“What does he want to study in college?” I said, mostly to fill the silence.
“Communications or maybe recreation. It doesn’t matter.” Derek made a dismissive gesture with one hand.
“It doesn’t?” The confusion I was feeling had to be showing on my face.
“Liam’s going to play in the NFL. What he studies doesn’t make any difference.” Derek took a sip of his coffee. “We’re headed for the big time. All that other stuff is just background noise.” He took his cup and went back to the living room.
A college education was just background noise? Once again I found myself missing Jake and his scraps of paper covered with pencil sketches.
I decided I’d go over the plans for the quilt show and see what information I could e-mail to Melanie. I sat down at the kitchen table and Owen suddenly appeared at my feet, a little too suddenly. He launched himself onto my lap, peered at my cup and then looked around. As far as Owen was concerned a cup of coffee was an excuse for a brownie or a cookie or even a piece of toast with peanut butter. He loved peanut butter.
“No treats,” I said, stroking the top of his head.
He made a murp of dissatisfaction.
“Maggie’s bringing pizza later.”
Immediately, he lifted a paw and took a couple of passes at his face. “You look very handsome,” I assured him.
Owen loved Maggie—something he and Ethan had in common it seemed. Owen followed her everywhere, sat with a rapt look of adoration at her feet and had on more than one occasion dispatched an errant rodent, which in turn meant that Maggie was also crazy about him. She—along with Rebecca—kept him in catnip chickens and sympathized with him over his antipathy toward the music of Mr. Barry Manilow, whom both Hercules and I adored. Aside from the fact that Owen and Maggie were different species, it was a perfect friendship.
Owen looked over the papers spread on the table in front of me. He switched his gaze to me and then cocked his head to one side and meowed, it seemed to me, in curiosity.
I felt self-conscious about having a conversation with a cat when Ethan and Derek were around although I did it all the time when I was by myself. “I’ll tell you later, I promise,” I whispered. That seemed to satisfy him.
Maggie arrived just before noon with the pizza.
“It smells wonderful,” I said.
“It should go in the oven for about five minutes,” she said, kicking off her boots and coming into the kitchen in the wildly striped socks that Ella King had knit for her.
“I thought you might say that, so I’ve already warmed it up.”
With the pizza in the oven Maggie shrugged off her coat and scarf and leaned down to say hello to Owen.
“Hey, Maggie,” Ethan said, coming in from the living room. He’d combed his hair and changed his shirt.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about my baby brother having a crush on one of my best friends. Not good, that was for sure, which made me feel guilty. Where was the harm? Since I’d been a teenager when Ethan and Sara were born my role had been part older sister, part second mother. More than once Ethan had reminded me that he already had a mother and she was more than enough.
“Hi,” Maggie said with a smile. Ethan took her coat and hung it up. Maggie snagged a little brown paper bag from one of the pockets. I knew what was inside.
“No, no, no,” I said, shaking my head.
Ethan looked confused. “What?” he asked.
“You’re spoiling him.”
Now Ethan looked completely lost. “How is Maggie spoiling me? What did she do?”
“Not you,” I said. “Owen.”
The cat in question also knew what was in the bag. His golden eyes were locked on Maggie.
She took Fred the Funky Chicken out of the bag, leaned down and held it out. Owen took it carefully from her. The half-lidded look he gave her was pure bliss.
“Mrrr,” he said as he headed for the living room.
“You’re welcome,” Maggie called after him with a smile. She cleared her throat and her smile faded. “I know it’s Lewis Wallace who’s dead,” she said. “May he be welcomed by the light.”
Once again news had traveled around town faster than a New York minute. Given the speed the information had spread, maybe the expression should have been “a Mayville Heights minute.”
“I’m not going to ask what happened because I know Marcus probably told you not to talk about it,” she said as she caught one of the chrome chairs with her foot and pulled it out so she could sit down.
“Thanks, Mags,” I said, giving her a hug. “And for the record, when Owen decapitates that chicken—and he will—I’m calling you to clean it up!”
The pizza was fantastic as usual. Pizza making was one of Maggie’s skills. She’d dirty every dish in her apartment but the end result was always worth the mess.
About halfway through the meal the conversation turned to the missed workshop.
“Any chance we’ll be able to reschedule?” Maggie asked.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “We? I didn’t know you were taking the class.”
She nodded, gesturing with her fork. “Ruby talked me into it.”
Maggie was primarily a collage artist, although she also created detailed, fanciful drawings like the ones she’d done for the trail map of this area and the street map of the town. Ruby, on the other hand, created bold pop-art paintings in vivid neon colors and often hand-tinted her photographs.
“I didn’t know you were interested in writing songs.”
“I’m interested in the creative process in general,” she said.
Ethan leaned forward, propping an elbow on the table. “What would you like to know?” he asked.
They started talking about songwriting and I just listened. Derek was quickly pulled into the conversation. Both Ethan’s and Derek’s mood lightened as they explained their writing process to Maggie. The dark cloud that had been hanging over us since we’d gotten home from the hotel seemed to dissipate as the three of them talked.
When Maggie finally had to leave for her shift at the co-op store I walked her out. “Thank you for the pizza and the conversation,” I said.
“Anytime,” she said with a smile. “I like your brother.” Her expression changed. “I didn’t like Lewis Wallace but I’m sorry he’s dead.” She gave me a hug, hopped into her Bug and drove away.
I thought about what Maggie had said and told myself that the niggling unsettling feeling I had was just that, an uncomfortable sensation that was understandable given that I had just seen a dead body a few hours ago.
Marcus arrived midafternoon just as I was debating making cookies. He didn’t kiss me, which I assumed was because Ethan was in the kitchen with me.
“Have you had lunch or would you at least like coffee?” I asked.
He gave me a tight smile. “I’m fine, thanks.”
He seemed to be in working-cop mode, all business with very little of his emotions showing through.
“Is Derek here?” he asked.
“He went for a walk,” I said. “He was getting a little antsy but he should be back anytime now,” said. A knot was forming in my stomach. I tried to ignore it.
“I’ll wait,” Marcus said. “It’ll give me time to go over both of your stories again.”
I was just finishing explaining why I’d been so sure that Lewis Wallace was dead before I’d even checked for his pulse when Derek walked in. He seemed surprised to see Marcus.
“I need to ask you a few questions,” Marcus said. “I’d like you to come down to the station with me, please.”
“Why?” I said. The knot in my stomach was knitting itself into a giant lump. “Marcus, what’s going on?”
“Is Derek under arrest?” Ethan asked. I didn’t like the challenge in his voice or his expression.
“No one is under arrest,” Marcus replied. “I just have some questions.”