Sleight Of Paw

7

It snowed on and off all afternoon. It was off when Abigail and I came out of the library at just after five o’clock. She gave me a ride up the hill in her truck. With its oversized knobby tires that truck probably could have driven up out of the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I made a mental note that when I bought a vehicle, I would get tires like that. Whatever the heck they were.

Hercules came into the kitchen as I was hanging up my coat. He twisted around my legs, and I bent to pick him up. “Where’s your brother,” I asked, scratching behind his ear. “He’d better not be sleeping on the footstool. How many times have I told him to stay off it?”

Hercules was suddenly engrossed in something over my left shoulder. I headed for the living room, still carrying the cat, who made garbled noises in his throat like he was trying to clear it.

We found Owen sitting on the rug beside the aforementioned footstool, all round-eyed cat innocence. “I know where you were,” I said.

He looked at the footstool and then back to me, the picture of kitty bafflement.

“And you,” I said to Hercules. “I’m not fooled by that hacking-up-a-fur-ball routine you were doing.” I gave him one last scratch before setting him on the rug. Then I bent down to Owen. “Stay off the footstool,” I hissed.

He licked my chin.

Both cats trailed me while I changed my clothes and heated a bowl of chicken soup I’d made over the weekend. I told them about Agatha, about Ruby, about Harry Taylor. Saying it all out loud helped me sort out things in my mind.

I fished chunks of chicken and carrot out of the pot and shared them with the cats. After I’d eaten about half my soup, I set down my spoon and leaned my elbows on the table. Owen immediately looked up from the piece of chicken he was suspiciously sniffing.

“There’s something off about what happened to Agatha,” I said. Herc looked up from his dish. “Marcus wouldn’t say so, but she didn’t have another stroke.” Owen’s ears twitched. “Yes, he has the case, assuming there is a case.”

Marcus had been at my house several times last summer. He’d tried to win over the cats—at least Owen. Hercules had pretty much ignored Marcus, but Owen, who could be bought for a handful of kitty treats, had been friendly—well, at least as friendly as he got.

I picked up my spoon again. The cats exchanged looks. Sometimes I thought they were in cahoots with Maggie and her efforts to play matchmaker. I reminded myself that they were just cats.

I scooped up a spoonful of noodles. “All right, I admit he’s a good police officer, but he’s a frustrating person.” What I didn’t say was that I’d enjoyed the times during the summer that we’d ended up having breakfast together. Marcus could be funny and charming when he wasn’t being RoboCop. If he wasn’t a police officer maybe we could be better friends.

I ate the rest of my soup while Owen and Hercules finished their chicken and carrots, exchanging glances and soft cat mumbles.

“I’m in the room and I can hear you talking about me,” I said. That didn’t get any reaction. I talked to the cats like they were people, not that I would admit that to anyone. I didn’t want to be known as the Crazy Cat Librarian. Part of it was probably living by myself—well, living by myself except for Owen and Hercules. And part of it was the fact that they weren’t exactly run-of-the-mill house cats.

They’d helped me figure out what had happened to Gregor Easton last summer. And when the house was broken into, Hercules had gone for help while Owen had helped me knock out the intruder. How exactly could I explain that to anyone without coming across as though I were a few kitty treats short of a batch?

“Okay,” I said, getting up to put my dishes in the sink. “Since you like Marcus so much, you’ll be happy to hear I’m going out to Wisteria Hill with him in the morning.”

Hercules, who had finished eating, walked by me without making a sound, although he did flick his tail at my leg.

“Don’t get too excited,” I called after him. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to go out with the guy.” He flicked his tail at me again and disappeared into the living room.

It was snowing lightly as I walked down to tai chi. I rubbed my wrist through the sleeve of my quilted coat. So far it was a better forecaster than the meteorologist on Channel 2, who had predicted clear skies and sunshine through Saturday.

Rebecca was at the top of the stairs outside the studio, changing her boots for shoes, when I got to class. Rebecca was my backyard neighbor, although several feet of snow on the ground meant we couldn’t cut across each other’s yards right now, so I didn’t get to see her as much as I usually did. She smiled and hugged me. I dwarfed her in my huge coat.

“Kathleen, it’s so good to see you,” she said, standing back to give me the once-over. She’d been out of town and had missed the last two tai chi classes.

“How was your trip?” I asked.

“Wonderful.” Her smile got even bigger. “I almost came home with green hair.”

