Софи Келли - Faux Paw

“Why don’t you have a downspout?” she asked without taking her eyes off the side of the building.

“That was Harry’s idea,” I said. “Kids kept using the downspout to climb up onto the roof over the loading dock.”

Hope’s eyes met mine then. “Stay right here,” she said. She took a couple of steps forward, her gaze fixed to the ground. Then suddenly she stopped and backtracked.

“What size would you say Harry’s feet are, Kathleen?” she asked. “Fourteen maybe?”

I thought about the big black rubber boots he had been wearing when he’d last been working on the library grounds. “At least,” I said.

Hope looked at me. “I think I know how the killer got into the building,” she said, pulling out her phone.

8

“The thief came in through the roof?” Ruby said. “C’mon, Kathleen, tell me Bridget got that wrong.”

We were in the tai chi studio. Maggie and Ruby were holding mugs of some kind of tea that smelled of orange and spices, and I was wishing I’d stopped for coffee at Eric’s. The current edition of the Mayville Heights Chronicle was on the table.

I shook my head. “She didn’t.” The latest developments at the library were front-page news. Once again, Mary’s daughter, Bridget, had all the details.

What Hope had seen on the ground by the loading dock to make her back up so quickly was part of a footprint. A footprint that was smaller than anything Harry would have left in his rubber boots. Not that he would have stepped in a flower bed that was still too wet to work in in the first place.

It appeared that Margo’s killer had some kind of gymnastic or climbing skills, as far-fetched as that seemed. There was no other way to have gotten up onto the roof without leaving evidence behind. Hope had called in her crime scene team, Marcus had arrived, and any hope I had of reopening the library had evaporated. I’d taken Owen home and then spent the rest of the day at Henderson Holdings with Lita, doing damage control.

“It sounds like something out of a Tom Cruise movie,” Maggie said, stretching one arm over her head.

“I didn’t know that skylight even opened,” Ruby said. She’d changed her hair color back to grape-jelly purple.

I made a face. “I knew it could be opened—in theory. What I didn’t know was that Will Redfern and his crew had left it unsecured.”

Will Redfern was the contractor who had been in charge of the library renovations that had brought me to Mayville Heights in the first place. Will had been having an affair with the librarian before me, Ingrid, and as far as he was concerned, if I gave up and went back to Boston things would work out just right for him.

The renovations had been plagued with problems, and in the end the only way we’d managed to have the building ready on time for its anniversary celebrations was to replace Will and his crew with Oren Kenyon.

Lita had shaken her head when I’d told her about the skylight. “No good deed goes unpunished,” she’d said.

The work on the library had been Everett Henderson’s gift to the town for the Carnegie building’s centennial. He’d agreed to hire Will for the job because he’d had a good reputation up to that point and because Everett had gone to school with Will’s father. Lita had very strongly advised him not to do it. It was one of the rare times, I was guessing, that Everett had let sentiment and nostalgia influence a decision.

“How did the thief get up onto the roof in the first place?” Ruby asked. She drained the last of her tea and set the cup on the table. “You can’t exactly walk around Mayville Heights carrying a ladder. It’s something people would notice.”

“They think he climbed up from the loading-dock roof,” I said. I wasn’t telling them anything that Bridget wouldn’t be printing in the next issue of the Mayville Heights Chronicle in the morning. She’d had a reporter on the scene while Hope was still securing the library grounds. I was beginning to suspect Bridget had some kind of contact at the police department.

“Do you think Margo surprised this burglar and he killed her?” Maggie asked.

I shrugged. “It looks that way.”

She linked her fingers around her mug of tea. “It’s hard to believe someone would risk that much bad karma over that little drawing.”

“I don’t think whoever took that drawing was thinking about their karma,” Ruby said. “They were probably thinking about money.”

Taylor King appeared in the doorway then. She looked in our direction.

“Excuse me,” Ruby said. “I have something for Taylor.” She headed across the studio.

Taylor King collected vintage purses and bags. The teenager, who was part of our tai chi class, was becoming quite an expert on them. Ruby had found a small embroidered clutch at a flea market she and Maggie and I had gone to in Red Wing and paid a dollar for it. She was planning on giving it to Taylor as a thank-you for the work Taylor had been putting in, helping get everything ready for a yard sale at the Riverarts building, where most of the town’s artists had studios.

“Mags, is that Weston drawing really worth that much money?” I asked, linking my hands behind my back and squeezing my shoulders together to loosen the knots that seemed to have settled in at the base of my neck.

“In the end, a piece of art is worth whatever someone is willing to pay for it.” She took a sip of her tea. “You saw it, right?”

I nodded.

“I’ve seen the drawing a couple of times. The detail is exquisite.” She put her mug on the table next to Ruby’s. “It was the only thing stolen? You’re certain of that?”

I nodded. “Gavin and someone from the museum did an inventory.”

Maggie glanced at her watch. It was time to start class. “Whoever stole that drawing went to a lot of trouble to get into the library. Doesn’t it seem like they would have at least made sure the building was empty?”

“You think the thief planned to kill Margo?” I said slowly.

“You don’t?” she said. She gave me a look and then moved toward the center of the room, clapping her hands and calling, “Circle, everyone.”

Maggie had given voice to the niggling little thought that had been way in the back of my mind since the moment I’d walked into my office and discovered Margo Walsh’s body. If the thief hadn’t planned on murdering Margo, then why had he or she gone up to my office? Why stay in the building any longer than was necessary? Everything of value was on the main floor. But if the thief had planned to kill her, why hadn’t that person brought along a weapon?

• • •

Since the library was closed at least until the end of the week, I decided not to set my alarm clock, and sleep in a little in the morning. Owen had other ideas. He put both paws on the edge of the bed, licked my chin, and then breathed on me. Let’s just say his breath wasn’t exactly minty fresh.

I opened one eye. All I could see was his golden ones staring back at me, slightly out of focus because he was so close to my face.

“Fifteen more minutes,” I said.

His response was to lick my chin again.

I groaned and threw an arm over my face. “Ten minutes, then. You can wait for your breakfast for ten minutes.”

A paw began to bat a strand of my hair. I knew if I didn’t get up in a minute or two, Owen would be standing on my chest despite my edict that furry people did not belong in my bed. I thought about trying to negotiate for five more minutes under the covers, and then I remembered I was dealing with a cat.

The phone rang while I was eating breakfast. “Stay away from my oatmeal,” I told Owen as I headed for the living room to answer the phone. He glared darkly at me. Oatmeal was pretty much the only thing he didn’t try to mooch from me.