by Sofie Kelly
“The raccoon,” she said. “I saw it crossing the Justasons’ yard last week and I said to Everett that it reminded me of Uncle Oswald. He had big black-framed glasses and those bushy sideburns called muttonchops. And a rather unfortunate raccoon coat.”
She was trying to distract me for a few moments, I realized, from thinking about what had happened. I leaned against the railing and looked out across Rebecca’s yard and mine. “I don’t see anything with or without a raccoon coat.”
I gave her a quick hug. “Thank you for the hot chocolate,” I said as I started down the stairs. I cut across the back lawn and all but sprinted through the patch of darkness in between the reach of Rebecca’s porch light and my own. I had no desire to meet anything in a raccoon coat, no matter whose family member it might look like. I’d seen enough of what the bogeyman could do for one night.
6
Gavin walked into Eric’s Place at about five minutes after ten the next morning. I had called Harrison first thing and postponed our visit, promising we’d get together in a few days. Claire picked up the coffeepot and started toward the table as soon as she caught sight of Gavin. She had a cup poured before he had a chance to sit down.
“Thanks, Claire,” he said, reaching for the sugar. “You read my mind.”
She put two fingers to her right temple and narrowed her gaze at him. “Now you’re thinking about a sausage-and-apple breakfast sandwich,” she said, a hint of a smile playing across her face.
Gavin laughed. “I actually am.” He looked across the table at me, raising an eyebrow. “And one of those cinnamon roll things?”
“Please,” I said. I slid my mug toward Claire and she refilled it for me.
“It’ll just be a few minutes,” she said. She headed for the kitchen with our order.
Gavin leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Did you get in touch with everyone who was planning on being here for the opening of the exhibit?” he asked, gesturing at my phone, which was on the table next to my cup.
I nodded. “Most people were very understanding, although there was an art historian from Chicago who seemed more concerned about not being able to see the Weston drawing than about Margo being dead.”
Gavin rolled his eyes as he took a drink from his coffee. “There’s always someone whose priorities are all wrong.” He set the cup down. “I take it word’s getting out that the drawing is missing.”
“How, I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “But I think so. I hedged as much as I could.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “That’s not something we’re going to be able to keep quiet for very long. As I told your detective this morning, the questions are just going to get more pointed.”
“How did things go at the library?” I asked.
He gave an offhand shrug. “The Weston drawing is the only piece that’s missing. It’s pretty obvious that’s what the thief was after. And I think it’s too much of a coincidence to think Margo’s death isn’t connected.” He pressed his lips together for a moment and picked up his cup again. “I kept expecting her to walk in, you know.”
I nodded. “Do you have any idea who turned off the security system?” From the corner of my eye I saw Claire approaching with our food. Gavin waited until she’d topped up our cups before he answered my question.
“It was an inside job,” he said.
I frowned at him. “Inside how? Are you trying to say it was someone who works at the library?”
His mouth was full of Eric’s latest breakfast sandwich creation, so he held up a hand. I waited.
“I mean inside as in someone shut down both systems from inside the building.”
I had to let the words sink in for a moment. “You mean Margo turned off the alarm? She let her killer get into the building?” I broke a piece off the fat cinnamon roll on the plate in front of me but didn’t eat it. “C’mon, Gavin. That doesn’t make any sense. Margo didn’t think the Weston drawing should have been out of a museum setting. Why on earth would she turn off the security system that was protecting it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. When I left, Margo said she was going to be about another twenty minutes. She locked the main library doors behind me and I can guarantee that the rest of the building was locked up tight because I checked everything personally.”
“So she let the thief in?”
“It looks that way.” He looked around for Claire, pointing at his mug and smiling when she looked his way. Gavin drank more coffee than I did.
I shook my head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Margo wouldn’t let anyone into the building. Not with the exhibit set up.” I didn’t say that I’d half been expecting her to sleep in the building once the artwork arrived.
“I know it doesn’t make any sense,” Gavin agreed. “And it’s completely out of character for Margo from what I know of her, but I can’t find any other way that the thief could have gotten into the building. Nothing was tampered with at the keypads.”
He paused, looked around the restaurant and then leaned across the table toward me. “Kathleen, I don’t imagine your detective would want this getting out, but it’s not just that it looks like Margo let someone into the building.” He cleared his throat. “You know I set up a perimeter alarm just around the area where the exhibit was?”
“I know,” I said.
The day the alarm had been installed, Mary had managed to set it off twice, both times by backing up with a cart of books for reshelving. We’d ended up moving a low unit of bookshelves and borrowing a set of brass posts and a black velvet rope from the Stratton Theatre to keep patrons from straying across the invisible security barrier.
“It had been disabled, too.”
The only way to turn off that perimeter alarm was from the circulation desk, with a sixteen-character code that only Gavin, Margo and I knew.
He swiped a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t do it and I’m guessing you didn’t, either, so that just leaves Margo.”
