“What?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you know he was going to fake a Sundblom Santa Claus?” Maggie asked.
“Yes. I’d told him the rumors about Carson Henderson being the model for the Coke Santa. I think he went out to Wisteria Hill to look around a couple of times.”
“He did,” I said.
“But he gave up the idea. He had something else going. I don’t know what it was. All I can tell you is that he wanted to use a couple of other pens and some black ink. I swear I don’t know what for.”
Ray turned to Maggie. “Maggie, I’m sorry,” he said.
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “So am I, Ray,” she said.
I left Maggie to deal with the fallout of what Jaeger and Ray had done. Ruby was in her studio and after we’d brought her up to date they started calling the other artists to arrange a meeting to decide how they’d handle things.
I got to the library just before eleven. It seemed as though everyone had run out of things to read or watch or listen to. I was happy to know the library usage numbers were staying up. It made all the work and turmoil of getting the building renovated worth it.
Roma came in with lunch for both of us a few minutes before one, just when I realized that I was hungry and had forgotten to pack anything to eat.
“Claire said you hadn’t been in, so I took a chance and brought something,” she said, holding up the take-out bag.
I smiled at her across the checkout desk. “Thank you.” Right on cue my stomach made a loud rumble. “My stomach thanks you too.”
I got a cup of coffee for each of us from the staff room and we settled in my office.
“How are you?” I asked after I’d taken a big bite of my turkey and tomato sandwich.
“Stunned, mostly,” she said. “Marcus talked to my mother, mostly to confirm what Sam told him. I went over what I remembered about being in the car with Sam and about my father getting me to hide under a blanket.” She picked up half her sandwich and put it back down again. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to Sam.”
“He thought he was protecting you and your mother,” I said. “That should count for something.”
Roma stared at her shoes. “I thanked him,” she said in a low voice. “I thanked him for loving my mother and caring about me.”
She took a deep breath and slowly breathed out. Then she looked up at me. “I’m going to have Tom’s remains buried with the rest of his family.” She put a hand flat on her chest. “In my heart and my mind Neil is my father, but Tom gave me life and I want him to have a proper burial.”
“Let me know when the service is,” I said. “I’ll be there, if you’d like some company.”
She had to clear her throat before she answered. “Thanks,” she said.
We ate in silence for a few minutes. “How’s your mother doing?” I asked when most of my sandwich was gone.
“Surprisingly well,” Roma said. “I think she feels guilty about Sam.”
I nodded.
“And me.”
“You’re not angry,” I said, shifting in my seat and tucking one foot underneath me.
“I’m not.” She reached for her coffee. “My mother’s stories about Tom always made him out to be a little bit too good to be true. I guess somewhere inside I never totally believed them. The truth didn’t hurt as much as you’d think it would.” She took a long drink from her cup. “I owe you a thank you.”
“What for?” I said
“For finding Tom’s remains.”
“That was an accident.” I picked up my own coffee. “I wouldn’t have even been standing there if I hadn’t seen something and gone to pick it up. The embankment might not have collapsed without my extra weight.”
“So what did you see?”
I held up my fingers, about an inch apart. “A little, purple buffer.”
“You mean for a manicure?” Roma asked, glancing down at her short, unpolished nails.
“No. I mean for working on a mask.”
Her eyes widened. “Jaeger.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, slowly. “Maggie was right. He did have some scam going. Maybe more than one. It looks as though Ray Nightingale was involved, too.”
Roma shook her head. “I’m guessing Maggie is on damage control.”
“She is,” I said. “It’s going to be a messy few days for the co-op.”
“That reminds me. I have a vet to cover for me for a few days starting tomorrow—I’m going to see Eddie on the road. Could you take a couple of my shifts at Wisteria Hill?”
I smiled. “Absolutely.”
We talked about the cats as we finished eating, then Roma looked at her watch. “I need to get to the clinic. Someone brought in a stray with chemical burns to her feet. We’re having a heck of a time keeping the bandages on and clean.”
“Boots,” I said.
She shook her head. “No. She doesn’t look like a Boots. She’s all white. I’ve been calling her Snowy.”
“I don’t mean Boots for a name,” I said. “I mean she needs boots, to wear over the bandages.”
She thought about it for a moment. “Interesting idea, but where am I going to find a pair of cat boots?”
I smiled at her. “It just so happens Hercules has a pair and I’m pretty sure he’d be willing to donate them to a cat in need.”
Roma smiled at me. “I’m not even going to ask you what Hercules is doing with boots. I’m just going to say yes.”
“I’ll drop them off at the clinic,” I said. “Thank you for lunch.”
She hugged me. “Thank you for, well, everything.”
After Roma left I went out to give Susan a break at the front desk, pulling on my sweater because the building still seemed a bit chilly after having been closed up for several cool, damp days. I was stacking books on one of the carts to be reshelved and when I bent to put a couple of magazines on the bottom something crackled in my pocket. I straightened and put my hand inside, pulling out the piece of paper Owen had found at the studio.
I squinted at the cramped, spidery writing. The name looked like Gerald Sherriff. Ray had said that Jaeger had given up on faking the Coca-Cola Santa for something else. Maybe Gerald Sherriff was connected somehow. Marcus would say, “Leave it alone,” but I couldn’t. I knew Maggie wouldn’t relax until she knew for sure what Jaeger had been up to.
I turned to the computer and typed the name in a search engine. Nothing. I couldn’t find a Gerald Sherriff connected with the art world or any kind of scam.
I frowned at the scrap of paper. Maybe it was meaningless. Maybe Owen had picked it up because it smelled like tuna to him, not because it was some clue that would solve the Jaeger Merrill/Christian Ellis mystery. He was just a cat after all. Okay, a cat with some pretty good sleuthing skills that I was probably never going to be able to explain, but in the end just ten pounds of furry feline with fish breath and lots of attitude.
Mary came over with an empty book cart. She glanced at the corner of paper on the desk. “Who’s Carroll Stennett?” she asked. “The name’s familiar.”
“That doesn’t say Carroll Stennett,” I said. “It says Gerald Sherriff.”
Mary shook her head at me. “I may need glasses, but I can see. Whoever that is writes like my mother did. I think it’s some style of penmanship they used to teach in school. Look.” She pointed to the first letter in the name. “That’s a C not a G, and that’s an L at the end, not a D.”
I held the piece of paper up to the light. The shakiness of the writing made it hard to distinguish the letters, but now that she’d pointed it out, I could see she was right about the C and the L.
“Mary, you’re a genius,” I said.
She patted her gray curls. “I know. It’s a curse sometimes.” She exchanged the empty cart for a full one and went back to the stacks.
I typed Carroll Stennett into the search engine box. It took a while to find the connection and I probably would have missed it altogether if the source of the story hadn’t been the Mayville Heights Chronicle. I leaned back in the chair and reread the article on my screen.