Sleight Of Paw Part 14

"Are you saying that because it's really what you think or because you've decided I've crossed the line into Wack-a-doodle Land?"

I waggled one hand at her. "About sixty-forty."

"I can live with that."

She turned her attention to the photo collages. The new lights were clear and natural, a lot more like outdoor sunlight than anything else. Maggie looked up at the ceiling.

"Would it help if I went up the ladder and you nitpicked over how the lights are positioned?"

"Yes." She smiled at me. Sometimes Maggie was like Owen and Hercules; sarcasm was totally wasted on her.

I moved the ladder about a foot to the left, checked to make sure it was steady and climbed up. For the next ten minutes or so I made miniscule adjustments to the lights until Maggie was satisfied.

"That's it," she said, holding out both hands. "I'm not touching anything else. I swear."

Rebecca came across the tile floor, beaming. "Maggie, this is fantastic," she said.

Maggie's cheeks flushed. "Thank you."

"And I love Roma's young man."

"Excuse me?" Maggie said.

Rebecca pointed at the dummy. "That's Eddie Sweeney, right? The hockey player Roma's seeing?"

"Roma's not dating Eddie Sweeney," Maggie said, looking at Rebecca like she had a second head.

"She's been driving around with him all over town."

Maggie looked at me. I looked at her. We both burst out laughing at the same time.

Rebecca looked at us like we were crazy.

"Yes, Roma was driving around town with Eddie," Maggie said, giggling. "But it was this Eddie." She pointed at the mannequin.

Rebecca looked at me. I nodded. "That's how we got him down here," Maggie explained, gesturing with both hands. "He wouldn't fit in my car, so we belted him into the front seat of Roma's SUV."

"And people thought it was the real Eddie," Rebecca said with a laugh.

"I guess we were invisible in the backseat," Maggie said softly to me.

I looked at my watch. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"No," she said, giving me a quick hug. "Go back to the library. I'm headed back to the studio. I'll meet you here about six o'clock."

"Okay," I said.

"Don't eat for the rest of the afternoon," Rebecca said. "They'll be lots and lots of food."

I got my coat and pulled on my hat. Then I headed down the stairs, cut across the lot and made my way to the corner. Waiting for a car to turn so I could cross the street, I noticed Marcus come out of Eric's. He paused on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, then made his way down two buildings and disappeared into the mouth of the alley.

I waited on the curb for a moment, but he didn't come back out.

This wasn't good. I just knew it wasn't good.

10.

We closed the library at five. Susan quickly bundled herself into her coat and boots and left. I pulled up my hood against the slight wind and started down the street toward the Stratton Theater.

It was a beautifully restored building-older than the library. Unfortunately, the first time I'd been inside I'd found a dead body. I'd been back to the theater for the summer music festival, for a couple of plays, a concert and a wonderful production of A Christmas Carol. My feelings about the old building were a lot happier now.

Agatha's little house was up a tiny side street just past the Stratton. Ruby was waiting at the end of the driveway, a shopping bag tucked under her arm. She smiled as I walked up to her. "Thanks for doing this."

"I don't mind," I said, giving her what I hoped was a rea.s.suring smile in return.

Someone had plowed the driveway to the tiny brick house and cleared the path and steps. I trailed behind Ruby. Squinting at the door, she felt for the keyhole. I took a step back to get out of the light.

The key turned in the lock. Ruby leaned her weight against the old wooden door. It stuck for a second, then groaned open. I slid my hand around the left side of the frame, feeling for a light switch.

A light came on and I could see into what looked to be the kitchen, up a few steps to the left. I followed Ruby up the stairs, leaving my snowy boots at the bottom.

The kitchen floor was green-and-blue speckled linoleum, very old and faded but spotless. The walls were pale green; the cupboards painted white. The table was a vintage chrome set, blue flowers on a white background circa the 1960s, I guessed.

Other than that there was nothing in the room.

Nothing. No cookie jar on the counter. No calendar on the wall or funny pictures stuck to the refrigerator. Maybe her son had cleared a lot of things out when Agatha went to the rehabilitation center after her stroke.

Ruby looked around the room, lips pressed together.

I touched her arm. "Let's see if we can find the bedroom."

She nodded but didn't speak. The little house was cold. Claire had said Agatha hadn't always been able to afford the heat. It was a wonder the pipes hadn't frozen.

A tiny hallway led out of the kitchen. An upright piano, dark chocolate brown, sat in a niche to the right. The room at the end of the hall looked like it could be Agatha's bedroom. I could see a bed made up with a white chenille bedspread.

Ruby walked slowly down the hall, looking at everything. Clearly she'd never been in the house before. As in the kitchen, there was nothing personal in the hall. The hardwood floor was bare; there was nothing on the walls.

The double bed in the bedroom was made with the precision of a high-end hotel, the spread pulled tightly and with perfectly squared hospital corners. The night table held a clock and a box of Kleenex.

Ruby hesitated and pulled open the closet door in the wall to the left of the bed. The small storage s.p.a.ce was organized with the same precision as the rest of the room. Blouses, skirts and dresses were arranged from white to dark. Two pairs of shoes, one black, one beige, sat on a shoe rack on the floor. Several sweaters were folded on the shelf above the rod.

All of the clothing looked old. Not "old" in the sense of worn-out, but in the sense of vintage. It was almost as though Agatha had gotten stuck at some point in time.

Ruby looked into the closet, one hand on the door. Her shoulders slumped. "I don't know what to take."

"Maybe a dress," I suggested.

"Yeah. She wasn't much of a pants person. She didn't think they were very ladylike." She caught the skirt of a black-and-white print, holding out the fabric. "But which one?"

