I didn’t have an answer. I couldn’t understand why Margo had wanted to sabotage the exhibit at all.
“So if the drawing had a computer chip attached to it, what were you supposed to do with it?” Marcus asked.
Rena pointed across the library. “I was supposed to hide it in the fourth book from the left in that case over there.” She was indicating one of the special cabinets that held our rare book collection.
Marcus’s phone rang then. He pulled it out of his pocket and held up his hand. “I need to take this; give me a minute.”
He walked a few steps away from us.
“Kathleen, I didn’t kill Margo,” Rena said. “I had no reason to. Because of her, my paintings were going to be on display; my first real exhibit.”
I held out both hands. “You seriously thought the exhibit would continue after you stole the drawing?” It was hard to believe Rena could have been that dense.
She shook her head. “No, I knew there wouldn’t be an exhibit here, but Margo was going to add all the Mayville Heights artists to the next stop on the tour.”
I didn’t know what to say. I knew that Margo had already spent time at the other five stops on the tour. The layout of the artwork had already been planned. There was no way the artists from Mayville Heights would be part of the exhibit in some other place.
Marcus put his phone back in his pocket and walked back over to us. He gave Rena a look, narrowing his eyes, and I realized something in his attitude had changed. I wondered who had been on the other end of the phone.
“Do you know anything about the history of the Weston drawing, Detective?” Rena asked. She was still fingering the cardboard wrapped around her painting.
“I know there’s some dispute about whether or not Weston himself is the artist,” Marcus said.
“Margo believed, very strongly, that he wasn’t. She did a lot of research on Sam Weston and on that drawing in particular. She went to talk to his first wife’s great-great-grandson. I don’t know what she found out, but whatever it was, she was convinced that that particular drawing wasn’t done by Weston and that several others weren’t, either.”
“She told you all that?” Marcus didn’t even try to keep the skepticism from his voice.
Rena smiled, not particularly warmly. “Uh-huh. It’ll probably surprise you, but I agree . . . agreed with her.” She gestured in the direction of the computer area turned exhibit space. “These pieces should be in a controlled environment with proper security. They’re part of this country’s heritage—part of our heritage.”
“We should get going, Ms. Adler,” Marcus said.
Rena nodded. “I understand.” She turned to me, indicating the wrapped painting as she did. “Is it all right if I leave this here?”
“Of course it is,” I said. “I’ll put it upstairs in my office.” I looked at Marcus. “Is that all right?”
He nodded. “It’s fine.” He looked around. “I’m sorry, Kathleen,” he began.
“I can’t stay here,” I finished. Once again I was shut out of my own library.
Marcus took me by the arm and led me over to the main doors. Rena was putting a bit more tape on the cardboard-wrapped painting.
“You don’t think she killed Margo,” I said.
He shook his head. “How do you do that?”
“That was Hope on the phone and she told you something that convinced you that Rena isn’t the killer.” I was only guessing, but his expression told me I was correct.
He pulled a hand over his mouth. “Rena is left-handed,” he said.
I glanced over at her. “I noticed that, too.”
He didn’t say anything.
I turned back to him. “The killer wasn’t,” I said slowly. Then I gave my head a slight shake before he could speak. “I know. You can’t tell me that.”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry.” He looked around. “There was no computer chip on that drawing,” he began.
“But you want to search again.”
“I do.”
Another thought had just occurred to me. “Marcus, if Rena didn’t kill Margo, that means someone else got in here and did.”
He nodded.
“But if it wasn’t about the drawing, if she didn’t walk in on the thief, on Rena, then why would anyone want to kill her?”
Marcus shook his head. “I don’t know.”
I took Rena’s painting up to my office. While I was gone Marcus opened the cabinet and checked to make sure the drawing wasn’t inside.
It wasn’t.
“Is it all right if I let Lita and Everett know we’re going to be closed a bit longer?” I asked as we headed for the front door.
“It’s all right,” he said. “But for now, everything else stays between us.”
I nodded, then reached for his hand to give it a squeeze. He smiled and the gleam that flashed in his blue eyes sent a warm feeling flooding through my chest.
I turned and walked back to Rena. “Think about a lawyer,” I said softly.
All she did was smile at me.
Curtis Holt was at the front doors. I realized Marcus had worked out the timing of that in advance. He and Rena headed for the police station and I walked over to Henderson Holdings and brought Lita up to date on what was going on. Then I headed home.
Hercules was sitting in the blue Adirondack chair in the backyard when I got home. I scooped him onto my lap and sat down. “What are you doing out here?” I asked.
He looked over at the big maple tree and meowed. Hercules had a love-hate relationship with a grackle that spent a lot of time in that tree. I thought of their perverse connection as love-hate because while Hercules had managed to snag one of the bird’s feathers, he’d never come any closer to the bird—something he was quite capable of doing. And the grackle, in turn, had dive-bombed the cat, but never, as far as I had seen, touched a single strand of fur on his head.
“Where’s your friend?” I said, stroking his fur. It was warm from the morning sun.
He responded with a sharp meow.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I meant your archnemesis.”
Hercules made a grumbling sound low in his throat, shook off my hand, then jumped to the grass and headed for the house. He didn’t bother waiting for me; he just walked through the door into the porch.
I watched him, thinking how much easier it would be if I could do that instead of stopping to fish out my keys all the time and unlock things. I couldn’t help laughing as I let myself into the porch the normal way. When had I gotten so blasé about the cats’ abilities?
I spent the afternoon catching up on what work I could from home. Lita called with a message from Everett that in essence promised any resources I needed to get things back to normal at the library as quickly as possible. I called Maggie to let her know we’d need her space for a few more days if that was okay. I told her that Rena was answering some questions for the police, but it didn’t look like she’d killed Margo. I didn’t think that violated Marcus’s request not to talk about what had happened at the library. Gavin didn’t call and I didn’t call him, either.
I couldn’t get Rena’s story out of my head. Margo had hired her to break in to the library and take the Weston drawing out of its case and hide it? That made no sense. The case we kept the rare books in would make a good temporary hiding place, but I couldn’t believe that Margo would do anything that might put the fragile piece of artwork at risk of damage. This whole thing was so out of character for the person I’d gotten to know.
But why would Rena make up a story like that? Even though Margo was dead, there were parts of her tale Marcus and Hope would be able to check on.
When I got to tai chi, Maggie took me aside to tell me that Rena was out on bail and had to stay in town, but she didn’t seem concerned about the time she’d spent at the police station. “Did Marcus say anything?” she asked.
“I haven’t talked to him,” I said, wondering if he hadn’t called so I wouldn’t have to be evasive with Maggie—or anyone else.