I leaned back and pretended to consider it. “Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “I think blue is more your color.”

She laughed.

“So you got to the hair-products show with your friends,” I said. Rebecca had been a hairdresser before she retired.

“I did. Would you believe orange hair is the thing for spring?”

I made a face.

She leaned forward and tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “Your hair is growing out nicely.”

Rebecca was slowly fixing a disastrous pixie hairdo I’d come to Mayville Heights with last year. A huge fashion error, it had been part of my plan to show I could be spontaneous. I’d learned I could be spontaneous—if I planned for it.

She waited while I took off my outside clothes and changed my shoes, and told me a little more about her visit with several of the women she’d studied hairdressing with.

I got the feeling the green hair was more of a possibility than I’d first thought.

“I almost forgot,” she said suddenly. “I bought a little something for Hercules and Owen.” She fished in the pocket of her coat and handed me a brown paper bag about the size of a school lunch bag.

“I suppose it wouldn’t do me any good to tell you that you shouldn’t have done this.”

“Not in the slightest,” she said, her eyes crinkling with delight.

I stuck the bag in my coat pocket. “Thank you so much, Rebecca,” I said.

“Oh, you’re welcome. I miss the boys.”

I pulled on my left shoe and stood up, shaking down both of my pant legs. “Owen’s been racing around in the snow,” I said. “But you know how Hercules is about getting his feet wet. He such a fussbudget.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d call him fussy,” Rebecca said as we walked into the studio. “I don’t like wet feet myself.”

“True,” I said, giving her arm a squeeze. “But I don’t have to carry you across the lawn if there’s a little dew on the grass.”

Her eyes twinkled again. “Well, Kathleen, I have to say I’ve always been a bit partial to those chairs the ancient Egyptians used to carry the pharaohs around.” She laughed. I loved the sound. Rebecca had a great laugh, and now that she and Everett were together again I got to hear her laugh a lot.

She spotted Roma over by the window. “I need to talk to Roma,” she said. “Come stand beside me in the circle when it’s time.”

I crossed to the table where Maggie and Ruby were standing. “Hi,” I said, touching Ruby’s shoulder lightly with my hand.

“Hi,” she said. She seemed more like herself, albeit a quieter version of herself. Her hair was spiked and she was wearing her favorite CROSS YOUR NUTS T-shirt with black spandex leggings.

I didn’t know Ruby nearly as well as Maggie did, but I liked her. She had a kind soul. I still wore the crystal necklace she’d made for me.

“How are you?” I asked.

“Better. Thank you for this morning, for everything.” She stopped and swallowed a couple of times. “I can’t believe Agatha’s dead. She worked so damn hard so she could come home.”

“And she got home.” Maggie’s voice was steady and reassuring.

That made Ruby smile. “That was Agatha. When she made up her mind to do something”—she laughed—“forget it.”

“Oh, so that’s where you learned it,” Maggie said dryly over the top of her mug of herbal tea.

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

It was almost time to start. Maggie took one last drink from her cup and set it down. She held up two fingers to us. The two-minute warning.

“If I can help or do anything, please ask,” I said to Ruby. “Do you know about the service yet?”

She shook her head. “David—that’s Agatha’s son—is in China, of all places. He’s a mining engineer. It’s going to be a week before he can get here. Part of the road collapsed in a storm where he is. Peter Lundgren is in charge of everything, I guess. He’s Agatha’s lawyer.”

“Lawyers are good at working these kinds of things out,” I said.

Maggie moved to the middle of the room.

“Agatha would hate a big, showy service.” Ruby said.

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Peter was her lawyer. He’d know what she would want.” I touched her shoulder again. “I meant what I said. If I can help, just ask.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away and after a second’s hesitation threw her arms around me and hugged me.

I gave her my best everything-will-be-okay smile and tried to ignore the worm of doubt squirming around in my head.

“Circle, please, everyone,” Maggie called.

Ruby, as the most accomplished student in the group, went to stand to Maggie’s left. Rebecca was next to Roma on Maggie’s right. She caught my eye and patted the air next to her. I slid into place, returning Roma’s smile as Maggie started the warm-ups.

I worked steadily during the class as Maggie reminded me to bend my knees and shift my weight at least a dozen times, while Rebecca, who was surprisingly fluid for her age, gave me little bits of encouragement.

I wasn’t naturally coordinated, though I had to admit I was getting better since I’d started the class. More than once in the past few weeks I’d caught myself shifting my weight to reach something, instead of stretching too far and losing my balance.