He looked past me, out the front window toward the river. I could see a mix of emotions play across his face. There was sadness over Margo’s death. They hadn’t been friends, but they had worked extremely well together, and as the poet John Donne had written, “Each man’s death diminishes me.” But I could also see tight lines of frustration, or maybe it was anger, around his mouth.
I sighed. “If Margo let the thief into the building . . .” I let the end of the sentence trail away. I didn’t want to finish the thought.
Gavin grimaced. “Yeah. Was she in on the theft?”
“Do you seriously believe that?” I asked. “You knew her better than I did, but nothing I knew about Margo would make me think she’d do something like that.”
“I know, I know,” Gavin said, shaking his head. “Maybe there’s something we’re missing.”
“I hope so,” I said, reaching for the spiral-bound notebook to my left. “There are a couple of things I need to go over with you.”
“Sure,” he said, reaching for his tablet. He seemed to be happy to stop talking about Margo.
Gavin and I spent about half an hour coming up with a plan to deal with security at the library until the police at least released the artwork back to the museum. At this point the entire schedule for the exhibit had been put on hold and I suspected in the end the tour would be canceled.
I went home and had lunch with the boys, taking my bowl of rice, topped with some steamed vegetables and leftover chicken, out into the sunshine of the backyard. I sat in the blue Adirondack chair with Hercules beside me while Owen prowled around the lawn like a predatory jungle cat.
As I ate I told Herc what I’d learned from Gavin. Talking about it out loud seemed to help me make sense of everything, and talking to the cats didn’t feel as weird as just talking to myself did.
“Why would Margo let the thief into the buildi
ng?” I asked Hercules.
He looked at me blankly. He clearly had no more idea than I did.
“She had to know she’d be setting herself up as a suspect once the theft was discovered. Why would she do something that careless?”
The cat didn’t have an answer to that question, either.
I spent the rest of the day working from home, dealing with paperwork and making numerous phone calls to Lita.
Late in the afternoon Lita called me. “Kathleen, Everett has asked if you’d be willing to go ahead with the two interviews that had been scheduled for tomorrow. He would have called and asked you himself, but he’s in a meeting.”
“Of course I will,” I said. “You know they’re going to ask about Margo’s death.”
“I know,” she said. “Everett thinks it would be better if we got out ahead of the speculation as much as we can. To this point the police haven’t released a cause of death and it’s not common knowledge that the Weston drawing is missing.”
I leaned back in my chair and stretched. Owen was sitting on my lap, seemingly engrossed in the revised staff schedule on the screen of my laptop. “I think Everett is right. We need to salvage what we can from this.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized how they sounded. “I’m sorry, Lita,” I said. “That was disrespectful. Margo is dead. Finding out what happened to her is what matters.”
“You weren’t being disrespectful,” Lita said. “It doesn’t serve anyone to have her death sensationalized along with the town. These interviews are a chance to make sure people know how hard she worked on this exhibit and how enthusiastic she was about supporting and promoting the local art community.”
Owen turned his head to look inquiringly at me and I smiled at him since I couldn’t smile at Lita.
“And that’s what I’m going to do,” I said. “As usual, you’re right. Are you ever wrong?”
“Oh yes,” she said gravely. “Last October. I was convinced that I was mistaken about something, but it turned out I was incorrect.”
I laughed and she promised she’d send me the details for both interviews once she’d confirmed them with the reporters.
Marcus wasn’t available to have supper, so I called Roma. “Are you free for supper?” I asked. “I have pea soup with ham.”
“Oh, that sounds good,” she said. “Are you free to help strip wallpaper from the little bedroom?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
I had some of Rebecca’s rolls in the freezer. I got them out to take along with the soup. “I’m going out to Roma’s for supper,” I said to Owen, who had watched me get the food ready with great interest.
“Mrrr,” he said, wrinkling his nose in annoyance. Roma was not one of Owen’s favorite people. She was the one who poked him with needles and tried to look in his mouth. I felt the same way about the dentist.
• • •
The library was closed on Saturday and stayed closed Monday. I did both of the interviews and tried to keep the conversation on the exhibit and the town and away from speculation about Margo’s death.
“Can you at least give me an idea about when we’ll be able to reopen?” I asked Marcus as we sat on the swing on his deck after supper Monday night. I leaned over and left a string of tiny kisses down his jawline, ending with a longer, warmer one on his mouth.
“Ummm,” he growled. “Are you trying to influence a police officer, Kathleen?”
“No,” I said. I straightened up and folded my hands primly in my lap. “I’ll stop.”
He pulled me against him. “I didn’t say I wanted you to stop.”
I laughed and laid my head against his chest. Micah padded across the deck and launched herself into Marcus’s lap. I reached over to stroke her fur and in a moment she started to purr.
“I think she likes living here with you,” I said. The little ginger tabby gently kneaded Marcus’s lap with her paw and then stretched out on his leg.
