Sleight Of Paw Part 27

"You had an affair with her."

Harrison looked at me. "The boy's right," he said. "I broke my vows."

I hadn't been expecting this.

"My mother had a series of strokes that eventually ended with her in a nursing home," the younger Harry said, as though his father hadn't spoken. "She spent the last two years of her life there." He gestured at his father. "He never missed one single day of visiting her in those two years. She couldn't talk. She couldn't move." He looked down at his hand still holding the coffee he hadn't even touched. Then he met his father's steady gaze. "No one would fault you for taking a little comfort."

"I fault myself," the old man said, his voice harsh. "I had no right to do what I did. How could I offer my heart when I wasn't free to do that?"

His son set his cup on the tray and stood up. "Don't judge the man you were so harshly," he said. "I'm not." He turned and went out the door.

Boris moved a bit closer to the old man's feet and stretched out with his head on his paws. "He's a good man," Harrison said, his eyes still on the door his son had just exited through.

"Yes, he is."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, but it wasn't awkward. I knew now he was going to tell me the whole story. All I had to do was let him do it in his own way.

"That envelope?" he said finally.

I nodded.

"As far as I know, the only thing in it was information about my daughter."

All the pieces dropped into place then.

"Agatha had a baby." I remembered Roma talking about Agatha being away for several months, teaching. It had to be then.

"Yes," he said. "I didn't know for a very long time. She left town, had the baby and put her up for adoption." Boris's head pushed against his hand again and he began to scratch behind the dog's ears. "Kathleen, you know I'm sick."

I nodded again, suddenly not trusting my voice.

"I want to meet my daughter before I die. And I want her to have the chance to ask me any questions she might have." His voice got even quieter. "I hope . . . I hope maybe she'll want to know her brothers, but that's her choice. I just want her to have that choice."

I leaned toward him, elbows on my knees. "Agatha had some kind of papers about your daughter's adoption in the envelope," I said.

He nodded. "I think so. That's what we were arguing about. She thought I was wrong for wanting to meet our child. She said I had no right to push myself into her life." He shook his head, the memory clearly painful. "I was angry because she'd kept everything secret." His eyes locked onto my face. "Kathleen, the only person who cared about the contents of the envelope was me. And I didn't kill Agatha."

I laid my hand on his arm for a moment. "I know that," I said. "Are you certain the information about your daughter was the only thing in that envelope?"

"As far as I know," he said. "Why?"

"Because I'm pretty sure Ruby argued with her about it, too."

He hung his head for a moment. "That's because of me, Kathleen. I knew Ruby's grandfather. I know her mama. Ruby and Agatha were close. In some ways, for Agatha, I think maybe Ruby replaced our child."

He looked at the dog at his feet, smiling when he lifted his head to look at him. "I'm not proud of it," he admitted, "but I went to Ruby and asked her to talk to Agatha. It's my fault she got caught up in all of this. I finally got her on the phone a little while ago. I told her to come clean. Agatha . . . she wouldn't have wanted it to come to this."

"It's not your fault. Ruby has a good lawyer and a lot of friends. She's not going to . . ." I exhaled slowly. "The truth will come out."

Harry studied his gnarled fingers. "I even hired a private detective," he said. "Now with the envelope gone, I don't know how I'll find her." He was talking about his daughter, not Ruby, I realized.

I thought about the piece of paper Hercules had found in Eric's office. I was going to have to figure out how talk to him about it without letting on how I knew he had it.

"I'm so sorry," I said. I didn't want to say anything to Harry until I was sure Eric hadn't destroyed the envelope, maybe out of some misguided loyalty to Agatha.

"I appreciate that."

I tried to imagine what it would be like to have a child you've never seen out there somewhere, but, really, I couldn't. My family-my mother and father, and Ethan and Sara-had always been in my life, even when they drove me crazy.

"Harry, did you ask Eric to talk to Agatha?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No. Why?"

"I saw them that same night. They had words about that envelope."

"No," he said. "The only person I pulled into this was Ruby. Whatever Eric was arguing about with Agatha, it wasn't my daughter."

I could see that he was getting tired, the lines on his face seemingly etched even deeper. "Thank you for telling me," I said. "I know it wasn't easy."

"There never should have been all those secrets," he said. "There never should have been anything to keep secret. I was a married man."

"You were human being. You loved two women."

All he could do was nod.

I got to my feet and went to hug the old man, feeling a lump in my throat at the thought that he might not be around much longer.

"I have to keep nosing around to help Ruby," I said. "If I find that envelope, if I find anything that will help you find your daughter, I promise you, it's yours."

I broke out of the hug and he put a hand against my cheek for a moment. "Thank you, Kathleen," he said.

Behind me in the doorway his son cleared his throat. "I'm going to see Kathleen home, and I'll be right back," he said. Harrison lifted a hand in acknowledgment.

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 d.a.m.n good vehicle."

My mind was racing. Maybe that piece of gla.s.s 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. Gla.s.s 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 b.u.t.ter 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 b.u.t.ter.

"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 b.u.t.ter 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 b.u.t.ter 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."