Sleight Of Paw

10

We closed the library at five. Susan quickly bundled herself into her coat and boots and left. I pulled up my hood against the slight wind and started down the street toward the Stratton Theater.

It was a beautifully restored building—older than the library. Unfortunately, the first time I’d been inside I’d found a dead body. I’d been back to the theater for the summer music festival, for a couple of plays, a concert and a wonderful production of A Christmas Carol. My feelings about the old building were a lot happier now.

Agatha’s little house was up a tiny side street just past the Stratton. Ruby was waiting at the end of the driveway, a shopping bag tucked under her arm. She smiled as I walked up to her. “Thanks for doing this.”

“I don’t mind,” I said, giving her what I hoped was a reassuring smile in return.

Someone had plowed the driveway to the tiny brick house and cleared the path and steps. I trailed behind Ruby. Squinting at the door, she felt for the keyhole. I took a step back to get out of the light.

The key turned in the lock. Ruby leaned her weight against the old wooden door. It stuck for a second, then groaned open. I slid my hand around the left side of the frame, feeling for a light switch.

A light came on and I could see into what looked to be the kitchen, up a few steps to the left. I followed Ruby up the stairs, leaving my snowy boots at the bottom.

The kitchen floor was green-and-blue speckled linoleum, very old and faded but spotless. The walls were pale green; the cupboards painted white. The table was a vintage chrome set, blue flowers on a white background circa the 1960s, I guessed.

Other than that there was nothing in the room.

Nothing. No cookie jar on the counter. No calendar on the wall or funny pictures stuck to the refrigerator. Maybe her son had cleared a lot of things out when Agatha went to the rehabilitation center after her stroke.

Ruby looked around the room, lips pressed together.

I touched her arm. “Let’s see if we can find the bedroom.”

She nodded but didn’t speak. The little house was cold. Claire had said Agatha hadn’t always been able to afford the heat. It was a wonder the pipes hadn’t frozen.

A tiny hallway led out of the kitchen. An upright piano, dark chocolate brown, sat in a niche to the right. The room at the end of the hall looked like it could be Agatha’s bedroom. I could see a bed made up with a white chenille bedspread.

Ruby walked slowly down the hall, looking at everything. Clearly she’d never been in the house before. As in the kitchen, there was nothing personal in the hall. The hardwood floor was bare; there was nothing on the walls.

The double bed in the bedroom was made with the precision of a high-end hotel, the spread pulled tightly and with perfectly squared hospital corners. The night table held a clock and a box of Kleenex.

Ruby hesitated and pulled open the closet door in the wall to the left of the bed. The small storage space was organized with the same precision as the rest of the room. Blouses, skirts and dresses were arranged from white to dark. Two pairs of shoes, one black, one beige, sat on a shoe rack on the floor. Several sweaters were folded on the shelf above the rod.

All of the clothing looked old. Not “old” in the sense of worn-out, but in the sense of vintage. It was almost as though Agatha had gotten stuck at some point in time.

Ruby looked into the closet, one hand on the door. Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what to take.”

“Maybe a dress,” I suggested.

“Yeah. She wasn’t much of a pants person. She didn’t think they were very ladylike.” She caught the skirt of a black-and-white print, holding out the fabric. “But which one?”

“That’s pretty,” I said. “But why don’t you look at each dress. Maybe one of them will, I don’t know, spark a memory.”

Ruby did smile then. “That’s a good idea.” She looked around the room. “Would you see if you can find a suitcase? I don’t think the bag I brought is going to be big enough.” She hesitated. “And I know no one is going to see, but I don’t want things to be wrinkled. Agatha would care about that.”

I squeezed her arm. “I’ll see what I can find.”

Ruby started flipping through the hangers while I took a quick look around the room. There was no suitcase in the corner under the old spool bed. I went back into the hallway.

The living room was to my right. A three-sided bay window with a deep window seat looked out over the street. Like the rest of the house, the furniture here was all old—a maroon sofa and matching chair, plus a gray-and-maroon flowered wingback chair with matching footstool. There was a low walnut coffee table in front of the couch and a matching side table by the wingback. A brick fireplace filled the entire end of the room, the heavy brass andirons in the shape of watchful lions.

The living room was spartan. There were no magazines on the coffee table, no stacks of books anywhere. There were no pictures, no photographs, no artwork. There were no pillows on the sofa, no blanket to curl up in. Everything was functional, but there was nothing that told me about Agatha as a person. Even allowing for the fact that she’d spent the past several months in a rehabilitation hospital, the house still seemed lonely and empty.

