Sleight of Paw (22 page)

His green eyes narrowed. “Agatha had that envelope with her, and it seems to have disappeared. Maybe it had nothing to do with her death, but I have to start somewhere.”

Hercules lifted a paw and smacked me on the arm.

“Ow!” I said. It didn’t actually hurt, but I was trying to make a point. Why did he suddenly have to develop standards about me poking around in one of Marcus’s cases?

“Look, all I want to do is look in that bag,” I said. “If Ruby wasn’t in jail you know she’d let me.” Hercules actually seemed to consider that thought. “I’d wait if I had the time”—I leaned in even closer—“but I don’t.”

I set him on the floor, brushed off my lap and headed for the stairs. He was in front of me before I’d taken more than a couple of steps.

“It’s for a good cause,” I said. “And I’m not asking you to help me.” I closed my eyes and pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. I’d lost my mind. I really had this time. I was trying to justify to a cat what I was going to do.

I opened my eyes and looked into deep green cat eyes in a cute, furry black-and-white face. He looked like any other house cat, ready to rub against my leg or chase dust balls under the bed. But he wasn’t someone’s cute, cuddly house pet.

Would I have figured out how Gregor Easton died without Hercules? Or Owen? Herc had found a bead and a piece of very unique musical notation that helped me put all the pieces together. Not only had Easton’s killer been caught, but Rebecca and Everett had gotten back together.

And when the house was broken into last summer, Hercules had gone for help while Owen had helped me fight off the intruder.

I imagined for a moment telling Maggie or Roma that Owen and Hercules had helped me find Gregor Easton’s killer. They’d laugh. They’d think it was some kind of joke.

But the cats had. Which didn’t mean they had to do it again.

“Marcus isn’t going to look for another killer,” I said to the cat. “At best, all he’s going to do is look for more evidence against Ruby.” I shrugged. “She’s my friend. She’s Maggie’s friend. We’re just going to have to agree to disagree.”

I turned and headed for the kitchen instead, trying to ignore the insanity of telling a cat we were going to have to agree to disagree.

I filled the sink with hot water and bubbles and I was just starting to wash the glasses when I heard a noise. What the heck were those two doing now?

I went to the living room doorway. Hercules was coming across the floor, backward, from the closet, dragging my messenger bag, the strap in his teeth. His way, I realized, of telling me he’d help.

I walked over and crouched down to his level. He let go of the woven strap and looked at me. I suddenly had a giant lump in my throat. I kissed the top of his head. “Thank you,” I said hoarsely.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Owen by the end of the couch doing his neglected-cat pose. I reached out my right hand to him. “I love you, too, fur ball,” I said. He scooted over and leaned against the side of my leg.

We were the Three Musketeers. We were Batman and Robin and a librarian.

We were probably nuts.

I
got up Monday morning to warmer weather and no snow. While Hercules and Owen ate, I sat at the table with a cup of coffee.

I was having major second thoughts. Maybe I should wait until Ruby was out on bail, then get her to let me check the bag.
But what if she doesn’t make bail?
a voice in my head asked.

Hercules finished his breakfast, walked over to the messenger bag I’d hung over one of the chairs the night before and gave it a swat with one paw.

“No,” I said.

He hit the bag again.

I took it off the back of the chair and set it on the seat. “I’m happy you’ve decided to help,” I said. “I really am. But I can’t take you with me. How would I explain that to Rebecca?”

He jumped, landing on the chair seat and sending the nylon bag to the floor. Then he turned and stared defiantly at me.

“Oh, like that’s going to work.” I scooped the bag from the floor and set it on top of the fridge.

I should have known he wasn’t going to give up easily. He hopped down and headed for the porch.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

Owen glanced up from his food, decided he had no dog—or in this case, cat—in this fight and went back to eating. I set my cup down and scrambled after Hercules. I knew if he wanted to he could get outside on his own. On the other hand, how likely was that? Outside meant snow, cold and wet feet.

That wasn’t going to stop him. He was already in the yard. Hercules had committed to the plan and he was going to see it through. I yanked on my boots and hurried after him. He was halfway around the house, walking slowly, almost gingerly, stopping every few steps to shake one paw or another.

