Copycat Killing: A Magical Cats Mystery (26 page)

Maggie snapped the pictures and e-mailed them.

“Got them,” Andrew said after a minute. I heard a creak, the kind of thing that sounded like a horror movie sound effect. I knew it was his old chair, which meant he was in the downstairs office.

“Whoever made the box does nice work,” he said approvingly.

“Do you know how to open it?” I asked.

“I think so. It looks like a pattern I’ve seen before.” He gave me instructions and I relayed them to Marcus who followed each one precisely.

“Cross your fingers,” Andrew said, finally. “Let’s hope I’m right.”

He was. Marcus twisted the bottom panel and the top of the puzzle box opened. He nodded, and Maggie, who’d alternated between watching Marcus and watching me with troubled eyes, gave a small smile.

I moved away from them again.

“Thank you, Andrew, your help means a lot,” I said. The conversation was back to being awkward.

“Are you happy Kathleen?” he said quickly, probably thinking I was about to go.

“I am,” I said. “I really am.”

It was true. Maggie was my best friend, and while I didn’t have a clue what exactly Marcus was, I was happy to have him in my life, even when he annoyed the heck out of me—which was at least fifty percent of the time. And I had Roma, and Rebecca, and everyone at the library, and the Taylors and of course Owen and Hercules. I didn’t know what was going to happen when my contract with the library board was up, but if they did ask me to stay, it would be very hard to say no.

“I miss you,” Andrew said, so softly I almost didn’t hear him. “I screwed it all up and I’m sorry.”

“I have to go,” I said. I took a deep breath and let it out. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” he said.

I closed the phone and turned back to Mags and Marcus. They were looking at the contents of the puzzle box. There were some photographs and sketches inside, along with an old fountain pen and that was it.

“Is that Santa Claus?” I asked, pointing to one drawing.

“Looks like it,” Marcus said.

Several of the photos were images of the Coca-Cola Santa. There were a couple of a bearded older man who
felt familiar, maybe because of his resemblance to the Coke Santa in his red suit.

The sketches had obviously been done by Jaeger Merrill; they were his style and every bit of extra white space was covered with notes in his crablike handwriting.

“Why did Jaeger have a bunch of drawings of Santa Claus?” I asked.

“Don’t you get it?” Maggie asked. Her eyes danced and her cheeks were flushed.

It took a moment, but then I remembered decorating the library the previous Christmas with Mary and Abigail and hearing about Mayville Heights’s alleged connection to the iconic Christmas image. “Of course,” I said, nodding my head.

Marcus looked blankly at us.

Mags gestured at the pictures of the bearded man. “Does he look familiar?”

“No. Who is it?” Marcus asked.

I held up a hand. “Wait a second.” I leaned in a little closer. “Look. Take away some hair and thin the face a little.” He still didn’t see it. I looked at Maggie. “This is Everett’s father, Carson, isn’t it?”

She grinned her approval. “And these pictures and sketches, they just prove that the rumors were right.”

“What rumors?” Marcus said. There was a touch of irritation in his tone.

“That Carson Henderson was Santa Claus, of course,” Maggie said.

“S
anta Claus?” Marcus said, frowning in confusion. “You mean North Pole, elves and flying reindeer?”

“Kind of,” Maggie said.

“Take another look,” I said to Marcus, pointing from the old black-and-white photos, to the sketch he was holding, to the soft drink ad. “Do you see it?”

He studied the images and then looked up at me. “It does look like the same person.”

“Exactly,” Maggie said. “There have been rumors around Mayville Heights for just about forever that Carson Henderson was the inspiration—at least in part—for the Coca-Cola Santa paintings done by Haddon Sundblom.” She narrowed her eyes at Marcus. “I can’t believe you’ve never heard that story.”

He shrugged. “There’s always some kind of story going around town.”

Maggie’s gaze slid over to me. “Let me guess, Mary told you, right?”

“And Abigail, when we were putting up that big cardboard Santa in the children’s section.” I pointed to the Coke Santa photos. “I thought Sundblom always said he was inspired by a friend—a salesman—let me see, Prentiss, Lou Prentiss.”

