Sleight of Paw (20 page)

We were turned away from where Maggie was standing, talking to Rebecca. Anger got the best of me. “You didn’t listen to me then and you’re not listening to me now,” I snapped. I let go of his arm, determined to glide away in melodramatic fashion. Except my glide was off by several feet.

I was heading for a snowbank when Susan grabbed my arm. We spun in a circle, but I managed somehow to keep my balance as Susan stopped me.

“You all right?” she asked. We were face-to-face, Susan holding both my upper arms. “It looked like you were arguing with Detective Gordon about something.”

I couldn’t see him anymore. “Not exactly arguing,” I said. “More like discussing.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Vigorously.”

She almost smiled.

“I was trying to point out that his reasons for arresting Ruby weren’t very good ones.”

The color drained from Susan’s face. “The police arrested Ruby? Why?”

She didn’t know. How could she not know? I looked at the ice for a second, then looked back at her. “Because they think she killed Agatha.”

I thought she couldn’t get any paler.

I was wrong.

Susan’s mouth moved but no sound came out.

“Susan, I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought it was common knowledge by now. I shouldn’t have just blurted it out like that.”

She shook her head “Oh, no, it’s okay. We’re a bit out of touch because we’ve just kind of been staying close to home this weekend. You know, colds and stuff.”

Her face was still sickeningly white. “When did they . . . when did they arrest her?”

“This morning.”

“She didn’t kill Agatha.”

“I know. And the police will figure that out, too.” Susan’s eyes darted around the crowded rink. “I . . . I better go,” she said. “Eric just left for the caf��, and my mom’s on her way to the sliding hill with the boys. I wanted to skate around a couple of times by myself, but I should go help her.” She let go of my arms, holding her hands out for a moment. “You okay?”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she said, skating away with long strokes. Of course I couldn’t move.

Maggie made her way over to me. “Are you all right?”

“Just get me off the ice, please,” I said.

She pulled me to the edge of the rink. I stepped over the boards and collapsed on the bench.

“Is everything okay with Susan?” Maggie asked, dropping beside me.

I sighed. “I don’t know. She’s been, well, not herself for the past few days. Since Agatha died, really.”

Maggie leaned her folded arms on her thighs. “It has to be hard on Eric, Agatha dying. So that has to be hard on Susan.”

I nodded. “Speaking of Eric, you want to head over to the café for some hot chocolate?”

“Oh, that sounds good,” she said.

I started undoing my skates. I loved Eric’s hot chocolate. It was even better than mine. And maybe I’d get a chance to talk to him. Maybe he’d seen or heard something the night Agatha died. Maybe I could come up with something that would help Ruby.

Maggie had her skates off in half the time it took me, so she watched me, head cocked to one side. “Marcus was a pretty good skating teacher,” she said.

“Marcus is a dip wad,” I said darkly.

“Let me guess. He told you not to play
Law & Order
with this case.”

“He has tunnel vision,” I said, getting to my feet.

She gave me a hip bump. “He probably says that about you.”

We headed up to the street. As we crossed the parking lot we bumped into Roma. Literally. “We’re going to Eric’s,” Maggie said. “Wanna come?”

“Yes.” Roma pulled off her crocheted red hat. “I can’t feel my toes. I was in that infuriating maze for a half hour. I thought they were going to have to send a scent dog to find me.”

I felt the prickle of goose bumps up my spine.

“We were skating,” Maggie said. “We haven’t tried the maze yet.”

And we are not going to,
I added silently.

“Where are you parked?” Roma asked. “Because I’m right here.”

“I walked,” Maggie said.

“Me, too,” I added.

“C’mon, I’ll drive,” Roma said.

I was happy to climb into the backseat of her SUV. My feet hurt. My knees ached. When I moved it sounded like someone deboning a turkey. And when I sat down it was clear I’d bruised my tailbone.

Maggie buckled her seat belt and then leaned forward to look out the windshield. “You giving us a ride isn’t going to start a rumor that we’re dating, is it?” she said to Roma.

“No, everyone’s pretty convinced I’m seeing Eddie Sweeney,” Roma said with a smile, putting the car in gear. Her expression changed. “I heard about Ruby.”

