Софи Келли: Faux Paw

I could smell cinnamon. I pulled out of the hug and narrowed my gaze at her. “Coffee cake?” I asked.

“Cinnamon streusel muffins,” she said. “I know how hard you’ve been working. I thought you might like them for a break a little later this morning.”

“You’re an angel,” I said.

She gestured at the package. “There are two in case you wanted to share with anyone who might drop by the library.” Her expression was all innocence, but I knew she was talking about Detective Marcus Gordon. Ever since Rebecca and Everett had gotten their happy ending, she’d been gently nudging Marcus and me even closer together. At the wedding she’d even broken with tradition and handed me her bouquet of daisies, gently telling us not to wait too long for our happily ever after. Given how long it had taken the two of us to get past our differences, a few gentle nudges probably weren’t a bad idea.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. I looked over at Hercules. “Are you coming?”

He gave a soft “murp” then stretched and began to wash his face.

“He’s fine, Kathleen,” Everett said.

“They like to talk politics,” Rebecca said as though Hercules was a person and not a cat. She touched my arm. “I’ll see you this afternoon. Margo Walsh invited the board at two to see how the installation of the exhibit is going.” She frowned slightly. “It is all right, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” I said. It would have been better if Margo had told me she’d invited the board for a look-see, but it wasn’t the first time she’d blindsided me like this.

The day after the layout for the exhibit had finally been settled, Margo had decided to add an artist from Red Wing, Rena Adler, who worked with egg tempera. Larry Taylor, the electrician who had been wiring the new lights Margo felt she needed, had just laughed and shaken his head when I’d told him the final lighting plan was now the former lighting plan because the way the artwork was being displayed had changed. On the other hand, my parents were both actors, so Margo wasn’t the first temperamental person I’d had to deal with.

“Have a good day,” I said to Everett. I turned to Rebecca. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” I took my muffins and started back to my own yard.

• • •

Mary Lowe was waiting by the library steps when I pulled into the parking lot. She was wearing a soft green sweater with yellow chickens dancing across the front. She had a big collection of sweaters to match the seasons, including a Christmas sweater with flashing lights and a Halloween cardigan with moaning sound effects. With her tiny stature, soft gray hair and sweet expression, she looked like someone’s cookie-baking grandmother—which she was. And as state kickboxing champion for her age and gender, she could also kick your kidneys up behind your ears, as she liked to put it.

I looked around as I walked over to Mary. There was no sign of Margo Walsh’s car, or of the woman herself. More than once in the past two weeks I’d arrived at the library to find her waiting at the top of the steps by the front door, impatiently tapping one elegant high-heeled foot on the landing.

“No Margo?” I asked Mary, raising one eyebrow at her.

“No sign of her,” she said, following me up the stairs to the entrance. “Thank heavens for small mercies.”

I looked at her over my shoulder.

She rolled her eyes. “Or in the case of Lady Margo, large mercies.”

“She’s not that bad,” I chided as I stepped through the first set of doors and punched in the alarm code. Margo had gotten off on the wrong foot with Mary the day she’d arrived when she’d tried to send the older woman for coffee.

Mary laughed and reached up to pat my cheek. “Do you ever say a negative word about anyone, Kathleen?” She moved ahead of me into the library and flipped on the overhead lights. “You don’t have to say anything because I already know the answer.”

I held up one hand, fingers spread apart. “Five days, Mary. That’s it. If everything goes well—and it will—Margo will be finished on Friday. All we have to do is make it to the end of the week and things will get back to normal.”

Mary shook her head and laughed. “Oh, Kathleen,” she said. “Just because you get the monkey off your back doesn’t mean the circus has left town.”

2

Abigail arrived about five minutes later, carrying a Sweet Thing box and a square stainless steel tin. She held them out to me. “One dozen of Georgia’s maple crème cupcakes and some Earl Grey tea bags,” she said with a smile.

“You’re a lifesaver. Thank you,” I said. After I’d left Rebecca and Everett I’d called Abigail and asked her if she could bring some tea bags so we could at least offer the library board a cup after their tour. Abigail was friends with Georgia Tepper, who ran Sweet Thing, the cupcake bakery. She’d offered to stop in and bring a dozen of whatever cupcakes Georgia had on hand. I’d been happy to take her up on the offer.

“Do we have enough cups in the lunchroom to give tea to the entire library board?” Abigail asked as she followed me up the stairs.

“I brought cups and saucers from home,” I said.

Mary had made coffee. The aroma drew me toward the small second-floor lunchroom.

Mary had set two mugs on the counter. When she saw Abigail she grabbed a third. Once we all had coffee we sat around the small table and I went over the day’s activities.

The art exhibit was using the open space overlooking the water that normally held our computers. The computers had taken over the magazine and reading area, which was now temporarily in the larger of our two meeting rooms. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it was the only way to keep the computers in sight of the main desk so users could be supervised.

We hadn’t really had much of a problem with our public-access computers—aside from the occasional teenage boy trying to access certain sites that our security software prevented him from getting to. Still, it didn’t hurt to have Mary, who knew all the kids’ parents and grandparents, at the circulation desk while they tried to work their way around the latest firewall I’d installed.

“Larry should be here about nine thirty to do a test of the window alarms,” I reminded Mary and Abigail. They both made faces. The temporary security system that Larry Taylor was helping to install had an alarm that sounded like an air horn. “The board will be here at two for an update. And the quilters are using our meeting room because there’s water in the church basement.”

Mary took off her glasses and began cleaning them with the end of her sweater. “Kathleen, where are we going to entertain the board if the quilters are in our only meeting room?”

“I already thought of that,” I said. I held up a finger. “The quilters finish at one thirty. Give them fifteen minutes to gather their stuff.” I held up a second finger. “At one forty-five I give the room a quick vacuum and toss a cloth on the table. Mia will be here by then.” The teenager had started out as a co-op placement from the high school and now worked part-time for me. The little ones loved her Kool-Aid-colored hair and the seniors were charmed by her lovely manners.

I added a third finger to the first two. “Mia sets the table while I run back upstairs to make the tea, and at five to two I will be waiting, graciously, by the front desk.” I extended both hands with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

Abigail laughed. “All you need is one long-winded quilter and your whole plan falls apart.”

I narrowed my gaze at her. “O ye of little faith,” I said. “Do you remember those boxes of books that Pete Simmons brought us when he cleared out his mother’s house?”