Sleight Of Paw

11

I glanced from Rebecca, who looked apologetic, to Mary, who could be described only as smug. I set the coffee on the edge of the table. I was afraid I was going to drop it.

“Agatha left money to Ruby’s boyfriend?”

“Yes.” Mary grabbed the carafe to pour a cup of coffee for one of the servers.

I was dumbfounded. Then I thought about the rumor going around that Roma was seeing an NHL hockey player ten years her junior. “You certain?” I asked. “I didn’t realize he even knew her.”

Mary handed the cup over to the young server. “Yes, I am.”

Rebecca brushed the front of her apron. “The information came from Bridget,” she said.

I had forgotten that Mary’s daughter, Bridget, was the publisher of the Mayville Heights Chronicle. “But half a million dollars? Where would Agatha get half a million dollars?” I remembered the tiny, spare house.

“Agatha was very frugal,” Mary said, smiling at another server on her way to the kitchen.

“What about her son? Why would she leave money to someone she didn’t know instead of him?”

Mary shrugged. “All I know is some lawyer from Red Wing did a new will for Agatha. She signed it the day before she died.”

I shook my head slowly. “That doesn’t make any sense. Peter Lundgren was Agatha’s lawyer.”

“Apparently not anymore.” Mary swept a few crumbs off the table.

It couldn’t be true. But it was going to hurt Ruby. “This is getting messy,” I said to Rebecca.

She patted my arm. “I know.”

I picked up my coffee and wound my way back to the table. Maggie glanced over at me as she scraped the last few baked beans from her plate. Something in my face made her take a second look. “What is it?” she asked.

Roma turned to look at me, as well. I pointed toward the tea table.

“According to Rebecca and Mary, Agatha left half a million dollars to Justin.”

“Of course she did,” Roma said. “And I’m dating Eddie Sweeney.” She shot a quick look at Maggie, who blushed just a little. “First of all, Agatha didn’t have half a million dollars. She had a teacher’s pension and from her day that wasn’t a lot of money. And second, if she did have a little money she wouldn’t leave it to someone she hardly knew.”

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Maggie agreed.

“The story came from Bridget.”

Roma waved her hand like she was chasing away a bug. “Well, Bridget got it wrong or Mary did. Agatha didn’t have that much money. She didn’t have any money.” She pushed her plate away. “It’s just a rumor and it’s wrong.”

“It has to be,” Maggie said. “You saw her. Did Agatha look like someone who had a lot of money?”

Actually she had looked like someone who didn’t spend a lot of money. She wasn’t buying clothes or things for her house. Maybe she’d amassed a small fortune and no one knew about it. Luckily I didn’t have to answer because the Kings were back to collect our plates and deliver slices of apple pie.

I picked up my fork. The pie was better than promised. There was a hint of tartness to the apples, and I could taste the cinnamon and nutmeg. I actually made little groaning sounds as I took a second bite.

Maggie grinned at me over her plate. “I told you it was good,” she said.

I licked apple off the back of my fork. “Good?” I said. “I think I know how Owen feels about catnip.” I’d had Mary’s pie before, but this was warm, with a small scoop of vanilla ice cream melting on top. It was a party in my mouth.

We ate without talking, the pie was that good. I thought about swiping my finger over the plate to catch the last flakes of pastry, but those kind of manners belonged at the home, where only Owen and Hercules could see me. I pushed back my chair so I could stretch my legs.

“I ate too much,” Maggie said, patting her midsection.

“Me, too.” Roma pulled at the front of her sweater.

“Want to walk over to the Winterfest site and take a look at things?” Maggie asked.

“I can’t,” Roma said, getting to her feet. “I’m on the cleanup crew.”

“Kath?” Maggie looked at me.

“Sure,” I said. I was kind of curious to see the sliding hill, the dogsled track and the outdoor rink.

Maggie looked over her shoulder at the back wall. There were dozens of people checking out Eddie and the various photo collages. “Roma just wants to ditch us so she can spend some time with Eddie,” she stagewhispered.

Roma rolled her eyes and headed for the kitchen.

We put on our coats, tugged on hats and mittens and headed for the door. There were still people arriving. “You weren’t kidding when you said the whole town comes to this thing,” I said.

“It’s a social event of the season,” Maggie said as we made our way down the stairs. “Heck, it’s the social event of the year, not to mention Mary makes the best freaking pie in the universe.” She stopped on the last step to wind her scarf around her neck. “There should be a community supper as part of the library centennial,” she said.

