“You think he was in the basement looking for a piece of wood?” Marcus said, skepticism evident in his voice.
“Maybe. What if Jaeger was back in the forgery business? What if, when Maggie took them all down to see how much water had come in, he saw something useful and he went back to get it?”
“Okay,” Marcus said. His face was unreadable. Sometime while I was talking he’d gone into police officer mode. I had no idea if he’d taken anything I’d said seriously.
“Anyway, I better get going,” I said. “So, uh, have a good day.”
“I will.” He took a couple of steps back from the truck.
I leaned around him and raised a hand in good-bye to Derek Craig. Then I got into the truck, fastened my seat belt and as I put the key in the ignition a shiny black pickup bumped its way up the driveway. What was Burtis Chapman doing out here?
The thermos rolled against my hip. There were at least a couple more cups of coffee in it. I picked it up and held it out the window to Marcus. He turned toward me. “Here,” I said.
“You sure?” he asked.
I nodded. “You work better when you have a supply of coffee. I think you might get a little crabby without it.”
He took the stainless steel flask and I put the truck in gear. “Thanks,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to be annoying.” He stepped back again.
He’d heard what I’d said to Lucy. I could feel my face getting red. I was all the way at the bottom of the driveway before I realized that if Marcus had heard me tell Lucy I thought he was annoying, he’d also heard me say I thought he was cute.
Crap on toast!
14
The phone rang as I was hanging up my coat by the back door. “Hello, Katydid,” my mother said when I answered.
“Hi,” I said, sinking into the wing chair. “How are things in Boston?”
“Wonderful. The sun is shining. The birds are singing in the trees and for once your father is taking direction.”
My parents taught and ran the drama program at a private school in Boston. They did a lot of theatre as well—especially Shakespeare, although my mother was moving more into directing, which meant butting heads with my father when he didn’t like her suggestions. Which was only two or three dozen times in a production.
They were very dramatic people—on stage and off—which was why they’d been married, divorced and then married again.
“Is it still raining there?” Mom asked.
“Not at the moment,” I said. “I don’t want to jinx anything, but I may have even seen a sliver of blue sky a little while ago.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, sweetie,” she said and I could hear the smile in her voice. “I take it the library is still closed?” My mother read the Mayville Heights Chronicle online so she was usually up to date on what was happening in town.
“If the rain holds off I’m hoping we can open tomorrow.” Hercules wandered in from somewhere. I patted my legs and he jumped onto my lap and stretched out on my chest. “I’ve been helping Maggie move things at the store. There’s water in the basement,” I said. “Cross your fingers that somebody finds a pump, as well.”
“Fingers, toes, arms, legs and eyes,” Mom said solemnly.
“Thanks,” I said.
“The reason I called was to tell you I’m going to Los Angeles for a few days.”
I straightened up a little, which meant Hercules had to move too. He glared at me. “Los Angeles? What for?”
She hesitated for a moment. “I’m going to do a small part—well, actually it’s quite a significant part, very integral to a major storyline, what I really should call it is a limited run part”—she paused, for effect of course—“in a soap opera.”
“A soap?” I said. “After the last time you said you were never going to do another daytime drama.” She’d said more than that, mostly about the skills or lack thereof of the director.
“Sweetie, never is a long time.”
“Yes it is,” I agreed, grinning at Hercules.
“The executive producer asked specifically for me. He said the part required an actress of my vintage with my unique skills.” Then she laughed, a big, warm sound that rolled into my ear and gave me a small pinch of homesickness. “What he really meant was he was looking for an old broad who wasn’t in rehab and who hadn’t been tucked, tightened and Botoxed up the ying yang. And when I saw how much money they were offering, it seemed petty to say no.”
I laughed. “That was very big of you, Mom,” I said. “You’ll be terrific.”
“Well, of course I will,” she said.
We talked for a few more minutes and she promised to call me again when she’d gotten to LA and been to the set.
After I’d hung up I stayed sprawled in the chair, stroking Hercules’s fur. “I talked to Marcus about Jaeger,” I told him.
The cat lifted his head and looked inquiringly at me. At least that’s how I decided to interpret his look.
“I told him I think Maggie may be right,” I said. “That Jaeger was up to something. The problem is, I don’t have any proof.” I pulled a hand back through my hair, sucking in a sharp breath when I touched my bruised forehead. “Ow,” I said.
Hercules got up, jumped to the floor and started for the kitchen. “Good idea,” I said, getting to my feet. “I need coffee.”
The cat positioned himself by the counter and looked at the toaster. Cats are not subtle.
I gave him the Mr. Spock eyebrow. “How about coffee with toast and peanut butter?” I said. That got an enthusiastic “meow.”
I turned around to start the coffee and Owen was suddenly right in front of me. “You have ears like a, well, like a cat,” I told him. He murped his agreement.
I made coffee and toast and peanut butter and then we settled ourselves around the table—me in one chair with my ankle propped on another because who was I kidding, it still hurt a little, and the boys at my feet with their little bites of toast.
“Okay, so what do we know?” I asked. Neither cat answered. Peanut butter tended to have that effect on them. “We know Jaeger was really Christian Ellis and that he had gone to jail for forgery. He was pushing Maggie to make changes at the co-op store. I saw him at the repurpose store and digging around in a dumpster.”
I took a bite of toast myself and chewed thoughtfully. It all proved exactly nothing. Nothing.
Maybe Maggie was wrong. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Jaeger hadn’t been up to anything at all other than trying to make a new life. Maybe we were seeing conspiracies where there weren’t any.
Then again, maybe we were right.
I knew how hard Maggie had worked to make the co-op a success. What if Jaeger had gotten the store mixed up in something illegal? If I was going to convince Marcus, I needed a smoking gun, so to speak.
I slid down in the chair so I could lean my head against the back and that’s when I saw it. Not a smoking gun. It was the little purple puff I’d picked up out at Wisteria Hill, still on top of the refrigerator. I pushed myself upright and hobbled over to retrieve it. Okay, so it probably wasn’t a wig for a forest pixie. What the heck was it?
I sank back onto my chair. “Any idea what this is?” I asked the cats, holding out the puff. Owen immediately leaned in to sniff it, discovered it wasn’t something he could eat and went back to his last bit of toast.
Hercules took his time, eyes narrowed, as though he were trying to think of a good answer to my question. After a minute he looked over at the sink and then turned his green eyes on me.
“You think it’s something to scrub dishes with?” I asked.
He meowed his agreement.
I turned the purple puff over in my hand. It did have a rough, abrasive feel to it. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think it’s big enough to scrub a pot.”