Sleight of Paw (3 page)

Agatha turned, her shoulders rigid under the out-of-date coat. She made her way back to the door, cup in one hand, bag in the other, the envelope held tightly against her chest with her forearm. It
was
an old report-card envelope, I realized as she passed us.

“She was a teacher,” I said.

“Principal, actually,” Maggie replied. She checked her watch. “We should get going.” She looked around for Claire.

“You know, Agatha kept more than one kid from becoming a juvenile delinquent,” Roma said, pushing back her chair and standing up.

Maggie nodded. “Ruby,” she said. “And Eric.” Claire came over and Maggie took all three checks from her, then held up her hand. “I’m getting this.”

“There’s two of us,” I said to Roma.

She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “I think we could take her.”

“I want to do this,” Maggie said. “Don’t argue with me.”

Roma and I exchanged glances. “Okay,” I said.

Maggie headed for the cash register. “And there’s no way that you two could take me,” she said over her shoulder.

Through the window I could see Agatha moving slowly down the sidewalk. Roma followed my gaze as she zipped her coat. “Me,” she said softly, with a slightly embarrassed shrug.

It took me a moment to get what she meant. “You were a juvenile delinquent?” Roma as a wild child didn’t fit with the compassionate veterinarian I’d become friends with since I’d moved to Minnesota.

“Maybe not exactly a delinquent,” she said, pulling on her gloves. “But I was hanging out with a bad bunch of kids—sneaking out of the house, smoking, drinking—and I was only fourteen.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Maggie said. She’d come back in time to hear the tail end of the conversation.

“That’s because of Agatha,” Roma said. “She noticed my interest in animals. Also caught me cutting school.” She laughed at the memory. “Part of my punishment was cleaning cages three days a week after school at the animal shelter. For an entire month.”

We headed for the door. I waved good-bye to Eric, who nodded in return. I turned back to Roma. “I take it the punishment really wasn’t much of a punishment.”

“I loved it,” she said. “Not that I let on. When the month was up the shelter director offered me a part-time job, Saturdays and after school. I didn’t find out for years that was Agatha’s doing, too. Walking dogs, cleaning cages—I didn’t have time to get into trouble anymore.”

Maggie flipped up her hood and pushed the door open with her hip. It was achingly cold outside. “Agatha entered a painting of Ruby’s in a statewide contest,” she said. “She won tuition to a summer art camp.”

Roma moved behind the SUV, squeezing between it and the bumper of the half-ton parked behind us. “I know she encouraged Eric’s interest in cooking,” she said. “He was about fifteen and he did all the food for some big teachers’ breakfast.”

Raised voices, sharp in the icy air, came up the sidewalk toward us. Roma stopped and craned her neck to see. Maggie leaned back and looked down the street, her hand on the car’s door handle. I took a step backward for a better view.

What I saw was Agatha, her tiny, birdlike frame in the too-big plaid coat, still clutching the envelope to her chest. It took a few more seconds to recognize the man towering above her, despite the fact that he was leaning on a cane.

“Is that Harry Taylor?” Maggie asked.

“Uh-huh,” I said.

Harry and Agatha’s voices, not so much the words as the tone, hung in the frigid air. I didn’t need to make out the words to know they were arguing. The old man reached a hand toward the envelope Agatha was holding. She shook her head vigorously, turned and began to make her way slowly along the sidewalk. Harry stayed where he was, leaning heavily on his cane.

I hesitated, looking down the street to where he stood alone on the sidewalk. I didn’t want to interfere, but he wasn’t well. Old Harry—Harrison—was always with one of his sons, usually Harry Junior—Young Harry—but I didn’t see him or the truck anywhere.

“Harry Taylor is as tough as a boiled owl,” Roma said, noticing my hesitation.

I let out a breath. She was right. But it was so cold. What was the old man doing out by himself on a night that was so cold? And why had he been fighting with Agatha?

“G
o,” I said, pulling the hood of my parka tighter against my neck.

“We can wait,” Maggie said.

I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. Go. Don’t keep Oren waiting. I just want to make sure Harry’s all right.”

Roma nodded and patted her coat pocket. “Call my cell if you need anything or you want me to come back and get you.”