“Hercules, c’mon,” I called. It was cold and I didn’t have a jacket. I hugged myself, trying to stay warm. He looked back over his shoulder at me. “I can’t take you,” I said.

He headed for the driveway again.

This was stupid. I lunged for him, intending to scoop him up and go back inside. He darted forward, faster than I’d ever seen him move in the snow. I overreached, skidded on a small patch of ice and went sprawling on the path.

Hercules turned and craned his neck toward me.

“I’m fine,” I grumped. I got slowly to my feet, brushing off the snow that clung to my sweater and pants. The heel of my left hand was red where it had scrapped along the frozen snow. I looked down at the cat. “You can come,” I said. “This is completely insane, but you can come.”

He lifted one front paw and shook it, then gave a pitiful-sounding meow. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I said. I bent and picked him up. “I’m the one who went tail over teakettle on the ice, and you’re the one who’s getting carried.”

He snuggled into the crook of my arm and gave me a self-satisfied smirk.

Inside I set Hercules on the kitchen floor and brushed off the last bits of snow sticking to my sweater. The side of my hand stung where it had scrapped across the ground. Owen and Hercules exchanged looks, then Owen turned to stare at me. Again I wondered if they shared come kind of cat telepathy. Considering everything else they could do it wasn’t that far-fetched.

On one of the shelves in the hall closet I found a piece of orange fake fur. I stuffed it in the bottom of the messenger bag. Hercules came over, looked inside and shook his head.

“It’s left over from the mad-scientist costume I wore at Halloween,” I said. “It’ll be warm.”

Maggie had made me a fabulous mad-scientist outfit—part Marty Feldman in
Young Frankenstein,
part Beaker from the Muppets—including a custom hairpiece from orange fake fur.

“Try it,” I said. Hercules stuck one paw the bag. Then the other. Then he climbed in all the way. He kneaded the bottom with his paws and finally lay down.

I got my coat, pulled on my boots, and carefully swung Hercules over my shoulder. “We’ll be back soon,” said I said to Owen, who was watching from under the table. “You got money for bail if we need it?”

He meowed.

“Good to know.”

I walked quickly down the hill and over to Violet’s house. Between them, Rebecca and Ruby had been keeping an eye on the house. Violet was gone for the foreseeable future. Ruby had moved into the apartment over the converted carriage house just before Violet left.

The steps up to the apartment were at the back of the building. I set the messenger bag down on the floor of the covered porch at the top of the stairs. Herc popped his head out and looked around. “Not a sound,” I warned. “Not a meow, not a rumble, not even a burp. Rebecca will be here any minute.”

I bent down to close the top of the bag. He jumped out, looked right and left and then and disappeared through the door before I could grab him.

I was never going to get used to that.

I dropped down into a crouch. Hercules was definitely gone. He could pass through any solid object—doors, six-inch-thick walls, concrete foundations. “Hercules, get back out here,” I hissed at the door.

Nothing.

“I’m not kidding. You are in big, big trouble. Get out here now.”

It was an empty threat. It wasn’t like I could go in and fetch him. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Then I leaned in close to the bottom panel of the door and called the cat’s name.

Again, nothing.

“Are you looking for secret panel?” a voice behind me said. “Because I can promise you there isn’t one.”

Startled, I almost fell over. Rebecca was standing in the porch doorway. Heart pounding, I stood up.

“Good morning,” she said. She gestured at the door. “It’s a lovely door, isn’t it? But not nearly as nice as the original wooden one. It had a squeak in the winter and it stuck in the summer.” She didn’t seem to think it was strange that I’d been “examining” the door.

“I like old houses,” I said lamely.

“Me, too,” Rebecca said. “But I admit I like doors that close and windows that keep the wind out.” She fished in her pocket and pulled out a set of keys.

I stepped back to let her slip the key in the lock, bending to grab the strap of my bag. I crossed my fingers, hoping that Hercules wouldn’t be sitting in the middle of the floor, blinking at us, when Rebecca opened the door.

