Sleight of Paw Page 3

  “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.

  “You have a roll of duct tape in your pocket, too?” I said.

  Roma grinned. “I told you. Duct tape and chocolate will fix pretty much any problem.”

  Maggie tore off a couple of pieces of tape and reached up under the dummy’s sock. After a minute she smoothed it down and wiggled the leg. “Better,” she said. She handed me the roll and smiled at Roma. “Thanks.”

  I slipped the tape on my arm like a fat bracelet. “Okay, why don’t I grab his shoulders?” I said. “Roma, you take his feet, and, Mags, you direct us.”

  I slid my arms around Eddie, holding him in a kind of backward bear hug. With Maggie directing us and watching for swinging arms, we managed to get Eddie in place on the bench. Roma kneeled on the floor, keeping him steady while Maggie fastened Eddie into position. I glanced behind me. I could see Mary and Abigail moving around in the kitchen. The door to the hall swung open and Oren started across the floor toward us.

  He smiled when he saw me. “Hello, Kathleen,” he said. “How are you?”

  “I’m well, Oren,” I said. “Thanks for coming to let us in.”

  He gave a slight shrug. “Thorsten probably just got caught up in the auction and lost track of time. Have you seen Maggie’s pictures?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Would you like to see photograph of my father?” he asked shyly.

  “Yes,” I said. “Where is he?”

  We walked over to the wall. Oren scanned the panels, then pointed to a scrum of young men gathered by the edge of the frozen river, probably for a pickup game of hockey. “That’s him on the left.”

  I could see the resemblance. Oren’s father had the same fair hair and rangy build. Oren himself always made me think of Clint Eastwood. “You look alike,” I said.

  “Everyone says that.”

  “Where was the picture taken?”

  “You know where the marina is?” he said. “Back then they put out a wooden dock in the summer. In the winter the kids—well, the boys,” he corrected himself, “played hockey. It was long before they made it deeper for the boats, so the ice froze pretty solid.”

  I studied the boy in the center of the picture. Like the others, his expression was serious, but there was confidence on his face. I tried to picture time adding lines around the mouth and eyes. I shifted back to Oren’s face. “Is that Harrison Taylor?”

  Oren nodded.

  “I didn’t know Harry played hockey.”

  “Good enough to be invited to the Black Hawks training camp. He helped coach at the high school and junior high.”

  That was how Harry knew Agatha, I realized, although in a place as small as Mayville everyone pretty much knew everyone else, anyway.

  “These photographs are wonderful,” I said to Oren. “Are there any of you?”

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t very athletic.”

  Oren had been a musical prodigy. He probably hadn’t had much chance to play hockey or softball or anything like that.

  I remembered then that Mary and Abigail had wanted to get out the tables.

  “Oren, I forgot,” I said. “Mary and Abigail are in the kitchen. Could you let them into the storage room so they could set up the tables?”

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  He took a couple of steps toward Maggie and Roma. “Maggie, are you all set?” he asked.

  Maggie had her foot up on the edge of the bench, knee jammed against Eddie’s back to keep him upright. “I am, Oren,” she said. “Thank you for coming down here. I’m sorry I had to bother you.”


  “You didn’t,” he said. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning if you need to get in to do anything.” He smiled at me. “It was good to see you, Kathleen.”

  It was my opening. “Oren,” I began slowly.

  He turned to face me. “Yes.”

  “Yes?” I said.

  His smile got a little bigger and he nodded.

  “I haven’t asked you anything.”

  “You were going to ask if I’d let you put my father’s sculptures on display for the library’s centennial celebrations.”

  “How did you know?”

  “When you came out to look at the plan for the gazebo for the library, I think you spent more time looking at the sculptures than the plans.”

  “People should see his work, Oren,” I said.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I’m going to need to take some measurements at the loading dock as soon as Winterfest is over. Is that okay?”

  “Yes.” I wanted to jump up and down, but I settled for beaming at him.

  “I’ll be in to the library as soon as Winterfest is over.”

  I nodded, and he headed for the kitchen.

