Sleight Of Paw Part 23

Maggie had made me a fabulous mad-scientist outfit-part Marty Feldman in Young Frankenstein, part Beaker from the Muppets-including a custom hairpiece from orange fake fur.

"Try it," I said. Hercules stuck one paw the bag. Then the other. Then he climbed in all the way. He kneaded the bottom with his paws and finally lay down.

I got my coat, pulled on my boots, and carefully swung Hercules over my shoulder. "We'll be back soon," said I said to Owen, who was watching from under the table. "You got money for bail if we need it?"

He meowed.

"Good to know."

I walked quickly down the hill and over to Violet's house. Between them, Rebecca and Ruby had been keeping an eye on the house. Violet was gone for the foreseeable future. Ruby had moved into the apartment over the converted carriage house just before Violet left.

The steps up to the apartment were at the back of the building. I set the messenger bag down on the floor of the covered porch at the top of the stairs. Herc popped his head out and looked around. "Not a sound," I warned. "Not a meow, not a rumble, not even a burp. Rebecca will be here any minute."

I bent down to close the top of the bag. He jumped out, looked right and left and then and disappeared through the door before I could grab him.

I was never going to get used to that.

I dropped down into a crouch. Hercules was definitely gone. He could pa.s.s through any solid object-doors, six-inch-thick walls, concrete foundations. "Hercules, get back out here," I hissed at the door.

Nothing.

"I'm not kidding. You are in big, big trouble. Get out here now."

It was an empty threat. It wasn't like I could go in and fetch him. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Then I leaned in close to the bottom panel of the door and called the cat's name.

Again, nothing.

"Are you looking for secret panel?" a voice behind me said. "Because I can promise you there isn't one."

Startled, I almost fell over. Rebecca was standing in the porch doorway. Heart pounding, I stood up.

"Good morning," she said. She gestured at the door. "It's a lovely door, isn't it? But not nearly as nice as the original wooden one. It had a squeak in the winter and it stuck in the summer." She didn't seem to think it was strange that I'd been "examining" the door.

"I like old houses," I said lamely.

"Me, too," Rebecca said. "But I admit I like doors that close and windows that keep the wind out." She fished in her pocket and pulled out a set of keys.

I stepped back to let her slip the key in the lock, bending to grab the strap of my bag. I crossed my fingers, hoping that Hercules wouldn't be sitting in the middle of the floor, blinking at us, when Rebecca opened the door.

He wasn't.

I set the messenger bag on the floor next to my boots, close to the door, hoping the cat would take the hint and climb in while we were in the bedroom.

Rebecca held up a small piece of pale green paper. "I have a list."

I took it from her and looked it over. The underwear, and coat would be easy. I knew Ruby had a dark wool coat. She usually wore it with a fuzzy orange hat and scarf. I wasn't so sure about the plain white blouse and I couldn't remember ever seeing her in a dark skirt.

I smiled at Rebecca. "Let's see what we can find." I knew I had a simple dark skirt. If we couldn't find anything that seemed right for court, I'd send that and a handful of safety pins.

The bedroom was painted a soft shade of lilac. And the bed was covered with a deeper violet spread and heaped with pillows. Ruby had painted tiny stars on the ceiling. I looked around. Agatha's bag was sitting on an old nursery rocking chair in the corner. Thankfully I didn't see Hercules anywhere.

Rebecca pointed at an old steamer trunk under the window. "I'll look in there. Would you see if there's anything in that armoire?"

I couldn't find any skirt that wasn't a riot of color in the antique armoire where Ruby kept her clothes, but at the back I did find a plain white blouse.

Rebecca held up a pair of black woolen pants she'd unearthed from the old trunk. "What do you think about these?" she asked. "They're plain and dark and I don't think Ruby has any skirts that are going to work."

I draped the blouse over the waistband of the pants. The combination was serious and sedate-nothing like Ruby, but perfect for court. "Yes," I said.

Ruby's coat was in the hall closet. Rebecca had brought a nylon garment bag with her. We put everything inside and I folded the bag over my arm.

Rebecca made a small sigh of satisfaction. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," I said. "I'll carry this down for you. Did you bring the car?" I couldn't help shooting a quick glance at the bag on the rocking chair.

"Yes, I did," she said. "But first, tell me why you keep looking at that grocery bag over there."