“You know, that’s a good idea,” I said. “I’ll mention it to Everett and Rebecca.”

We pushed our way out into the cold night air and I was glad to be outside. It had been getting warm and stuffy in the community center. The parking lot was full of cars and trucks and they were also parked down both sides of the street.

We started toward the marina, where all the outdoor Winterfest activities were taking place.

“Are you really going to give Eddie to Roma when Winterfest is over?” I asked.

Maggie laughed. “I don’t know. It would be kind of funny to stick him in the waiting room at the clinic for a few days and see what kind of rumors that starts.”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “I can’t believe people think she’s dating the real Eddie Sweeney, just because she drove around with a mannequin in the front seat of her SUV.”

“So, how do you think the rumors that Agatha left Justin a bunch of money got started?” Maggie asked. She looked both ways for cars and pulled me across the street.

I hesitated. Maggie leaned in front of me. “You don’t think it’s true, do you?”

“I think it could be, at least partly.”

“All right,” Maggie began, lowering her voice because of all the people around now. “Where did Agatha get the money? And why did she leave it to Justin?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know where she got the money. Maybe she saved it. She didn’t seem to be spending much. Maybe she bought Microsoft or Dell stock back in the day.” I could hear voices ahead of me and laughter and music.

“Let’s say, for the sake of argument, she had the money.” Maggie kicked a chunk of frozen snow down the sidewalk. “Why leave it to Justin?”

I gave her the Mr. Spock eyebrow.

“Because of Ruby.” Maggie made a face, as if the words left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Exactly.”

She kicked the chunk of snow again. It collided with a streetlamp and smashed into small bits of snow and ice. “People are going to talk.”

“I know,” I said. “And it’s going to hurt Ruby.”

“You think that’s why she’s not here tonight?”

“Maybe.” We were surrounded by people all heading in the same direction. “Where’s everyone coming from?” I asked.

“First you eat, then you come down here and slide until your stomach hurts,” Maggie said. “It’s a Winterfest tradition.”

As we came around a curve in the road by the marina I saw the venue for the first time. The rink was close to the marina itself. There was a fire going in the outdoor pit between the building and the ice. Beyond that I could see the dogsled track. But what dominated the space was the hill.

It was man-made, or, to be more exact, machine-made. There were eight runs: two for the little ones and six for the adults and teenagers. Walk up the ramps on either side, get in line, grab a sled—which looked like a potato sack and probably was—and then slide like stink to the bottom and crash into the bales of hay.

Maggie grinned at me, eyes sparkling.

“No,” I said.

“Oh, come on. One time.”

I watched Kate, my co-op student, hit a bump and go airborne for a minute. “You want to watch pie come out my nose?” I said.

She pretended to think about that for a minute.

“You can go without me.” I said. “I’ll stand here and cheer for you.”

Maggie made a show of checking her watch. “Oh, darn,” she said. “We have to go through or we’re going to miss the start of the Gotta Dance reunion special.” She held up one hand. “Otherwise . . .”

“Well, of course we wouldn’t want to miss Matt Lauer demonstrate that it is possible for human beings have two left feet,” I said.

“Matt does not have two left feet. He’s a fantastic dancer. He won—”

“—the coveted crystal trophy,” I finished for her. I’d never quite gotten Maggie’s love for the Today show host.

“You’re just jealous because that piece of beefcake in a loincloth lost.”

I blew a raspberry at her. The peace of beefcake she was mocking was Kevin Sorbo, Hercules from the cheesy syndicated series of the same name and the source of my Hercules’ name. Not that I admitted it to anyone.

“Where did you park?” I asked as we made our way back through the crowd.

“I’m about half a block up the hill,” she said. We dashed across the street and walked back to her little bug.

“You still thinking about buying a car?” Maggie asked as she started the car and cranked up the heat.

“Thinking about it is all I’ve done.”

“You need a truck. Something like Ruby’s. Well, maybe less funky.”

I thought about Harry’s truck, heat blasting from the vents. “Maybe a truck would be a good idea.”

“I can just picture Owen and Hercules riding shotgun,” Maggie laughed.

Owen and Hercules were waiting in the kitchen when Maggie and I walked in.

