Faux Paw: A Magical Cats Mystery (22 page)

“I owe you,” I said.

“Umm, I know,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

I knew it could be hours or days before I heard from Edward Mato, if he even agreed at all to talk to me about the Weston drawing, so I was surprised when my phone rang about ten minutes later and it was him.

Edward Mato had a smooth, deep voice and a slightly formal manner of speaking.

“Lise told me it was your library that
Below the Falls
was stolen from,” he said.

“
Below the Falls
, that’s the name of the Weston drawing?” I said. I hadn’t heard the drawing called by that name.

“That’s the title the artist gave it, yes.”

“Mr. Mato, you appraised that drawing for Charles Holmes before he died. If it turns out that it was actually the work of his first wife, what would that do to its value?”

“Please, call me Edward,” he said.

“I will,” I said. “If you’ll call me Kathleen.”

“You’ve heard the rumors about the drawing’s origins, then, Kathleen,” Edward Mato said, phrasing the sentence as a statement, not a question.

“Yes, I have. And I know it’s not the only piece by Weston that’s in question.”

“You do your homework.” I thought I heard a note of approval in his voice.

“I like to know what I’m talking about, where I can,” I said.

“Even without incontrovertible proof, a collector could conceivably be willing to pay two, two and a half million dollars for
Below the Falls
.”

Two and a half million dollars. Two and a half million reasons to steal the drawing and replace it with a fake. Two and a half million reasons to kill Margo Walsh.

“You told Charles Holmes that you believed his drawing hadn’t been done by Sam Weston.”

“That’s correct. Based on my knowledge of Native American art and techniques from that time period as well as what I know about Weston’s work, I told Mr. Holmes I believed
Below the Falls
was created by his first wife, not Weston himself.”

“You said
Below the Falls
is the title the artist gave the drawing. You meant Stands Sacred,” I said.

“Very good,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Would your appraisal be enough for a court to give the drawing to the Dakota Sioux people? I know they’ve returned land and other property based on treaty agreements.”

“It’s possible,” he said. “I’ve been an expert witness twice in legal actions.”

So if someone was going to sell
Below the Falls
to a collector, now was the time.

I thanked Edward Mato for his time and ended the call.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” I said. There were no cats around and I felt a little silly just talking to myself.

So if Marshall and Diana Holmes were both having financial problems and they were co-owners of a drawing worth more than two million dollars, did it mean that one of them was involved in Margo’s murder?

I walked outside and sat on the steps, hoping that somehow the fresh air would clear my head. I saw movement at the edge of the grass where my yard joined Rebecca’s. Owen came stalking across the lawn. He climbed the steps and sat down beside me. There was a scrap of newspaper hanging cock-eyed from one of his ears.

I snagged the bit of paper and held it up. “Stay out of Rebecca’s recycling bin,” I said, glaring at him.

“Murp,” Owen said.

“You think I don’t know you’re over there all the time,” I said, setting the corner of newsprint on my leg and smoothing it flat with a finger. “You pretend you’re over there to do rodent patrol when really you’re just nosy. It’s classic misdirection.”

He looked at me unblinkingly. Then he lifted a paw and nonchalantly began washing his face.

“Misdirection,” I repeated slowly. Maybe it
was
the fresh air. Or Owen’s penchant for rooting around in Rebecca’s recycling bin. Or maybe my little gray cells had finally put the pieces together.

I
called Maggie, and when I explained what I was thinking, she gave me Rena’s phone number. It was looking like she would be able to make a plea deal with respect to the charges against her.

I wasn’t even sure Rena would answer her phone when she saw it was me calling—after all, I had been part of that ambush at the library—but she did pick up on the fifth ring.

“I have one question I’m hoping you’ll answer for me,” I said.

“I’ve already answered a lot more than that for the police,” she said.

I wasn’t exactly surprised by her reaction. She had no reason to help me. “Fair enough,” I said. “I still have your paintings in my office. I can give them to Maggie if that’s better for you.”

There was silence for a moment; then she said, “If I answer your question, will it help catch the person who killed Margo?”

“It might.”

“What is it?”

“Did you and Margo ever talk face-to-face about stealing the drawing?”