  Roma was still sitting on the floor, one hand on Eddie’s thigh, the other on his hip. She looked like a groupie sitting adoringly at the feet of her hockey hero. Maggie was standing on the bench, straddling Eddie.

  “What can I do to help?” I asked.

  “Could you find me a pair of pliers? I think they’re in that box.” Maggie pointed at one of the cartons that had been in the back of Roma’s SUV.

  After I’d handed the pliers to her I wrapped my arms around Eddie to keep him steady so Maggie could have both her hands free. From a distance I probably looked like a groupie, too.

  “Why does Eddie smell like Christmas dinner?” I asked.

  Roma frowned and pressed her face against Eddie’s chest for a moment. “Kathleen’s right. Eddie smells like stuffing.”

  Maggie was bending a piece of wire with the pliers. “It’s sage.”

  “And why does Eddie smell like sage?” Roma asked.

  “It helps to keep negative energy away from the project.”

  Maggie was kind of New Agey about some things. She taught tai chi, believed in the power of karma and had been learning about herbal medicine from my neighbor Rebecca since last summer.

  “There,” she said, jumping down off the bench and taking a step backward. “Kathleen, you let go first.”

  I slid my arms free and stood up. Eddie stayed in place.

  “Okay, Roma,” Maggie said.

  Roma stood up, too. Nothing moved. Maggie smiled with satisfaction and started gathering boxes.

  “So, will you two be at the Winterfest supper Friday night?” Roma said.

  Maggie glanced at me.

  “Don’t,” I warned.

  “Don’t what?” Roma asked.

  “Maggie has the insane idea that I should take a date to the supper,” I said.

  “A date. Who?”

  “Marcus Gordon,” I said. Marcus was a police detective and I’d gotten to know him after I’d stumbled upon a dead body last summer. Not my favorite way to meet new people.

  “What’s wrong with Marcus?” Roma asked.

  “He likes you,” Maggie interjected.

  I crossed my arms and glared at her. “He thought I killed Gregor Easton.”

  “You weren’t really a suspect,” Maggie said. “He didn’t arrest you.”

  “That was really romantic of him,” I said dryly. I looked at Roma. “Marcus Gordon is not my type.” Even though he was tall, good-looking and liked cats.

  “I’m not saying marry him,” Maggie said. “Or kiss him, or even hold his hand. I’m just saying get to know the man.”

  She’d been saying that for months.

  “Who knows? You might like him.”

  “Who knows?” I mimicked her voice. “Pigs might fly.” Roma looked at me and burst out laughing. Maggie followed her eyes and started to shake with the giggles. I tipped my head back slowly because there was no way. No way.

  Overhead, a fat pink pig floated in the air just above me.

  3

  Mary stood, trying to look innocent and not quite getting there. There was a twinkle in her eyes and a smile was pulling at the corners of her mouth. In one hand she was holding a thin pink ribbon. The other end was attached to a helium-filled balloon. A helium-filled pig.

  “Bad timing?” she asked.

  “No, no, your timing was excellent,” Roma said. She looked at me and started laughing again.

  Maggie had the back of her hand pressed against her mouth. It didn’t hide the fact that she was shaking with laughter.

  “This is not a sign,” I said sternly. I turned to Mary. “Can we help you with your . . . pig?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s the mascot of the Horton Meat Company. They’re providing the ham for the supper Friday night.” She made a face. “Sam promised we’d display the pig during the supper and who knows where else, but I don’t know what to do with the thing.” She looked at Maggie. “Please, Maggie, do you have any ideas?”

  Maggie squinted up at the balloon. “Maybe,” she said. “Which door are you going to set up at?”

  Mary pointed to the double doors that led in from the front hall.

  “Okay, I need to take a look.” Mags headed across the floor, Mary and the pig right behind her.

  I turned to Roma. “So, aren’t you going to say something? You know you want to.”

  She shook her head. “I think the flying pig pretty much said it all.”

  I stuck out my tongue, which only made her laugh.

  While Maggie walked around in a circle, studying the ceiling by the hall doors, Roma and I gathered the empty boxes, stacking them by the parking lot entrance. By the time we had our coats and hats on, Maggie walked back over to us. I knew by the distracted look on her face that she had more than one idea brewing in her head.

