smell delicious.
“How about a couple of containers of soup and a couple of multigrain rolls?” Claire asked.
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
It took Claire only a few minutes to get my order ready. “I put in two real spoons,” she whispered. “Just drop them off next time you’re in.”
I thanked her and paid for lunch, adding a generous tip.
Susan waved her spoon at me. “I’ll see you Saturday morning. Call me if you need anything before that.”
“I will. Thanks,” I said.
Ruby was just coming out of the building when I got to Riverarts, so she held the door for me. As I came out of the stairwell on the top floor I caught sight of Maggie in the hallway. She was wearing her favorite red hooded sweatshirt and she was deep in conversation with a woman in a jean jacket and black leggings. It was Rena Adler, I realized.
“I appreciate this,” Rena said.
Maggie nodded. “I’ll e-mail you everything later this afternoon.” She turned to look at me. “Hi,” she said. “Did Ruby let you in?”
I nodded. “She did.” I smiled at Rena. “Hi.”
“Hi, Kathleen,” she said, pushing her backpack a little higher on her shoulder. She was wearing her dark hair loose, just brushing her shoulders. Her fingers on the strap of her leather bag were long and slender, like Maggie’s, the nails clipped short, buffed but not polished. And like Maggie often did, Rena had a smudge of paint on one finger, a bit of cerulean blue on her index finger. “Is the library closed now for the day?” she asked.
I nodded. “The artwork from the museum arrived”— I checked my watch—“about an hour ago.” I knew there was enough soup in the two containers to feed three of us. “Can you join us for lunch?” I asked.
“Yes. Can you?” Maggie echoed.
“I’d like to; thanks,” Rena said, “but Ruby and I have a class in about”—she checked her watch—“half an hour. I’m just going to grab some tea.”
“Next time,” Maggie said.
“Absolutely,” Rena said. “I’ll watch for your e-mail.” She smiled at me. “And I’ll see you Saturday, Kathleen.” She headed toward the stairs, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she moved.
“So how was your morning?” Maggie asked as we moved into her studio. I handed her the brown paper take-out bag and took off my jacket, dropping it on one of the stools pulled up to the center workspace.
“Margo decided we had to change all the light bulbs. Again. She didn’t like the color of the light from the LEDs. She thought they gave everything a faint blue cast.”
Mags gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You agree with her.”
She opened the bag and took out the two containers of soup. She’d already made tea. “Yes, I agree with Margo about the light. I know she can be a little obsessive, but it’s all those small details that add up to a successful show.”
I swallowed down a grin. Maggie could be a “little obsessive” about things herself.
“So what happened with the lights?” she asked.
“Larry managed to find enough incandescent bulbs for all the fixtures.”
“Burtis,” Maggie immediately said.
“Burtis has a stash of old-style light bulbs?”
“Burtis has a stash of all sorts of things.”
“And you would know this because?” I teased with a sly smile.
Her cheeks grew pink. “I know things,” she said, just a little too defensively.
Maggie and Brady Chapman had been casually seeing each other for the past few months. The relationship may not have been serious, but I’d noticed that neither one of them was spending time with anyone else.
Brady was Burtis Chapman’s oldest son. Burtis was a self-made businessman. Some of his enterprises were legal, some, not so much.
Maggie handed me a mug of tea and I pulled out a stool and sat down. She took a seat opposite me.
I told her about the possible magazine article and the reporter from USA Today as we ate.
“How did all this happen?” she asked.
“Lita,” I said around a mouthful of little meatballs.
“I should have guessed.”
“I think she has more connections than Burtis has light bulbs,” I said.
Maggie laughed.
One of Lita’s connections was Burtis himself. They’d been dating for close to a year and their relationship had become a lot more serious—and public—in the last few months.
Maggie walked me down to the back door after lunch. She pulled a tiny brown paper bag from the Grainery out of her pocket.
“Ah, Mags, you didn’t buy Owen another funky chicken, did you?” I asked, frowning at her.
“He likes them,” she said. “And you’ve been so busy at the library for the last month he deserves a little treat. Hercules, too. There are some of those little crackers he likes in there.” She studied my face. “You’re not going to give me the ‘They’re cats, not people’ speech?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Uh-uh. But I am going to call you the next time your furry little friend spreads chicken parts all over my kitchen.” I took the bag from her.
She hugged me. “I’ll see you at class tonight,” she said, and then she headed back up the stairs to her studio and I walked back to the library to get my truck, stopping in at Eric’s long enough to return the spoons—and get a cinnamon roll.
