I pulled on my boots and hat and grabbed my bag. I was locking the door when I realized I hadn’t packed a lunch. I looked at my watch. It would be faster to walk down to Eric’s Place and get a sandwich than to go back inside and make something. And yes, maybe I would get some of the latest talk about Agatha Shepherd’s death, too.
I was three houses down the hill when Harry Junior’s truck drove past me, slowed and stopped. He rolled down his window. “Hey, Kathleen, would you like a drive down the hill?” he called.
The sun was bright, but with the wind, it wasn’t very warm out. “Yes,” I said.
“Hop in, then,” he said. He rolled the window back up.
I waited for a minivan to pass in the other direction, then scooted across the street and climbed into Harry’s truck. It may have been well used, but Harry took care of the old Ford and the heat was blasting like I was sitting in front of a stoked woodstove.
“Thank you so much,” I said, reaching for the seat belt.
“You’re welcome.” He put the truck in gear, checking the mirrors before he pulled into the street.
I leaned back against the turquoise vinyl seat and let the heat soak through my coat. “I have to buy a car.”
“Is there a reason you haven’t?”
“Pretty much laziness,” I said with a laugh. “I sold my car in Boston, intending to buy one when I got here.” I held my hands up to the heating vent. “But it was easy to walk everywhere and, well, you know what they say about good intentions.”
Harry smiled. “That I do.”
“Are you going to the Winterfest supper tonight?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” he said. “The old man hasn’t missed a Winterfest supper in”—he paused for a second—“well, ever, except for when he was overseas. As long as he’s got a pulse he’s going to be there.”
“I hope that’s a long time,” I said.
“Me, too,” Harry said. He opened his mouth as though he was going to say something else, but he didn’t.
I waited without saying anything myself. Harry would get to whatever it was in his own time.
“Are you headed for the library?” he asked as we got to the bottom of the hill.
“I’m going over to Eric’s to get something for lunch,” I said. “But here is fine. Anywhere is fine.”
“I’m going to the bookstore.” Harry put on his turn signal. “It’s only one door down.”
“Okay,” I said. The truck was so cozy and warm that I was happy to stay in my seat for a few more blocks.
“Have you heard anything about Agatha Shepherd’s death?” Harry asked.
I looked at him, but he kept his gaze fixed on the road. His tone was almost too offhand. It occurred to me that maybe it wasn’t just chance that Harry had been driving by just as I was walking downtown. “I was at Wisteria Hill this morning with Detective Gordon,” I said. “He said the autopsy was this morning. That’s it.”
Harry sighed. “Kathleen, I’m worried about the old man.”
I could see the tightness in his face. “They were friends.”
“They were,” Harry said quietly. We were at a stop sign with no other cars behind us. He turned to me. “They stopped speaking a long time ago.”
I struggled for a moment. I didn’t want to break the old man’s confidence, but it was clear Harry knew something had happened to his father and Agatha’s friendship. “He said they had a falling-out,” I said finally.
Harry nodded. “He likes you,” he said, turning down toward the water.
“I like him.”
He pulled into an empty parking spot just a couple of spaces down from the café and put the truck in park, but stared out through the windshield for a moment before he said anything more. “Kathleen, he had some kind of argument with Agatha the other night, didn’t he?”
I undid my seat belt to delay answering his question for a moment. “They had a conversation about something. It was very short. Your father was upset, although he tried to hide it. How did you know?”
He held out his hand, turned it over and studied his palm before he answered. “He wasn’t himself, even before he heard about Agatha. And Detective Gordon came to talk to him last night.” He let out a breath.
“Dad wouldn’t tell me what the detective wanted, but he said something about saying things in anger that you can’t take back. I figured it had to be Agatha. It was pretty clear you two hadn’t argued about anything.”
I reached over and touched his arm. “Whatever they were discussing had nothing to do with her death.” I gestured to the café with my free hand. “She had a disagreement with Eric right before she saw your father. People argue, Harry. It doesn’t always mean anything.”
He pulled a hand across the bottom of his face. “He swiped one of my old trucks and drove himself down. Said he changed his mind and wanted to see what was happening at the auction. He scraped the front fender on something, I think when he was parking. At least he had enough sense to call me from Eric’s.”
I could suddenly hear my own heartbeat in my ears. Harry Senior was driving Wednesday night. “I didn’t know that,” I said slowly. “But it doesn’t mean he came looking for Agatha.”
“Dad has been having these episodes, times when he can’t remember where he was or what he was doing.” Harry swept his hand over his face again.
“The doctors don’t know if they’re small strokes, some kind of seizure disorder or even a brain tumor.” He shook his head. “Stubborn old coot refuses to go through more tests.”
He stared through the windshield. “Kathleen, he had one of those gaps the other night. He hasn’t admitted it, but I’ve gotten so I can pretty much tell when it happens.”
Harrison had been driving.
No. I wasn’t going there. Whatever had happened to Agatha, Harry Senior had had nothing to do with it. What had Harry just said? At least he’d had the good sense to call me from Eric’s. I’d walked the old man to the café, and Harry had picked him up there. Agatha had been fine when she’d walked away.
“Harry, Agatha was fine when your father left her,” I said. “I saw her head along the sidewalk. And I walked him to Eric’s, where you picked him up. I understand that you’re worried, but I don’t think you need to be.”
He looked relieved. “Thanks.”
I reached for the door handle with one hand and my bag with the other and got out of the truck, stepping up over the ridge of snow on the sidewalk. I raised my hand in good-bye, heading up the short stretch of sidewalk to the café.
Harry Senior had been driving the night Agatha died. But I’d walked him here and Harry had picked him up here. Had he stayed here? I closed my eyes for a second. In my mind I could see the blood soaking the plaid coat, and Agatha’s arm bent at an unnatural angle. I could see Marcus pulling the shard of glass from my pants cuff. Glass I was pretty sure came from a headlight.
The old man had scraped the fender of the truck on something, Harry had said. My heart started pounding in my chest again.
Something?
Or someone?
9
Claire was behind the counter inside the restaurant. It was too early for the lunch crowd.
“Hi, Kathleen,” she said. “What can I get you?”
“Sandwich, I think,” I said.
“For here or to go?”
I was tempted to stay and eat, but I needed to get some things done if I was going to get away and help Maggie later. “To go,” I said, pulling off my mittens.
She thought for a second. “All right. How about turkey and Swiss with spicy mustard and baby lettuce?”
“That sounds good.”
“Sourdough bread?” she asked.
I took a deep breath. The smell of fresh bread made my mouth water. “Yes.”
Claire put in the order and turned back to me. “What about a cookie?”
I patted the front of my parka. “If I keep eating your cookies more than just this coat is going to be padded.”