“Well, Nic was just plain acting weird,” Ruby said.
Maggie nodded in agreement.
“Weird how?”
“He worked with me,” Ruby said, leaning against the worktable. “And his shift was after Ray’s so he overlapped a little with Maggie. He kept going over to the shelf where the scarves and the placemats were displayed, and he was looking over his shoulder as though he thought he was being watched. He seemed really nervous.”
I turned to Maggie again. “What about Rebecca?”
“Rebecca was just like Nic and Susan. She wasn’t acting like herself.” Maggie made a face. “I know that I said this about Susan, but Rebecca was acting furtive as well, glancing about a lot, standing by the display, and fishing around in her bag.”
I didn’t know what to say. The description didn’t sound like Rebecca, but then again what Maggie and Ruby had described about the other two didn’t sound like Susan or Nic, either.
I glanced at my watch again. “I need to head back,” I said. I gave Maggie a hug. “Thank you for lunch. I promise I’ll call you as soon as I talk to Susan.”
Maggie tipped her head in the direction of the cinnamon rolls. “Thank you for those, and for . . . everything.”
I nodded. “Anytime.”
“I’ll walk down with you,” Ruby said, reaching for her jean jacket. She turned to Maggie. “Thanks for the pizza. I have a couple of things to do but I’ll call you later.”
Ruby and I headed down the hall. “You’re coming with me,” I said once we were on our way down the stairs out of Maggie’s earshot. I didn’t frame the words as a question.
“Look, Kathleen, it’s not that I don’t trust you,” Ruby said, stopping one step above the turn landing. “It’s just that . . . I’m head of the co-op board now. It was my decision not to call the police and I’m okay with that. But I still need answers.”
“I understand,” I said. “If the same thing had happened at the library, I’d feel the same way.”
It had stopped raining, I discovered when we stepped out into the parking lot. “Are you taking your car or do you want to ride with me?” I asked. I gestured toward the nearby side street. “I’m just parked over there.”
“I’ll come with you, if that’s all right,” Ruby said. “I’m going to the store after and I can walk there from the library.”
“It’s fine with me,” I said. “There’s lots of room in the truck.”
I looked toward the water. The dark clouds were already thinning, and I could see bits of blue sky breaking through. The rain was over. My left wrist, which was a pretty good predictor of wet weather since I’d broken it, didn’t ache anymore.
“I forgot to tell you that I have a meeting at the hotel tomorrow,” Ruby said as we started up the hill to the truck. “I’m hoping they’ll be interested in putting together a room package for tourists who are coming for the workshops.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said.
The library and the artists’ co-op were teaming up to offer a weekend workshop called “The Art of the Doodle” in September. The library was hosting a talk on the popular art form along with an exhibit of doodle art and books. The co-op was offering hands-on workshops at both the store and the library. Even though we hadn’t made an official announcement since we were still firming up details, word of mouth was getting around and I was surprised by how much interest there already was.
“Eric is interested in offering a breakfast special for the participants. He should have some options put together for me next week.”
“That would be great.” Ruby smiled. “Those are the kind of small extras that I’m hoping will sway people who might be on the fence into coming.”
We’d reached the truck, and as I unlocked the passenger door, she patted the front fender. “I can’t believe this thing is still working.”
At one time Ruby had driven the identical mate to my truck. Mine had been a gift from Harrison Taylor for helping him find his daughter. Before that I’d walked everywhere since I’d sold my car when I left Boston for Minnesota. I’d spent my first few weeks in town wandering around exploring, which is how I’d stumbled on Wisteria Hill, where I’d found Owen and Hercules. Or more accurately, where they’d found me.
Ruby raised an eyebrow. “How long are you going to keep driving it?”
“Probably until it falls apart,” I said, sliding on to the driver’s seat. “It’s a good dependable truck and it has a lot of sentimental value.” I ducked my head for a moment. “And would you think I’m crazy if I say Owen and Hercules really like it?”
She shook her head. “That seems like a perfectly valid reason to me.”
I headed down the hill, thinking that since the lunch rush was over, I should be able to make a left turn on to Main Street. The streets that ran from one end of town to the other all followed the curve of the shoreline so it was almost a straight line back to the library.
The brick building sat on the midpoint of a curve of shoreline, protected from the water by a rock wall. It had a stained glass window that dominated one end and a copper-roofed cupola complete with the original wrought iron weather vane.
The Mayville Heights Free Public Library was a Carnegie library that had been built in 1912 with money donated by philanthropist Andrew Carnegie. It had been restored and updated to celebrate the library’s centenary. I’d come to town to supervise the renovations and taken the head librarian job permanently when they were finished.
Abigail Pierce was at the circulation desk when we got inside, rimless reading glasses perched on the end of her nose as she went through a list of book requests. Along with working at the library, Abigail had a second career as a children’s book author.
“Any messages?” I asked.
She shook her head. “None.” Then she eyed Ruby’s hair. “I like that color,” she said.
Ruby smiled. “Anytime you’d like to try it, let me know.”
“Seriously?” Abigail said.
“Absolutely.” Ruby wiggled her eyebrows. “I think a green or navy streak in the front would look good on you.”
Abigail smiled back at her. “I may just take you up on that.”
“Is Susan upstairs?” I asked.
Abigail shook her head. “She’s over in nonfiction shelving books.”
“I just need to talk to her for a minute and I’ll be back to relieve you.”
“Take your time,” she said. “I’m just going to sit here and try to imagine myself with the Incredible Hulk’s hair.”
“Better his hair than his skin,” I said.
Ruby and I found Susan in the 590s sitting on the floor, rearranging a shelf of books, a shrimp cocktail fork and what looked to be a paper-wrapped straw stuck in her updo. I wondered where the straw came from. It hadn’t been poked in her hair when I’d left the library to head for Riverarts.
She smiled at me over her black cat’s eye glasses. “Hey, Kathleen,” she said. “This shelf let go again. I think it was the clips so I got some new ones from the workroom.”
“Thanks,” I said.
It had to be a mistake, I thought. I couldn’t come up with any rational explanation for Susan stealing a couple of scarves and some placemats from the co-op store. It was just too out of character.
Susan reached up and pulled the straw out of her hair. “Weirdest bookmark yet.”
“Where did you find it?” I asked.
“In a book about hyenas,” she said, indicating the stack of books beside her on the floor.
“Someone used a straw for a bookmark?” Ruby said. “Seriously?”
“That doesn’t even make my top ten list of strangest things I’ve seen people use to mark their place in a book,” I said with a grin.
Ruby tipped her head to one side and regarded me with a skeptical look. “No, no, no. You can’t say that and then not give me the details.”