She nodded. “He did. And I think Prentiss was the inspiration, at least in part. But Haddon Sundblom and Carson Henderson had been friends since they were kids. Carson’s mother—Everett’s grandmother—had family in Muskegon where Sundblom grew up. Carson spent part of every summer there when he was young.”

She looked at Marcus and pulled both hands back through her hair. “According to my grandmother, who knew pretty much every bit of gossip in Mayville Heights, Carson wasn’t the kind of man who would want to go through life as Santa Claus. Anna and Everett were pretty much his only two soft spots.”

“So you think Jaeger Merrill knew about this Santa Claus thing?” Marcus asked. He didn’t even try to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

“Why not?” Maggie countered, an edge in her voice. “He was an artist. People tend to tell us stories about art.”

“And he was working at Eric’s, remember?” I added. “The whole town is in and out of the café. You can get more news there than in the newspaper.” I looked more closely at the photographs of Carson Henderson. They weren’t copies. They were original snapshots. I was pretty sure where Jaeger had gotten them.

“That’s what Jaeger was doing out at Wisteria Hill,” I said slowly.

Maggie nodded. “He was going back to forgery, just not those icons.”

“He was looking for those pictures of Carson.” I gestured to the box. Then I remembered the pen cap Hercules had found at the co-op. Did it belong with the fountain pen lying in the puzzle box? I tried to take a closer look without being obvious about it.

“Or possibly sketches Haddon Sundblom may have given to Carson.” She pointed at the drawings. “Jaeger was incredibly talented and because he knew how to forge all the provenance it was a pretty much foolproof plan.” She glanced at Marcus. “Provenance is all the documentation that proves the authenticity of a piece of art.”

He nodded without saying anything, and I got the feeling he already knew what the word meant. Even though he didn’t have a library card he did seem to know a lot about a lot of things.

“Do you think he was working alone?” I asked Maggie. With Marcus standing there I didn’t want to ask if she thought Ray could have been helping somehow.

“I don’t know,” she said. “He could have reconnected with someone from his past.” She turned her attention to Marcus. “Or maybe it was me.” She made a dramatic sweeping gesture with one hand. “Maybe I just staged all of this to draw suspicion away from myself.”

“Did you?” Marcus asked, looking around the hallway.

Maggie’s mouth twisted sideways and she gave a slight shake of her head.

“I’d like to take the rest of those boxes,” he said.

For a moment Maggie didn’t say anything, but I saw her jaw tighten as she clenched her teeth together. She put a loose fist flat on her chest and took several deep breaths. Then she looked at Marcus. “I’ll need to call my
lawyer first,” she said. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and walked down the hall several paces.

I turned to Marcus. “Why are you picking on Maggie?” I asked.

“All I’m doing is my job,” he said. “I’m following the evidence—wherever it leads. It doesn’t really have anything to do with Maggie.”

I looked over at her; she had her back to us, talking quietly, I was guessing, to Peter Lundgren. I turned back to Marcus, shaking my head. “It has everything to do with Maggie,” I said.

Before I could say anything else, she snapped her cell phone shut and walked back to us. “I’m sorry Detective Gordon,” she said, her voice cool and formal. “My lawyer has advised me not to give you these boxes unless you can show me a warrant.”

“I understand,” he said. If he was angry I couldn’t see it. “I can get a warrant. Until then I’m going to need to have someone keep an eye on all of this.” He gestured at the stack of cardboard boxes.

“It’s a town building,” Maggie said with a slight shrug.

This time it was Marcus who stepped away and took out his phone.

“I can’t believe you called Andrew,” she said as soon as he was out of earshot.

“It’s not a big deal,” I said, and as the words came out I realized it really wasn’t. Hearing Andrew’s voice hadn’t hurt the way I’d anticipated it would anytime I thought about talking to him again. And I hadn’t thought about it for a while.

“Was that Peter you were talking to?” I asked Maggie, keeping my voice low so Marcus wouldn’t hear me.

She nodded. “He said that Marcus will be able to get the warrant. The idea is just to make him do all the paperwork so everything is documented properly.” She looked over at the detective. “Anyway, there isn’t anything in these other boxes.”

“Mags, you don’t know that for sure.”