“Hey, guys,” she said as she pulled off her coat. Hercules watched her, hoping, I guessed, that she’d brought them some kind of treat. Owen walked around behind her, more like a puppy than a cat. I put the kettle on to make tea for Maggie. “Want a date square?” I asked.

“I could eat one,” she said. Maggie ate like a lumberjack and was built like a runway model. “I’ll put the TV on.” She headed for the living room.

Hercules padded over to the counter and looked at me. I slipped him a couple of cheese-and-sardine crackers. “Don’t tell your brother,” I whispered.

I put the date squares on a plate with a few chunks of mozzarella, which I knew Maggie would sneak to the cats when they all figured I wasn’t looking. When the water boiled I made tea, put everything on a tray with a couple of napkins and headed for the living room.

Maggie was on the sofa, feet propped on my leather footstool. Owen was on one side, giving Maggie adoring looks, and Hercules was on the other side, doing his no one ever feeds me look. The theme song for Gotta Dance was just beginning. I curled into the opposite end of the sofa, setting the tray on the cushion between Maggie and me.

She leaned forward and pointed at the TV. “See?” she said to Owen. “That’s Kevin Sorbo. Boo!”

The cat would have booed if he’d been able to.

Maggie gestured to the screen again. “Remember? That’s Matt Lauer. Yay!”

“Meow!” Owen said with enthusiasm.

Maggie laughed.

“Sold out for mozzarella,” I said. Owen was busy eating the bit of cheese that Maggie had just snuck to him.

I settled back against the cushions to watch the show and I couldn’t help thinking how much happier my house seemed than Agatha’s. Okay, so there was cat hair on the footstool and some part of a catnip chicken by the stairs. But it felt a lot more welcoming than Agatha’s lonely place.

Maggie was leaning forward again, forearms on her knees, discussing the various dancing couples with Owen, while Hercules ate the piece of cheese Maggie had slipped to him.

Thinking about Agatha made me wonder if what Rebecca and Mary had told me could be true. Did Agatha have all that money and had she left it to Justin?

Maggie left when the show ended. We made plans to check out the Winterfest activities Saturday night. Yawning, I put the dishes in the sink. “I’m too tired to tell you everything,” I said to Hercules and Owen. “Remind me in the morning.”

Owen woke me in the morning by breathing his cheesy, bad breath in my face. Over oatmeal and bananas for me, plus two cups of coffee, and cat food and water for the cats, I told them about the visit to Agatha’s house and the rumors about the money. They didn’t have any insights, either.

The library was open only until one o’clock because of Winterfest, but it was a busy morning. I stopped for groceries before heading home, slogging up the hill with a heavy canvas bag in each hand. I decided maybe I could create a workout DVD: the Grocery Bag Workout.

I spent the afternoon cleaning my little house and doing laundry, with Hercules for company. Owen appeared only when the new batch of kitty treats came out of the oven.

Maggie pulled into the driveway at about seven o’clock. She was wearing heavy boots and cherry-colored earmuffs over her mohair hat. It made her look like a fuzzy, red-eared teddy bear.

“Oh, good. You’re wearing your snow pants,” she said, as I laced up my boots.

“I don’t know what you have planned, but I’m figuring a little padding couldn’t hurt.”

Owen came over for a quick nuzzle. “Stay off the footstool,” I whispered to him. His response was to bat an errant piece of hair coming out of my hat.

Maggie parked on one of the side streets, and we walked down to the Winterfest site. There were probably twice as many people as on Friday night. More of the lights were on and I could see the course was even bigger than I first realized. Along with the sliding hill, the dogsled circuit, and the rink, there were a puck shoot and a labyrinth.

Maggie tugged on my sleeve. “Let’s do the maze.”

From where we were standing, on a slight incline looking down, the maze, built completely out of frozen snow, looked massive and complicated and scary.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Why?” Maggie asked.

“Because I have a bad sense of direction. Once I get in there I’ll be wandering around all night. Anyway, I thought you wanted to go sliding.” I pointed the hill. “Why don’t we do that before the line gets any longer?”

“Good idea.”

Saved.

I felt kind of silly, but I didn’t want to admit that the maze scared me. It was because of an old movie called The Maze that a bunch of older kids had scared me with the summer I was nine and my parents were doing summer stock in a hundred-year-old, supposedly haunted theater. I had nightmares for months after watching that movie on an old black-and-white TV late at night in one of the back rooms at the theater.