I felt my cheeks get red. "Was I that obvious?"

She nodded.

"You know Ruby didn't kill Agatha."

"Of course."

"The police have a piece of gla.s.s they think may have come from Ruby's truck."

"I heard that," Rebecca said.

"I, uh, found it. It caught on the hem of my pants."

"And you feel guilty."

"A little. The police think they have Agatha's killer. They aren't going to be looking for any evidence that will clear Ruby. Someone has to help her." I shrugged. "So here I am."

She smiled and gestured toward the rocking chair. "How is that bag going to help Ruby?"

"Agatha was carrying around an envelope the day she died. It's disappeared. Maybe it's not important, but maybe it is." I turned to look at the bag. "She was carrying that bag around, too. Lita gave it to Ruby. I thought maybe the envelope would be inside."

Rebecca nodded slowly and her eyes flicked from me to the rocking chair and back again. "I don't see why it would hurt to look. I think Ruby would probably say go ahead if she were here."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"I'd like to help Ruby, too. If we find anything that seems important we'll call Everett and ask him what to do."

I laid Ruby's things on the bedspread and picked up the bag. Inside were several pair of gloves, a crocheted black scarf, a small, square box of Kleenex, and three packets of ketchup. There was no envelope, no papers at all other than an old postcard from Florida with nothing written on it, and the bottom half of a torn old photograph-what looked to be the legs of a chubby baby sitting on someone's lap. This was clearly just stuff Agatha had collected around town.

"It's not here," I said to Rebecca, trying not to let my disappointment show. "They're things she was saving for some reason-gloves, ketchup."

She peeked inside the bag. "See those green gloves? They were in the lost and found at the community center for months. Someone probably gave them to her." She pointed to the postcard. "Wasn't there some kind of postcard display at the co-op store?"

"I think it came down just a few days ago."

Rebecca let the postcard fall back into the bag. She looked sad. "I think these are just things Agatha picked up walking around town. I'm sorry. There clearly isn't any envelope here and even if there was, knowing Agatha, I don't think you find anything in it to help Ruby."

I wasn't convinced of that, but I nodded. I picked up the nylon garment bag and followed Rebecca out to the kitchen.

My messenger bag was where I'd left it. Please be inside, I thought as I reached for the strap. The moment I lifted the bag I could tell Hercules was there. Or else I'd picked up a cat-sized hitchhiker. Surrept.i.tiously, I slid the zipper closed, then put the strap over my shoulder "Oh, that's a nice bag," Rebecca said. "Did you buy that here?"

"I did," I said. "I only paid five dollars for it over at the thrift store."

"I like it. Are those mesh panels?"

Okay, what was I going to do if she saw Hercules's face through the webbing? "Um, yes," I said. "I have a piece of fake fur in there right now. You can probably see it through the panel." As long as Hercules didn't make a sound, we were okay.

At the bottom of the steps Rebecca gave me a hug. "I'm sorry you didn't find anything helpful," she said.

"But things will work out. They have a way of doing that."

I handed her the garment bag, then headed down the driveway, giving her a little wave when I reached the street.

The library was closer than home, so I went in that direction. I needed to make sure Hercules was okay. I let myself into the empty building, and as soon as I was in my office I set the bag on my chair and unzipped it. He climbed out, jumped onto the top of my desk and shook himself.

"Are you all right?" I asked. He looked at me, almost . . . smugly? No, I was imagining that. "That was one of the stupidest things I've ever done," I said. "Letting you come with me. What the heck was I thinking? What if Rebecca had seen you?"

Hercules walked across to my side of the desk. I reached out to stroke his fur, but he twisted his head away, and spit a soggy piece of paper onto the dark polished wood of the desk.

"What is that?" I said.

He looked from the damp piece of paper to me. Then he lifted his paw and started was.h.i.+ng his face. As far as I'd been able to figure out, if Hercules had something in his mouth, he could walk through a wall-or a door-with it.

I picked up a pen, flipped the bit of paper over and studied it. It was part of a photograph. It was the missing piece of the photograph that had been in Agatha's bag; a dark-haired baby in a white sun hat smiled up at me. I couldn't tell if the baby was a boy or girl.

"Did you tear that picture?" I asked him, folding my arms and frowning at him. He continued to wash his face.

