Sleight of Paw (28 page)

I reached across the table and laid one of my hands on hers. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“I put him to bed,” she continued. “In the morning he didn’t remember coming home or where he’d been.”

“He had a blackout?”

“Yes. I don’t know what scared him the most: taking the first drink or the fact that he doesn’t remember it.”

I wasn’t sure how to ask what I needed to ask. “Susan, does Eric know anything about . . . about Agatha’s death?”

“No.” Her mouth moved, then she said, “I’m not sure. Eric would never hurt anyone, especially Agatha . . . but there’s all that time he can’t remember.”

“And he still won’t tell you who he went to meet?”

She shook her head. “No, and believe me, we’ve been back and forth about it over the past few days. He says the whole program falls apart if you can’t trust your sponsor. I don’t even know if he’s told his own sponsor.”

I pushed a stray bit of hair away from my face and tried not to let my frustration show. “Do you have any idea, any hint, who it was?”

“I don’t. I’m sorry. I don’t. All I can tell you is that it’s someone Eric used to know a long time ago when he first stopped drinking.” She looked at me, tight lines of anxiety around her mouth. “You believe me, don’t you?”

“I do,” I said. It was true. I did. Susan was a lousy liar, as I’d seen in the past few days.

“Eric didn’t hurt Agatha,” she said. “Even if he was having a blackout, he wouldn’t hurt another person.”

I thought about the news story I’d read. Eric had left the scene of an accident back then. But that hadn’t been a person, and Eric had been a kid in a car full of other kids. I could remember what peer pressure was like. “I don’t think Eric hurt Agatha, either,” I said. “I think Eric would always be Eric even if he couldn’t remember.”

Susan searched my face and she must’ve liked what she saw, because she smiled as she stood up. I got to my feet, as well. “Susan, do you remember seeing Agatha with a brown envelope any time before her death? I think it was a report-card envelope at one time.”

She thought for a moment. “Yeah, I do. Why?”

I couldn’t betray Harry’s confidence and I didn’t want to tell her that Eric had argued with Agatha over the envelope. “It might be nothing, but Agatha was hanging on to it pretty tightly, and it’s disappeared.”

“You want me to ask Eric about it? He’s really worried about Ruby, you know.”

Maybe she’d get further than I had. “Please,” I said. “Tell him it’s important.”
At least for Old Harry,
I added silently.

She nodded and looked at her watch. “I’ll go down. It’s almost time to open.”

“I’ll be right there,” I said, gathering the dishes and setting them in the sink. I leaned against the counter.

Eric had had a blackout. I’d meant what I said to Susan. Blackout or not, I didn’t believe Eric had killed Agatha. Eric would always be Eric. But the fact was, he’d been drinking. He’d had a blackout. And Agatha was dead.

I needed to know who Eric had been with in the missing time and where they’d gone. The question was, How was I going to find out?

T
he smell of chicken soup filled the house, thanks to the slow cooker. I sent a mental thank-you to whomever had invented the pot.

“We were right.” I told Hercules, who’d kept me company while I changed into my tai chi clothes and got myself a bowl of soup. Owen had wandered in and out with a loopy expression that told me he’d been into funky-chicken parts again.

“Eric was drinking the night Agatha was killed.” I set down my spoon. “We have to find out who he was with and where they were. Eric’s in that
what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas
mode. You know, kind of like we do with your little superpower.” I whispered the last word.

Hercules suddenly got interested in the back door. I picked up my spoon again. “I’m thinking Eric and his friend wouldn’t do their drinking here. Someone would have said something by now.” I slipped him a piece of chicken. “Susan said it was noisy, so I’m guessing a bar, like she did.”

Hercules looked at me and bobbed his head. Which might have meant he agreed. Or he didn’t. Or he wanted more chicken. After all, I was talking to a cat. But I did know a real person who could help me.

“Hi, Katydid,” my mom said when she picked up.

“Hi, Mom,” I said. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I’m hoping you can help me with something.”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“Do you remember that choreographer you worked with in
Guys and Dolls
?”