I pictured my own house, with kitty treats cooling on the kitchen counter, Owen sneaking onto the footstool in the living room, Herc grooving to Barry Manilow, and pieces of Fred the Funky Chicken always needing to be vacuumed up. I felt sad for Agatha.

I went back out into the hallway, glancing in the bedroom as I passed the door. Ruby had a long-sleeved teal dress laid out on the bed.

The second bedroom in the tiny house was next to the living room. It was big enough for a single bed and dresser and very little else. I opened the closet door and found the suitcases Ruby needed, sitting on a large cardboard box with the name Ellis written on the side in spidery handwriting.

There was also men’s clothing hanging in the closet. Several gray suits, a navy blazer and a weathered aviator’s jacket, sheepskin lined and worn to a chocolaty softness on the outside. With the exception of the jacket, the clothes were very much out of style; in fact, the suit had probably been in and out of fashion several times.

I grabbed the smaller of the two suitcases and took it back to Ruby. She had everything spread on the bed—dress, slip, underwear, stockings, even a lacy, knit white cardigan.

“Here,” I said, holding out the blue suitcase. “This should work.”

“Thanks, Kathleen,” she said. She looked shaky.

“Why don’t you let me fold these for you?” I said. “I’m a master at folding and packing. I promise.”

Ruby hesitated for a second, then nodded and sat on the edge of the bed.

I folded the green dress and laid it in the bottom of the suitcase. Then I added the sweater, the slip and the rest of the underclothes. “There,” I said to Ruby, snapping the suitcase closed. “Ready to go?”

She grabbed the suitcase handle and stood up. A look of panic crossed her face. “Wait a minute,” she said. “I didn’t get her any shoes.” She took a couple of steps toward the closet.

“We don’t need shoes, Ruby,” I said softly. She looked at me, confused. “Agatha doesn’t need shoes,” I repeated.

Ruby swallowed, turned her head and blinked away the tears that filled her eyes. I waited silently until her breathing even out. “You’re right,” she whispered. “For a minute I forgot why we were here.”

We went back to the kitchen, turning off the lights behind us. I pulled on my boots and held the suitcase while Ruby stepped into hers. Outside she locked the door, twisting the knob to make sure it was fastened securely.

“It looks so sad,” she said.

“I know.” I pulled on my mittens. “But don’t forget that Agatha was away from here for months.”

We walked down the driveway to the street. “Ruby, who was Ellis?” I asked. “Was that Agatha’s husband?”

“No,” Ruby said. “Ellis was her brother. Ellis Slater. He died, oh, almost twenty years ago. This was his house. He left it to Agatha.” She shifted the suitcase from one hand to the other. “Why do you ask?”

“There were boxes in the second bedroom. The name Ellis was on one of them. And there were some men’s clothes in the closet.”

Ruby gave me a wry smile. “That would be Agatha. Never throw out something that might be useful.”

“My father does the same thing.” I didn’t add that my dad’s idea of useful didn’t usually meet the average person’s idea of what was useful. Which was why every time we’d moved, someone had had to pack the candelabra made from a pair of moose antlers.

We walked to the corner together. “Thank you for coming with me,” Ruby said. “I’m going to take this down to Gunnerson’s. I want things to be there when she . . . when her . . .” She stopped to clear her throat. “When they’re needed.” She shrugged. “Silly, isn’t it?”

“No,” I said. “It’s kind.” I pulled my hat down over my ears. “Will I see you later at the Winterfest supper?”

She nodded. “As far as I know. I’m meeting Justin later.”

“I’ll see you later, then,” I said. I started for the community center, looking back over my shoulder once to see Ruby heading resolutely down the street for Gunnerson’s Funeral Home.

Maggie was at the entrance of the parking lot as I came up the street. She was wearing her purple fake-fur jacket, stamping her feet on the sidewalk to stay warm. She waved when she caught sight of me, and I quickened my pace. “Am I late?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “You’re few minutes early. Let’s go get in line before it gets any longer.”

The line at the front door of the community center, of maybe two dozen people, snaked down the street. Maggie and I scurried to get to the end.

The queue moved pretty quickly. We were inside in five minutes, maybe even less. Maggie had money hidden in her glove and paid for both of us before I could even get my wallet out.