“Thanks,” I said. I hunched into my jacket and headed down to where the old man was standing. It was a clear night, the moon a thin sliver in the inky blue-black sky. Harry turned as I got to him, the expression on his face not surprise, but more like
What took you so long?
, and I had the feeling that he’d known I was up the street and would walk down to him.

“Hello,” I said, pushing back my hood.

“You want to exchange pleasantries or go right to the part where you ask me what I’m doing out here when it’s cold enough to freeze the brass off a bald monkey?” he asked.

“It is cold,” I agreed. “What are you doing out here?”

“Without my keepers?”

“Without a ride.”

“Boys are at the auction,” Harry said, inclining his head in the direction of the riverbank. “There’s nothing of Cormac’s I want. I’ve got too much junk of my own. So I decided to get some air.”

I didn’t say anything, but my eyebrows disappeared up under my wool hat. A sudden gust of wind blew a swirl of snow down off the roof of the store we were standing in front of.

Harry gave a halfhearted shrug. “I like snow with my air,” he said.

“How do you feel about chocolate with your air?” I asked, offering my arm. “Eric has a pretty good chocolate pudding cake tonight.”

“I can be flexible,” he said, taking my arm with his gloved hand. “Why don’t you walk me up to the restaurant so I don’t get into any trouble?” He glanced behind him, but Agatha had disappeared.

“Harry, is everything all right?” I asked.

“Nothing to worry about.”

That didn’t really answer my question.

“How are your cats?” he asked.

“Fine,” I said as we made our way very slowly toward the café. “But Hercules doesn’t like the snow.”

“There are days I feel the same way,” he said. “Boys were after me to go south for a while, sit on a beach and have some fussy little drink with an umbrella stuck in the top. I said it’s February. In February you’re supposed to be wearing long johns, not some dinky swimsuit stuck up—” He caught himself and smiled. “Stuck up a palm tree.”

“That does sound . . . uncomfortable,” I said with a grin.

We’d made it to the door of the restaurant. “Thank you, Kathleen,” Harry said, letting go of my arm and dipping his head with old-fashioned gallantry. I half expected him to sweep off his hat with its pile earflaps and bow to me. “The boys will be along in a bit.”

“All right,” I said.

“You figuring on standing here until you see me go inside?”

“That’s pretty much my plan.” I stamped my feet on the sidewalk. “Sure is cold.”

He let out a snort of laughter. “I’m going, I’m going.” He waved away my offered hand and reached for the door. “Go catch up with your friends before you freeze something.”

“Good night, Harrison,” I said.

He gave me a dismissive wave as the door closed behind him.

I pulled up my hood again and started for the community center. Snow crunched under my boots and my breath hung in the air like some sort of smoke signal to lead me.

I looked back. There was no sign of anyone. I hoped that meant Harry really was inside Eric’s, waiting for his sons. On the other hand, I knew the old man was perfectly capable of doing exactly what he wanted the second I’d started walking.

Oren’s truck was next to Roma’s SUV in the lot at the community center. There was no sign of him, or Roma or Maggie or even Eddie, and there were definitely lights on inside. I tried the door. It was unlocked. Kicking snow off my boots, I went in.

The main auditorium was at the top of the stairs. I saw boots to the right of the door; Maggie’s Sorels, Roma’s pile-lined mukluks with their duct-tape patch, and big black boots that had to belong to Oren. I couldn’t help grinning as I pulled off my own boots. That was Maggie, making everyone take off their outside footwear to keep the floor clean, when in a couple of days most of Mayville Heights would be clomping around inside.

Her display was at the far end of the auditorium, along with a larger exhibit of old photographs. She stood in front of the wall, arms crossed, head cocked to one side. Roma stood beside her. Eddie was on the floor, head slumped forward as though he’d just been checked especially hard into the boards. I looked around, but didn’t see Oren anywhere.

Roma caught sight of me and walked over to meet me. I gestured at the wall.

“What is this? The history of Winterfest?” Maggie had been very closemouthed about the project. She’d been sorting through old photos for months.