“Chloe Westin,” Mom said at once.

“She, uh . . .” I hesitated.

“Was an alcoholic,” my mother said bluntly.

“That’s the one.” Now, how was I going to explain why I wanted to know what I wanted to know? “One of my staff, her husband—”

“Say no more, sweetie,” she interjected. “You think he has a drinking problem.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“Can you smell it on him?”

“No.” I leaned back against the arm of the chair.

“Doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” she said. “I never smelled alcohol on Chloe’s breath. She always smelled like Juicy Fruit gum, which, of course, explains why I didn’t smell alcohol on her breath.”

“So how did you figure it out?”

“Aside from her showing up drunk at a rehearsal and doing a grand jeté into the orchestra pit?” Mom asked dryly. “She was sneaky, evasive. She disappeared for long stretches of time and no one knew where she was. She used to go to this little hole-in-the-wall bar to drink, where no one in her real life would catch her. She’d lie and then tell a lie to cover the first lie. And on and on.”

My head ached. I rubbed my temples with the heel of my hand.

“I remember one time Chloe missed rehearsal. Then she tried to tell me she’d been out researching urban street dancing and lost track of time.”

“Where was she really?” I asked.

“An hour and a ferry ride away, drinking homemade wine with some new friends she’d met at the dinky little bar,” Mom laughed. “I’m pretty sure that wine was the reason the term ‘rotgut’ was invented. Oh, the child paid for it, though, believe me. Ever have a headache so horrible it looked like you were permanently crosseyed?”

“I, uh . . . Thankfully, no.”

“Am I helping at all?”

“You are,” I said. “And I’m sorry I have to go, but I have tai chi.”

“Call me soon,” she said. “I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said, and hung up.

Based on what my mother had just said, I felt that I was on the right track. Eric and his friend most likely had been drinking somewhere other than in town. The thing was, where?

I pulled on my coat and boots and headed for tai chi. I was running late.

I had my head down, watching for slippery spots, which is why I turned the corner at the bottom of the hill and bumped—literally—into Marcus.

“Sorry,” I said, pushing my hat up off my forehead and talking a step back. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m taking up most of the sidewalk. I didn’t hit you with my bag, did I?” He had a large black hockey bag over his shoulder.

I shook my head.

“Where are you headed?” he asked as I shifted my own bag from one shoulder to the other.

“I’m on my way to tai chi class.”

“I’m headed to the marina. I’ll walk with you.”

“You’re going over to the Winterfest site?” I said, as we started along the sidewalk. Then before he could answer I remembered. “Oh, that’s right. It’s the all-star game.”

Another tradition of Winterfest, I’d learned, was the all-star hockey game, the best of the police and fire departments against the high school stars. “Good luck,” I said.

“Thanks.” He paused to let a half-ton truck make a left turn in front of us and into an alleyway, automatically putting his arm out in front of me. “You’ve seen my puck-shooting ability. So I’ll take all the luck I can get.”

“You’re a good skater,” I said. “You just need to anticipate a little more with the puck.”

He shot me a puzzled look. “Anticipate?”

“When someone has the puck, watch his body language, especially his feet. A guy will fake right with his body, but if you check his feet he’s already headed left.”

He nodded. “Thanks. I’ll try it.”

We were almost at the tai chi studio. “How’s the case?” I said.

The last bit of a smile on his face disappeared. “You know I can’t talk about that with you.”

“Ruby didn’t kill Agatha.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“Maybe you should listen.”

“Are you digging around in the investigation?”

“You know I can’t talk about that with you,” I said lightly.

That brought the smile back out just a little. We stopped in front of the co-op building.

“Have a good game,” I said. I took a couple of steps toward the door and then I turned back toward him. He was an irritating person, but he was a good, conscientious police officer. “Marcus,” I said. “I don’t know if this matters or not, but Ruby’s truck isn’t the only truck like that in town.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, stamping his heavy boots on the snowy sidewalk.