“What do you have planned for tomorrow?” Maggie asked, after we’d finished the complete form at the end of class. “Any chance you could give me a hand changing the lights at the community center?”

I didn’t want to tell Maggie I was going out to Wisteria Hill with Marcus. She’d start telling me it was a sign the universe thought we were good for each other. Okay, so she wouldn’t rub her hands together and cackle, but it’d be close.

“I have a couple of things I need to do first thing,” I said, using the hem of my T-shirt to blot the sweat on my neck. I was the only one who seemed to be sweating so much in class. “When did you want to go do it?”

“Midafternoon.”

“I can make that work,” I said. “Call me in the morning.”

“Okay.”

I went out to get my coat. Rebecca was putting on her own things.

“Would you like a drive, Kathleen?” she asked, wrapping a soft rose-colored scarf around her neck. “Everett is picking me up.”

“Thank you,” I said. “But I have to check in at the library. How is Everett?” I asked, trying not to grin.

Rebecca and Everett had been a couple when they were very young, but had broken up and gone on with their lives. They’d gotten back together during the summer, with a little indirect help from the cats and me. I liked them both and I felt a bit like a fairy godmother invested in the romance. And sometimes they acted like a couple of love-struck teenagers, so it was easy to get caught up in what looked like a happily-ever-after.

“Everett’s fine,” she said, but she couldn’t help smiling that huge smile she got when she said his name.

I couldn’t hold back my own grin. “Glad to hear it.” I waggled my eyebrows at her.

She shook her finger in a mock reprimand. “Don’t start getting ideas. We’re taking it nice and slow.”

I was actually happy they could take it slowly. Rebecca had needed surgery to remove a small growth back in the fall. Luckily it had turned out not to be serious.

The downstairs door opened and Everett Henderson himself started up the stairs. He looked like the actor, Sean Connery, strong and charming with just a touch of ruthlessness. Rebecca’s cheeks flushed pink at the sight of him.

I leaned over and spoke softly in her ear. “Rebecca, if I had a man in my life who made me blush the way you do when you see Everett, I wouldn’t take it nice and slow. I’d wrap him in duct tape, stick him on a sled and take him home.”

She looked at me, shocked. “Kathleen!” she said, shaking her head.

I tried to look innocent as Everett joined us. “Hello, Kathleen,” he said.

I smiled. “Hello, Everett.”

“Thank you for the information on the library renovations,” he continued. “Lita said you sent it over. She’ll call you Monday about a meeting.”

I nodded.

He looked at Rebecca. “Ready to go?” he asked, reaching for her hand.

“I am,” she said.

“Kathleen, do you need a ride?” Everett asked, turning back to me.

“No, thank you,” I said.

They started down the stairs. Rebecca paused on the second step to look back at me. “Give the cats a scratch for me,” she said. “I miss them coming across the backyard to say hello.”

“I will.” I reached for my boots.

“Oh, and Kathleen, I don’t need to use duct tape.” She winked and disappeared down the steps.

I laughed, pulling on my coat and hat and winding the scarf my sister, Sara, had made for me around my neck.

Mary, wearing a blue sweater with a snowflake design, was at the front desk when I got to the library. She hadn’t minded working a split shift. She smiled as I came in through the doors.

“How’s your evening?” I asked.

“Surprisingly busy. A gaggle of twelve-year-olds came in to do research for a school history project. Their teacher said they had to use an actual book for the research instead of the Internet.” She chuckled and shook her head, her gray curls bouncing. “I introduced them to the mysteries of the online catalogs and then just for fun told them that when I was their age the card catalog was actually on cards.”

“And they looked at you like you were a dinosaur.”

“One of them actually used the words ‘olden days.’ ” She gave me a wry smile. “But two of them went home with books that weren’t on the research list. They just wanted to read.”

“I love to hear that,” I said.

Mary had the knack for making the library seem like a treasure trove of adventure. She’d tell the story of how she began her competitive kickboxing career by borrowing a book on the subject by mistake. She’d been looking for craft books on making boxes and hadn’t been wearing her reading glasses.

“Would you like me to stay?” I offered.

“No.” She waved away the idea. “Kate is here. We have it under control. But before I forget . . .” She looked around the checkout desk. “Ah, there it is.” She picked up a piece of blue paper. “Detective Gordon called to remind you about Wisteria Hill in the morning.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I hadn’t forgotten.”

