“There are rumors that as a former Gotta Dance champion, Matt’s going to join the others for a few dates to show off his moves,” I said.
“I know.” Maggie made a face. “But they aren’t coming anywhere close to here, and so far Matt hasn’t said for sure that he is going to be part of the tour.”
“Maybe that’s for the best,” I said.
“You’re just saying that because the beefcake didn’t win the crystal trophy.”
The “beefcake” was Kevin Sorbo, aka Hercules from the syndicated TV show Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, and Gotta Dance runner-up to Matt Lauer. I shook my head. “No, I’m saying it because I’m pretty sure if we went to see Matt Lauer in person, you would rush the stage and end up in jail, and I’d have to call my so-called soul mate to pull some strings to get you out.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Maggie said. Then she laughed.
I grinned at her across the table. “Okay, let’s talk about the art show and the food tasting. Things really are going okay?”
She set down her fork, and a shadow slid across her face. “Uh-huh. They’re just better overall. I’m sorry to say it, but Mike rubbed people the wrong way. Now Liam’s basically in charge. Alex isn’t going to have his fingers all over everything the way Mike did.” She shrugged. “Liam says it’s far from a done deal, though.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” I said. I speared another corkscrew of pasta. “I met Georgia Tepper this morning.”
“You’re going to love her cupcakes,” Maggie said, taking a sip of her tea.
“She said Mike told her chocolate was ‘last year,’” I said. I waved my fork at her. “This is good, by the way.”
Maggie smiled. “I’m glad you like it.” She frowned at her tea, got up and rummaged in the old pie safe until she found a small container of honey. “Yeah, Mike wanted Georgia to make some kind of ‘in’ cupcake with chili peppers or jalapeños. He told Mary white tablecloths were a throwback to the fifties, and I don’t know what the heck he said to Burtis to aggravate him.”
“Burtis is not someone you want to be on the bad side of,” I commented.
“True,” Mags said, drizzling a little honey into her tea. “But it was Georgia who almost took a swing at Mike with a serving tray.”
“You’re kidding,” I said.
She twisted her mouth to one side. “I’m not.”
Before I could ask her for more details, there was a knock on the half-open door and Ruby poked her head in. “Hi,” she said. “Got a minute?” She was looking directly at me when she asked the question.
“Sure,” I said, setting my fork down again.
“Could I paint Owen?”
“You mean the same way you’re doing with Hercules?”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“That’s a great idea,” Maggie said, putting a little more pasta salad in her bowl. “Are you thinking of letting them go to auction as a set, or as two individual paintings?”
Ruby wrinkled her nose in thought. “I’m leaning toward listing them separately just because I think that’ll bring in more money for Cat People. What do you think?”
“Oh, definitely,” Mags said, waving her fork like a flag. “Are you going to do a frame?”
I leaned sideways so I was a little more in Ruby’s line of vision. “You can paint Owen. It’s fine with me.”
Ruby nodded and waved her hand absently at me. “I went with metal the last time, but I’m thinking about a black floater frame.”
Okay, so she wasn’t talking to me.
Maggie frowned. “What about charcoal instead of black?”
Neither was Maggie.
Ruby nodded slowly. “That might work. I don’t want a frame that screams ‘Look at me!’”
I leaned a little farther sideways and waved my arms in the air, kind of like I was a flag person on a highway construction crew. “Hello,” I said.
They both looked at me then. “Do you need something?” Maggie asked.
“Yes,” I said, sinking back on my stool. “I need to tell Ruby that she can paint Owen.”
Ruby and Mags exchanged glances. “I did get that,” Ruby said. “Thank you.”
“Anything else?” Maggie said. I might have been imagining the tiny hint of impatience in her voice.
“I could bring Owen down first thing tomorrow morning before the library opens, if that works,” I added.
“That’ll work,” Ruby said.
I turned to Maggie and made a move-along gesture with one hand. “I’m done.”
“Thank you,” she said. No, that wasn’t impatience I was hearing; it was a tiny bit of sarcasm.
Mags and Ruby went back to discussing possibilities for framing the cat portraits, and I went back to my pasta salad. By the time they had settled on a charcoal frame, I was done eating. I stretched my arms up over my head, which caught Maggie’s attention.
“Do you have room for a cup of hot chocolate?” she asked. “I have more of those homemade marshmallows you like.”
I glanced at my watch. “Okay,” I said. It was chocolate. I didn’t need much persuading.
She looked at Ruby. “Rube? Hot chocolate? With marshmallows from the farmers’ market?”
Ruby smiled. “Mmm, that sounds good.”
Maggie got up to put the kettle back on and get out the mugs and cocoa.
“How’s the setup going for the art show?” I asked Ruby.
“Better,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You had problems with Mike Glazer as well.” There seemed to be no shortage of people who did.
Ruby slid her bracelets along her arm and sighed. “Kathleen, I think everyone had problems with Mike. If he hadn’t died when he did, I swear someone would have smacked him with a two-by-four by now.” She shrugged. “Maybe me. Or Burtis. Wednesday night, Burtis was pounding in tent pegs with a sledgehammer and there was a moment when I actually thought he was going to take a swing at Mike.”
“It’s sad,” Maggie said. “He spent the last days of his life arguing with people.”
I thought about Wren Magnusson’s face when she came into the library. She seemed to be the only person who really felt bad about Mike Glazer’s death. “What was Mike like when he was younger?” I asked.
Ruby smiled a thank-you as Mags set a steaming mug in front of her. “I don’t know. He was older and we didn’t have any of the same friends.”
Maggie handed me a cup and sat down holding her own hot chocolate. I snapped the lid of the marshmallow container open and held it out to Ruby, snagging a couple for myself. They smelled like spun sugar and vanilla.
“He was the kind of guy everyone liked, pretty much,” Maggie said. “Popular, smart enough to do well in school without having to work very hard.” She reached for the marshmallows, popped one in her cup and after a second’s thought dropped in two more.
I leaned my forearms on the table and laced my fingers around my mug. “So when he came back a few days ago, he was different?” I said.
She nodded. “It was like he had something to prove.”
“Maybe he did,” I said.
“Small-town boy makes good?” Ruby asked. “You really think it was that old cliché?”