“I mean there’s more than one truck exactly like Ruby’s. Same make. Same model. And bought at the same time, from the same dealer.”

He sighed, “Kathleen—”

“Stay out of the case,” I finished. “There were six trucks. Six identical trucks sold to people who live in this area or who did. And at least one of them is still around.” I held out both hands, then turned and went into the building. He didn’t come after me.

I didn’t know what Marcus would do with what I had told him, but I’d played fair. And for some reason that mattered to me.

Ruby was at the top of the stairs, taking off her coat. “Hi,” she said. She looked uncomfortable, her eyes darting away from my face.

“Hi.” I put my bag on a hook. “I talked to Harry,” I said. “He told me what was probably in that envelope Agatha was carrying around, and he told me that he asked you to talk to her for him.”

She met my gaze directly then. “So you understand why I couldn’t tell you?”

“I guess I do.”

She tucked her gloves in the sleeve of her coat. “I wish I knew where that envelope was.”

“Maybe it will turn up,” I said, thinking of Hercules spitting that soggy piece of paper into my hand. That reminded me about the photo fragment he’d found in Ruby’s apartment. Could that be a picture of Harry and Agatha’s child? I’d forgotten all about it.

Ruby touched my arm. “Kathleen, you zoned out there for a minute. Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I may have a picture of the baby.”

“What?” Her mouth actually hung open.

Okay, how was I going to explain this? I pulled her over to the bench against the wall beside the coat hooks. “I was with Rebecca when she got your things for court.”

“Okay,” she said slowly.

“Remember Lita had given you that bag of things belonging to Agatha?”

Ruby nodded. “I just took it home.”

“So you didn’t look inside?”

“No. Well, not much more than a glance.” She cleared her throat. “The last while, even before she had the stroke, Agatha kind of got a little weird about stuff. She’d pick things up that she thought might be useful. A scarf, napkins—that kind of thing.”

“Ruby, I looked through the bag. I’m sorry, but I was looking for the envelope. I thought maybe it would be there or maybe there would be something in there that would help you.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “Obviously the envelope wasn’t there.”

“No,” I said. “But there was part of a picture. Of a baby.”

“A baby?”

“A baby,” I repeated. Now the awkward part. “Ruby, I kind of walked out with the picture.” That was more or less true. I walked out with Hercules and he had the picture. “Do you think you’d recognize whether it was a photo of Agatha’s son? I think you said he’s working in China.”

“Yeah. David.” She shrugged “I don’t know. Maybe. Agatha did have a couple of pictures of him when he was little in her office. He doesn’t look that different now.”

I pulled off my hat and scarf. “Are you going to be in your studio tomorrow? I could bring it over.”

“Justin is going to pick me up,” she said, her eyes sparkling like the old Ruby for the first time in days. “He has meetings tomorrow and the next day in Minneapolis about the camp. We could give you a ride home and I could take a look at the picture.”

“If Justin doesn’t mind, that would work.”

“He won’t mind.” She stood up. “Maybe we’ll have something to give to Harry.”

“I hope so,” I said.

Ruby headed inside. I hung up my coat and changed my boots for shoes before I went in.

In the middle of the room Maggie was demonstrating a move to Rebecca, Roma and a couple of others. I watched for a moment. It was Cloud Hands. My nemesis.

Maggie finished, smiled at me, then clapped her hands and called, “Circle.”

We moved into our usual places. Rebecca smiled at me from one side, and on the other side Roma held up a finger and whispered, “I found one of the trucks.”

Thank you,
I mouthed.

“Kathleen,” Maggie bellowed from across the circle.

It was going to be one of those nights. “I know: bend my knees,” I called back.

“Good to see you’re paying attention,” she retorted.

The class took all my focus. I’d almost learned the complete form, but that didn’t mean I had all the different movements completely mastered. Ruby and Maggie were the only ones who could do all 108 movements at the end of class, although everyone else was getting pretty close. One by one we stepped out, letting Maggie and Ruby finish the form.

I glanced at the door and saw Justin standing there. He smiled and I did the same.