He wasn’t.

I set the messenger bag on the floor next to my boots, close to the door, hoping the cat would take the hint and climb in while we were in the bedroom.

Rebecca held up a small piece of pale green paper. “I have a list.”

I took it from her and looked it over. The underwear, and coat would be easy. I knew Ruby had a dark wool coat. She usually wore it with a fuzzy orange hat and scarf. I wasn’t so sure about the plain white blouse and I couldn’t remember ever seeing her in a dark skirt.

I smiled at Rebecca. “Let’s see what we can find.” I knew I had a simple dark skirt. If we couldn’t find anything that seemed right for court, I’d send that and a handful of safety pins.

The bedroom was painted a soft shade of lilac. And the bed was covered with a deeper violet spread and heaped with pillows. Ruby had painted tiny stars on the ceiling. I looked around. Agatha’s bag was sitting on an old nursery rocking chair in the corner. Thankfully I didn’t see Hercules anywhere.

Rebecca pointed at an old steamer trunk under the window. “I’ll look in there. Would you see if there’s anything in that armoire?”

I couldn’t find any skirt that wasn’t a riot of color in the antique armoire where Ruby kept her clothes, but at the back I did find a plain white blouse.

Rebecca held up a pair of black woolen pants she’d unearthed from the old trunk. “What do you think about these?” she asked. “They’re plain and dark and I don’t think Ruby has any skirts that are going to work.”

I draped the blouse over the waistband of the pants. The combination was serious and sedate—nothing like Ruby, but perfect for court. “Yes,” I said.

Ruby’s coat was in the hall closet. Rebecca had brought a nylon garment bag with her. We put everything inside and I folded the bag over my arm.

Rebecca made a small sigh of satisfaction. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “I’ll carry this down for you. Did you bring the car?” I couldn’t help shooting a quick glance at the bag on the rocking chair.

“Yes, I did,” she said. “But first, tell me why you keep looking at that grocery bag over there.”

I felt my cheeks get red. “Was I that obvious?”

She nodded.

“You know Ruby didn’t kill Agatha.”

“Of course.”

“The police have a piece of glass they think may have come from Ruby’s truck.”

“I heard that,” Rebecca said.

“I, uh, found it. It caught on the hem of my pants.”

“And you feel guilty.”

“A little. The police think they have Agatha’s killer. They aren’t going to be looking for any evidence that will clear Ruby. Someone has to help her.” I shrugged. “So here I am.”

She smiled and gestured toward the rocking chair. “How is that bag going to help Ruby?”

“Agatha was carrying around an envelope the day she died. It’s disappeared. Maybe it’s not important, but maybe it is.” I turned to look at the bag. “She was carrying that bag around, too. Lita gave it to Ruby. I thought maybe the envelope would be inside.”

Rebecca nodded slowly and her eyes flicked from me to the rocking chair and back again. “I don’t see why it would hurt to look. I think Ruby would probably say go ahead if she were here.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I’d like to help Ruby, too. If we find anything that seems important we’ll call Everett and ask him what to do.”

I laid Ruby’s things on the bedspread and picked up the bag. Inside were several pair of gloves, a crocheted black scarf, a small, square box of Kleenex, and three packets of ketchup. There was no envelope, no papers at all other than an old postcard from Florida with nothing written on it, and the bottom half of a torn old photograph—what looked to be the legs of a chubby baby sitting on someone’s lap. This was clearly just stuff Agatha had collected around town.

“It’s not here,” I said to Rebecca, trying not to let my disappointment show. “They’re things she was saving for some reason—gloves, ketchup.”

She peeked inside the bag. “See those green gloves? They were in the lost and found at the community center for months. Someone probably gave them to her.” She pointed to the postcard. “Wasn’t there some kind of postcard display at the co-op store?”

“I think it came down just a few days ago.”

Rebecca let the postcard fall back into the bag. She looked sad. “I think these are just things Agatha picked up walking around town. I’m sorry. There clearly isn’t any envelope here and even if there was, knowing Agatha, I don’t think you find anything in it to help Ruby.”