“That’s the Riverwalk, isn’t it?” I pointed to the bottom of the paper.
She nodded. “Uh-huh. And that’s the road that runs behind Wisteria Hill.”
Wisteria Hill was the former Henderson family homestead. Roma owned the property now.
Maggie pointed to the top section of the sketch. “And that’s Turtle Lake.”
“I like it,” I said.
She smiled, the first truly warm smile since I’d arrived. “Thanks. The main problem is coming up with something that has enough visual interest to be a large poster—the kind of thing that can be hung in tourist information centers, town halls, places like the library—but not so detailed that it’s useless when it gets reproduced brochure size to hand out to tourists.”
I glanced over at Maggie’s laptop on the counter. “Have you taken any photos yet?”
“Some,” she said. “And I have some older ones from Ruby that belonged to her grandfather that I really want to use. Those I need to scan.”
Behind us the toaster oven beeped and Maggie went to get our pizza. She was just putting it on the plates, three pieces of deep blue Fiestaware, when Ruby arrived. She was wearing gray leggings, a green-and-white long-sleeved T-shirt and a jean jacket with faux-zebra collar and cuffs—her own creation, I was guessing. Her hair, with vibrant electric blue streaks, was pulled into a tight knot on the top of her head, which showed off her long neck. “Hi, Kathleen,” she said, smiling at me. The smile seemed a little forced.
Like Maggie, Ruby was a full-time artist. Her pop art paintings, done in bold acrylics as vivid as her hair, were finding fans outside of the Midwest and there was talk of a show in Chicago in the fall.
The three of us sat at the worktable with our pizza and cider. Ruby looked over at Maggie. “You didn’t tell her yet?”
Maggie shook her head. “No, I waited for you.”
“What’s going on?” I said.
Ruby made a face. “Some stuff was stolen from the store,” she said flatly.
The store was the artists’ co-op store. It was downtown on Main Street, across from the Riverwalk, and the location made it a popular spot with tourists. Maggie and Ruby worked there, as did all the other artists who were part of the co-op. Ruby was the current president of the board that ran the co-op and the shop.
I frowned at her now. “What was taken?” During the time that I’d lived in Mayville Heights, there had never been a theft at the artists’ store as far as I knew.
Maggie sighed and set down her fork. “Some woven placemats and two linen stitch scarves, the ones Ella made. They’ve been popular with tourists.”
“Do the police have any leads?”
Maggie and Ruby exchanged a look.
“You did call the police, didn’t you?” I asked, my eyes darting between them.
Maggie raked a hand through her hair. “No, we didn’t. And we don’t want to.”
“It’s complicated,” Ruby added.
My appetite suddenly disappeared, and it felt as though my stomach were trying to tie itself into a knot. I could only think of one reason for Maggie and Ruby to be so reluctant to call the police—they had to believe they knew who the thief was. I looked at Maggie without speaking. She played with her fork for a moment before her green eyes met mine.
“Based on when the thefts took place and who was in the store, we’ve narrowed it down to three . . . suspects. I’m just having trouble believing it could be any of them.”
Ruby slid the stack of bracelets she was wearing up and down her arm. “Look, Kathleen, we don’t want anyone to get in trouble. That’s why we need your help.”
I knew them, I realized. I knew the three potential thieves. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Who are your suspects?” I asked.
“Nic,” Ruby said.
I frowned at her. “Nic Sutton?”
She nodded.
Nicolas Sutton was a found metal and paper artist who also worked part-time at Eric’s Place, my favorite restaurant in town. He’d previously lived in Minneapolis but had come to Mayville Heights for a new start after the death of his father, who had owned a pawn shop in the city.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Nic wouldn’t do something like that. Look at everything he’s done to help with fund-raising for Reading Buddies. And he volunteers at the animal shelter.”
Ruby shrugged.
“Why would he steal from the store, given how welcoming you’ve all been? It doesn’t make sense.” I picked up my glass and set it down again. “Who else?”
I could see from the expression on Ruby’s face that she was reluctant to answer my question even though she’d asked for my help. Her shoulders were tense, and the expression in her eyes was guarded. “Susan,” she finally said.
“That’s impossible,” I said flatly. Susan and I worked together at the library. She was hardworking, funny and kind. I knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t steal from the co-op or from anyone else. I shook my head again, feeling my jaw tighten.
Ruby held out both hands in a gesture of resignation but said nothing.
“That’s two,” I said. “Who’s the third suspect? Because Susan is not a thief and neither is Nic for that matter.” I folded my arms over my midsection and turned to Maggie because Ruby still wasn’t speaking. “You don’t need my help, Mags, because that third person, whoever they are, is your thief. So who is it?”
Maggie swallowed and said softly, “It’s Rebecca.” One arm hugged her body.
I closed my eyes briefly. “This doesn’t make sense,” I said. “I don’t know what sort of evidence you have, but it’s wrong. There has to be some other explanation. Rebecca would not steal from the store any more than Susan or Nic would.”
“The things that were taken, they were taken on two different occasions,” Maggie said. “Rebecca, Susan and Nic were the only people who were in the shop both times.” She glanced at Ruby.
I shifted in my seat to look at her as well.
“We’ve checked the purchase receipts, I’ve talked to everyone else who was working on those days, we’ve gone over hours of footage from the security camera on the street.” Ruby held up one, two, then three fingers as she recited what had been done.
“You said there has to be some other explanation and I agree with you.” Maggie leaned forward, propping her forearms on the table. “That’s why we need your help.”
“I’m not the police.”
Ruby played with a strand of blue hair that had slipped out of her topknot. “Kathleen, it wasn’t the police who figured out who killed Agatha Shepherd and cleared my name. It was you.”
“And it was you who gave Roma some closure by putting together all the pieces with respect to what happened to her father,” Maggie added. “People tell you things, things they don’t or won’t tell the police. And somehow you put them all together a lot like the way I make a collage, only what you end up with is the truth. So please say that you’ll help us.”
I didn’t know whether or not I could figure out what happened but I knew there had to be some kind of alternate, logical explanation for the items missing from the co-op store. “All right,” I said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Ruby gave me a tight smile. Maggie reached across the table, grabbed one of my hands and gave it a squeeze.
Even cold, Maggie’s pizza was still pretty good. After we’d eaten, I pushed back my plate and checked my watch. “Since I’m heading back to the library and since Susan is working, I may as well get started with her,” I said.
“I hope we’re not putting you in a difficult spot,” Ruby said, slipping off her stool.
“You’re not,” I said. “I want to help if I can.”
“Do you need anything else from us?” she asked.
“I know you said that Susan—and Nic and Rebecca—were the only people who were at the shop both times things went missing.”