“Wait a minute,” Rena said, gesturing at Ruby with her fork. “I saw those paintings you did. Were those Kathleen’s cats?”
Ruby grunted a yes because her mouth was full of cake. She swallowed and began to tell Rena about the boys posing for her.
Rena Adler was very good at deflecting any conversation away from herself, I realized. I was even more convinced that she was hiding something. But was I right that she was really Devin Rossi? And even more important, had she killed Margo?
As I listened to her and Ruby talk, with occasional comments added by Maggie, I found myself hoping I was wrong. Rena was funny, kind in her comments about other artists’ work without being fake or cloying. I could see both Maggie and Ruby liked her.
After about another ten minutes or so, Ruby got to her feet and stretched. “I need to get back to work,” she said. She smiled across the table. “Thanks for the cake, Kathleen. And the tea, Maggie.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
“I’ll put something together on that art exhibit idea and e-mail it to you if that’s okay?” she said.
I nodded. “That’s good.”
Ruby looked at Maggie. “You’ll be down at the shop this afternoon?”
“I’m meeting Oren there at one o’clock,” she said.
Rena slid off her stool. “I should get back to work as well.” She looked from me to Maggie. “This was fun. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you joined us,” Maggie said. She tipped her head in my direction. “Kathleen makes great brownies, too.”
“Was that a hint?” I teased.
She nodded. “It was.”
Rena smiled at us. “See you later,” she said.
I watched her head down the hall, waving at Ruby as she passed her studio door. I closed Maggie’s door and turned around to discover she’d taken all the cups and plates over to the sink. So much for my plan. I closed my eyes and blew out a breath.
“It’s in a bag on the counter,” Maggie said.
I opened my eyes. “What’s on the counter?”
She turned from the sink. “Rena’s cup. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Something with her fingerprints?” She gestured at the brown paper bag sitting next to the kettle.
“How did you know?” I asked walking over to her.
She turned off the tap. “Did you notice how Rena deflected any questions about herself? When Ruby asked where she’d lived before she moved to Red Wing she didn’t name a place. She said ‘everywhere.’”
I leaned against the wooden cabinet. “I noticed.”
“That’s not the first time she’s done that,” Maggie said, reaching for the small towel she kept on a hook next to the sink. “She did the same thing with Susan one of the times we were at the library.” She dried her hands. “I think she’s hiding something.”
I nodded. “I think you’re right.”
Maggie raked a hand through her blonde curls. “She didn’t kill Margo Walsh.”
“I like her too, Mags,” I said, gently.
“I’m not saying that just because I like her. She doesn’t give off that kind of energy.” She shook her head. “I’m not saying she’s not keeping secrets, because it’s pretty obvious she is. I just don’t think killing Margo is one of them.”
I looked over at the paper bag. “I hope you’re right.”
I left Riverarts and walked over to Eric’s. I’d left the truck in the library parking lot. It was too early for lunch, but a large cup of coffee sounded pretty good.
Nic Sutton was working. “Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “What can I get you?”
“Two large coffees to go,” I said.
“I just put a new pot on,” he said. “If you can wait for a couple of minutes you can have a fresh cup.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “Thanks.”
I dropped onto one of the padded stools at the counter and pulled out my phone, hoping I’d get Marcus and not his voice mail. I couldn’t help smiling when I heard his voice.
“Do you have time for a break?” I asked.
“I’d love one,” he said. I imagined him leaning back at his desk and stretching his arms over his head. “Where are you?”
“I’m at Eric’s,” I said.
“I’ll be there in about five minutes.”
I was just snapping lids on the paper take-out cups when Marcus walked in to the café. I walked over to meet him. “How about a walk along the trail?” I asked.
“Fine with me,” he said.
I handed him his coffee and we left the restaurant, crossing the street to walk along the path that curved along the water’s edge.
“How was your morning?” I asked.
“Too much paperwork,” he said. He took a sip of his coffee and made a little murmur of happiness. “Why is Eric’s coffee so much better than the coffee at the station?”
“Because they don’t buy the coffee beans at the Dollar Store. Because no one pounds on the top of the coffeemaker when they think it’s not making coffee fast enough. Because they actually wash the carafe once in a while.” I ticked off the reasons on my fingers.
He shot me a sidelong glance. “That was a rhetorical question,” he said, taking another sip.
“Marcus, did you or Hope talk to an artist named Rena Adler?” I asked.
He frowned at the change of subject and stared off into the distance for a moment. “She’s one of the local artists, isn’t she? Hope talked to her.” He stopped walking. “Why?”
I took a drink to buy a moment. “Because I don’t think Rena Adler is her real name.” I held up one hand. “Hear me out before you say anything.”
He caught the hand in his own and gave it a squeeze. “I will,” he said. Then he smiled. “I will,” he repeated.
I took a deep breath. “Do you remember Gavin telling us about Devin Rossi, the art thief?”
Marcus nodded. “Yes.” He gave my hand another squeeze before he let go of it. We started walking again.
“Devin Rossi seemed to disappear two years ago. At the same time Rena Adler seemed to appear out of nowhere.” I took a sip from my cup. “I called Julian McCrea. He met Devin Rossi once at a museum gala. Except for the hair color, his description of her could have been a description of Rena. And . . .” I paused.
“And what?” Marcus asked. He gave the take-out cup a shake and took another drink.
“And she’s evasive about her past. She manages to deflect any questions anyone asks about where she lived or what she used to do.” I waited for Marcus to tell me this was a police investigation and I should stay out of it.
“I know,” is what he did say.
“What do you mean, you know?” I said.
“She was evasive with Hope as well, and Hope couldn’t find any more about the woman than you did.”
I brushed my hair back off my face. “Do you remember telling me that there was a partial fingerprint from an art heist that was probably Devin Rossi’s?”
His blue eyes narrowed. “I remember,” he said, slowly.
I held up the paper bag. “Rena Adler’s fingerprints are on the mug in this bag.”
“I can’t use that in court.”
We’d stopped walking again.
“I know,” I said. “But Rena or Devin or whoever she is doesn’t know that.”
Marcus shifted from one foot to the other. “If—if for the sake of argument Rena Adler is Devin Rossi, she probably does know that.”
I exhaled loudly. “Okay, but if the fingerprints tell you that Rena isn’t, well, Rena, you can at least talk to her again. You don’t have to tell her how you know.”
He may have been frustrated, but I could see a gleam of interest in his blue eyes.
I laid a hand on his arm. “Marcus, Rena Adler is Devin Rossi. I’m certain of it.”
“Because she doesn’t like talking about her past? Or because she looks like the woman Julian McCrea described to you?”
“Because of her name.”
He looked surprised and his eyes shifted uncertainly from side to side. Obviously that hadn’t been the answer he was expecting. “I don’t understand.”