“Morning, Detective,” the guard replied. “Detective Lind is upstairs.” He smiled at me. “Good morning, Ms. Paulson.”
I smiled back. “Good morning, Curtis.”
Hope Lind was at the top of the stairs on the second floor with, I guessed, a couple of crime scene technicians.
“Thank you for letting me get some things from my office,” I said. Hope was the lead detective on the case and I knew it was because of her that I had been allowed in the building, not because of my relationship with Marcus.
“No problem, Kathleen,” she said. Her eyes flicked to Marcus for a second and I found myself wondering about those dates the two of them had had.
I stepped into my office and glanced around the room, trying not to look at the spot on the floor where Margo’s body had been lying. I tried instead to think about what I wanted—needed—to accomplish in the next few days. I pointed out the files I wanted on my desk and Marcus retrieved them, looking carefully through each manila folder before he handed them to me. “Sorry,” he said with shrug. “I have to follow procedure.”
“It’s okay.” I smiled at him.
“Is there anything else you need?” he asked. “I still have no idea when you’ll be able to reopen.”
I stuffed the file folders in my bag. “That’s all right. I can work around the building being closed. Maggie’s offered to move Reading Buddies to the tai chi studio. And Lita is going to offer the boardroom at Henderson Holdings to the seniors’ reading group.”
“They couldn’t get any more raucous than some of the board meetings we’ve had in there,” she’d said, looking at me over the top of her glasses.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Marcus said. “Everyone—but especially you—worked hard to raise the money to expand Reading Buddies. That’s really nice of Maggie to let you use the studio. But, uh, does she have any idea how loud that could get?”
Marcus had helped out with the kids at the library a few times. Because of his own dyslexia he was very good with reluctant readers.
“I warned her.”
“Maybe you should drop off some earplugs, just in case,” he said with a grin.
“By the way, she thinks Gavin might be right about Devin Rossi.” I glanced toward the hall again.
His smile faded. “You told her what he said.”
I studied his face as it closed into what I thought of as police officer mode. “I didn’t think it was a secret and I wanted to know if she thought Gavin’s idea had any credence.”
His eyebrows went up slightly. “Did she?”
I shifted a bit uncomfortably from one foot to the other. I could feel the skepticism coming off him. He’d made it clear he thought the idea of a cat burglar dropping into the library from the roof to steal a drawing that wasn’t any bigger than a piece of copier paper was outlandish.
“She confirmed everything Gavin told us.” I paused. When he didn’t say anything, I added, “She’s at the shop all afternoon if you’d like to talk to her.”
“Okay,” he said. He leaned against the edge of my desk. “By the way, I talked to Solomon’s police contact from Chicago.” He gave me a small smile. “You didn’t think I would, did you?”
“No, I didn’t,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks get warm.
“The only thing they have on Devin Rossi is a fingerprint from a robbery they think she committed at a private gallery about three years ago.”
“Did you find any fingerprints on the skylight?” I asked.
Marcus nodded. “Yes.”
“So did they match?”
He shook his head. “The only prints we had belong to Will Redfern, and I don’t think it was him who stole that drawing.”
I sighed. “And you don’t think it was Devin Rossi, either.”
He straightened up. “Sorry. I just don’t think some cat burglar broke in here, stole that drawing and killed Margo Walsh.”
I nodded. It was just so far-fetched, but I couldn’t help wishing things really were that simple.
10
Owen went to sit by the back door about five minutes before Maggie was due to drive out to Roma’s with me. “She’ll be here soon,” I said. He shot a backward glance in my direction as if to say, “I know that.”
And he did. I had no idea how he knew when Maggie was going to show up or when Rebecca was about to knock on the back door with treats or even when Marcus was going to stop by unexpectedly. He just did. It was just one of the many things about the cats that I’d stopped trying to find an explanation for.
“Hey, Fuzz Face,” Maggie said when she caught sight of Owen.
He looked up at her, adoration written all over his furry gray-and-white face. I pulled on my hoodie while the two of them “talked.”
Finally, Maggie looked at me. “Hi, Kath, where’s the bench?” she said. We were taking a long, low bench that I’d painted and Mags had made a pillow for out to Roma as surprise. Maggie had surreptitiously measured the space and we were fairly confident that it would fit under the window at the end of the upstairs hallway. Roma had found a similar bench in an antiques store in Red Wing but had balked at the price. Maggie and I had found this one at a flea market a few weeks ago, painted a bilious pea soup green. Marcus had tightened one wobbly leg and Hercules had “helped” as I sanded away the old paint—from a distance, of course.
“It’s in the basement,” I said. “It’s kind of awkward for one person to bring up the stairs alone and I forgot to ask Marcus to help me when he was here.”
She lifted her right arm and made a muscle. “We can do it,” she said. “We don’t need any boys.”
Owen gave a sharp meow.
Maggie smiled down at him. “I didn’t mean you,” she said.
He went over to the basement door and pushed it open with a paw, then looked expectantly at Maggie.
“Thank you, Owen,” she said.
With Owen supervising, we got the bench up the basement stairs. Hercules came to watch as we carefully wrapped it in an old blanket, sniffing and poking the padding with a paw. Once the bench was set in the bed of the truck and Maggie had given both cats a couple of sardine crackers to thank them for their assistance, we headed out to Wisteria Hill.
I backed the truck up to the side steps of the house. Roma had come out onto the verandah when she’d heard the truck. “What is this?” she asked as Maggie and I got out.
“We brought you a little housewarming gift,” I said.
Roma looked from Maggie to me. “I should say you shouldn’t have, but I’m really curious about what it is.” She cocked her head to one side and studied the blanket-wrapped shape. “It looks a little small to be another Eddie.”
Eddie Sweeney, aka Crazy Eddie Sweeney, was a star player for the NHL’s Minnesota Wild and was Roma’s significant other. Mags had made a life-size Eddie for a Winterfest display a couple of years ago. Faux Eddie had led to a lot of rumors swirling around town about Roma and the real Eddie, and eventually to the two of them meeting. Real Eddie had bought Faux Eddie as a gift for Roma.
I climbed into the truck bed and Maggie and I got the bench off it and up onto the verandah. I unfastened the bungee cords that were holding the blanket in place and Maggie pulled it away.
“Oh my word,” Roma said softly, putting one hand to her chest. “Did . . . did you two do this?”
I nodded. I suddenly felt the unexpected prickle of tears. I was so incredibly lucky to have friends like Roma and Maggie. I caught Maggie’s eye. She swallowed and blinked a couple of times. I had a feeling she’d felt the same rush of gratitude I had.
Roma leaned over and trailed a hand across the cushion fabric and down over the wood. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice raspy with emotion. “It’s more beautiful than the one in Red Wing.”
She threw her arms around Maggie and reached out to pull me into the hug.