“No,” Rena said. “We were never alone face-to-face. All of our conversations were either by e-mail or cell phone. She called herself Madame X.”

“How did you know it was Margo, then?”

“I didn’t at first. But I knew her voice sounded familiar the first time we all met at the library; that and the last-minute invitation to be part of the exhibit are what twigged for me.”

I was on the right track. “Thank you,” I said.

“That’s it?” Rena asked. “That’s going to help somehow?”

“I think so.”

“Well . . . good luck,” she said.

I ended the call and looked down at two furry faces. “We’re right,” I said. “Now all we have to do is prove it.”

I turned my computer back on and began scrolling through the archives for the Lifestyle section of the
Minneapolis Star-Tribune
. Now that I knew what I was looking for, it wasn’t that hard to find.

After about an hour I stood up and stretched. Owen had wandered off, but Hercules was sitting by my chair. “I know who did it, how they did it and why they did it,” I told him, scooping him up into my arms. I swung around in a circle, holding the cat to my chest, and then did a little victory dance.

Hercules gave me a loopy eyes-crossed look. “We’re going to catch some bad guys!” I said.

Catching bad guys wasn’t that simple, it turned out. I’d talked to Marcus three times by the time it was time for tai chi, and I was tired and frustrated. My form was wonky and I wanted to stop in the middle and go home, but I made myself keep going.

Ruby gave me a hug after class. “You’re just having an off night,” she said.

She didn’t know the half of it, I thought.

Maggie walked over to us. “The St. James?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded. “Yes.”

The hotel bar was quiet, not surprising for a Tuesday night. Gavin Solomon and Marshall Holmes were at a table in the center of the room. Gavin looked up when we walked in. “Hi, Kathleen,” he said, getting to his feet. “I was just going over the insurance company’s plan for returning the artwork to the museum with Marshall. Can you join us? I can bring you up to date.”

Marshall smiled up at us. “Please,” he said, gesturing at the table.

“Thank you,” I said. I looked at Gavin. “Could we do that in the morning? It’s been long day.”

“Sure,” he said, frowning slightly. “I’ll call you.”

“Good to see you,” I said to Marshall.

“Good to see both of you,” he replied.

Maggie had already taken a seat at a nearby table. We each ordered a glass of red wine. Maggie propped both elbows on the table. “Okay, what’s going on?” she said.

I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand. “You know how Abigail and Susan have been helping out keeping the different groups running in your studio?” I asked.

Maggie nodded. “They’ve been great. It wouldn’t have worked without them.”

“Everett said the board would pay them for that time if I could get the paperwork in before the board meeting tomorrow.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Maggie asked.

“It would be if I could get into my office to get the actual paperwork.” I sighed loudly.

“So, get Marcus to let you in.”

The waiter came back with our wine. Maggie smiled at him. He was so captivated with her smile he tripped over his own feet on the way back to the bar.

“He won’t,” I said playing with the little coaster my wineglass had come with.

Maggie held up her glass, studied its contents and then took a sip. “Why not?” she asked.

“My office is sealed until they finish searching the building.”

“So get the paperwork from Lita.”

It was hard to keep my feelings from showing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gavin put away his cell phone, stand up and shake hands with Marshall Holmes. “I can’t. She’s out of town on some kind of family emergency.”

“So you’ll get the money approved at the next board meeting,” Maggie said with a shrug.

“Both Abigail and Susan could use the money now. The library has been closed,” I said. “They aren’t getting paid.” I folded one arm up over my head. “Why does Marcus have to be so unreasonable?”

Maggie raised an eyebrow at me. “C’mon, Kath. It’s a police investigation. I thought you wanted them to catch whoever killed Margo.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly before I answered her. “I do. But how is me getting a couple of forms from my office going to interfere with that? It’s not like he hasn’t let me into the building before this. I thought now that we’re together things were going to be different, but Marcus is just sliding back into his same old rigid ways.”

Maggie set her glass down. “That’s not fair. He’s just doing his job. And it’s not like you to expect some kind of special favors.”