Maggie and I got in line for the hill. As we worked our way to the top I realized it was probably a good idea that I was wearing snow pants, sweats, and long underwear. I also realized it looked like a heck of a lot of fun. I turned out to be right on both counts. We slid until my legs began to wobble.

“I can’t climb that hill again. I need hot chocolate,” I told Maggie, brushing hay and snow off my jacket.

We walked slowly down to the canteen set up by the rink and the puck shoot. I pulled at the front of my parka. I was actually sweating.

“That was fun,” I said to Maggie as we stood in line for our cocoa.

“Yeah, you’re not a bad Saturday night date,” she joked. She looked around. “I haven’t seen Roma. Have you?”

“No,” I said. “But there’s so many people here, it would be easy to miss her.”

Lita was working behind the counter. She caught my eye. “What can I get for you, Kathleen?” she asked.

I held up two fingers. “Two hot chocolates, please, Lita.”

She poured two cups from a huge insulated carafe and dropped a marshmallow in each one before she snapped on the sippy-cup lids. I paid and moved out of the way, handing one cup to Maggie.

“Thank you,” she said, wrapping her hands around the cup and taking a sip. “Oh, that’s good.”

We walked over to the puck shoot and stood watching for a moment. Maggie elbowed me. “Hey, maybe Roma is with Eddie,” she said with a grin.

“How do stupid rumors like that get started?” I said, sipping my hot chocolate.

“There’s usually a grain of truth to them,” Maggie said. “Roma was driving around with Eddie in her SUV. It just wasn’t the real Eddie.”

Did that mean there was a grain of truth to the story that Agatha had left a fortune to Justin?

“Hello,” someone said. Maggie’s face lit up with a slightly mischievous smile and she turned immediately to say hello to Marcus.

I shot her a warning look over my cup, but it was a waste of effort. I turned, “Hi,” I said.

Marcus was wearing the same heavy jacket he’d had on at Wisteria Hill, as well as black ski pants and oversized gloves.

“Have you tried the puck shoot yet?” Maggie asked, gesturing at the game.

He shook his head. “I just got here. How about you?”

“We were on the sliding hill,” I said. I held up my hot chocolate. “We came over here to get warm.”

Beside me, Maggie took a step forward, and I realized we had somehow ended up in the puck-shoot line. “Maggie, how did we get in this line?” I asked.

She looked around. “I’m not sure.” She looked at Marcus. “Do you want to go ahead of us?”

“You’re not going to try it?” he asked.

“Maybe when my fingers get a little warmer. I think I need to at least be able to feel them before I pick up a hockey stick.”

Marcus looked at me. “Hockey is probably not your sport,” he said.

I could hear just a touch of condescension in his voice. At least I thought I could. “I wouldn’t want to make you look bad,” I said lightly.

He laughed.

I would’ve let it go. I really would have, if he hadn’t laughed. “You don’t think I could beat you?”

“I’ve been playing hockey since I could walk,” he said. “It wouldn’t be a fair contest.”

I handed my hot chocolate to Maggie. “I could play left-handed, if that would make you feel better,” I said with a small smile.

We were at the front of the line. The teenage boy running the game handed me a hockey stick and held one out to Marcus. He hesitated.

I had already stepped over the low wooden barrier onto the playing surface. “You coming?” I asked, making sure the challenge was evident in my voice and my posture.

He shrugged, trying to look casual about the whole thing. I could tell from the way he sized up the playing surface and the tightness in his jaw that he wanted to play. Marcus Gordon was competitive.

That was okay. So was I.

The puck shoot was actually more like a game of one-on-one street hockey. The space was snow packed, not too slippery yet. The net was at the far end. Instead of a puck we had a fluorescent pink ball. Marcus took the other stick and stepped onto the snow.

“You have five minutes,” the teenager said. He stepped over the barrier, holding the ball for the face-off. I leaned forward, stick on the ground, and Marcus leaned in, as well, a smile pulling at the corners of his eyes and mouth. “Most goals wins,” the young man said. “No head butts. No groin hits. Body checks are okay. Like I said, you got five minutes.” He held the ball up over his head and dropped it.

I got my stick on it first, faked right, went left and whipped the ball into the net with my blistering slap shot. Behind me everyone cheered. I grinned at Marcus.

He didn’t smile back.

It was about to get fun.

He was ready for me on the next face-off. He got the ball first, but when he pulled back his stick to shoot I flicked it away and raced to the net.