“Why did you do that?” I asked, as we followed the crowd to the hall.

“Because you’ve been doing so much to help me while I’ve been working on the display.”

“I climbed a ladder and adjusted a couple of lights.”

She held up a hand. “You did more than that,” she said. “How many times did you bring me supper? How many cups of tea did you make? How many times did you listen while I sat in your living room, going on and on about this project?”

I grinned and elbowed her. “You thought I was listening? I don’t even think Owen was listening.”

She stuck out her tongue. “Even so, I just wanted to say thank you. So let me. It’s beans and scalloped potatoes and pie, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t buy you a car.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thank you for the thank-you.” I looked around. There were at least a couple dozen people checking out Maggie’s display.

Maggie had spotted a pair of vacant chairs at one of the long tables. I threaded my way around the chairs and people, trying to keep up with her long legs. A lot of people smiled, said hello or raised a hand in greeting. I was surprised by how good it made me feel, especially after being in Agatha’s lonely house.

Mags was standing by the table she’d spotted, a hand on each of the chairs.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Take off your coat and sit down.”

I looked around. “How do we get our food?”

“It’s coming,” she said, setting her fuzzy teddy-bear coat over the back of the chair and pulling off her lime green hat.

I tipped my head toward the back wall. “You have fans,” I said.

She looked over her shoulder and then grinned at me.

The person to the right of Maggie leaned around her and smiled at us. His mouth was too full to say anything. It took a second for me to recognize Officer Craig in his street clothes.

I smiled back.

“How’s everything?” Maggie asked the pretty brunet on the other side of Officer Craig.

“Good,” she said.

“Your mom’s?” Maggie asked, pointing at what looked to be some kind of mustard pickle on the table in front of her.

The young woman nodded.

“Great,” Maggie said. “I bought three bottles of her pickles at the market last fall. They didn’t last three weeks.”

“I know. I ate all the jam she gave me. And when I tried to get another bottle she said I’d have to pay for it. And I picked half those berries.”

Just then a woman wearing a long white apron appeared. She was carrying two loaded plates. She set them, hot and steaming, in front of us. Behind her came a teenager, also apron clad, with two glasses of water.

They were the Kings, I realized, mother and daughter. Roma had been out at their place almost every week this winter, looking after the old—too old, it turned out—horse they’d bought for their daughter. I was guessing the teenager was the horse-loving daughter. The I ❤ HORSES T-shirt was a dead giveaway.

She gave me a shy smile and handed over one of the glasses and a napkin-wrapped roll of utensils.

I looked at the plate, unsure of where to start. There were baked beans fragrant with molasses and mustard, a thick slice of ham, crispy golden-topped scalloped potatoes, and a casserole of what looked like carrot and turnip.

I unrolled my napkin and picked up my fork. Maggie was already eating, making little murmurs of enjoyment. She sounded a lot like Hercules had when I’d given him the sardines.

I tried a bite of the casserole. “Oh, wow. This is good,” I said out loud. I took another bite. Did I taste just a hint of nutmeg? I couldn’t help a grunt of pleasure.

“You’re making me hungry,” a voice said behind me. Roma was standing between our table and the next, unwinding a fuzzy blue scarf from around her neck.

“Hi,” I said.

“Can I squeeze in next to you?” She looked around for space.

Maggie scraped her chair a little closer to Officer Craig, who didn’t seem to mind moving closer to his pretty girlfriend. I went in the other direction and then a chair seemed to materialize out of nowhere, handed over the tables to Roma, who smiled a thank-you and pushed into the space we made for her.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, pulling off her coat and putting it over the back of the chair. “I had to set a golden Lab’s leg.”

“What happened?”

“Hit by a car.” Roma shook her head in annoyance. “It’s slippery. If the dog’s running loose and meets a car, the car is the one that’s going to come out unhurt.” She pushed the sleeves of her sweater back. “Why don’t people understand that?”

Before I could say anything, the Kings were back with a drink and plate for Roma, steam rising from the food.

“Thanks,” Roma said.

“Are you alone?” Ella King asked with a sly smile. Roma gave her a puzzled look. “No, I’m with them,” she said, pointing from me to Maggie, who was eating like food was going out of style. Roma noticed the teenager then. “Hi, Taylor. How’s Horton?”

“He’s good,” the girl said. “Kind of stiff in the cold, though.”

“Yeah, me too these days,” Roma said. “I’ll be out the first of the week to see him.”

