Kelly, Sofie - Sleight of Paw

“Because you’ve been doing so much to help me while I’ve been working on the display.”

“I climbed a ladder and adjusted a couple of lights.”

She held up a hand. “You did more than that,” she said. “How many times did you bring me supper? How many cups of tea did you make? How many times did you listen while I sat in your living room, going on and on about this project?”

I grinned and elbowed her. “You thought I was listening? I don’t even think Owen was listening.”

She stuck out her tongue. “Even so, I just wanted to say thank you. So let me. It’s beans and scalloped potatoes and pie, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t buy you a car.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thank you for the thank-you.” I looked around. There were at least a couple dozen people checking out Maggie’s display.

Maggie had spotted a pair of vacant chairs at one of the long tables. I threaded my way around the chairs and people, trying to keep up with her long legs. A lot of people smiled, said hello or raised a hand in greeting. I was surprised by how good it made me feel, especially after being in Agatha’s lonely house.

Mags was standing by the table she’d spotted, a hand on each of the chairs.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Take off your coat and sit down.”

I looked around. “How do we get our food?”

“It’s coming,” she said, setting her fuzzy teddy-bear coat over the back of the chair and pulling off her lime green hat.

I tipped my head toward the back wall. “You have fans,” I said.

She looked over her shoulder and then grinned at me.

The person to the right of Maggie leaned around her and smiled at us. His mouth was too full to say anything. It took a second for me to recognize Officer Craig in his street clothes.

I smiled back.

“How’s everything?” Maggie asked the pretty brunet on the other side of Officer Craig.

“Good,” she said.

“Your mom’s?” Maggie asked, pointing at what looked to be some kind of mustard pickle on the table in front of her.

The young woman nodded.

“Great,” Maggie said. “I bought three bottles of her pickles at the market last fall. They didn’t last three weeks.”

“I know. I ate all the jam she gave me. And when I tried to get another bottle she said I’d have to pay for it. And I picked half those berries.”

Just then a woman wearing a long white apron appeared. She was carrying two loaded plates. She set them, hot and steaming, in front of us. Behind her came a teenager, also apron clad, with two glasses of water.

They were the Kings, I realized, mother and daughter. Roma had been out at their place almost every week this winter, looking after the old—too old, it turned out—horse they’d bought for their daughter. I was guessing the teenager was the horse-loving daughter. The I ❤ HORSES T-shirt was a dead giveaway.

She gave me a shy smile and handed over one of the glasses and a napkin-wrapped roll of utensils.

I looked at the plate, unsure of where to start. There were baked beans fragrant with molasses and mustard, a thick slice of ham, crispy golden-topped scalloped potatoes, and a casserole of what looked like carrot and turnip.

I unrolled my napkin and picked up my fork. Maggie was already eating, making little murmurs of enjoyment. She sounded a lot like Hercules had when I’d given him the sardines.

I tried a bite of the casserole. “Oh, wow. This is good,” I said out loud. I took another bite. Did I taste just a hint of nutmeg? I couldn’t help a grunt of pleasure.

“You’re making me hungry,” a voice said behind me. Roma was standing between our table and the next, unwinding a fuzzy blue scarf from around her neck.

“Hi,” I said.

“Can I squeeze in next to you?” She looked around for space.

Maggie scraped her chair a little closer to Officer Craig, who didn’t seem to mind moving closer to his pretty girlfriend. I went in the other direction and then a chair seemed to materialize out of nowhere, handed over the tables to Roma, who smiled a thank-you and pushed into the space we made for her.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, pulling off her coat and putting it over the back of the chair. “I had to set a golden Lab’s leg.”

“What happened?”

“Hit by a car.” Roma shook her head in annoyance. “It’s slippery. If the dog’s running loose and meets a car, the car is the one that’s going to come out unhurt.” She pushed the sleeves of her sweater back. “Why don’t people understand that?”

Before I could say anything, the Kings were back with a drink and plate for Roma, steam rising from the food.

“Thanks,” Roma said.

“Are you alone?” Ella King asked with a sly smile. Roma gave her a puzzled look. “No, I’m with them,” she said, pointing from me to Maggie, who was eating like food was going out of style. Roma noticed the teenager then. “Hi, Taylor. How’s Horton?”

“He’s good,” the girl said. “Kind of stiff in the cold, though.”

“Yeah, me too these days,” Roma said. “I’ll be out the first of the week to see him.”

Taylor gave her a warm smile. “Thanks, Dr. Davidson,” she said.

Roma unrolled her napkin, placed it in her lap and picked up her fork.

“Horton?” I asked, grabbing my knife so I could cut a piece of ham.

“Her horse. Horton Hears a Who! Dr. Seuss. It’s Taylor’s favorite book.”

A woman I didn’t know passed in front of us in the aisle between our table and the next. “Hi, Roma,” she said, with a grin and an obvious wink.

Roma lifted a hand in hello. Her mouth was full.

The other woman looked around. “By yourself tonight?” Before Roma could say anything, the woman’s grin got bigger. “Yeah, playing hard to get is a good plan.”

Maggie kept her head over her plate and her eyes on her food, but her shoulders were heaving with laughter. It was clear the rumors about Roma and Eddie Sweeney were all over town.

I started on the scalloped potatoes and hoped I wouldn’t laugh, too.

Roma set down her fork and slid her chair back a bit. “Spill it,” she said.

I leaned over, trying to catch Maggie’s eye, but she kept them on her food, stuffing in more beans and shaking with laughter. Roma folded her arms. My food was getting cold and Maggie was letting me sink. Roma waited, staring expectantly at me.

“Well, there’s kind of a rumor going around that you’re . . . seeing someone.”

“Whom am I supposed to be seeing?”

I swallowed. Maggie was not going to rescue me. “Eddie.” I blurted.

“Eddie?” Roma said with a frown. “Eddie who?”

Maggie almost choked. Roma thumped her on the back a couple of times, then turned her attention back to me again. “Eddie who?” she repeated

“Eddie Sweeney,” I said staring down at my plate. If I looked at anyone I was going to laugh, too.

Her mouth fell open. “Eddie? The hockey player? Maggie’s mannequin?” Maggie looked up at last.

Roma glared at her. “This is all your fault.”

“How is it my fault?” Maggie asked, trying to look innocent and not laugh herself silly at the same time.

“I was driving your”—Roma gestured wildly with her hands—“creation around. And now people think I’m having a fling with the real Eddie. I’m old enough to be his”—she paused—“older sister, for heaven’s sake.”

“Since when do you care what people think?” I asked, wiping mustard from my chin.

“Since always,” she retorted.

Maggie lips were twitching. Trouble. “Tell you what,” she said. “When Winterfest is over, I’ll give you Eddie. Then you really will be a couple.”

Roma picked up her fork. She was trying to look mad, but I didn’t think she really was. I kept looking at her until she looked at me.