I looked at the picture again. There was a bit of yellowed Scotch tape on the break. I held up a hand. "You didn't chew it. I'm sorry."

I held the fragment up to the light. The baby was sitting on a woman's lap. The woman didn't look like anyone I knew in Mayville. On the other hand, it was an old photograph.

I thought about the postcard Rebecca and I had found along with the bottom half of this photo. She was right. Agatha must've taken it from the display that had been at the shop. She'd probably found the photo there, too.

Maggie had had piles of photos in her studio for weeks while she was working on the collage panels for Winterfest. She'd spent days sorting, logging and then copying the ones she wanted. Maybe this had been with them.

A postcard, gloves from the lost and found, a scarf, this photograph. It was clear Agatha had been collecting things.

I pressed the knuckle of my thumb between my eyes and tried to rub away the frown lines I knew had to be there. "This doesn't mean anything, except maybe to show that Agatha's mind was slipping." I was frustrated. "Maybe that envelope is meaningless, as well."

I picked up Hercules and he stretched his front paws onto my shoulder so he could look out the window behind the desk.

"So, now what?" I asked him.

He looked blankly at me.

"Yeah, I don't know, either."

17.

I wasn't quite as confident now about the contents of the envelope, since I'd seen the contents of the bag Agatha had been carrying around. On the other hand, it was all I had.

"You have to get back in the bag," I said to Hercules. He didn't move. "You can't stay here. Too risky. And you wouldn't want to miss one of Eric's breakfast sandwiches, would you?"

Hercules jumped down onto the desktop, walked across my files and dropped to the chair, sending it spinning in circles. I leaned over the desk and caught the chair back halfway through the fourth circle.

He looked up at me woozily. I came around to his side and held open the top of the tote. He jumped in and lay down. I closed the zipper and got my coat on again, and we headed back out.

It occurred to me that there was someone else I could ask about that envelope: Peter Lundgren. His law office was just up by the Stratton Theater. "Detour," I said to Hercules.

There was no one at Peter's office. It was probably too early. "Maybe we'll get lucky and Eric will be working," I said to Herc. Well, actually I said it to the bag slung over my shoulder. Thankfully there was no one on the sidewalk.

As we turned toward the restaurant Hercules s.h.i.+fted in the bag. I stopped and peered through the top panel. Two green eyes looked up at me. "Not a sound," I hissed. "And no jumping around. The last thing I need is to have to explain why my bag is moving."

That had happened to me once at tai chi with Owen. Luckily, Maggie had saved me by saying her phone was in my bag, set to vibrate.

The restaurant was almost empty, but Eric was back behind the counter. I resisted the urge to unzip the tote and high-five the cat. Or do a fist-paw b.u.mp.

Eric nodded h.e.l.lo when I walked in, but then turned away. He still looked a little ragged, and I wondered how much of that was due to Agatha's death.

Jaeger, who usually worked weekends for Eric, was wiping down the counter. He was a mask maker. I'd seen him a couple of times in his studio at the River Arts Center when I'd gone to visit Maggie. He smiled and gestured around the room. "Anywhere you'd like," he said. "I'll be there with coffee in a second." I picked a table for two in the far corner under the window, but against the side wall.

When Jaeger came over I ordered a breakfast sandwich and set Hercules by my feet, between the wall and my chair. The top of the bag was open a crack. After I'd taken off my coat, I put cream and sugar in my coffee and took a drink. It was good, hot and strong.

I felt the bag moving between my feet. I looked down just in time to see Hercules wiggle out of the bag and make a mad dash along the wall, disappearing down the hall to the restrooms.

c.r.a.p on toast! What was I going to do now? I grabbed the bag and bolted from the table, turning the corner just in time to see the cat go through Eric's office door, the door with the PRIVATE sign on it. And I did mean "through."

"Hercules!" I hissed. Waste of time. He was already gone and it wasn't very likely he'd have listened, anyway.

I stood in the small hallway and took several deep breaths. Hercules was in Eric's office, yes, but Eric and Jaeger were still out front. All I had to do was not panic, wait until the cat came out, and get him back in the bag. How hard could that be?

I tried not to think about all the things that could go wrong, like Hercules walking through the very solidlooking door just as someone else was on their way to the washroom.