Kelly, Sofie - Sleight of Paw

“You are not,” I said.

He put the sugar in his coffee, stirred and then took a sip. “Mmmm, that’s good coffee.”

“Thank Abigail.” I told him. “She made it.”

“I will,” he said.

I took a drink from my own cup. Harrison was right. It was good coffee. I shifted sideways, watching as he settled himself a little more comfortably in the chair. Some inner resilience had taken over.

Balancing the cup on the arm of the chair, he looked at me. “Are you going to ask me about Agatha?” he said.

I wasn’t really surprised by the question. “It’s not any of my business.”

“Not a lot of secrets in a small place like this.”

I had to smile at that. Sometimes it was annoying how quickly news spread through Mayville. On the other hand, I was growing to like the fact that people knew me, that I was starting to belong.

The old man studied his left hand for a long moment, and I wondered what he was really seeing—some image from the past? Abruptly, he looked up at me again. “You probably figured out that I knew Agatha pretty well.”

The fact that they had been standing on the street in the cold, arguing, did make it pretty clear that Harry and Agatha had been more than casual acquaintances. I remembered Oren saying Harry had coached the juniorhigh hockey team.

“You were friends,” I said.

He took another sip of his coffee. “Years ago, yes. We had a falling-out. We hadn’t spoken in years.”

Okay, I wasn’t expecting that.

“You’re surprised,” he said.

I twisted the mug in my hands. “A little,” I admitted. He didn’t seem the type to stay angry for so long.

“I was stubborn. She was stubborn.” There was regret on his face and sadness, too.

“Is that what you were angry about last night?” I asked. “That same falling-out?”

His expression changed. For a moment it softened. “I can’t tell you what we were arguing about. I can tell you it had nothing to do with her dying.”

I took a long drink from my coffee while I figured out what to say next. “Harry, the police are going to hear about that argument you had with Agatha,” I said finally. “I probably wasn’t the only person who saw you two.”

His jaw tightened. “Kathleen, how did she die?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

He stared at me intently. “There’s something you’re not saying. Don’t humor me because I’m an old man.”

I swallowed and took a moment to set my cup back on the tray. “Agatha was found in the alley that runs behind the back of the buildings on Main Street.”

“Was it her heart, or did she fall?”

I leaned forward in the chair. “I don’t know, Harry. Really, I don’t.”

“But you think you know.”

“I only saw her long enough to see for certain that she was . . . gone.”

“Good Lord,” he muttered. “You think someone . . . I didn’t kill Agatha.”

I reached out a hand to him. “Harry, I know that,” I said. “Maybe . . .” I stopped. I’d been going to say that maybe Agatha had had a stroke. But I didn’t really believe that. I leaned an elbow on the arm of the chair.

“Harry, the police are going to have questions. It’s their job. Detective Gordon is investigating Agatha’s death. He has integrity. Whatever you tell him won’t get spread out around town.”

Harrison shook his head. “I know you mean well, Kathleen,” he said, edging forward in the chair so he could set his own cup on the tray. “But I gave my word and that still means something to me. Agatha isn’t here to release me from that promise, so I intend to honor it.”

I pressed my lips together and didn’t say anything.

“I suppose it seems old-fashioned to you.”

It seemed foolhardy to me, but I didn’t say that. “I didn’t know Agatha,” I said. “But from what I’ve heard, she cared about the people close to her. Roma told me about the kids she helped, how she changed their lives.”

He smiled. “It’s true. She wouldn’t give up on a kid. She was like a dog with a bone.”

“So would she want you to maybe get into trouble with the police because of a promise you made to her? Especially when she isn’t here?”

He slowly shook his head. “It’s not the same thing. Agatha’s word was her bond. I may not have always liked that, but I will honor it.”

I wasn’t going to change his mind. “Then I respect your decision,” I said.

“You still think I’m wrong,” he countered.

“I think you have to do what you think is right.” I reached over and patted his hand. “And I am sorry about Agatha. Truly.”

His eyes were sad again. “The last words we had were angry. I do regret that. Maybe that’s why I feel I have to keep my word to her. I can’t take back what I said.”

Just then there was a sound behind us. I turned. Young Harry was standing there. “Time to go,” he said.

The old man struggled to his feet. I hovered in case he needed any help, but he waved me away. He struggled into his heavy coat, and handed me his cane while he pulled on his hat. “Thank you for the coffee and conversation,” he said.

I smiled. “You’re welcome.” I handed him back his cane. He started for the door.

“Thanks, Kathleen,” Harry Junior said.

“Anytime. I enjoyed the visit,” I said.

Once they were gone I took the tray upstairs. By lunchtime I’d finished the final report on the refurbishment of the library and e-mailed it over to Everett Henderson’s secretary, Lita. Everett had funded the library renovations as a gift to the town.

Kate knocked on my open door midmorning. She was wearing purple-and-black striped leggings with a long purple sweater and black high-tops that she’d jazzed up with glued-on rhinestones. She had an evaluation sheet from her teacher for me to fill out. “You can fax it back to the school,” she said.

I promised I’d get the paperwork to her teacher by the end of the day. I had nothing but positive things to say about her and the work-study program. Kate worked hard, showed up early and was great with the little ones who came to story time. She’d even persuaded me to let her put a camera in the library storage room to shoot pictures of the riverfront for a school art project.

I covered the front desk while Abigail took her lunch, checking out piles of picture books for the four-year-olds who had been at story time. Susan came in about twelve thirty. When she caught sight of me at the desk, for a second she looked . . . guilty? This was the first time she’d missed work, except for a day in the fall when both of the twins had fallen out of the same tree on the same day.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” she said, standing in front of the desk, twisting her wedding ring around her finger.

“That’s okay,” I said, smiling so she’d see I meant it. “How’s Eric?”

“Eric?” She swallowed a couple of times. “Oh, he’s—he’s fine. This didn’t have anything to do with him.” She made an elaborate shrug. “The twins . . . They ate something they shouldn’t have.”

“Oh,” I said. “Do you want to take the rest of the day? Mary’s here and I could get her to stay.”

Susan shook her head, which her set her topknot bobbing. Usually Susan had something stuck in it—a chopstick, a pencil, a swizzle stick—but today it looked as if she’d just grabbed an elastic and quickly piled her hair on her head. A few curls were loose around her face.

“It’s okay, really. The boys are good.” She smiled, but it was forced. “You know how kids are, projectile vomiting one minute and then tearing up the house the next.”

She hesitated for a second. I’d never seen her so fidgety. “So I’ll just get rid of my stuff,” she said. “Do you want me to put the new magazines out?”