The dog’s response was to drop his head down on his paws and look at me sadly. I thought about Owen doing the same thing. He and Boris had a few things in common.
I leaned over and stroked the top of the dog’s head. “Next batch I’ll send you some,” I whispered. “I promise.”
As if he knew what I’d said, he licked his lips.
I left shortly after that. Standing at the back door, I wrapped Harrison in a hug. “Thank you for supper and thank you for telling me about Burtis.”
“My door’s always open.”
I smiled at him. “We’re putting up another tree in the library tomorrow. Come and see it when you get the chance.”
“I’ll do that if someone will let me out of the house.” His eyes darted sideways.
“That can probably be arranged,” Harry said. “I’ll be right back,” he said to his father. “I’m just going to walk Kathleen to her truck.”
We started across the side yard and I waited until I was sure we were out of earshot of the little house before I spoke. Harrison might have been over eighty, but his hearing was excellent.
“So, what did you want to tell me?” I said.
Harry looked at me and then he kicked a clump of snow across the yard. “What makes you think I have something I need to say to you?” he asked.
I pulled the hood of my jacket closer around my neck. “You were watching me on and off all night. Either you were struggling with whether you wanted to say something to me, or you were afraid I was going to steal the silver.”
“Silver’s locked up,” he said, kicking another lump of snow that disintegrated when his boot hit it.
I stopped by the side of the truck. “So what is it?”
“I know it was one of the chocolates that killed Dayna Chapman.”
I nodded. “It seems to be the worst-kept secret in town.”
“Burtis handed Dana that box, Kathleen,” Harry said. The words hung between us in the cold night air.
“I know. I saw him, too,” I said.
Harry shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “There’s not that many years between Burtis and me. And we both had wives that decided they’d rather be anywhere else, so I get how he feels about his kids because I feel the same way.”
I nodded, wondering what he was building up to.
“When he was young Burtis had this thing he’d do when he wanted to impress a girl. He’d pull a flower out from behind her ear. A little magic trick.” Harry held out both hands. “A tulip, a rose, even a dandelion.”
I saw his mouth twist sideways in a half smile.
“It worked every time.” He scraped at a small chunk of ice with the toe of his heavy boot. “I think the old man’s right. I think all those parcels and cards over the years for the boys that were supposed to be from their mother were really Burtis’s doing. Not a whole lot different from surprising a pretty girl with a flower when you think about it.”
I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “No, it’s not.”
“I can see why a man might not want his children to know that basically their mother hadn’t really ever given a goddamn about them. And he might go to any lengths to keep them from finding out.”
“Including kill her?” I asked.
Harry made a face. “Or make her sick enough to land her in the hospital.”
I just couldn’t see Burtis doing something like that. He was far more direct.
“I don’t want to be thinking what I’m thinking, Kathleen,” Harry said. “But it’s kind of hard not to.”
“I don’t know how I can help you,” I said.
Harry jammed his hands in his pockets. “You have a way of seeing past the things that don’t matter. If you can see into the heart of this mess, then maybe you can keep some people from getting hurt who sure as hell don’t deserve to be.”
The conversation reminded me uncomfortably of the one I’d had with Harry when Agatha Shepherd died.
“Harry, I’m not the police,” I said. I’d said that to him then, too.
He shrugged. “Maybe that’s a good thing.” He looked up at the night sky. “Looks like snow’s coming,” he said. He smiled. “Drive safely.”
I nodded. “I will. Good night.”
I got in the truck, started it and headed out the driveway. In the rearview mirror I could see Harry still standing in the yard.
I thought about what he’d told me as I drove home.
Had Dana abandoned her children even more than anyone knew? Had Burtis used a little misdirection and subterfuge to keep them from finding out?
With all her faults I’d never doubted the depth and ferocity of my mother’s love for me or Sara and Ethan. I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to discover it was all a lie.
All I had was speculation, I reminded myself. And just because Burtis could seemingly make a flower appear from behind a young girl’s ear didn’t mean he could switch one chocolate box for another.
One thing that wasn’t speculation was Burtis’s love for his kids. But just how far would he go to protect them?
14
I’d had more coffee than I should have, so when I got home I made myself a cup of hot chocolate and sat at the table with it. After a moment I felt a cat wind around my leg. I looked down to see Owen’s furry face looking up at me.
“Hi,” I said.
He murped a hello in return.
I turned my mug in a slow circle on the table. “Burtis knows how to pull a quarter from behind your ear. Or a dandelion.”
Owen looked blankly at me.
“Or in theory a little box of chocolates.”
He still didn’t see why that piece of information was important.
I thought about what I’d just said, that in theory Burtis could have switched the box of chocolates that he’d taken from Olivia’s tray with another box that held three chocolates coated with pistachio oil.
“All he would have had to do was find out Dayna was going to be at the fundraiser, then break into the office at the Stratton, steal one of the boxes of chocolates and put pistachio oil on them.”
Even a small gray cat could see how preposterous that was.
I sighed. “Okay, that sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
Owen murmured his agreement, then jumped up onto my lap and nuzzled my chin to show he’d meant no offense.
I leaned back in the chair and stroked his fur. “This is crazy,” I said. “I’m tilting at windmills.”
He gave me a quizzical look.
“Tilting at windmills. Don Quixote.”
Owen’s expression didn’t change.
“He’s a character in a Spanish novel. I’ll read it to you sometime,” I said.
All that got me was an unenthusiastic “Mrrr.”
I drank the last of my hot chocolate and stretched. Owen looked over at the counter and then back at me. That was his subtle way of saying, “How about a treat?”
“You get too many treats,” I said.
He blinked. In Owen’s world there was no such thing as too many treats.
“You need to get down,” I told him, pointing at the floor. “I want to check my e-mail. Lise said she’d send me some photos. The band was playing in a club downtown over the weekend.”
Lise was my best friend in Boston. My little brother’s band, The Flaming Gerbils, was developing a bit of a following in the Boston area, helped along by a music video they’d made for their song “In a Million Other Worlds.”
Lise’s husband was a musician, a jazz guitarist, not grunge rock like the Gerbils, and Lise had been photographing his performances for years. She’d gone to see Ethan and his buddies on Saturday night and had promised to send me some photos.
Owen made grumbling noises, but he jumped down to the floor. I got my briefcase and set my laptop on the table.
I turned on the computer and Lise’s e-mail pinged in my in-box. At the same time Owen launched himself back onto my lap. He put one paw on the edge of the table and studied the screen as I scrolled through the photographs.