“How are the cats?” she asked.

Over time, Roma had managed to catch and neuter all the feral cats out at Wisteria Hill, but they were too wild to ever be anyone’s pets. A collection of volunteers made sure they had food and water and care when they needed it.

Everett never talked about the abandoned estate. He had to know what was going on, but he didn’t say a word about it, and, strangely, neither did anyone else.

“The cats are doing well. Harry’s managed to keep the driveway clear and they all seem to be healthy.”

Mary gave me a sheepish smile. “Detective Gordon also said to remind you to wear your snow pants.”

“Snow pants, parka, wool hat, scarf, insulated mittens, and Sorels. And two pair of socks and long underwear,” I recited, ticking them off on my fingers.

She nodded approvingly. “This is not your first rodeo.”

“Or my first trip to Wisteria Hill in the winter,” I said. Even though I wasn’t born and raised in Minnesota, I did know how to dress for winter, though apparently Marcus Gordon didn’t think I did.

Mary’s expression grew serious. “Kathleen, have you seen Ruby? I heard she found Agatha.”

“She was at class,” I said, picking clumps of snow off my mittens. “She’s all right for the most part. Sad.”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t seem fair that Agatha would just get home and then . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence.

A shiver slid up the back of my neck, like a finger slowly creeping across my skin. Agatha’s death had left me unsettled, and I didn’t even know her.

“And there are already rumors going,” Mary continued, making a neat stack of the book-request printouts by her left elbow. She liked to get things organized almost as much as she liked kickboxing.

“What kind of rumors?”

She made a face and smoothed her gray hair with one hand. “Most common one is that Agatha had a secret fortune.”

“I doubt it,” I said. “You don’t generally get rich being a teacher.” I flashed to Eric giving Agatha the bag of take-out food and cup of coffee. “How do these rumors get started?”

“Probably people with too much time on their hands,” Mary said tartly. “My grandma always told us kids, ‘If you don’t have anything to do, go get the pail and scrub brush and I’ll find you something to do.’ ”

“A drop-dead practical woman, from the sound of it,” I said.

“Very,” Mary said. “She couldn’t abide gossip.” The smile turned to a grin. “But since Gran is gone, tell me if there’s any truth to what I heard about Roma.”

“What did you hear about Roma?”

Mary looked around and leaned toward me. “I heard from more than one person that she’s seeing someone.”

“Someone? You mean a man?”

“No, I mean a grizzly bear,” she shot back with exasperation. “Yes, a man.”

“Nope.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Mary looked disappointed.

I tugged my hat down over my ears and pulled on my mittens again. “Since you don’t need me, I’m heading home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Mary said. The phone rang then and she reached for it.

I put the strap of my bag over my shoulder and headed out. Peter Lundgren was just coming across the parking lot, a couple of library books under his arm. I’d always found him a little imposing when we’d talked in the library. He was a large man who seemed to fill whatever space he was in. But I remembered how carefully he’d walked Agatha over to the counter at Eric’s, and I smiled at him as we both got to the bottom of the steps. He nodded and started to move past me. I reached over and touched his arm.

“Excuse me, Peter,” I said. “Could you tell me if there are any plans yet for a service for Agatha Shepherd?”

He brushed a few flakes of snow off the top of his sandy hair. He wore it long, almost to his shoulders, a kind of rebel-lawyer look. “I can tell you that there will be some sort of memorial service once her son is back in the country. David wants to plan that himself.”

I nodded.

“There should be something in the paper next week.”

“Thank you,” I said. He was already halfway up the stairs, so I wasn’t sure he’d even heard me.

It was snowing lightly, tiny flakes reflected in the pinkish glow of the streetlights like little stars. I started up Mountain Road. The street looked more like a stage set, a picture-perfect town in a picture-perfect scene. Perfect always made me a little antsy.

I couldn’t help it. Because of my parents’ acting, I’d spent a lot of time in theaters big and not so big. I knew about subterfuge and illusion. I knew things are rarely as they appear on the surface. Other kids had parents that taught them how to ride a bike, manage money or do long division. Not mine.

What I got from my mother and father was the ability to separate fakery from reality, to spot the truth in a sea of fallacy. And that was why I felt so unsettled. No matter what everyone thought and no matter what Marcus Gordon wasn’t saying, Agatha Shepherd hadn’t died from natural causes.

Something bad had happened.

I just knew it.