Софи Келли - Paws Аnd Effect

Maggie turned to look at her and smiled. “They are nice, aren’t they? You know the big barn, Hollister’s, about a mile past you?”

Roma nodded.

“That’s where I got them. Brady was with me and he bought an old Lime Ricky bottle.”

“You mean the place with the American flag weathervane?” I said, wondering why there were chocolate chips on the table if we were having pizza. “I thought they were a vegetable stand.”

“They are,” Maggie said. “They have the best corn and potatoes. Oh, and honey. But then the barn is like a flea market, plus Gerald—he’s the father—always has a few old vehicles for sale. People use them mostly for off-roading.”

“I almost forgot,” Roma said as she folded napkins to put at each place. “Did you talk to Oren?”

“He thinks Ira might have gone to Florida.” I moved over to the sink and began running some hot water so I could wipe the table and the counter.

Maggie opened the dishwasher and started putting spoons in the utensil rack. “You mean Ira who’s been living out by the lake?”

I nodded, adding soap to the hot water in the sink. Even though Maggie had a dishwasher I knew she didn’t put her good glasses in it and I could see four of them in various places around the kitchen. “There’s no sign of him out at the lake. Or anywhere else for that matter.”

“Kath, you don’t think Ira had anything to do with the death of Marcus’s friend, do you?” She turned and peeked at the pizza through the oven window. For Maggie, pizza-making was as much an art as collage or painting.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Not deliberately, but maybe by accident.”

Mags shook her head emphatically. “Ira doesn’t have that kind of energy.”

Roma gave me a look. Maggie was a very spiritual person. I’d heard her make that kind of comment about someone before. And in my experience she was usually pretty accurate in her assessment of people.

“Should I set a place for Brady?” Roma asked.

I rinsed my cloth and went to wipe the table for her. She smiled a thank-you.

Maggie had picked up a plastic spatula and was scraping at some bits of dough dried to the granite countertop. “He has a meeting. He’ll be here later.”

Roma finished setting the table and helped Maggie scrape dishes and load the dishwasher. I washed all the glasses and Maggie’s big saucepot, and the kitchen was pretty much cleaned up by the time the oven timer beeped.

Maggie reached for her oven mitts and peered through the window in the oven door. “They look like they’re done,” she said. She tipped her head in the direction of the counter by the sink. “Kath, would you grab the platter for me?”

The pizza was delicious as always—sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes and chewy mozzarella on a thick crust with just a hint of olive oil and a dusting of cornmeal on the bottom. As good as the pizza I’d had at the hotel with Simon had been, this was better. The resolution I’d made to just have one slice was very quickly broken.

Like we usually did, we moved into the living room for dessert. Roma had made lemon pudding.

“This is really good,” I said, scraping the bottom of my bowl.

Roma smiled. “The recipe is easy. I’ll e-mail it to you.”

“There’s more,” Maggie said. She got to her feet, took the small glass dish from my hand and walked over to the kitchen. “Roma, what about you?” she asked.

Roma shook her head, “I’m good, thanks.”

Maggie came back with more pudding for both of us, handed me my dish and sat down again, stretching her long legs onto the footstool.

“What happens now as far as the investigation goes into the death of Marcus’s friend?” Roma asked. “Do the police have any suspects other than Marcus—which is ridiculous, by the way?”

“They’re looking for Ira; at least I assume they are. And Hope has been doing what she can.”

Maggie licked her spoon and gestured at me with it. “Marcus’s friend, is her brother Dominic McAllister by any chance?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s kind of odd,” she said. I waited for her to explain but she ate another spoonful of pudding instead.

Roma glanced at me and smiled. “Odd how?” she asked.

“Remember last year when that group of artists in Minneapolis wanted to buy the old shoe factory and turn it into studio space with a café on the main floor? They were going to reinforce the roof and put solar panels up there and a garden so the building would be completely self-sufficient.”

“I remember that,” I said. “But it didn’t work out. The building was torn down and some developer is building a condo high-rise.” I looked at my bowl, wondering where exactly my second serving of pudding had disappeared to.

“Not some developer,” Maggie said. “Dominic McAllister.”

“So his sister’s an ardent environmentalist and he’s not,” Roma said.

Maggie nodded. “Like I said, odd.”

I heard a noise behind us then and a voice called, “Hello.”

Brady.

“C’mon up,” Maggie called. She turned in the direction of the stairs. Her smile got a little wider.

Brady Chapman had his father’s smile and the same strong arms and huge hands. He’d started to go gray very early but the salt-and-pepper hair didn’t make him look old at all. He wore it short and spiked a bit on top.

Maggie got up and took his jacket from him and I noticed the smile that passed between them. Even though she kept insisting the relationship with Brady wasn’t serious I could see that it seemed to be heading in that direction.

“How was your meeting?” she asked.

“Long but worth it, I think.” He smiled at Roma and me. “How was the pizza?”

“Wonderful as always,” Roma said. “We saved you a piece.” Her eyes darted in my direction. “We did, didn’t we?”

“I made two,” Maggie said.

Brady dropped onto the arm of Roma’s chair. He looked over at me. “Maggie said you wanted to ask me about Elliot Gordon?”

I’d told Maggie and Roma about Marcus’s dad arriving the night before while we were eating. “He showed up on my doorstep last night.”

One eyebrow went up but Brady didn’t say anything.

“I really do believe he wants to help Marcus and I don’t think he’s leaving any time soon.” I stopped. Now that Brady was here I wasn’t sure how to continue. It seemed petty to say I wasn’t sure if I could trust him. But it seemed as though Brady could read my mind.

“You want to know if you should give him all your trust.” It was a nicer way of expressing my reservations.

“Yes.”

Brady made a fist with one hand and cupped it with the other. “I really only know Elliot by reputation. I don’t know him personally and I’ve never faced him in court, so keep in mind what I’m telling you is secondhand.”

I nodded, leaning forward a little and propping my elbow on the arm of the sofa. “He argued a case in front of the Supreme Court when he was only twenty-eight and won against a far more experienced and seasoned litigator.”

“Wow,” Roma whispered.

“We studied the case when I was in law school. My professor said Elliot was a cross between F. Lee Bailey and Johnnie Cochran with some Perry Mason thrown in.”

I remembered the man’s somewhat melodramatic arrival at Eric’s Place. The description seemed accurate from what I’d seen so far.

“So he’s good at what he does?”

“Very good,” Brady said. I noticed Maggie was leaning against him, although I wasn’t sure she was aware of that. “He also has a reputation for stepping over or on people who get in his way.”

I nodded.

“Has this helped at all?” he asked.

“It has,” I said. “Thanks.”