My cell phone rang then. I straightened up and grabbed it from the kitchen table. It was Maggie. “Hey, Mags,” I said.
Maggie Adams was one of my closest friends in Mayville Heights. We’d met when Rebecca invited me to try her tai chi class. Maggie was the instructor. We’d bonded over our love for the cheesy reality show Gotta Dance.
“Hi,” Maggie said. “I was wondering what your day’s like. Do you have time for lunch? I made pizza last night.”
I loved Maggie’s homemade pizza with its chewy crust and thick, spicy tomato sauce.
“I always have time for your pizza.” I leaned back against the counter. At my feet Hercules was making a show of washing his left front paw. “What time?”
“How about twelve thirty?” Maggie gave a little grunt of exertion that told me she was probably stretching at the end of her morning workout. “I’ll be over at the studio.”
“I’ll see you then,” I said. Owen had appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. He gave a loud meow. Owen adored Maggie. “Owen sends his love,” I added.
“Back at him,” Maggie said. I could hear her smile in her voice. “I’ll see you later.”
I ended the call, set the phone back on the table and walked over to Owen. The little gray tabby looked up at me with his odd, golden eyes. I reached down to stroke his fur. “Love from Maggie,” I said. His eyes narrowed to slits and he began to purr.
Owen followed me around while I finished getting ready for work. He made a face when I got my blue sweater from the closet.
“The red one?” I asked.
“Mrrr,” he said approvingly.
When I was ready to leave, I gave each cat a stack of five sardine crackers and some fresh water. Owen eyed his pile with suspicion the way he always did, then nudged the top cracker to the floor and sniffed it carefully.
Hercules was already eating his treat, crunching happily. He looked at me, almost seeming to smile. I crouched down beside him. “You’re spoiled,” I said. “Your character has been weakened.”
He tipped his head and blinked his green eyes at me, almost as if he were saying, And whose fault is that?
I rubbed the top of his nose, where white fur gave way to the black on the top of his head. “Have a good day,” I said.
I stood up, grabbed my bag and my umbrella and headed for the porch. “Have a good day, Owen,” I said over my shoulder.
He gave a muffled murp around a mouthful of cracker which may have been “You too,” or might have been “Whatever.”
It was barely raining at lunchtime when I got to the Riverarts building, where Maggie had her art studio, but the sky was still dark out over the water. For me, one of the best parts of living in Mayville Heights was the riverfront with the elm and black walnut trees that lined the shore, and the trail that wound its way past the downtown businesses, all the way out to the marina. You could walk along the shoreline and see the boats and barges go by on the water the way they had more than a hundred years ago.
I parked on a side street a block above the art center and hurried down the hill, clutching a container with four cinnamon rolls close to my chest in case it started to pour again. The town was basically laid out like a grid. For the most part, the streets that ran up and down the hill carried on all the way to Wild Rose Bluff at the top. The bluff was the source of most of the stone in the foundations of the beautiful old buildings along the waterfront.
Mags was waiting by the back door of the old high school. “Hi,” she said.
I knew right away something was off. The smile she gave me seemed just a little forced. The long blue ombré scarf around her neck was lopsided, one end hanging much lower than the other. And her short blond curls were standing on end as though she’d run her hands through them more than once.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. Then she shook her head and swiped one hand over the back of her neck. “No, it isn’t. Ruby’s going to join us. Is it all right if I wait until she gets here to explain?”
“Of course,” I said. I wiped my feet on the mat.
Maggie took a slow, deep breath and blew it out softly. Then she smiled at me, a much warmer smile than the first one she’d given me, and we started up the stairs. “So how was your morning?” she asked. “Weren’t the books for Reading Buddies supposed to be here today?”
“They were delivered just before we opened. Abigail and I spent the morning sorting everything.”
Reading Buddies was a program that paired kindergarteners and first graders with fourth-and fifth-grade students to help improve the little ones’ reading skills. It was one of the first programs I’d put in place when I’d arrived at the library. We’d just received a grant to buy enough books so that every child would have one to keep—both the beginning readers and their would-be teachers.
“Did you know Mary could do calligraphy?” I asked.
Maggie shook her head. “I didn’t, but she can do so many other things it doesn’t exactly surprise me.”
Mary was Mary Lowe, who worked for me at the library. She looked like a greeting card version of a grandmother—with fluffy white hair, kind eyes and a collection of seasonal cardigans. She was also the long-running state kickboxing champion for her age and often took the stage on amateur night at a local club that featured exotic dancing.
I’d learned that Mary could do calligraphy just that morning when she’d offered to add each child’s name inside their book. At this point I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn she could solve complex calculus problems and ride a unicycle.
I could smell the pizza as soon as we got to the top of the stairs on the third floor. “What kind of pizza did you make?” I asked as I followed my nose—and Maggie—down the hall to her studio. “Not that it makes any difference. I’m just curious.”
“Chicken and roasted red pepper.” She fished her keys out of the pocket of her jeans and unlocked the door, crossing the room to check the toaster oven where the pizza was heating. I set the cinnamon rolls on the counter near the sink and shrugged off my raincoat, draping it over one of the stools around the center workspace in the bright studio. The fact that Maggie hadn’t immediately asked what was in the container was just one more indication of how preoccupied she was.
I looked around the room for a clue about what Maggie was working on. Since she’d said she wanted to wait for Ruby before she explained what was troubling her, I found myself wondering if it could be work related. An oversized pad of newsprint was attached to her easel with binder clips. I walked over to get a better look at the rough pencil sketch on the paper. It looked like a map of Mayville Heights and the surrounding area.
Maggie was primarily a collage artist these days, and she often used her own photos in her pieces. But she’d also done some large installation pieces, including a locker room scene for the town’s Winterfest celebration a couple of years before to show off the sports history in this part of the state. It had featured a life-sized version of former NHL star Eddie Sweeney, aka Crazy Eddie. The full-sized faux Eddie had led to our friend Roma meeting the full-sized, real Eddie and romance had followed.
“What are you working on, Mags?” I asked. I could make out the water and the Riverwalk in her drawing.
Maggie set down the jug of apple cider she was pouring for us and joined me by the easel. “I’m roughing out an idea for a collage map of the hiking trails in this area. It’s for the new Tourism Coalition.”