“Maybe just a little.” I grinned back at her. “Although I can picture the two of them grunting and pounding on their chests.”
Because I’d been talking to Hope and imagining Marcus and Gavin acting like a couple of posturing apes, I hadn’t noticed that Owen had managed to work the zipper on the carrier bag from inside, sliding it open so he could work out a shoulder and then his whole body. He climbed out, shook his head and jumped down to the floor.
“Crap on toast!” I exclaimed. “Owen, get back here. What did I say about staying in the bag?” It was a total waste of words. He listened only if it suited him or he was trying to placate me in some way.
Owen was making his way purposefully across the mosaic tile floor. He didn’t seem to be having any problem with his paw. He stopped at a spot in the middle of the space, under the domed ceiling with its curved skylight, bent his head and sniffed at something on the floor. He scraped at whatever he’d found and then sat and looked over his shoulder at me.
“Really bad thing to do if you want the rest of that chicken,” I said, glaring at the small cat. I reached down to pick him up. He twisted away, put his paw on the same spot on the floor he’d been pawing at and meowed at me.
“Do you happen to have a cat-size set of handcuffs?” I asked Hope.
“Sorry,” she said. “I left them in my other jacket.” She frowned at Owen. “What’s he scratching at?”
“I don’t know.” I crouched down beside the little tabby. He looked at the floor and then he looked at me. I knew that expression. It was his “So do you see it?” look.
There was something stuck to the tiny square tiles. I scraped the edge with a fingernail. It was a dried pine needle sticky with sap. I held out my finger to show Hope. I was certain Owen had a reason for pointing out this particular bit of dirt, but I couldn’t exactly tell that to Hope. No, that wouldn’t seem at all peculiar, would it?
“That’s pine sap,” she said. She turned and squinted toward the front entrance.
I waited. I could tell from her expression that she was making connections in her head. I didn’t need to tell her Owen thought the sticky pine needle was important; clearly she thought it was as well.
Hope sat back on her haunches. “Kathleen, there aren’t any pine trees out front, are there?”
I shook my head. “No. There’s one by the loading dock.”
She pressed her lips together. Owen was watching her intently. “I don’t suppose you know when this floor was last cleaned?” she asked.
Suddenly I understood why both she and Owen were so interested in the pinesap. “I do,” I said, slowly. “This entire level was steam mopped late last Thursday afternoon.” I picked up Owen, who made no move to wiggle away from me now, although he kept all of his focus on Hope. “Do you think the thief might have gotten into the building through the loading dock?” I asked. Hope got to her feet and so did I.
“We went over the entire building, but I’m thinking it might be worth a second look,” she said. “My guys wore booties when they were in here, and if the floor was cleaned not too long before the break-in . . .” She held out both hands.
“Maybe this was tracked in by the person who took the Weston drawing and killed Margo,” I finished.
Hope looked at me. “Maybe,” she said. She got her camera and took some photos of the spot on the floor as well as of my finger. Then she scraped the sticky pine needle off my finger into an evidence envelope.
“I should call Marcus,” she said. She peeled off the latex gloves she’d pulled on to collect the sap from my finger, pulled out her phone and called Marcus. The call went to voice mail.
“Damn!” she muttered almost under her breath. “He’s in a meeting with the prosecuting attorney.”
While she’d been making the call I’d put Owen back in the cat carrier. He’d climbed in without objection—something he didn’t often do. He seemed to have forgotten about his injured paw.
Hope dropped her phone back in her pocket. She looked at me and one eyebrow went up. “Do you want to go take a look back there? Off the record?” She blew out a breath. “Way, way off the record.”
Before I could say anything, Owen answered for me. “Merow!” he said loudly.
“We’re in,” I said.
She turned to the security guard. “Curtis, we’re just going to check something outside.”
He nodded.
I swung the bag over my shoulder and followed Hope out, stopping to lock up and set both alarms. Owen and I stood on the grass and watched while she examined the loading-dock area and the heavy metal door.
After a few minutes she pushed her hair back from her face and sighed. “I don’t see any sign that someone broke in through this door,” she said. She looked at the cat carrier. I could see a pair of eyes watching her. “You got any more clues, Owen?” she asked.
“Murp,” he said.
Hope came to stand beside us. “I guess I was just grasping at straws,” she said, scanning the area.
Harry Junior had just started working on the library grounds, collecting small branches that had blown down over the winter and uncovering the shrubs that had been protected from the cold and snowy Minnesota weather.
Hope was focused on a spot to the side of the loading dock, where the bronze rain chain hung down the side of the building. It looked like a sequence of tiny pots.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s a rain chain,” I said. “It guides the water down to the ground from the gutter.”
“Why don’t you have a downspout?” she asked without taking her eyes off the side of the building.
“That was Harry’s idea,” I said. “Kids kept using the downspout to climb up onto the roof over the loading dock.”
Hope’s eyes met mine then. “Stay right here,” she said. She took a couple of steps forward, her gaze fixed to the ground. Then suddenly she stopped and backtracked.
“What size would you say Harry’s feet are, Kathleen?” she asked. “Fourteen maybe?”
I thought about the big black rubber boots he had been wearing when he’d last been working on the library grounds. “At least,” I said.
Hope looked at me. “I think I know how the killer got into the building,” she said, pulling out her phone.
8
“The thief came in through the roof?” Ruby said. “C’mon, Kathleen, tell me Bridget got that wrong.”
We were in the tai chi studio. Maggie and Ruby were holding mugs of some kind of tea that smelled of orange and spices, and I was wishing I’d stopped for coffee at Eric’s. The current edition of the Mayville Heights Chronicle was on the table.
I shook my head. “She didn’t.” The latest developments at the library were front-page news. Once again, Mary’s daughter, Bridget, had all the details.
What Hope had seen on the ground by the loading dock to make her back up so quickly was part of a footprint. A footprint that was smaller than anything Harry would have left in his rubber boots. Not that he would have stepped in a flower bed that was still too wet to work in in the first place.
It appeared that Margo’s killer had some kind of gymnastic or climbing skills, as far-fetched as that seemed. There was no other way to have gotten up onto the roof without leaving evidence behind. Hope had called in her crime scene team, Marcus had arrived, and any hope I had of reopening the library had evaporated. I’d taken Owen home and then spent the rest of the day at Henderson Holdings with Lita, doing damage control.
“It sounds like something out of a Tom Cruise movie,” Maggie said, stretching one arm over her head.
“I didn’t know that skylight even opened,” Ruby said. She’d changed her hair color back to grape-jelly purple.
I made a face. “I knew it could be opened—in theory. What I didn’t know was that Will Redfern and his crew had left it unsecured.”