Софи Келли - A Midwinter's Tail

I nodded and after a second’s hesitation reached over and gave his arm a squeeze. “This means a lot.”

He ducked his head. “I’m glad I can do it,” he said. Then he turned and headed for the main doors.

Reading Buddies could expand. I had more than enough money now to cover the expenses. I had the urge to jump up and down and clap my hands, but I settled for going to find Abigail so I could share the news. Finally, something was going right.

* * *

Leah Webster spent an hour and a half looking through the photographs, fortified with a cup of coffee and a date square, before Thorsten arrived with her car. I didn’t ask her a single question about the pawnshop robbery or the shooting of Nic Sutton’s father. I was beginning to think it didn’t have anything to do with Dayna’s death after all.

I gave Leah my e-mail address in case she had any questions and wished her a safe drive back to Minneapolis. I was about to head back up to my office when Simon Janes, Mia’s father, came through the front door. He smiled and headed toward me. His walk had a bit of a swagger that matched his personality.

He didn’t waste any time on social niceties. “This is for you,” he said, handing me a heavy buff-colored envelope.

“What is it?” I asked uncertainly. It seemed to be my day for people handing me envelopes.

“Why don’t you look and find out?” he said.

I slit the end of the envelope. The check inside fell to the floor. I bent to pick it up and couldn’t quite believe my eyes. It was made out to the Reading Buddies program and the amount would keep us going for the next two years. In just a day I’d gone from thinking I might have to cut back the program to being able to make every one of my plans happen.

I looked at him, speechless, for a moment. “I, uh . . . thank you,” I finally managed to get out.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “But you really should thank Mia.”

“I will,” I said.

“It’s enough to expand your program and keep it running for a while?”

I nodded.

“Your fundraiser was a disaster,” he said bluntly. “When I said that to Mia she called me an ass.”

I wanted to laugh at Mia’s accurate assessment of her father, but given the fact that I was holding a very large check with his signature on it, I didn’t.

“She’s not really an assertive person,” Simon said with a smile. “The only rebellious thing she does is dye her hair outlandish colors. After she called me an ass she told me I could easily fund your program and I should. I decided she was right.”

“I appreciate that,” I said.

I still thought Simon Janes was a bit obnoxious, but the check in my hand was softening my opinion of him.

“Spend my money wisely, Ms. Paulson,” he said. “I’ll be interested to see how your program goes.”

“You’re welcome to check in anytime,” I said. I waited until he was gone; then I walked over and waved the check in Abigail’s face.

“Is it real?” she asked.

“As far as I know,” I said. “Between the money from Oren and this, we can do everything we talked about.”

“Is it all right if I jump up and down and squeal?” she asked.

I grinned. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” I said.

When I eventually got back up to my office, Hercules was sitting in the middle of my desk with a very self-satisfied look on his face, and two tiny tendrils of paper stuck to his tail that told me he’d been in the workroom. It was where we kept the paper shredder.

That meant there was an excellent chance that the piece of paper at his feet had been stolen—from Detective Webster.

23

“What did you do?” I asked, glaring at him.

He lifted one white-tipped paw and set it down on the piece of paper.

“You stole that from the detective, didn’t you?”

He sat up a little straighter, obviously proud of himself.

“I told Marcus I wouldn’t ask her about the case.”

“Merow,” Hercules said, looking down at the piece of paper and then back at me.

“Okay, so stealing something from a police officer”—I glared at him—“isn’t quite the same as asking her questions, but it’s still wrong.”

The cat’s expression didn’t change. This wasn’t the first time Hercules had swiped a piece of paper from someone connected to one of Marcus’s cases. In the previous cases it had actually helped me eventually figure out who the killer was.

I crossed the room, leaned back against the desk and picked up the piece of paper.

“I think this makes me an accessory after the fact,” I said.

His response was to lick his paw and take a couple of swipes at his face.

“Somehow I don’t think the fact that you’re cute is going to help me,” I said.

Hercules leaned against my arm as I looked at the page that he’d “borrowed” from Detective Webster. It was a list of items stolen from the pawnshop.

I looked down at the little tuxedo cat. There was something about his expression that made me think if he could talk he would have said, “See? Do you get it?”

The problem was I didn’t. I looked at the list again. What was I not seeing? Hercules thought this was a clue. Both Owen and Hercules somehow knew what was a clue and what wasn’t. I would have admitted Herc’s ability to walk through walls and Owen’s to become invisible before I would ever have admitted that to anyone. It still felt uncomfortable to admit it to myself.

The list of stolen items was surprisingly short, I noticed, several diamond rings, a couple of watches . . . and two rare books.

“Dayna Chapman had a ticket to Vincent Starr’s lecture,” I said to Hercules.

The wheels were turning in my brain. “Could Dayna have somehow been involved in that robbery?” I asked Hercules.

Something was there in the back of my mind, poking at me like a broken spring in a chair. I put my finger on the titles of the two stolen books. A first edition of Steinbeck’s East of Eden would have been worth maybe fifteen hundred dollars. The first edition of The Hobbit , a little more—probably between three and four thousand. Neither book was going to make anyone rich.

I replayed what Maggie had told me about Brady’s conversation with his mother. And then I had it. I looked at Hercules.

“I should be mad at you,” I said, “because you’re going to turn into a feline delinquent. But I think I have an idea of what Dayna was up to.” I looked at my watch. I was done for the day in about fifteen minutes. “We’re going to have to make a little side trip before we go home,” I said, reaching for the phone.

Maggie answered her cell on the third ring. “Hi, what’s up?” she said.

“I need to ask Brady a question about that conversation he had with his mother,” I said. “Could you set that up for me?”

“You figured something out.”

I stretched my legs out in front of me. “I’m not sure,” I said. “That’s why I need to talk to him.”

“I’m sitting here outside his office right now,” Maggie said. “We were going to have an early supper before class.”

“I can be there in about twenty minutes.”

I pictured Maggie pulling a hand through her blond curls. “Okay, I’ll see you then,” she said.

* * *

When I walked into Brady Chapman’s office, his receptionist smiled at me. “You can go on back, Ms. Paulson,” she said. “Mr. Chapman is expecting you.”

Brady was standing in his office doorway with Maggie. “Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “Maggie says you might have figured something out. What is it?”

“Tell me about the piece of paper with the address on it that your mother dropped,” I said.

“That isn’t going to help,” Brady said. “The street doesn’t exist. Not here. Not in Minneapolis or Red Wing, either.”