Kelly, Sofie - Sleight of Paw

“Yeah, I vaguely remember some kind of feeling like that,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. I drank my coffee and thought about Andrew, who I’d left back in Boston when I left everything else. Andrew with his blue eyes, broad shoulders and great laugh. Andrew, who went on a two-week fishing trip after we’d had a fight and came back married to someone else.

I blew out a breath and blew away the memory. “Who’s Ruby seeing?”

“His name is Justin. He was a counselor at an alternative school in Minneapolis. Now he’s working on some kind of project to build a wilderness camp for troubled kids.”

“I can’t picture Ruby getting all dewy-eyed over a guy.” Ruby was funny and unconventional. Her hair changed color about every two weeks, plus she had more piercings than anyone I’ve ever seen.

Maggie leaned over to look out the window again. “Where is—” She didn’t finish the thought because the door to the restaurant flew open and a blast of cold air blew over my back. Mags turned from the window, her eyes widened and she set her cup blindly on the table.

Ruby stood in the doorway, flakes of snow swirling around her. Her hair, hot pink this week, was wind tossed, her scarf was twisted and her face was ashen.

“Somebody help me,” she said, closing her eyes for a second.

I stood up. “What’s wrong?”

She held out both hands helplessly and looked over her shoulder out the door. “I think she’s . . .” She shook her head. “She’s in the alley. She’s not moving.”

Everyone was staring at Ruby but no one was moving. I pulled on my coat. “Ruby, who’s in the alley?” I said, crossing to the door. “Show me.”

She nodded and hurried down the sidewalk, half running, half stumbling. It was slippery and the snow had drifted over the pavement in places.

Ruby led the way into the alley two doors down from the café, and stopped so suddenly I banged into her. She pointed at something with a trembling hand. I put my own hand on her shoulder. “Stay right here,” I said. I could see tire tracks in the dusting of snow and crumpled fast-food wrappers.

There was something lying farther down the alley. A bag of garbage, I told myself as I eased closer, my heart pounding. A cat. An injured dog. My hands were shaking and I clenched them tightly in my heavy mittens. Then I stopped, because I could see what was on the ground. It wasn’t a bag of garbage or a dog that had been hurt. It was a red-and-black-plaid mohair coat covered with a dusting of snow. It was Agatha Shepherd.

And she was dead.

4

Agatha lay partly on her stomach. I tried to stay in Ruby’s footprints as I reached the body. It seemed pretty clear, based on the waxy appearance of Agatha’s skin and the fact that she wasn’t moving, that she wasn’t alive, but still I felt I had to check.

I crouched in the snow and pulled off one mitten. Agatha’s eyes were closed. I felt for a pulse at her neck. Nothing.

I closed my eyes for a second, silently sending up a prayer that whatever had caused the woman to die had been swift and painless. Then I got to my feet and turned back to Ruby. Maggie was beside her, one arm around Ruby’s rigid shoulders. I shook my head, and Ruby sagged against Maggie.

My phone was in my briefcase back in the restaurant, I realized. “Do you have your phone?” I called to Maggie.

She pulled it out of her pocket and held it up.

“Call nine-one-one.”

Maggie gave Ruby’s shoulder a squeeze, took a few steps away from her and flipped the phone open. Ruby started back toward the body, and I moved to intercept her.

“Kathleen, please, can you help Agatha?” she said, gesturing at the body with a shaking hand.

I caught her by both arms and turned her away. “Maggie’s getting help,” I said.

“I can’t leave her there covered in snow,” Ruby stammered, lips quivering.

I started walking back toward Maggie. There were several people at the mouth of the alley. Maggie had her free arm extended, making it clear no one should go any farther.

“The police are on their way, Ruby,” I said gently.

She looked at me as though the words had washed over her without registering. “I have a blanket in the truck,” she said, swiping at her face. “I’ll just . . . I’ll just go . . . go get it so we can cover her up.” She started to pull away from me, and I tightened my grip on her arm.

“Ruby, we can’t do that.”

She looked at me, stricken, tears tracing a track down each cheek. “I can’t . . . I can’t just leave her . . . there, like a . . . like nothing, covered in snow.”

I swallowed a couple of times. “I know,” I said. “But we can’t touch anything, not more than we already have.”

Ruby took a shaky breath.

“Did you move the . . . Agatha?” I asked. “Did you pick anything up?”

She shook her head. “I was cutting through the alley because I knew I was late and I’d had to park around the corner. When I saw her and realized . . . it was Agatha, I just ran for help. I didn’t . . . I didn’t touch anything.” She looked back over her shoulder. “Kathleen, are you sure she’s . . . ?” She didn’t finish the sentence, and I hated having to be the one to destroy that faint spark of hope in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Ruby. She is,” I said softly.

She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. The hand looked raw and red in the icy air.

Maggie half turned as we reached her. “They’re on their way,” she said.

I looked from Mags to Ruby and inclined my head in the direction of the café.

“Can you manage?” Maggie asked, her voice just above a whisper, realizing what I wanted.

“Police will be here any minute.”

She nodded and moved to circle Ruby in a hug. “C’mon, Ruby. It’s freezing. Let’s go to Eric’s and get some tea.”

Ruby hesitated. “I should stay,” she began.

“I’ll stay,” I said. “I promise I won’t leave until the police get here.”

Ruby looked down the alley again. Her whole body was shaking from shock and the cold.

“There isn’t anything you can do for Agatha,” I said. “You’re freezing. Go with Maggie.”

“Okay,” she said softly.

Maggie led her away, and I stayed at the mouth of the alley, listening for sirens, my hands jammed in my pockets, shifting from one foot to the other, partly to stay warm and partly to keep the creeping sense of dread I was feeling under control.

It was only a few minutes more when the first patrol car arrived and parked, nose angled across the sidewalk. I recognized the officer who got out. He’d taken me to be fingerprinted after I’d found Gregor Easton’s body last summer. He’d also been in the library a lot lately, reading everything we had about the law and law school.

I turned and pointed down the narrow passage. “She’s down there.”

He nodded. “Please wait here, Ms. Paulson,” he said.

I watched him make his way carefully back to Agatha’s body. Just as I had, he bent to check for a pulse.

“Good morning, Kathleen,” a voice said behind me.

I swung around so quickly I almost lost my balance on the icy pavement. Marcus Gordon caught my arm to steady me. “Careful.”

I took a step backward and regained my footing. “Thank you,” I said. I tipped my head back to look at him. He seemed bigger than usual in his heavy black parka and black knitted hat. His wavy, dark hair was a bit longer these days—maybe because it was winter?

“What happened?’ ” he asked, his tone conversational, as though we’d just bumped in to each other on the sidewalk and were discussing all the snow. I knew from experience that once he got immersed in a case, it would be his complete focus and he’d be all business.