Kelly, Sofie - Sleight of Paw

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned. “Look,” he said. “I’m sorry that Ruby was arrested. And for the record, I don’t think she had anything to do with Agatha’s death. But neither did I.” He pulled a hand over the back of his head and his eyes slid off my face. “Is that what you wanted to know, Kathleen?”

Since he was being direct, there was no reason for me not to be the same. “The night she died Agatha was in here. She was carrying an envelope,” I said. “It was an old brown envelope with a metal tab closure, probably from a report card.”

“If you say so.”

“You argued with her about it.”

“I didn’t argue with Agatha about anything.” His body language said different. He shifted uneasily from one foot to another.

“You weren’t the only one,” I said. “It had to mean something.”

“We didn’t argue,” he said again.

“Call it a discussion, then. Call it whatever you want. I think whatever was inside the envelope might have something to do with Agatha’s death. And now, very conveniently for someone, it’s disappeared.”

Eric looked me in the eye then. “Look, Kathleen. I don’t know what you think you saw, but Agatha and I didn’t fight over an old envelope or whatever might or might not have been inside. You misunderstood what you saw.” He looked away just a little too quickly.

I took a couple of steps sideways, trying to turn Eric away from his office door, and waited, hoping the silence would nudge him into saying more.

“After Agatha had that stroke, she got argumentative over things that didn’t matter, like how many packets of mayo I gave her with her sandwich.”

I shook my head ever so slightly. I knew what I’d seen. Eric hadn’t been arguing with the old woman over mayonnaise.

“And she started collecting things—junk, really—things she tore out of the newspaper, things she found around town.”

I thought of the collection in the canvas bag—the gloves, the postcard. Maybe he was right. Then I remembered how protective Agatha had been about that brown envelope. She hadn’t felt the same way about the bag and its contents because she’d left it behind at the community center. And no matter what Eric was saying now, he had argued with her about that envelope.

Eric crossed his arms and ran one hand up and down his upper arm. “Kathleen, no offense, but you’re not from here, and you haven’t known us that long. You didn’t know Agatha at all.”

You’re not one of us. I’d heard that before. It used to make me feel left out, but this time all I felt was angry. Eric was lying; that was clear by the way he couldn’t look at me for more than a few seconds at a time. He was using the fact that I wasn’t Mayville born and bred to avoid being honest with me.

I felt a faint change in the air, in the energy of a small hallway.

Hercules.

Eric didn’t seem to notice. He was turned away from the office, and over his shoulder I saw Hercules come through the door. The cat blinked, looked around and then disappeared into the bag.

“You’re right,” I said to Eric, my heart pounding with relief. “I haven’t been here nearly long enough to know everyone. But I do know Ruby didn’t kill Agatha and she doesn’t deserve what’s happening to her.” I moved behind him and grabbed the strap of the bag.

“Please think about that, Eric,” I said. I walked back to the table, setting the messenger bag on my chair. “You are in deep, deep trouble,” I whispered to the cat. I could see one green eye watching me through the top mesh panel.

Jaeger had my order ready. I paid and walked back to the library with Hercules slung securely over my shoulder and my hand on top of the bag.

Inside my office with the door closed, I let Hercules out.

“I can’t believe you did that,” I said, pulling off my coat and hat. “Twice in the same morning. How would I have explained why I had a cat in Eric’s restaurant? Huh?”

His response was to poke the take-out bag with a paw. “I’m not surprised you’re hungry,” I said, pulling out the toasted English muffin sandwich and fishing out some of the egg for him. “The life of a cat burglar will do that to you.”

I ate a bite of the muffin, then pulled out a strip of crispy bacon. Hercules spit a piece of paper at me, snatched the bacon from my fingers and jumped to the floor in one smooth motion.

“Hey!” I yelled. He was already under my desk.

I bent down and peered underneath in time to see the last bit of bacon disappear into his mouth. “This isn’t a funny,” I said. “No sardines for you for the rest of the week.”

He licked his lips. The piece of paper he had swiped from Eric’s office had fallen on the floor. I picked it up, straightened it and smoothed it flat on the desktop. There was a rushing sound in my head, like I’d held a seashell up to my ear.

The piece of paper was the top part of an envelope.

An old brown report-card envelope.

18

Idropped into the closest chair, trying to make sense out of something that wasn’t making any sense at all.

Agatha had been carrying around an old brown envelope. That envelope had disappeared just before or just after her death. Eric claimed he knew nothing about it.

Except Hercules had found a piece of the same kind of envelope in Eric’s office. The same kind of envelope, or a piece of the envelope Agatha had been carrying around?

No matter what Eric said, I was certain of one thing: Whatever had been inside that envelope was important. Important enough that Eric would lie and Old Harry would stay silent.

Hercules poked his head out from under the desk. “Come on out,” I said. “I’m not mad.” I put the remaining slice of bacon and the rest of the egg on the floor on the waxed-paper sandwich wrapper. I kept the English muffin for myself.

So now what? I didn’t know. What I did know was that I knew very little about Agatha Shepherd. Maybe if I learned more about the woman, I’d be able to figure out what secret she’d been holding on to so tightly.

I looked at my watch. I had just enough time to get Hercules home and come back. I wasn’t looked forward to another trip up and down the hill.

I swallowed the last of my coffee. “Come on, Fuzz Face,” I said. I picked up the cat and popped him in the bag yet again. I fished the cinnamon roll I’d gotten for Owen out of the paper take-out bag.

I was getting good at dressing for the cold. We were out on the sidewalk in less than five minutes. As I headed to the corner, the strap of the messenger bag securely across my body, I thought for maybe the hundredth time this winter that I really needed a car. Hiking all over the place in a heavy parka and boots was wearing me out.

As I started up Mountain Road, Harry Taylor’s truck pulled up beside me. Harry leaned over and pointed at the empty seat beside him. I couldn’t help wondering if his driving by again was planned or a coincidence. I decided I didn’t care. It was cold. I nodded.

“What are you doing out so early?” he asked as I got in.

“I was at Ruby’s with Rebecca,” I said, as Harry pulled away from the curb.

“I heard she was arrested,” he said, his eyes straight ahead.

“She didn’t kill Agatha.” I was starting to sound like a broken record—or should that be CD? “I’m afraid the police will stop looking for the person who really did, though.”

“Do you think the old man knows something?” Harry asked.

I was surprised by his bluntness, so I chose my words carefully. “I think he might.”

Harry glanced over at me. “Like what?”

I told him about the envelope and how his father and Agatha seemed to have had words about whatever was in it. I felt bad about essentially telling on Harry Senior, but I felt worse about Ruby being in custody. “The envelope’s missing,” I said. “That’s way too much of a coincidence for me.”