I’d pressed my head to my knees and made myself take several shaky breaths. No climbing on the crazy bus, I’d told myself. I was tired. I needed glasses. There was a rational explanation for all of this.
Maybe five minutes went by, although it had seemed a lot longer. Then I had felt . . . something I couldn’t define. It was as though the air around the door suddenly thickened and pushed against me the way water pushes against your hand if you try to press it over the end of a hose. And Hercules had walked through the door as though there wasn’t any door there at all.
It defied the laws of physics. It couldn’t have happened.
Except it had.
I didn’t know what to do. I knew I couldn’t tell the truth—not that I was even sure what the truth was. And so I’d kept the secret for three years. I’d kept it from Roma and Maggie and Rebecca. From my mother and Ethan.
I’d kept it from Marcus. I knew I couldn’t do that much longer.
chapter 7
The next few days were uneventful. On Tuesday, Ethan, Derek and Milo went to see the luthier in Red Wing. I knew that a luthier was someone who repaired and built guitars, but Milo explained, over a bowl of oatmeal and applesauce, that they did a lot more than that.
“They don’t just work on guitars, they work on all sorts of stringed wooden instruments—guitars, violins, violas, cellos, double basses,” he said. “And they build instruments, too.”
The three of them came back from Red Wing enthused about the woman and her workshop. They had left Milo’s old guitar with her and she had promised it would be ready by the time they had to leave.
Maggie had invited the guys to join our tai chi class. Derek had turned down the offer to do more work on his song. Ethan, of course, had accepted. To my surprise Milo had decided to join us, too.
The three of us squeezed into my truck and drove down the hill.
“How long have you been doing tai chi?” Milo asked.
“About three years,” I said. “Rebecca invited me to try a class and I liked it. I’ve been going ever since. My balance is better. I’m more aware of how my body moves. When we do the form at the end of the class it’s very much like meditating.”
“The form?” Ethan said.
I nodded. “Maggie teaches Wu style tai chi chuan. There are one hundred and eight movements. Those movements make up the form. You’ll see once we get started.”
I stopped to let two people and a shaggy sheep dog cross the street.
“You said Maggie teaches Wu style,” Milo said. “So does that mean there are other styles?”
“There are five major styles,” I said. “Chen, Yang, Wu Hao, Wu and Sun. Chen style dates all the way back to the sixteenth century. There are other hybrids and offshoots now, but those are the main ones.”
“So you’ve learned all one hundred and whatever of the movements?” Ethan said.
I nodded. “Uh-huh.” I remembered when that had seemed impossible.
“Then why do you keep going?”
“Because there’re always parts of the form that can be improved.” I thought of my nemesis, Cloud Hands. “Because I like the people. Because there are new things to learn.” I smiled. “Because it’s fun. You’ll see.”
I found a parking spot close to the studio and the guys followed me up the stairs to the studio. We hung up our jackets and I sat down to change my shoes. Something about the door seemed to have caught Milo’s attention.
“Is there something wrong with that door?” I asked.
“Not the door, the lockset,” he said. The door was original to the old building, I knew, and had round brass doorknobs that I assumed were also original.
Maggie had seen the three of us and walked over. “Hi,” she said. “Is there a problem?”
“You know this door isn’t very secure, right?” Milo said.
Her green eyes narrowed. “No, what’s wrong with it?”
Milo held up a finger. “Watch this.” He closed the door and set the lock. Then he took out his wallet and pulled out a card. It was thin enough to slide between the door and the frame. I watched him maneuver it for a moment and the door swung open. He grinned and held up the plastic rectangle. “And you thought this was just a library card.”
“How did you do that?” Maggie asked.
Milo closed and locked the door again and handed his library card to Maggie. With his coaching she got the door open. It took her a little more time than it had taken him. But not much.
I had noticed similar setups in other older buildings in town, including at one time, the library. I reminded myself to thank Harry Junior for insisting on replacing all of the old locksets at the library.
“How did you know this?” I asked.
“He’s a Dateline fanatic,” Ethan said. “We watch it quite a lot between sets when we’re playing somewhere.”
“You’d be surprised what you can learn from that show,” Milo added.
Ethan looked at Maggie. “We can put a deadbolt on that door for you. I mean, if you want one.”
Maggie nodded. “I do.”
The three of them headed for the tea table, talking about what would be the best choice for the old door.
After class we headed down to Eric’s for chocolate pudding cake. Maggie shared the story of the time we’d found what we thought was a dead rat floating in the co-op store’s flooded basement and how I’d fished it out and tossed what I thought was a rodent corpse into the street and instead launched a very alive rat at Ruby. Ethan laughed so hard coffee came out his nose.
Melanie Davis and I managed to squeeze in a quick meeting Wednesday afternoon to go over the last few details we had to coordinate for the quilt show.
Her office was small and cramped and didn’t even have a window. There was a desk, a locked credenza for files, a couple of chairs and a small lamp. A woven scarlet-and-gray blanket was draped over the arm of one of the chairs. There was a calendar on the wall along with a beautiful photo of the Riverwalk that I recognized as Ruby’s work and a tiny plaque with the words “Valor, Truth, Honor.”
“Sorry for the cramped surroundings,” Melanie said. “This is just a temporary space for me.” She pointed over her head. “The offices and two washrooms upstairs are being renovated, so for now, I’m here.”
I found the room a little claustrophobic and wondered if maybe Melanie did, too, and that was why her door wasn’t just wide open, it was being held that way by a wooden wedge.
“This room was originally the bottom of a ventilation shaft,” she said.
I looked around. “That explains why there are no windows.”
She pointed to the ornate brass grill covering a large opening on the wall. It was the most striking feature in the room. “It’s not original, it’s a replica, but the heating and air-conditioning vents will all have grates like that in the new offices. It’s a way to keep a little history of the building.”
Melanie indicated the open door. “All the stone and concrete in here interfere with my cell phone. I have to keep the door open to get any signal. Sometimes I’m hanging over the front of the desk with the phone, trying to make a call.” She shook her head. “And Murphy’s Law in action I guess, the phone company is running new lines in this part of the building so some days I have a landline and some I don’t. In other words, if you need to get in touch with me, I suggest carrier pigeon.”
“I was thinking I could tie a note to Owen’s leg and send him over,” I said.
Melanie smiled. “That would work, too.” She glanced at her cell phone. “Seriously, if you can’t get me on my cell you can leave a message at the front desk.”