“That’s very thoughtful,” he said. “Do you have a pen?”
I did. He gave me a post office box address and I wrote it underneath his phone number.
“I’m sorry that I don’t have any more information for you,” Julian said.
“It’s all right,” I said. “I understand. I don’t think this is going to be an easy case to solve.”
“The police aren’t any closer to figuring out who took the Weston drawing?”
I shifted in my chair, pulling one foot up underneath me. “Or who killed Margo Walsh. No.” I hesitated. “Do you remember we spoke about Devin Rossi?”
“Let me guess,” Julian said. “Gavin still thinks that perhaps she was the thief.” I could hear the amusement in his voice.
I tried to match his tone. “I know it’s kind of silly to think an art thief came to a small town in Minnesota to steal a drawing that isn’t even worth that much money.”
“No offense, Kathleen, but, yes, a little.”
“We’re all kind of grasping at straws,” I said. “So I hope you won’t think less of me if I ask if you know what Devin Rossi looks like. Is she possibly quite tall—over six feet, with an athletic frame? There was a woman like that in the library the day before the picture was stolen and Margo was killed.”
Rena Adler was probably a couple of inches shorter than I was. The person I’d described had been in the library the day before Margo’s murder. She was the women’s basketball coach at the high school.
I didn’t know if Julian McCrea’s business dealings were legitimate or not. I didn’t want anyone to know what I suspected, just in case.
“I’m sorry,” Julian said. “I met a woman I believe was Devin Rossi once at a party for the Antony Williams exhibit about three years ago at the Weyman Gallery in Chicago. Without heels I don’t think she’s as tall as you are. She had blond hair and, I think, blue eyes. I’m sorry, that’s all I can tell you.”
“I guess that would just be too easy an answer,” I said. “Again, thank you for talking to me. I’ll get the photo in the mail to you.”
“It was my pleasure, Kathleen,” he said. “Good night.”
I ended the call and set the phone back on the table. Then I got up and went into the living room for my laptop. Rena Adler had blue eyes. Except for the hair color—which could easily be changed—Julian’s description of Devin Rossi could easily have been Rena, or, I had to admit, a million other women. Julian had said he’d met Devin Rossi at a party in Chicago. Was it possible there were photos from that party online? There were. But I couldn’t find Rena Adler in any of them.
“It’s her,” I told the boys. “I know I’m right. So how am I going to convince Marcus?”
The cats exchanged glances. Then they looked at the refrigerator. Clearly this was going to take more thought. And more sardines.
I warmed up my cocoa and went back to the table. I still had half a cinnamon roll on my plate. The idea of an art thief living in Red Wing and coming to Mayville Heights to steal the Sam Weston drawing might sound far-fetched, but I was starting to think it was possible. But how was I going to prove that Rena Adler was that art thief? And, as much as it made me uncomfortable to think about, Margo’s killer?
Owen came over to my chair. Without waiting for an invitation he launched himself onto my lap.
“Hello,” I said.
He nuzzled my cheek, then leaned around me and tried to lick my cup.
“Forget it,” I said. “Hot chocolate is not for cats.” I set the cup on the table and realized that it hadn’t been the hot chocolate Owen had been trying to get at. There was a smudge of icing from the roll on the side of the blue porcelain. I swiped it with my finger and licked off the icing.
Owen grumbled in protest.
“Cinnamon rolls are definitely not cat food,” I told him.
His expression said he wasn’t convinced.
I reached for my cup. I’d left a smear of icing behind on the blue porcelain. And my fingerprint in sugar, butter and vanilla.
I shook my finger at Owen. He followed it, looking almost cross-eyed. “That’s how we can prove who Rena Adler really is.”
Owen shook his head and focused on my face instead.
“Marcus said that there was one partial print from one of her robberies. All we need to do is get Rena’s fingerprints.”
The cat looked at me, almost as though he was wondering how I was going to do that. I looked over at the mixer sitting on the counter.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I have a plan.”
17
Marcus liked to tease that I thought pretty much any problem could be solved with a plate of brownies. That wasn’t true. I thought a blueberry muffin or a nice coffee cake would also work.
“This problem calls for a coffee cake,” I told Owen. He licked his whiskers.
I reached for my phone and called Maggie. “I didn’t take you away from some romantic moment, did I?” I asked.
She gave a snort of laughter. “Not unless you think snaking the toilets at the shop is romantic. What’s up?”
“It doesn’t look like the library is going to open for a few more days. I was thinking of making a coffee cake tomorrow and wondered if you were up for a coffee break Monday morning. You’re going to be in your studio, aren’t you?”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “I’d love some of your coffee cake.”
“Are Ruby and Rena going to be around?” I asked. “Maybe they could join us.”
“What are you up to?” Maggie said.
“I’m not up to anything.” I was glad that she couldn’t see my face.
Somehow Owen knew it was Maggie on the other end of the phone. He was trying to push his face in against it. “Owen’s trying to say hello,” I said.
“Hey fur ball,” she said.
He heard her. He leaned his head against my hand and started to purr.
“He’s purring,” I said.
“And you’re not being straight with me, Kath.”
I exhaled softly. “I just want to talk to Rena and I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
“Does this have to do with what happened at the library?” Maggie lowered her voice. That told me that someone probably was with her, most likely Brady Chapman.
I hesitated. I didn’t want Maggie mixed up in the middle of this.
“I won’t help you if you don’t tell me what you’re up to,” she said. I was surprised by the determination in her voice. “We could have lost you in that fire before Christmas.” She stopped and I heard her swallow.
Maggie, Owen and I had been caught in a burning building back in December in a fire started by the person who had killed Brady Chapman’s mother. Maggie had managed to get out, but Owen and I had been trapped for a while. Maggie still blamed herself for not being able to get us out.
“Mags, I’m fine. I’m not going to do anything dangerous or stupid.” I knew I had to tell her more. “I want to talk to Rena because I think maybe . . . maybe she hasn’t been completely honest about her background. Remember that art dealer Gavin and I went to Minneapolis to talk to?”
“Yes,” she said slowly.
“Not all of his business is legitimate, and I think Rena may know him.”
“Does Marcus know what you’re doing?” she asked.
For a moment I thought about lying. “No,” I said.
“Are you going to tell him?”
“If there’s anything to tell, I will.” I shifted Owen sideways a little so I could reach my cup. That meant he couldn’t keep his head next to the phone. He made a face at me.
“All right,” Maggie said. “It had better be a really good coffee cake.”
“Rhubarb streusel.”
“Give the furry one a kiss from me,” she said.