Kelly, Sofie - Sleight of Paw

Out in the yard I took a deep breath of the frosty night air. The stars really did seem to sparkle more out here. We stood by Harry’s truck.

“How long have you known?” I asked.

“I figured it out about a year or so back,” he said. “I know about the baby, too. I suppose you think it’s strange I’m not angry.”

“None of my business,” I said. “Even though I do seem to be poking my nose in it.”

He smiled for a second, then his face grew serious again. “Kathleen, my mother died by inches. She was a beautiful, capable woman who shrank into nothing. And she loved my father fiercely.” He laughed. “That may seem like a strange word to describe it, but that’s how it was. If she’d been herself . . . Well, he didn’t see any other woman when my mother was in the room.”

Harry looked up at the sky again, filled with stars so far away there was no warmth in them for us. “My mother was gone long before she died, and I can promise you that she would never have begrudged the old man a little love.” He stumbled over the last word.

“As far as I can tell, whatever Agatha had about the baby has disappeared,” I said. “But if I find anything, I promise you I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m sorry Ruby got caught up in all of this. If I can do anything, you’ll call me?”

“I will.”

We got in the truck and as I turned to fasten my seat belt, I caught sight of another old vehicle I knew. “Harry, what’s Ruby’s truck doing here?” I asked. “I thought the police had it.”

“What do you mean, Ruby’s truck?”

“There.” I pointed to it, parked next to his workshop.

“That’s not Ruby’s truck,” he said, putting on his own seat belt. “That’s an old truck I mostly use around here and as backup for the plow.”

“It looks just like Ruby’s truck,” I said. As he turned I got an even better look. The old Ford was the twin of Ruby’s vehicle.

“Well, it is pretty much the same truck,” he said as we started down the long driveway.

“What am I missing?” I asked.

Harry smiled as he reached to adjust the heater. “Years ago one of the car dealers in Red Wing got a half dozen identical trucks from some fleet order that fell through. They were good basic trucks and the price was very good. I bought that one. It’s got a hundred and fifty-three thousand miles on it, and it’s still running.”

“A hundred and fifty-three thousand?”

He nodded. “I’ve cannibalized a couple of junk trucks over the years to work on it and bought a few generic parts, but it’s mostly been a damn good vehicle.”

My mind was racing. Maybe that piece of glass hadn’t come from Ruby’s truck after all. “Are the other five trucks still on the road?”

“Well, Ruby’s,” Harry said. “Roma was the original owner of that one. Sam wrecked his—must be a couple of years ago. I think the other three are out there somewhere.”

“They all look the same?”

“Same model, same style, same paint job. Although I can’t guarantee the paint hasn’t changed over the years.”

Ruby’s truck had a broken headlight. Glass from the same kind of light had been caught in my pant cuff. And what had Mary said? Something about paint fragments matching the paint on Ruby’s truck? All five trucks would’ve had the same original paint job.

Harry pulled into my driveway and the motion-sensor light came on.

“Thank you for everything,” I said.

“Ruby wouldn’t hurt anyone,” he said. “I hope you find something. Good luck.”

I smiled. “I think you just may have given me some.”

21

Hercules was waiting on the porch; Owen was in the kitchen by the door. They trailed me as I hung up my coat and set my mittens by the heat vent.

“Give me a minute,” I told them.

I washed my hands, put bread in the toaster and a cup of milk in the microwave. Finally, I settled at the table with a cup of hot chocolate and a piece of peanut butter toast. Both cats positioned themselves directly in front of my feet, as much for a bite of toast as for information.

“I might have something that can help Ruby,” I said. Two sets of ears twitched.

I explained about the trucks. “Ruby has one. Harry has one. One’s been junked. And there are three others—three identical old trucks. That piece of glass came from a truck like Ruby’s. Like Ruby’s. Not necessarily hers.”

I bent to give each cat a bit of toast. It made sense. There were other trucks like that truck. Maybe the glass came from one of them.

Hercules looked up at me. “The headlights were okay on the truck at Harry’s,” I said. “I checked.” With that he bent his head and began licking the peanut butter.

“We have to find out where the other trucks are.” I held up a hand even though no one was meowing any objections. “And yes, I know it’s a long shot, but it’s all we have right now to help Ruby.”

Owen, who had finished eating, walked over to the refrigerator and meowed. “Are you still hungry?” I asked. He dipped his head and put a paw over his nose, cat for “You are so dense.” Okay, so he wanted to draw my attention to something on the fridge door.

I got up and walked over. “What is it? This?” I pointed at the Winterfest schedule. Owen’s response was to look under the fridge. I took that as a no. “Well it can’t be this.” I gestured to a photo of Sara and Ethan mugging for the camera. Owen didn’t even look up.

The volunteer schedule for Wisteria Hill was stuck to the fridge with a gingerbread-man magnet.

“This?” I asked. Owen meowed his approval.

It was like playing charades with someone who didn’t speak English. “Well, obviously you don’t mean Wisteria Hill,” I said, walking back to the table with the sheet of paper.

“Everett? No.” That didn’t even get a reaction. “Not Marcus?”

Owen tipped his head to one side as though he was considering the idea.

“I don’t think he’s going to help. He arrested Ruby. He thinks she’s guilty.”

I broke off another piece of toast and held it out to Owen, who sprang across the room like it was a catnip chicken. I gave another bite to Hercules, too. “I don’t see Marcus helping us look for the killer when he thinks he’s already found her.” I stared at the sheet of paper. “Roma,” I said slowly.

Both cats murped at the same time. Although Owen’s was more of a mumble, since he had peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“She knows everyone in town. She had one of the trucks. She wants to help Ruby.” I looked at the boys. “Very good idea.”

I headed for the phone. Roma answered on the fifth ring. She sounded distracted.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, I, uh . . . no,” she said. “You didn’t. Are the cats okay?”

It didn’t seem like a good idea to tell her Owen was sitting right in front of me, trying to get peanut butter off of his whiskers, so all I said was “Yes.”

“Good.”

“I need your help with something that might help me find who really killed Agatha.”

“What do you need?” she asked, her voice all business now.

I explained what Harry had told me about the trucks. “Any chance you could help me find out where the other three are?”

“I think so,” she said. “I may know where one of them is, and I’ll ask around about the other two. Give me a day or so.”

I thanked her and hung up. I went back to the kitchen with Owen on my heels. We’d eaten all the toast, and what was left of my hot chocolate was now cold.

I put the feeding schedule for the Wisteria Hill cats back on the fridge. I could feel Owen and Hercules staring at me. I turned around to see them sitting like a couple of statues, one pair of green eyes and one pair of gold eyes locked on me.