Hercules was sitting on the bottom step by the back door when I got home. I reached down and picked him up and he nuzzled my face.
“Have you and Everett been solving all the town’s problems?” I asked as I juggled the cat, my purse and my briefcase and tried to fish my keys from my pocket.
The cat wrinkled his nose. I was pretty sure that meant no.
I managed to get the key in the lock and the door open without dropping anything. “So if you haven’t been eating bacon, why are you in such a good mood?”
It seemed bizarre to say it—especially since generally it was Owen who was scheming—but I knew Hercules had done something. I just didn’t know what. The moment I opened the kitchen door I had my answer.
I could hear “Bandstand Boogie”—Barry Manilow—coming from the living room. Had some Barry Manilow–loving burglar b
roken in? Or was it a furry Barry Manilow fan?
Hercules was wiggling in my arms. I set him down and dropped the rest of my things on the floor beside him. Then I went into the living room. My iPod was in the dock. The song changed to “Ready to Take a Chance Again.”
Hercules had followed me and his head was bobbing like he was grooving to the music, which he was, because the little black-and-white cat loved Barry Manilow just about as much as I did. His brother, on the other hand, didn’t get the attraction of the man who makes the whole world sing. In fact, Owen loathed every Barry Manilow song ever recorded.
“Where’s your brother?” I asked.
Herc gave me a blank look.
“I know you did this,” I said, pointing a finger at him.
I had no idea how Hercules had managed to turn on the music. It certainly seemed to be a skill beyond the average cat’s capabilities, but then again neither cat was exactly average.
I turned the music off and went looking for Owen. I finally found him hiding in the back of my closet, his head stuffed in one of the fuzzy Bigfoot slippers my brother, Ethan, had given me at Christmas.
I crouched down on the floor next to him, pushing my shoes aside. “It’s okay,” I said. “I turned it off.”
He lifted his head, the big fluffy bootie still stuck in place. I pulled it off and he shook himself. His gray fur was sticking up on one side and matted down on the other. He put his two front paws on my knee and meowed loudly.
“I know,” I said, reaching over to smooth his fur.
He kept up a steady stream of meows and murps. I had no idea how long Barry Manilow had been playing, but for Owen any amount of time was too long.
I picked him up and got to my feet, dodging clothes and hangers as I backed out of the closet. “I’m sorry,” I said, continuing to stroke his fur. “What Hercules did was wrong.”
“Merow!” Owen said with as much indignation as he could muster.
“But you haven’t exactly been a paragon of cat virtue the last week or so.”
He grumbled under his breath.
I had no idea what was going on between the two of them. It felt a bit like being caught in a squabble between a couple of middle schoolers. Maybe Roma would have some insight.
I kissed the top of his furry head and set him down on the floor. “Stay away from your brother,” I said firmly.
His gaze slid off my face and he suddenly became engrossed in a spot on the bedroom floor.
I changed for tai chi, retrieved the iPod from the dock in the living room and then went into the kitchen to get some supper before class. Hercules was sitting under the coat hooks. Owen had followed me downstairs, and he stopped by the table and glared at his brother, his tail twitching.
I stepped into the space between them. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, but I want you both to cut it out,” I said, feeling a little foolish that I was having this conversation with two cats. I needed a little incentive, I decided, to force détente, even temporarily. I went over to the counter and grabbed the container of sardine cat crackers I’d made on the weekend.
“See this?” I said.
That got their attention. “If you two don’t cut it out, I’m taking all the crackers to Marcus’s house and leaving them for Micah.”
Owen immediately started grumbling. Hercules came over to me and wound around my ankles. I leaned down and gave the top of his head a scratch. “Sucking up is not going to work,” I said. I set the container of crackers on the table and reached over to give Owen a little scratch on the side of his face. “Neither is complaining.”
I picked up the container of crackers and put it in my canvas tote on top of my towel. “Behave yourselves or I’ll be swinging by Marcus’s house on the way home,” I warned.
Maybe they understood the words. Maybe they didn’t, but they definitely understood the tone and the actions. This clearly was a much better warning than my previous threat to feed their treats to Harry Senior’s German shepherd, Boris.
When I left for class, Owen had disappeared down into the basement and Hercules was upstairs in my bedroom. When I pulled on my jacket I found the Grainery bag Maggie had given me. It didn’t seem like a good time to give her gifts to Owen and Hercules. I didn’t want to reward bad behavior.
I was the first person to arrive at tai chi. I found Maggie sipping a cup of mint tea and looking out the window.