"That's pretty," I said. "But why don't you look at each dress. Maybe one of them will, I don't know, spark a memory."

Ruby did smile then. "That's a good idea." She looked around the room. "Would you see if you can find a suitcase? I don't think the bag I brought is going to be big enough." She hesitated. "And I know no one is going to see, but I don't want things to be wrinkled. Agatha would care about that."

I squeezed her arm. "I'll see what I can find."

Ruby started flipping through the hangers while I took a quick look around the room. There was no suitcase in the corner under the old spool bed. I went back into the hallway.

The living room was to my right. A three-sided bay window with a deep window seat looked out over the street. Like the rest of the house, the furniture here was all old-a maroon sofa and matching chair, plus a gray-and-maroon flowered wingback chair with matching footstool. There was a low walnut coffee table in front of the couch and a matching side table by the wingback. A brick fireplace filled the entire end of the room, the heavy bra.s.s andirons in the shape of watchful lions.

The living room was spartan. There were no magazines on the coffee table, no stacks of books anywhere. There were no pictures, no photographs, no artwork. There were no pillows on the sofa, no blanket to curl up in. Everything was functional, but there was nothing that told me about Agatha as a person. Even allowing for the fact that she'd spent the past several months in a rehabilitation hospital, the house still seemed lonely and empty.

I pictured my own house, with kitty treats cooling on the kitchen counter, Owen sneaking onto the footstool in the living room, Herc grooving to Barry Manilow, and pieces of Fred the Funky Chicken always needing to be vacuumed up. I felt sad for Agatha.

I went back out into the hallway, glancing in the bedroom as I pa.s.sed the door. Ruby had a long-sleeved teal dress laid out on the bed.

The second bedroom in the tiny house was next to the living room. It was big enough for a single bed and dresser and very little else. I opened the closet door and found the suitcases Ruby needed, sitting on a large cardboard box with the name Ellis written on the side in spidery handwriting.

There was also men's clothing hanging in the closet. Several gray suits, a navy blazer and a weathered aviator's jacket, sheepskin lined and worn to a chocolaty softness on the outside. With the exception of the jacket, the clothes were very much out of style; in fact, the suit had probably been in and out of fashion several times.

I grabbed the smaller of the two suitcases and took it back to Ruby. She had everything spread on the bed-dress, slip, underwear, stockings, even a lacy, knit white cardigan.

"Here," I said, holding out the blue suitcase. "This should work."

"Thanks, Kathleen," she said. She looked shaky.

"Why don't you let me fold these for you?" I said. "I'm a master at folding and packing. I promise."

Ruby hesitated for a second, then nodded and sat on the edge of the bed.

I folded the green dress and laid it in the bottom of the suitcase. Then I added the sweater, the slip and the rest of the underclothes. "There," I said to Ruby, snapping the suitcase closed. "Ready to go?"

She grabbed the suitcase handle and stood up. A look of panic crossed her face. "Wait a minute," she said. "I didn't get her any shoes." She took a couple of steps toward the closet.

"We don't need shoes, Ruby," I said softly. She looked at me, confused. "Agatha doesn't need shoes," I repeated.

Ruby swallowed, turned her head and blinked away the tears that filled her eyes. I waited silently until her breathing even out. "You're right," she whispered. "For a minute I forgot why we were here."

We went back to the kitchen, turning off the lights behind us. I pulled on my boots and held the suitcase while Ruby stepped into hers. Outside she locked the door, twisting the k.n.o.b to make sure it was fastened securely.

"It looks so sad," she said.

"I know." I pulled on my mittens. "But don't forget that Agatha was away from here for months."

We walked down the driveway to the street. "Ruby, who was Ellis?" I asked. "Was that Agatha's husband?"

"No," Ruby said. "Ellis was her brother. Ellis Slater. He died, oh, almost twenty years ago. This was his house. He left it to Agatha." She shifted the suitcase from one hand to the other. "Why do you ask?"

"There were boxes in the second bedroom. The name Ellis was on one of them. And there were some men's clothes in the closet."

Ruby gave me a wry smile. "That would be Agatha. Never throw out something that might be useful."

"My father does the same thing." I didn't add that my dad's idea of useful didn't usually meet the average person's idea of what was useful. Which was why every time we'd moved, someone had had to pack the candelabra made from a pair of moose antlers.

We walked to the corner together. "Thank you for coming with me," Ruby said. "I'm going to take this down to Gunnerson's. I want things to be there when she . . . when her . . ." She stopped to clear her throat. "When they're needed." She shrugged. "Silly, isn't it?"

"No," I said. "It's kind." I pulled my hat down over my ears. "Will I see you later at the Winterfest supper?"

She nodded. "As far as I know. I'm meeting Justin later."

"I'll see you later, then," I said. I started for the community center, looking back over my shoulder once to see Ruby heading resolutely down the street for Gunnerson's Funeral Home.

Maggie was at the entrance of the parking lot as I came up the street. She was wearing her purple fake-fur jacket, stamping her feet on the sidewalk to stay warm. She waved when she caught sight of me, and I quickened my pace. "Am I late?" I asked.

"No," she said. "You're few minutes early. Let's go get in line before it gets any longer."

The line at the front door of the community center, of maybe two dozen people, snaked down the street. Maggie and I scurried to get to the end.

The queue moved pretty quickly. We were inside in five minutes, maybe even less. Maggie had money hidden in her glove and paid for both of us before I could even get my wallet out.

"Why did you do that?" I asked, as we followed the crowd to the hall.

"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 h.e.l.lo 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."