“I’m not asking for ‘special favors,’” I said. I could feel the tightness in my jaw and hear it in my voice. “I’m just trying to make sure Susan and Abigail get paid for doing their jobs—actually, for doing more than their jobs.” There was a knot of anxiety gnawing at my stomach. “It’s not like you to take someone else’s side, Mags.”

Maggie sat up very straight in her chair. “I’m not taking any side, Kathleen,” she said. “I think this whole business at the library has been really difficult and I think you may have lost your perspective.” She looked at me for a long moment. Then she pushed her chair back. “I think it would be better if I left.”

I looked down at the table. “I think you’re right,” I said. Maggie walked away. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. When I looked up, Marshall Holmes was standing by the table.

“Kathleen, are you all right?” he asked. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding.”

“You’re not,” I said. “I, uh, it’s been a difficult day.”

Marshall smiled. “I’ve had a few of those.” He gestured at Maggie’s empty chair. “May I sit down?”

“Please,” I said. I picked up my glass and set it back down again. “You had to have heard me arguing with Maggie. I’m sorry about that.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” he said, pulling out the chair and sitting down. “The theft of the Weston drawing and Margo Walsh’s death have put a lot of people on edge, myself included. I know it’s easy to get overwhelmed.”

I sighed softly. “I’m beginning to think the police are never going to solve this.”

“I thought they were searching the library again,” Marshall said.

He was wearing jeans and a jade green sweater over a pale blue shirt with the sleeves pushed back. I thought about how many picture books I could have bought for Reading Buddies with the money he’d probably paid for that sweater.

“I don’t think they’re going to find anything,” I said. Then I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Marshall. That was petty of me. It’s just that I need to get into my office and I can’t.”

He tipped his head to one side and raised his eyebrows slightly. “Can’t you persuade your detective friend to bend the rules just a little for you?”

I shook my head, wondering if I looked embarrassed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he can be a little”—I hesitated, looking for the right word—“rigid. He’s not the type to bend the rules. It’s come between us before.”

Marshall leaned toward me. “I understand a lot better than you’d think, Kathleen,” he said. “My father was that kind of person. I loved him but he was a very black-and-white man. I can’t tell you how many times we butted heads.” Then he laughed. “Well, I could, but I won’t because you’d wonder why I kept doing it.”

I took a drink of my wine and got to my feet. “I think I should just go home,” I said.

Marshall walked outside with me.

“Thank you for the conversation,” I said. “Good night.” I turned to head down the sidewalk and Marshall fell into step beside me.

“I’ll walk you to the library,” he said. He held up a hand before I could say anything. “I know you said you’re going home, but I know you’re not. And I’m not trying to imply you’re helpless in any way, but it is getting dark.”

“I’ll think I’ll just say, ‘no comment,’” I said.

He smiled. “Good answer.”

When we got to the library I turned to face Marshall. He was at least as tall as Marcus. Without heels I felt small standing next to him. “Thank you,” I said. “But I think you really should go now.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m going to wait out here for you. Whoever killed Margo is still on the loose and I’ll feel better if I stick around.” He shrugged. “My father was also big on being a gentleman.”

I looked up at the sky. “Come inside, Marshall,” I said. “It’s going to rain by the look of those clouds, and it would probably be better for both of us if you weren’t lurking around out here.”

I pulled my spare set of keys out of my pocket, let us into the building and shut off both alarm systems. There was no security guard on duty anymore. After their initial panic, the insurance company had decided they only needed a live person in the library during the daytime. Gavin had laughed when he told me, saying that maybe they thought art thieves were afraid of the dark.

I turned on only one set of overhead lights. Marshall followed me up the stairs. I tried not to look at the piles of books on the main floor.

At least my office was untouched. I found the forms I needed in my filing cabinet. “I just need to go next door and copy these,” I said to Marshall, holding up the papers. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“Do you mind if I borrow your phone book again?” he asked, a bit sheepishly, pulling his flip phone out of his pocket.

“Sure, go ahead,” I said. I pointed to the bookshelf behind him. “It’s in the same place. I’ll be right back.”

I walked down the hallway and picked up a plastic bag from the table in the lunchroom. I counted to twenty and stepped back into the office.