“Close,” she said. “History of sports in Mayville.” She gave me a searching look. “Harry okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Apparently he was at the auction and got antsy. He’s meeting the boys at Eric’s.”

Roma shook her head. “He’s a stubborn old buzzard,” she said.

“I know.” I couldn’t help feeling uneasy. Had the old man stayed at Eric’s or was he back outside?

“Is Harry okay?” Maggie asked as we joined her.

“He’s at Eric’s, probably halfway through a bowl of that chocolate pudding cake, waiting for the guys to finish at the auction.” I gestured at the wall. “Mags, this is amazing.”

Many of the pictures were black-and-white. They were grouped together with Maggie’s unique perspective. Some of them had been hand tinted, and I was pretty sure the backgrounds were all Maggie’s handmade paper.

The locker room, where Eddie was eventually going to be sitting on a wooden bench, looked as real as any locker room I’d ever been in.

“The lights are wrong,” Maggie said.

“What’s wrong with them?” I asked.

She pointed. “One should be focused on that part of the display there, and I was supposed to have two lights here in the locker room and the overall quality is just wrong.” She walked over to the wall and glared up at a ceiling fixture.

“Oren went to see if he could find any bulbs in the storeroom,” Roma whispered.

It was warm in the community center. I peeled off my coat, setting it on the floor along with Maggie and Roma’s things.

Across the room the door to the stairs opened and Mary and Abigail came in, both carrying hangers covered with big orange plastic garbage bags.

I walked over to them. Both women worked at the library for me. Abigail was the earth-mother writer. She’d grown up with five older brothers, so she was confident and unflappable. Mary looked like every stereotype of a grandmother, and was. She was also a championship kickboxer. I’d seen her in competition. First time someone fought with her, they inevitably underestimated her gray hair and grandmotherly look. No one did that twice.

“Hey, Kathleen, what are you doing here?” Abigail asked.

“Helping Maggie finish the display,” I said.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Mary said, her apple-dumpling cheeks bright red from the cold.

I gestured to the hangers. “What are you two doing here?”

“We brought the tablecloths. We thought we’d get the tables set up for Friday night,” Abigail said. “We’re going to be in the kitchen tomorrow night, doing the pies.”

“I didn’t want to leave everything till the last minute.” Mary looked around. “Is Thorsten here? I don’t see any tables.”

I shook my head. “No, he’s not. But Oren’s around.”

“Even better,” Mary said. She turned to Abigail. “Let’s get this stuff to the kitchen and finish unloading the car. Then we’ll get Oren to open up the storage room so we can get the tables out.” She started for the kitchen. “See you later, Kathleen.”

“I’ll tell Oren you’re looking for him,” I said. I walked back to Maggie. She had Eddie under the arms, and Roma had his feet. They were trying to get him up on to the locker-room bench, but it wasn’t going very well because Maggie was paying more attention to the display than to where she was going with the dummy.

“Maggie!” Roma said sharply. “You almost knocked down that picture with Eddie’s right arm.”

Maggie turned at the sound of Roma’s voice. Too fast, it turned out. Eddie’s other arm came swinging up, carried by momentum, and smacked Maggie on the head. Her hand automatically went to the spot. “Ow!” She yelled.

Eddie’s upper body hit the tile floor. The shift in weight caught Roma off balance. She went down hard on her backside, Eddie’s legs bowing out on either side of her. I scrambled over to them. It probably would’ve been better if I hadn’t laughed.

Maggie rubbed the side of her head just above her ear.

“Are you okay?” I said.

“I’m all right.” She looked past me at Eddie splayed on the floor. “Is he all right?”

Roma waved a hand. “I’m okay,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“All Eddie’s parts seem to be attached, but I think there might be a two-minute penalty for knocking Roma over,” I said. “Unnecessary roughness.”

I climbed over the dummy and offered a hand to Roma. “You all right?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. Luckily I landed on the part with all the padding.”

Maggie was down on her hands and knees, checking Eddie carefully.

“Anything break?” I asked.

She sat back on her heels. “I don’t think so,” she said. “But one of the shin pads shifted.”

“Not a problem,” Roma said. She walked over to our coats, fished in the pocket of her parka and tossed a roll of duct tape to Maggie.