Taylor gave her a warm smile. “Thanks, Dr. Davidson,” she said.

Roma unrolled her napkin, placed it in her lap and picked up her fork.

“Horton?” I asked, grabbing my knife so I could cut a piece of ham.

“Her horse. Horton Hears a Who! Dr. Seuss. It’s Taylor’s favorite book.”

A woman I didn’t know passed in front of us in the aisle between our table and the next. “Hi, Roma,” she said, with a grin and an obvious wink.

Roma lifted a hand in hello. Her mouth was full.

The other woman looked around. “By yourself tonight?” Before Roma could say anything, the woman’s grin got bigger. “Yeah, playing hard to get is a good plan.”

Maggie kept her head over her plate and her eyes on her food, but her shoulders were heaving with laughter. It was clear the rumors about Roma and Eddie Sweeney were all over town.

I started on the scalloped potatoes and hoped I wouldn’t laugh, too.

Roma set down her fork and slid her chair back a bit. “Spill it,” she said.

I leaned over, trying to catch Maggie’s eye, but she kept them on her food, stuffing in more beans and shaking with laughter. Roma folded her arms. My food was getting cold and Maggie was letting me sink. Roma waited, staring expectantly at me.

“Well, there’s kind of a rumor going around that you’re . . . seeing someone.”

“Whom am I supposed to be seeing?”

I swallowed. Maggie was not going to rescue me. “Eddie.” I blurted.

“Eddie?” Roma said with a frown. “Eddie who?”

Maggie almost choked. Roma thumped her on the back a couple of times, then turned her attention back to me again. “Eddie who?” she repeated

“Eddie Sweeney,” I said staring down at my plate. If I looked at anyone I was going to laugh, too.

Her mouth fell open. “Eddie? The hockey player? Maggie’s mannequin?” Maggie looked up at last.

Roma glared at her. “This is all your fault.”

“How is it my fault?” Maggie asked, trying to look innocent and not laugh herself silly at the same time.

“I was driving your”—Roma gestured wildly with her hands—“creation around. And now people think I’m having a fling with the real Eddie. I’m old enough to be his”—she paused—“older sister, for heaven’s sake.”

“Since when do you care what people think?” I asked, wiping mustard from my chin.

“Since always,” she retorted.

Maggie lips were twitching. Trouble. “Tell you what,” she said. “When Winterfest is over, I’ll give you Eddie. Then you really will be a couple.”

Roma picked up her fork. She was trying to look mad, but I didn’t think she really was. I kept looking at her until she looked at me.

“Every time I let you two in my car, things end up going south,” she said. “Every single time.”

I realized she was thinking about the time Maggie sort of hijacked Roma and her SUV because we were trying to follow someone.

At the end of the table, beyond Officer Craig and his girlfriend, was a family I had seen in the library a few times, lots of Dr. Seuss and Max and Ruby books. Dad and the four-year-old were doing patty-cake, the girl’s blond curls bouncing.

“Patty-cake, patty-cake,” the little one chanted, her high, clear voice carrying down the table. But instead of saying, “bake me a man,” she said, “make me a man.”

Maggie looked at Roma and said, “I did.” Then she put her head on the table and collapsed in laughter. Roma whacked her with a paper napkin and went back to eating.

I decided this would be a great time to go in search of coffee, even though I knew it would make me restless this late in the day. “I’ll be right back,” I said.

The coffee and tea table was over by the kitchen. I wound my way around tables, smiling and saying hello to everyone I knew. Rebecca and Mary, both in the same long white aprons that all the servers seemed to be wearing, were deep in conversation at the tea table.

I picked up a mug, added sugar and reached for the stainless-steel coffee carafe.

Mary noticed me then. “I’ll get that for you,” she said, taking the cup from my hand. “Would you like regular, decaf or chocolate hazelnut?”

I wasn’t much of a fan of flavored coffee, but maybe just this once.

“Chocolate hazelnut,” I said. “Please.”

Rebecca lightly touched my arm. “Kathleen, is Justin Anders the young man Ruby’s been seeing?”

“Yes, he is,” I said, taking my cup back from Mary. “Why?”

“You haven’t heard?” Mary asked. “Turns out it wasn’t a rumor after all.”

“What?” I asked, wondering what new piece of town news they had.

Mary shrugged. “Agatha left Ruby’s boyfriend half a million dollars.”