Софи Келли - Faux Paw

Hope looked at Marcus. Something passed between them.

“Mr. Solomon, do you know a man named Alastair Darby?” Marcus asked.

I’d heard the name somewhere but I couldn’t remember where.

“He’s a collector,” Gavin said. “Fancies himself a patron of the arts.”

“You were at a fundraising event hosted by Alastair Darby a couple of years ago.”

Gavin nodded. “I was. It was a garden party at his summer home. Mediocre wine, excellent food.”

“You and Alastair Darby got into an argument at the party.” Marcus squared his shoulders and crossed his arms over his midsection. He tipped his head to one side and studied Gavin as though he was some kind of science experiment.

If Gavin was intimidated, it didn’t show. “Actually, I got into an argument with the mountainoid who worked for him. He got a little frisky in a pat down. He wasn’t my type.” He raised an eyebrow at Hope and gave her a sly smile.

“Darby thought you’d taken something that belonged to him,” Marcus said.

“He was mistaken,” Gavin said. “Which he learned after his gorilla felt me up.”

Hope smiled back at him. “You didn’t take a painting that belonged to Mr. Darby?”

Gavin laid a hand over his chest. “I promise you, Detective, I didn’t take anything from that party that belonged to Alastair Darby.”

“Two people saw you stuff something in your pants.”

He laughed. “That was all mine.”

“So you’re not a thief?” Marcus said.

Gavin held up both hands again in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just a security expert. I’m not a thief. I didn’t take anything of Mr. Darby’s. And for the record”—his eyes flicked to me again—“I wasn’t a thief at fourteen, either. The teacher? He took a piece of artwork that had been done by a student, that she didn’t give to him and that he lied about having. All I did was retrieve it.” He shrugged. “I have some unique skills. I use them to prevent things from being lost. A few times, in the past, I acted as a retrieval agent for people whose artwork had, let’s say, been borrowed without their permission. I was paid a fee when that artwork was returned to its rightful owners. I don’t think that’s against the law, Detective.”

“Mr. Solomon, were you in the bar all evening the night Margo Walsh was killed?” Hope said. “Because nobody seems to remember seeing you after about quarter to eight.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“So where were you?” I asked. This game of cat and mouse had been going on too long for me.

“With Mary,” he said, gesturing at the checkout desk.

“Mary Lowe?” I said.

He nodded. “Uh-huh. It turns out we have an interest in common.”

I should have known. I really should have known at that point. But instead I frowned and said, “You’re interested in kickboxing?”

Gavin threw back his head and laughed. “No. Mary and I were at The Brick.”

I got it then. I felt my cheeks flood with color. Marcus and Hope hadn’t figured out what Gavin was talking about, and before I could say anything he spoke again.

“It was amateur night. We performed.” One eyebrow went up and the sly smile returned to his face.

“To ‘Proud Mary,’” he said. “Together.”

14

There was no reason for Gavin to stay, so he left. Marcus got on his cell phone and moved a couple of steps away. Hope walked over to me. “Mary Lowe and Gavin Solomon dancing at The Brick.” She shook her head. “My mind just won’t go there.”

“I was there once for amateur night,” I said.

Her eyebrows went up.

“Not to perform. It was during the investigation of Agatha Shepherd’s murder.”

Hope grinned. “Sure it was, Kathleen,” she teased.

“Mary’s act was very popular.” I didn’t add that I had only seen a moment of her performance because I was so embarrassed at seeing one of my staff members on The Brick’s stage in high heels, fishnets, a corset and pretty much nothing else that I’d grabbed Maggie and literally dragged her to the parking lot.

Hope put her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear this,” she said.

I leaned my head close to hers. “I have one word for you. Feathers.”

She made a face and dropped her hands. “Okay. You’re going to have to start delivering books to my house because I’m never going to be able to come into the library and look Mary in the eye ever again.”

Marcus stuck his phone in his pocket and walked over to us. “I have to go back to the station,” he said to Hope.

“Go ahead,” she said. “I want to go out back and see how the crime scene techs are doing.” She smiled at me. “I’ll see you later, Kathleen.”

I nodded.

“I’d better get home and see what Owen and Hercules have been up to,” I said to Marcus. I reached out for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

He looked around, then leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “You’ll find some papers kind of spread around the living room. Don’t give Owen a hard time about them, because really, he was the one who found Margo Walsh’s date book.”

“Owen found Margo’s date book?” It occurred to me that if anyone heard us talking they would have thought that Owen was a person. Of course, he seemed to think he was.

Marcus nodded. “Uh-huh.”

We started for the door. “I have a feeling this is going to be good,” I said. “How exactly did my cat find a piece of your evidence?”

“I stopped at your house just before lunch to check on the cats. I realized I’d forgotten the drawing I’d made of the cabinet.”

Maggie and I had found an old 1960s vintage wooden cabinet at the same flea market where we’d gotten Roma’s bench. I’d sanded off the old finish and Marcus was going to add shelves and legs before I painted it.

“It’s on the counter by the toaster,” I said.

He nodded. “Yeah, I know. I found it. But I checked the living room first.”

Marcus locked up the building and set the alarm and we stepped outside into the afternoon sunshine.

“So exactly how did these papers end up spread around my living room?” I asked.

“You had a couple of boxes next to that big chair.”

I bent to pick up a candy wrapper on the second step. “Those were my files about the exhibit. “Don’t tell me Owen got the top off one of the boxes.”

“I think he just wanted to see what was inside.”

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “What did he do?” I said.

Marcus hesitated.

“What did he do?” I repeated.

“He kind of spread everything around the living room . . . a little,” he said somewhat sheepishly.

“That little fur ball isn’t going to see a stinky cracker for a very long time,” I said, shaking a finger for emphasis. “I just got those files finished and organized so I could bring them down here and put them away. Now I have to start all over again. I can’t believe he got that lid off the box.”

Marcus smiled. “He’s pretty resourceful.”

I shook my head. “Oh no.”

He looked surprised. “What do you mean, no? I didn’t ask you anything.”

“You want me to let Owen off the hook. In fact, you probably want me to give him a treat.” I stopped at the edge of the parking lot and squinted up at him.

“I wouldn’t have found Margo’s date book if Owen hadn’t gotten into that box. Do you have any idea how it ended up there, by the way?”

“Margo helped me put all those files in the boxes. It probably got mixed up with one of the piles of paper and got put in by mistake.”

“If I hadn’t found Margo’s date book I wouldn’t have known Gavin was lying about when he and Margo met. And I might not have found out that his alibi was a fake.”