Maggie nodded. “Kathleen called Everett. He sent one of his lawyers.”

“Good. It’s ridiculous to think that Ruby would kill Agatha.”

We drove slowly up to the café. There were a lot of people on the sidewalk, headed for the Winterfest site. Roma slid into a parking spot as a minivan pulled out.

Our waiter, a high school student with green hair who I knew had an interest in medieval armaments, brought us three mugs of steaming hot chocolate and a bowl of marshmallows.

Eric was behind the counter. He didn’t so much as wave, let alone come over. Agatha’s death had clearly hit him hard. I didn’t want to make him feel any worse, but I did want to talk to him.

I was grasping at straws, because I felt guilty about the piece of glass I’d given to Marcus. But maybe Eric had seen something or even someone and didn’t realize it was important.

“I know Ruby seems tough,” Maggie was saying. “But that’s an act. We were taking summer courses at the university at the same time.” She smiled as she remembered. “She was living in this real dive. I mean, the place was falling apart. There was a mouse in her apartment. Anyone else would have moved out, or at least gotten a trap.”

“Let me guess,” Roma said. “She kept it as a pet.”

“And did two paintings of the thing,” Maggie said with a smile.

That sounded like Ruby.

Our waiter came back with a carafe of cocoa and we all had a second cup.

I glanced over at the counter, still trying to come up with a way to talk to Eric without being too pushy.

“Why do the police think Ruby killed Agatha?” Roma asked, setting down her mug. “What’s her motive supposed to be?”

“Maybe they think it was an accident and she panicked,” I said.

“I can’t believe the rumor’s true. I can’t believe Agatha had half a million dollars,” Roma said. “You know, a couple of times I paid for a tank of heating oil because I knew she skimped on heat and I thought she couldn’t afford it.” She gestured to Eric, who was making change for someone at the cash register. “Eric let her stay in his office on really cold nights.”

She picked up her cup again. “She lied to us.” She traced a square on the tablecloth. “You know, I would have said Agatha Shepherd was the one person who wouldn’t lie. Why didn’t she spend some of that money on herself?” She looked up at us. “Then she goes and leaves everything to Ruby’s boyfriend.”

“She had to be suffering from some kind of brain damage from the stroke,” Maggie said. Her blond hair was standing up from when she’d pulled off her hat. She looked like a curly blond lamb. “Maybe she’d been having small strokes and nobody knew about it. You’ve seen those TV shows about hoarders. Only in her case it was money.”

Was that why that old envelope had been so important? Was there something inside that had to do with all that money? I wondered what had happened to the envelope. Agatha had had words with Eric over it. And I remembered Harry Taylor’s gesturing at it as he stood on the sidewalk arguing with her. It couldn’t be connected to her death, could it?

No. What could she have been carrying around in a recycled Mayville school-system envelope that would make someone kill her? Investment statements? On the other hand, the envelope hadn’t been with Agatha’s body or at her house, as far as I’d seen. And it had been important to her, given the way she held on to it, and it did have some significance to Harry and Eric, because they’d both argued with her about it. Could she have had any other secrets besides half a million dollars?

Across the table, I looked at Roma, who was gesticulating as she talked to Maggie. I didn’t want to go home and spend the rest of the day obsessing about Agatha’s death.

“Hey, guys,” I said. “Why don’t you come have supper with me?”

“Yes,” Roma said.

“Don’t you want to know what we’re having?” I asked.

“Do I have to cook anything?”

“No. I have beef stew in the slow cooker.”

“As long as I don’t have to cook, I’ll eat just about anything. Heck, I’d probably eat those smelly crackers you make for the cats.”

“Mags?” I said.

“Are you making dumplings?” she asked. “I’ll come even if you aren’t . . . But are you?”

“Yes, I’m making dumplings.”

Roma picked up her cup, drained it and set it back on the table. “Let’s roll,” she said.

Owen came out at breakneck speed when he heard the back door open. He skidded to a stop, sliding into the leg of the kitchen table when he saw Roma. Tail twitching, he glared at me.

