“What?”
“He said, ‘Someday, somebody’s gonna turn that boy into a license plate.’”
“That sounds like Burtis,” I said.
She nodded. “I know. And I’m afraid that before we’re finished, Burtis—or someone else—is going to do it. Mike puts so much negative energy out into the world. Eventually it’s all going to come back to him and more.” She shook her head. “Okay, I’m done complaining. C’mon. I’ll show you what the tents will look like when we’re done.”
Maggie walked me around, pointing out where the second tent was going to be set up and how the booths would be arranged. Marcus came back after a few more minutes with a huge turkey sandwich, a take-out container of soup, and tea for her supper. We walked across to the community center, where we found Ruby Blackthorne hanging one of her oversized abstract paintings.
Like Maggie, Ruby was an artist. She was also a lot more flamboyant. Her hair was currently red on one side of her head and blue on the other, and she was wearing a T-shirt that read Ginger Did It Backward in High Heels. She smiled at me but only nodded at Marcus. Last winter Marcus had arrested Ruby for the murder of Agatha Shepherd. Even though he’d kept working on the case and ultimately caught the real killer, Ruby was still a little cool with him.
“We’re on for the morning?” Ruby asked as she pulled a couple of chairs over to a folding table pushed against the end wall of the long room. Maggie had offered to share her supper.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Hercules is looking forward to it.”
We said good-bye and headed back up the street to Marcus’s SUV.
“What’s Hercules looking forward to?” Marcus asked. “Is Ruby going to give him art lessons?”
I laughed. “No. He doesn’t do anything that might get him wet or dirty. Although now I have a mental picture of him wearing a little beret with a paintbrush in his mouth.” And standing next to his brother decked out in a Maggie T-shirt.
“Don’t laugh,” Marcus said, twisting his watch around his wrist. “I’ve seen video on the news of a beagle that paints with watercolors. And I think there was a story last winter about a cockatiel that did something artistic as well.”
“I remember that. It sang opera,” I said. “You have a better chance of getting Hercules to sing than you do getting him to paint. He does love Barry Manilow.”
Marcus grinned down at me. “Barry Manilow? You can’t be serious.”
I stopped, hands on my hips in mock indignation. “Are you suggesting there’s something wrong with loving Barry Manilow music?”
“No?” he said. “That is the right answer, isn’t it?”
“Unless you’re talking to Owen, yes,” I said, as we started walking again.
“He’s not a fan?”
“The fastest way to get Owen out of a room is to start playing ‘Mandy’ or ‘Copacabana.’” I touched his arm. “You might want to remember that in case he ever decides to visit you again.”
“Consider it filed away for future reference.” He looked both ways and we crossed at the corner. “So if Hercules isn’t going to take painting lessons from Ruby, what is he doing tomorrow morning?”
“He’s posing for her,” I said. “Last spring, Ruby took some photos and then did a pop art painting of Hercules for a workshop she was teaching. He was lime green and Big Bird yellow. Maggie convinced her to hang the painting in the co-op store and someone bought it. For a lot of money. Now Ruby wants to do another painting of Hercules to donate to a fund-raiser for a cat rescue group. So she’s taking more pictures tomorrow morning.”
“That’s really nice,” he said.
“Ruby’s a nice person.”
There was a clunky silence. Then Marcus spoke. “I arrested Ruby based on the evidence.”
“I know you did,” I said. The SUV was just ahead.
He stepped in front of me and stopped. “Wait a second. You just agreed with me.”
“I did.”
“You aren’t going to argue?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
He pulled his mouth to one side. “What am I missing?”
I held up my index finger. “Number one, I don’t want to argue with you because I’m having a good time.”
“So am I,” he said.
I raised a second finger. “Number two, I know you have to look at facts and evidence. You can’t make decisions based on emotion.”
He opened his mouth to say something, and I raised my other hand in warning. “That doesn’t mean I like it.”
A hint of a smile flitted across his face.
I held up my ring finger with the other two. “Number three, if we argue, I’ll have to stalk off just on principle and I’m tired. I don’t want to walk all the way up the hill.”
He looked expectantly at me. “What’s number four?”
“I don’t have a number four,” I said.
“How about we can’t argue because of Maggie?” He started walking backward down the sidewalk.
I followed. “Because of Maggie?”
Marcus held out both hands and almost backed into a garbage can. “She has been working awfully hard to get us together.”
A rush of heat rose in my face. “You know?”
The hint of a smile turned into a full one. “Kathleen, Owen and Hercules probably know. Maggie hasn’t exactly been subtle.”
The cats did know, but I was pretty sure that had more to do with the fact that they weren’t exactly typical house cats than it did with Maggie’s lack of subtlety.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “She played matchmaker with Roma and Eddie—indirectly—and I think now she wants everyone to have a happily ever after.” The moment the words were out, I was sorry I’d said them. “I don’t mean I think that you’re some kind of prince on a white horse,” I added. “Or even not on a horse. Or even a prince . . . not that you’re not a great guy.” I was babbling.
Marcus stopped walking so suddenly, I smacked into him, both of my hands landing flat on his chest. It was a very nice chest, broad and manly. I sucked in a deep breath. And he did smell good.
I gave myself a mental smack. What the heck was wrong with me?
Marcus put his hands on my shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said. “I know what you mean.”
We stood there looking at each other like we were caught in a movie moment, the point where the hero gazes deeply into the heroine’s eyes and then sweeps her into a passionate kiss, so passionate that one of her feet comes off the ground.
We didn’t do that.
Marcus let go of my shoulders and I took my hands off his chest, trying not to act as flustered as I felt. We were standing next to the SUV. He unlocked the door for me and walked around to the driver’s side.
On the way up the hill, we talked about all the efforts to bring more tourists to Mayville Heights in the traditional off-season. By the time Marcus pulled into my driveway, the awkwardness I’d felt on the sidewalk was gone. He walked me to the back door, and I thanked him for dinner. He smiled, told me he’d talk to me soon and walked back around the side of the house. No movie-moment kiss, not even a peck on the cheek. As I unlocked the porch door, I couldn’t help thinking that Maggie was right: Fossils formed faster than the relationship between Marcus and me.