  “We’ll drop the boxes at your studio and I’ll drive you both home,” Roma said.

  Maggie smiled. “Thanks.”

  “I think I’ll walk,” I said, grabbing an empty carton.

  “You sure?” Roma asked. “It’s cold.”

  “It’s always cold,” I said, putting on my boots. “I did paperwork all day and I could use the walk.”

  “You want to have breakfast at Eric’s in the morning?” Maggie asked.

  I yawned and nodded at the same time. “Sorry,” I said. “Long day.”

  Maggie turned to Roma. “Can you make breakfast?”

  Roma looked up from lacing her boots. “Can’t,” she said. “I have a couple of surgeries in the morning.”

  We clattered down the stairs and stepped into the parking lot. I put the box I was carrying into the back of the SUV.

  “Thanks, Kathleen,” Maggie said, wrapping me in a hug made puffy, thanks to our heavy coats.

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” I flapped my mittens at Roma. “See you, Roma.”

  I cut diagonally across the parking lot. I hoped Harry had met up with his sons. And I couldn’t help wondering where Agatha had gone. I pulled the hood of my jacket over my hat and stuffed my hands down into the pockets of my parka.

  The cloudless sky was shot with stars, but I knew snow was still coming. My left wrist ached with a bonedeep tenderness. I’d broken it last summer, and lately it seemed to ache right before we got snow. I was getting good at knowing the weather in my bones.

  By the time I’d made it up Mountain Road I was happy to see my little house. I banged my heels together before stepping into the porch and kicking off my boots. Then I unlocked the kitchen door and stepped inside, flipping on the light. I didn’t even have to yell, “I’m home.” Owen stuck his furry gray head around one side of the doorway to the living room. Hercules, on the other hand, walked in languidly, as though he hadn’t missed me at all; then he sat in the middle of the floor and began to wash his face.

>   I hung up my coat and set my hat and mittens over the heating vent. Roma’s roll of duct tape was still on my arm. I slid it off and stuck it in my jacket pocket.

  “How was your evening?” I said to Hercules as I passed him. The little tuxedo cat looked up, almost seemed to shrug and went back to cleaning his face. Owen was still watching me, looking a bit like the disembodied head of Alice in Wonderland’s Cheshire cat.

  “Want a piece of toast?” I asked.

  “Merow?” Owen said.

  “Yes, with peanut butter.” He came galloping into the kitchen to supervise. Hercules abandoned all pretense of face washing and sat expectantly by the table.

  Once the toast was made and generously slathered with peanut butter, I sat at the table and broke off bites for each cat, occasionally taking a bite for myself. Roma had warned me more than once not to give Owen and Hercules so much people food.

  In my defense, they weren’t exactly ordinary cats and the rules didn’t exactly seem to apply to them.

  “I saw Harrison,” I said, licking peanut butter off my fingers. They both lifted their heads and looked at me. “He’s fine,” I said. “The boys were at an auction. Harry was . . . well, he was out doing something.”

  I leaned forward and offered Owen another crumb of toast. He took it from me, set it on the kitchen floor and sniffed suspiciously, the way he did with every piece of food before he ate it.

  “Remember the woman from the other day?” I said to Hercules.

  He lifted one paw and shook it.

  “Yes, the woman who carried you up the driveway so you wouldn’t get your feet wet.”

  Hercules made huffy noises in his throat.

  “Her name is Agatha Shepherd. She was Roma’s teacher.” I yawned. “Roma was a juvenile delinquent,” I said. “Well, almost.” Owen looked at Hercules. Hercules looked at Owen, and I swear they were grinning just a little. Roma was not their favorite person. Because they’d been feral, just giving them shots and basic medical care was an ordeal. “I figured you’d like that,” I said. I probably talked to the cats too much. It wasn’t that I really thought they understood me. But they were good listeners.

  It made me really uncomfortable to think about Agatha picking up Hercules. The cats didn’t normally let anyone other than me near them. If a cat could have a crush on a person, Owen certainly had one on Maggie, but he didn’t let her touch him.