Maggie came in behind us, spotted the cat and said, “Hey, Fuzz Face.” Owen’s entire demeanor changed. His tail went down and his eyes narrowed with happiness. He made a wide berth around Roma and stopped about three feet in front of Maggie.

“I brought you something,” she said, giving the cat a conspiratorial grin. She pulled a little brown paper bag from her pocket. I recognized the logo.

“Maggie, you didn’t,” I said. “You’re as bad as Rebecca.”

Owen recognized the bag, as well. He was squirming so much that I thought he would wiggle right out of his fur.

“Ignore her,” she said to the cat. She took Fred the Funky Chicken of the bag. Owen shifted from one foot to the other. Maggie set the yellow catnip chicken on the floor and pushed it toward him. He pounced on it, picking it up in his mouth. As he turned to take off with it, he gave Maggie an adoring look. Again he made a wide berth around Roma, glaring at her and me as he went by.

Hercules appeared in the doorway then. He didn’t even look at Roma, acting as though she wasn’t there. Instead he looked at Maggie. “I didn’t forget you,” she said, reaching into the bag again.

“You’ve lost your mind,” I said, crossing my arms and shaking my head. Hercules walked over to her, obviously curious about what Maggie had brought him. I was curious, too. Herc was the type of cat who didn’t go for toys.

“I had to get some wine,” she said. “And then I saw the chickens and that made me think of Owen. And how could I get something for him and not get something for this one?” She gestured at Hercules, who modestly ducked his head.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I muttered.

Maggie pulled a little box out of the bag. Hercules looked at it, intrigued.

“Organic fish-shaped cat treats,” she said, holding up the box so Roma and I could see it. Herc’s whiskers wiggled when she said “fish.” “Can I give him a couple?”

I sighed. “Yes.”

She opened the top of the tiny carton, dumped a half dozen crackers into her hand, set them on the floor and then backed away.

Hercules strolled over, trying to act uninterested. He sniffed the crackers. I wouldn’t say that he shoved his face in the tiny pile and started eating like a bear in a picnic basket, but the effect was very close.

Maggie handed me the box. I looked at the ingredients. Roma leaned over to take a peek, as well. No chemicals. Nothing I couldn’t pronounce. “Looks fine,” Roma said.

I set the box on the counter. Herc gobbled the last fish and licked the crumbs off his face. He walked over to us, stopping in front of Maggie to meow a thank-you.

“You’re welcome,” she said with a smile. Hercules rubbed against my leg and headed back to the living room.

“So if I bring bribes will the cats like me?” Roma asked.

“They’re not bribes; they’re gifts of love,” Maggie said, squaring her shoulders and sticking out her chin.

“Bribes,” Roma repeated.

I took both women’s coats. “It’s not that Owen and Hercules don’t like you . . .” I began.

Roma gave me a skeptical look.

“Okay, so it is that they don’t like you, but in their defense, every time they see you, you stick them with a needle.”

“I wouldn’t like you that much if you poked me with a needle every time I saw you,” Maggie said, peeking in my cookie jar to see if I had any brownies. “I guess you’ll have to stick to hockey players.”

Roma held out her hands and grinned. “I guess so.” She seemed to have found her sense of humor about the Eddie rumor.

We moved into the living room and I turned on the lamp. Maggie curled in her favorite corner of the couch. Roma sat in the leather chair.

“You know, if Owen were a guy, I’d date him,” Maggie said as the cat came over to sit by her feet.

Roma and I both laughed.

“No, really,” Maggie said. “He’s cute. He’s crazy about me. Why not?”

“Mags,” I said. “He has morning breath that would make your eyes water and a major addiction to catnip, and he smells every bite of food before he eats it.”

Roma shrugged. “I’ve gone out with worse.”

We all laughed.

“Have you ever thought about getting married again?” Maggie asked Roma.

“Well, not to a cat,” she said.

Maggie threw a pillow at her. Roma caught it with one hand and tucked it behind her back. Her smile faded. “I don’t even know if I’d be good at marriage,” she said. “Luke and I were married only two years—he was killed by a drunk driver.” She studied her left hand for a moment. “We were so young and married for such a short time, there wasn’t a chance to find out what kind of a marriage it would’ve been.” Then she smiled. “But I have Olivia.”