Kelly, Sofie - Sleight of Paw

I dug my knuckles into the knot in my right thigh. If I hadn’t been holding on to Marcus, I would have fallen over. I couldn’t help thinking that Lucy was doing this on purpose, knowing we’d have to wait, huddled on the floor by the door until she was finished. From time to time she’d look our way.

Finally she gave one last swipe of her face with her paw. She stretched again and slowly made her way across the floor of the carriage house, back to the shelters. She had the same graceful stride as a lion on a dusty African savannah, and a touch of the same menace.

We could finally get to our feet. I shifted my weight from one leg to the other to stretch out the kinks. Marcus walked over to Lucy’s gift. He peered at it and gave the dead thing a push with his toe.

“I think it’s just a field mouse,” I said. He looked at me, surprised. Had he thought I was going to go all girly on him and scream?

“My parents did a lot of summer theater and every theater had more than just actors in it,” I said.

“How nice.” He moved around the dead mouse to get the second water jug.

“One summer they did Shakespeare in the park, just at dusk. My mother thought she was sharing a changing area—a tent—with my father.” I started to laugh at the memory. “Turns out it was a raccoon, after the ingénue’s secret stash of peanut butter cups.”

“Oh, come on. You’re kidding.”

“No.” I couldn’t keep the laughter from bubbling over. “I don’t know who was more surprised, my mother or the poor raccoon. There was a prop sword someone had left behind in the tent. She went after the raccoon with it. He wasn’t going to leave those peanut butter cups without a fight.”

Marcus was laughing now, arms crossed over his chest. It was easy to like him when he was just being himself. “She chased him, at sword-point, out of the tent and across the grass, right in front of the staging area. And keep in mind she was wearing a lace-up corset and petticoats.” I was laughing so hard that I was shaking.

“So what happened?”

“She got the best review of the entire two-week festival. No one knew it wasn’t part of the play.”

We worked quickly to clean up the feeding station. I gathered the dishes and picked up a couple of pieces of dropped food. Marcus put out more fresh water. I looked around the carriage house one last time. Everything else seemed okay.

“Ready to head back?” Marcus asked.

I nodded and picked up the bag with the food and the dirty dishes. “What about that?” I asked when we came level with the dead rodent.

Marcus made a face. “I don’t think we should leave it here. I don’t want to attract any other animals.” He pulled his hat back on. “I have a shovel in the car. I can at least put it outside, away from the building.”

“Good idea,” I said.

We walked to the car. The sun was stretching up over the trees. I put the bag in the back. Marcus opened the front passenger’s door for me and took a small shovel from the rear.

“Be right back,” he said.

I got in the car and peeled off my hat and mittens. In the cup holder between the seats was a pump bottle of hand sanitizer. I used it to clean my hands. It left them smelling faintly of lemons.

Something was digging into my hip. I felt in my pocket. It was Roma’s roll of duct tape. I had to remember to give that back to her.

I unscrewed the thermos top. There was a second cup inside the top, like a nested Russian doll. I kept it out for Marcus.

After a few minutes he was back. He set the shovel in the back and closed the hatch. Then he got in the front seat. “Done,” he said, reaching for the hand cleaner. He looked at my cup. “Coffee?” he asked hopefully.

“Sorry,” I said. “Hot cocoa. Would you like some?”

“Almost as good. I’d love some, please.”

I poured him a cup and handed it carefully over to him.

He took a sip. “Mmmm, that’s good,” he said, his eyes half closed in pleasure at the warmth and taste. “Old family recipe?”

I laughed. “No.”

He gave me two eyebrows raised in surprise.

“My mother knows how to make only three things: lemonade, baking-powder biscuits and toast. All my dad can make is a martini.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. And the toast thing is iffy.”

“So how did you learn to cook?”

I shrugged. “How else? The library, and a very nice woman in South Carolina who owned a little theater right on the coast. She taught me the secret to the best chocolate cake.”

He smiled at me over the top of his cup. “Which is?”

I laughed. “I’m not telling you. It won’t be a secret anymore.”

“You at least have to make one sometime and let me taste it.”

“Deal,” I said.

He finished the cocoa and handed me the empty cup.

“Would you like some more?”

“No, thanks,” he said, fishing in his pocket for the car keys. “So, what’s the martini like?”

“Martini?” Then I realized what he meant. “Good, as far as I know. I’m not a martini connoisseur, but my friend Lise is and she likes them.”

He found the keys then and reached for his seat belt. Mine was already fastened. I finished my cocoa and put the thermos back together. Marcus started the SUV.

“Home, or is there somewhere I can drop you?”

“Home, please,” I said. “I don’t go to the library until lunchtime.”

He backed up the car so we could drive out. “Are you closing the library early because of Winterfest?” he asked.

I nodded. “Lita said everyone will be at the supper at the community center.”

“She’s right,” he said, as we eased our way down the rutted, frozen driveway. “The food is terrific, by the way.”

I grinned. “I believe you. I’ve had Mary’s apple pie.”

“I’m looking forward to having a slice or two myself tonight.”

This was my opening. “Will you be able to make it?” I asked. “Or will the case keep you too busy?”

“You mean Mrs. Shepherd’s death?” He slowed to a crawl as we lurched over a particularly large frost heave. “I should be able to make it.” He kept his eyes forward, but I noticed a tiny twitching muscle in his cheek.

Change of plans. Subtlety wasn’t going to work. “Was she hit by a car?” I asked. Based on what I’d seen, I was still convinced Agatha hadn’t died from natural causes.

“The autopsy isn’t until later this morning.”

That wasn’t a yes or no.

We were at the bottom of the driveway. Marcus stopped, the back end of the SUV slipping a little on the ice. “Why are you asking?” he said. “Is there something you didn’t tell me?”

“I told you everything that happened yesterday morning.” Just don’t ask me about the night before, I added silently.

We pulled onto the old highway. The sun was behind us, surprisingly warm on the back of my head. Marcus continued to watch the road. “Did you see anything any other time? The night before, for instance.”

How did he do that? It was as though he could read my thoughts. I pulled a ChapStick out of my pocket. My lips were suddenly dry and I needed to buy time.

I snapped the cap on the little tube and rolled it over my fingers and back again before I put it in my pocket. The movement caught his attention.

“How did you do that?”

“Excuse me?” I said.

“Flip that lip stuff over your fingers.”

I looked down at my hands. “Oh, that. It’s just the same as doing it with a quarter.”

He let out a breath. “And how do you know how to do it with quarter?”

I felt my cheeks getting warm. “Well, poker,” I said.

“Poker?”

“Uh-huh, a lot of poker games happen backstage. Crew, cast. I watched. I learned things.”