She actually smiled at me then. “I do,” she said. She pointed to the carton still on its side on the floor. “Someone took the tape off that box—Jaeger I guess, when he put his things inside it—otherwise everything wouldn’t have fallen on the floor. There’s tape on the tops of all the other boxes. I think I’m safe.”

I blew out a breath. I felt better. “What about the puzzle box and the portfolio?”

“Marcus gets to keep those. And for what it’s worth, you were right. I should have called Peter when you suggested it.”

I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. “I would have pushed if I’d realized Marcus was going to—”

“—do his job?” Maggie finished.

I stopped in midstretch and stared at her. “He’s looking for a way to tie you to Jaeger and that money they found.”

She shook her head. “No he isn’t. He’s doing his job. He’s aggravating, but he’s just doing what he’s supposed to do. He’s a cop.” She put a hand on my arm. “You two butt heads because”—she smiled at me—“well, you know why I think the two of you always have a little conflict going.”

Maggie had been trying to get Marcus and me together—romantically—for months, although she’d
eased off recently. I had to admit he was easy to look at, if you liked the tall, broad-shouldered, chiseled jaw type. And maybe,
maybe
I did. A little.

“But the two of you also have totally different ways of looking at life,” she continued. “Marcus is all about facts and logic. You pay attention to feelings and all the little nuances of what people don’t say. Which makes sense, by the way, given that your parents are both actors.”

For a long moment I didn’t say anything. Finally Maggie gave me a quizzical look. “No argument?”

I shrugged. “You’re right. I’m just not sure how to stop butting heads, as you put it.”

“How about focusing on the fact that it’s a very cute head you keep butting, not to mention the actual bu—”

“—I get the picture,” I interjected.

Marcus came back over to us. “I have an officer on the way to keep an eye on the building. I’ll walk you two down to your cars if you’re ready to leave.”

“May I get my purse and lock my studio?” Maggie asked.

“Of course,” he said.

While Maggie got her things, I rescued my bag, happy to see by its lumpy shape that Owen was inside. The date squares were still on top of the pile of boxes and Maggie picked them up when she came out. She showed the container to Marcus. “These are date squares. I’m not trying to sneak evidence out of the building. Kathleen brought them for me. I’d offer you one, but I wouldn’t want it to be misconstrued as a bribe.”

“I appreciate that,” Marcus said, and I thought I saw his lips twitch. We headed down the stairs.

“Call me in the morning,” I said to Maggie, wrapping her in a hug.

“Thank you for calling Andrew,” she whispered.

“Anytime,” I whispered back.

Maggie’s bug was parked several spaces away from my truck. She looked around the lot. “No bogeyman,” she said to Marcus. “Talk to you tomorrow,” she said to me and then she pulled out her keys and walked over to the car.

Marcus walked me the few feet to the truck. He gave a quick once-over to the truck bed and then glanced into the cab.

“Good night, Kathleen,” he said.

I looked up at him. Mags was right. That head I kept butting my own against was kind of…cute. “Good night,” I said. I put the key in the lock and he walked back to the building. I couldn’t help watching him over my shoulder. He was kind of cute from every angle.
Stop thinking that
, I told myself as I set Owen on the seat and slid in beside him.

The canvas bag wriggled and Owen stuck his head out. His fur was kind of disheveled and there was a sour look on his face. He meowed loudly.

“We’ll be home in a minute,” I said as I backed up and pulled out onto the street. “Are you hungry?”

He meowed even more insistently, cat for, “Of course I’m hungry.”

He was silent as we headed over to Mountain Road and started up the hill. “So, I’m assuming you heard all the stuff about Carson Henderson,” I said. Owen was staring out the windshield as though he really was riding shotgun.

I shifted my eyes back to the road, squinting into the darkness at the edge of the range of my headlights just in time to realize there was a vehicle coming down the hill without any lights on.

On the wrong side of the road.

Headed straight at us.

I
tightened my grip on the steering wheel as my stomach lurched and my heart thudded in my chest. Instinct took over.

By some miracle, there was nothing coming down the hill in the opposite lane. I hit the horn and at the same time yanked the steering wheel hard to the left. The truck lurched across the road and onto the grass between the curb and the sidewalk, just missing a telephone pole. I floored the brakes with one foot and hit the clutch with the other, knocking the gearshift into neutral.