“Ahh, you guys are so cute,” a voice said. Hope Lind was standing by the deck stairs.
I straightened up and tugged at my shirt, suddenly feeling self-conscious, which was a little silly since everyone in town knew Marcus and I were a couple. In fact, it seemed, at times, like half of the town had been invested in us becoming a couple.
“Is everything okay?” Marcus asked.
“Everything’s fine,” Hope said, waving away his concern with one hand. She dropped down onto the built-in bench seating that ran around the deck railing.
Micah immediately jumped down from Marcus’s lap, crossed the deck, and leapt up next to Hope. “Hey, puss,” Hope said with a smile, reaching out to scratch behind the little tabby’s ear. She extended the smile to me. “I actually came to see Kathleen.” She gave an apologetic half shrug. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I did try your cell.”
My phone was sitting on the counter inside. I straightened up the rest of the way and tucked my hair behind one ear. “It’s okay,” I said. “Did you by any chance come to tell me I can open the library tomorrow?”
She looked a little sheepish. “No, it’s actually pretty much the opposite.”
I groaned, tipped my head back to study the sky overhead for a moment and then looked at her. “How long?” I asked.
“The rest of this week and maybe next,” Hope said, her free hand playing with the zipper pull on her jacket. “I’m really sorry.”
I glanced at Marcus, who frowned, his blue eyes narrowing. He clearly didn’t know why the library was going to have to stay closed.
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “Can I at least ask you why the investigation is taking so long?”
“It’s not the investigation,” she said.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Neither do I,” Marcus said. “What’s going on?”
Hope blew out a breath. “Part of the reason the museum agreed to this and three or four other exhibits going on the road was to get things out of their building so they could renovate the oldest section.”
“I know,” I said, curling one foot up underneath me. “Margo and Gavin both mentioned it.”
“Contractor was doing something up in the ceiling yesterday and someone set off the sprinkler system.”
Marcus pulled a hand over his neck. “Damn. How much damage?”
“A lot,” Hope said, one hand still stroking Micah’s fur.
“They can’t take the pieces back,” I said.
Hope shook her head, pressing the back of her free hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. “They’re scrambling to clear up the water damage and find storage for what’s there now. You really should talk to Gavin Solomon. All I can tell you is that the insurance company is balking at having the library open as long as the exhibit is still in place.”
I exhaled loudly in frustration. We had programs that depended on the library for space.
Marcus got to his feet, which set the swing gently swaying back and forth. He gestured to the mug on the deck boards by my feet. “Do you want a refill?” he asked.
I shook my head.
He looked at Hope. “How about a cup of coffee?”
“I don’t want to interrupt anything,” she said.
“You’re not,” I said.
Hope turned to Marcus. “Okay, I could use one.”
His fingers brushed my hair and then he went into the kitchen.
“So what is going to happen to all the artwork at the library?” I asked.
“The plan is to leave it where it is for now. Mr. Solomon has a backup security system up and running, plus a security guard.”
I thought of Margo’s reluctance to have the pieces out of the museum. I was beginning to think she’d been right.
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to repack everything? Or better yet, send it all on to the next stop on the tour.” And give me back
my building, I added silently.
“There is no more tour,” Hope said. “The insurance company refuses to take on the additional risk with the Weston piece missing. As for packing up everything, apparently there are some extra security measures in the display cases that are supposed to make them safer than just putting everything back in their crates.” She stretched one arm along the railing. “That security system is probably the most complicated one I’ve ever come across. That’s why Solomon has come onto the case as a consultant.”
“What?” Marcus said. He had just come out from the kitchen with the coffee.
“Oh yeah,” Hope said, taking the steaming cup he held out to her. “The word came down from on high.”
I knew by the set of Marcus’s jaw that he wasn’t happy about Gavin being involved in their case.
“You don’t want to work with Gavin,” I said, framing the sentence as a statement and not a question.
A look passed between them.
Hope took a sip of her coffee and gave an offhand shrug. “It’s not that,” she said. “It’s just that anytime someone else gets tied up in an investigation, things always get more complicated.”
It was more than that, I knew, but I also knew it wasn’t the right time to ask more questions.
Marcus sat down next to me again. He didn’t say anything.
“Okay, if we can’t reopen, can I at least get into the building to get a couple of things from my office and clear the book drop?” I asked. “It has to be overflowing by now.”
Hope nodded. “I don’t see why not. If you call Mr. Solomon I’m sure he’ll clear you with the security guard. Why don’t you come by about nine thirty or so?”
She was trying just a bit too hard to keep things light, but I just smiled and thanked her.
Hope finished her coffee and we talked about the water levels and how lucky the town was that there hadn’t been any real flooding this spring. She gave Micah one last scratch behind the ear and stood up, yawning again as she tipped her head toward one shoulder.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s not the company. It’s just been a long day.” She handed her cup to Marcus. “Thanks for the coffee.” Then she looked at me. “I’ll see you in the morning?”