Score!

We’d attracted a crowd and they went crazy cheering, and I shamelessly played to them, making a dramatic, sweeping bow.

He beat me on the next face-off, then faked me out by pretending to make a move for the net and instead going backward. It was two-one.

I won the next face-off, literally ducking under him to shoot. Three-one.

Even though I knew I’d won, I went all out the last time. Marcus got the ball first, but when he flicked his eyes away for just a second to set up a shot, I hipchecked him. He lost his balance and toppled over onto the snow.

I went right for the clearest shot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him stretch his stick across the snow to hook me. I timed it perfectly, jumping dramatically over the stick as it swept across the snow, and then whipped my own stick back and scored just as the buzzer sounded.

As they like to say in hockey, the crowd went wild.

To show I was a good sport I walked over to Marcus and offered him a hand up. Because he was a good sport he took it. We got a round of applause as he got to his feet.

“Wow!” Maggie said, as I joined her after several high-fives and a couple of fist bumps. “Where did you learn to play like that?” She handed me my hot chocolate.

“Yeah, where did you learn to play like that?” Marcus asked, brushing snow off his jacket.

My face was flushed and I was sweating. “Parking lots and back alleys,” I said. I took a sip of my hot chocolate as we moved over to let the next players by. It was cold.

Maggie looked skeptical. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” I said. “You know my parents did a lot of summer stock. I hung out with the backstage crew when there weren’t any kids to hang out with.” I detoured sideways into the canteen line. “They played a lot of street hockey.”

“I owe you another one of those,” Marcus said, gesturing at my cup.

“No, you don’t.”

Behind him Mags was glaring at me. We were already in the line and I wasn’t going to gain anything by arguing with him, so all I did was smile. “Thanks,” I said.

When we got to the head of the line, he bought one hot chocolate for me and a second for himself, after offering Maggie one, too. She held up her empty cup and declined.

Marcus lifted his drink in a toast to me. “You owe me a rematch.” Then he smiled at us and said, “Have a good night.” And disappeared into the crowd.

Maggie was watching me, hands behind her back. “You’re not going to tell me I should’ve let him win, are you?” I said. She wrinkled her nose at me. “No. That was great.”

“So are you going to give me the gosh-you’re-so-cute-as-a-couple speech?”

She shook her head as we started walking. “No. I give up.”

“Good,” I said, taking a drink from my cup. The hot chocolate was steaming.

“You did look good, though, the two of you chasing that little ball.”

“Mags,” I said. “You’d have better luck getting Roma and Eddie—the real Eddie—together.”

She laughed. “I don’t think so. I’m already in trouble for getting Roma and the fake Eddie together.”

We walked around for a while, mostly people watching. The line was long at the maze and Maggie didn’t mention trying it again.

“Ready to go?” she asked after another half hour.

“Yeah,” I said. “My fingers are getting numb.” We walked back to the car, and Maggie drove me up the hill.

The motion-sensor lights came on as I walked around the house. I could see Hercules sitting on the bench in the porch, watching for me out the window. He waited while I pulled off my gloves and boots. Then I swept him up into a hug, kissing the top of his furry head where the white of his nose met the black fur on his forehead.

“You are so good to come home to,” I said. Hercules started squirming, and I set him down. “I know. No mushy stuff.”

He shot me a look and took a few washing passes at his face with his paw. “Hey, do I wash off all your kisses?” I said.

I unlocked the door and shed my coat and the rest of my things. There was no sign of Owen in the kitchen. I held my finger to my lips and pointed at the living room, slowly making my way to the doorway. Hercules padded silently beside me. I’d left one lamp glowing on the table by the window.

I peeked around the door, hoping to catch Owen napping on the footstool. No luck.

He meowed hello from where he sat beside the chair. Hercules walked around me, making muttering noises in his throat. I went over to Owen, sat on the footstool and lifted him into my lap. “I know what you’re up to,” I said as I stroked his soft fur. He was the picture of wide-eyed innocence. “I will catch you,” I said sternly. “And when I do, no kitty treats for a week.”

His response was to put a paw on my shoulder and lick my cheek. Then he jumped down and walked away. Basically I’d just been given the kiss-off by a cat.

I got up and headed to the kitchen. Hercules and Owen might be very independent, but with a piece of toast and peanut butter, they were putty in my hands.