“You’re early,” she said. She held up her cup. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Yes,” I said.
She frowned at me. “Seriously?”
I linked my hands behind my neck and tipped my head up to the ceiling. “I’d like something hot and I’ve had way too much caffeine today.”
Maggie patted my arm and headed toward the table where she always set up the tea supplies before class. “Margo?” she asked.
I shook out my arms and followed her. “And Gavin,” I said. “She called me four times while I was eating supper—she doesn’t text, which I probably should be grateful for. But Gavin sent me two texts.”
“Do you want to put your phone in my office during class?” she asked.
“Could I?” I asked. I reached into my pocket. The phone wasn’t there. I remembered setting it on the table while I went to get my hoodie from the living room closet. I didn’t remember picking it up because I hadn’t. I closed my eyes for a second and sighed. “It’s sitting on the kitchen table.”
“Good,” she said. “There isn’t anything that Margo or Gavin is going to need that can’t wait. You can take an hour for yourself.”
“I’ll probably have a dozen messages by the time I get back.”
“The world can turn without you for a little while.”
Maggie made the tea and added a little honey to the cup before she gave it to me.
I took a tentative sip. It was hot and just a little sweet and the aroma of mint swirled around me.
She cocked an eyebrow.
“It’s not coffee, but it’s not bad,” I said, taking another drink.
Maggie worked us hard in class. I was happy to spend time trying to perfect my Cloud Hands instead of worrying about the exhibit at the library. By the time we finished the complete form at the end of class, the back of my neck was damp with sweat.
Mags came over to me as I was changing my shoes. “Nice work,” she said. She held out a small box.
It was the peppermint tea bags.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
“Take these with you,” she said. “I know you’re going over to the library to see if Margo or Gavin needs anything. Maybe you can make them a cup of tea. If not, you can have a cup when you get home.”
I wrapped her in a hug. “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll see you Saturday. You’re coming early, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “Margo told us to come at noon for a preview. You’re opening the doors at twelve thirty?”
“And Everett will cut the ribbon at one.”
“I’m excited,” Maggie said, her green eyes sparkling.
“You should be,” I said as I reached for my jacket. “Your collages are fantastic. This time Saturday everyone is going to be telling you how talented you are.”
Her expression turned serious. “Thanks for everything you’ve done to make this happen.”
“I haven’t done that much,” I said. “But you’re welcome.” I reached for my bag. “I’d better get over to the library and see what’s going on.”
She hugged me. “Take deep breaths.”
The library was in darkness, except for the security lights, as I pulled level with the building. It looked as though both Margo and Gavin had finished for the night and gone back to the St. James Hotel. Everything must have gone well. Maybe there wouldn’t be a dozen messages and texts on my phone when I got home.
> I turned around in the parking lot, ready to head back up the hill, when I noticed one light on in the library. In my office.
I gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands, took a deep breath and exhaled. It didn’t help. I couldn’t remember if I’d locked my door or not, but either way my office was supposed to be off-limits.
I parked the truck, grabbed my bag and headed for the main doors of the building. Not only did I want to turn the light off in my office. I wanted to see if anything had been disturbed by Margo or Gavin or whoever had been in there. As I unlocked the front doors it occurred to me that I couldn’t have locked my office before I’d left for the day. How would someone have gotten inside without a key?
The first thing I noticed was that neither of the alarms had been set. Some prehistoric sense made the hairs come up on the back of my neck. I remembered the little sports car out in the lot. It didn’t seem like the kind of car Margo would drive, but I didn’t actually know what she was driving. She’d flown to Minneapolis from Chicago and then rented a car to drive to Mayville Heights. I knew the car didn’t belong to Gavin; he was driving a silver Mercedes SUV.
Maybe Margo was still working inside. No, that didn’t make sense. If she was working, why weren’t the main floor lights on? Was she sick? Had she climbed a ladder in those high heels and fallen? If I’d had my cell phone I would have called Marcus. But my phone was sitting on the table in my kitchen. The closest phone was inside the library. I felt a bit like the heroine in one of those old movies, heading into the spooky house during a storm, carrying nothing but a candle. And I didn’t even have a candle.
Margo wasn’t on the main floor of the building. I called her name several times and did a quick survey of the space, but there was no sign of her. I thought about calling 911 but there was no emergency.
I could see that my office door was open before I got to the top of the stairs. I called Margo’s name again, and again I got no answer. As soon as I stepped into the doorway I saw why. Margo Walsh was lying on the floor. My brass cat was on its side beside her. Someone had used it to smash in the back of her head.
