by Sofie Kelly
“That wasn’t passion. That’s this case—Mike Glazer’s death. I just kind of stumbled into it.” Hercules lifted his head and meowed softly. “And it really wasn’t me. It was Hercules.”
The cat went back to washing his paws now that he’d been acknowledged. Owen, on the other hand, immediately moved into Roma’s line of sight, lifting a paw almost as though he were saying “I did something too.”
“And Owen, too,” I added.
Roma’s head was bent over her plate. She didn’t even look up. “I know I’m going to be sorry I asked this,” she said, “but what do you mean ‘and Owen too’?”
Before I could answer, the cat did. He stalked over to Roma’s chair, looked up and meowed at her. Then he sat down and looked expectantly across the table at me. Clearly it was my job to fill in the details.
I gestured at the little gray tabby. “Owen found something that could have been a clue, but it turned out not to be.”
“I’m not even going to ask how that happened,” Roma said.
Mags smiled at Owen and gave him a thumbs-up. Then she straightened up in her chair. “I don’t suppose these two could figure out what happened.” She shook her head and sighed. “I’m sorry. That isn’t very nice of me. Mike’s dead and I’m thinking about the tour pitch.”
“Is it really that big a deal?” Roma asked.
“It could be,” Maggie said. “At least that’s what Liam believes. You know how quiet it is around here in the fall. Anything that could bring in tourists has to be good. He and Mary and Ruby, a couple of people from the hotel, Thorsten—they’ve put so much time and energy into this pitch.”
“I think you do like Liam,” I said teasingly.
She rolled her eyes. “Not in the way you mean. It’s just for fun between us. Liam likes to rescue damsels in distress and I’m not really the damsel type.” I saw her hand move and knew she’d just managed to slip Owen something from her plate. “For instance, last Thursday I’m meeting him for lunch at Fern’s, and as I’m coming from the parking lot, I see him with Wren Magnusson of all people, heads together, talking about something.” She gave her own head a little shake. “Turns out she’d had a flat the night before and Liam had stopped to help. Then, of course, Liam being Liam, when he saw her the next day, he had to make sure she’d gotten a new tire. He’s always doing things like that.”
“He sounds like a nice guy,” I said.
Maggie wiped a dab of sauce off the side of her mouth with her napkin. “He’s got a big heart,” she said. “I wouldn’t want him to be any different.” She gestured at Roma with the napkin. “It’s just that when Roma walks into a room, she’s the only person Eddie sees.”
Roma grinned and her cheeks got pink.
“And you and Marcus, I swear, the two of you could be standing in the middle of a hurricane and all you’d notice is each other.” She shot me a warning look. “Don’t say it’s not true, because the entire town thinks you two should just get on with it and admit you’re nuts about each other.”
“Well, Mary did offer to teach me a few things,” I said.
“What kind of things?” Roma asked, her voice edged with suspicion.
I did a little shimmy in my seat and copied Mary’s tugging-off-the-glove motion.
Roma covered her eyes. “Way more information than I need,” she said.
“Did you say yes?” Maggie asked, a teasing gleam in her eyes.
My cheeks were burning. “No, I didn’t,” I said. “Time to change the subject.”
“Kathleen, have you decided what you’re going to tell Everett?” Roma asked, pushing back her empty plate.
I dipped a potato wedge in the last bit of sauce on my plate. “There’s a lot to think about,” I hedged. “I like Mayville Heights, and I can’t imagine not sitting here with the two of you, or going to tai chi, or being at Eric’s for lunch.”
“So stay,” Maggie said quietly.
“I miss my family,” I said. “I didn’t realize how much until I went back to Boston to see them. They drive me crazy, but I do love them. And my life was in Boston for a long time. I have connections and people I care about there, too.”
Roma tipped her head to one side and smiled. “Do what feels right, what makes you happy. We’ll be friends no matter what you choose.”
Maggie stuck out her fork into the middle of the table.
“If you’re still hungry, there’s more in the pot,” I said.
She made a face. “No. We’re the Three Musketeers. You know, all for one, one for all.”
“I thought we were Charlie’s Angels,” I said.
“This isn’t going to end with you two hijacking my car, is it?” Roma asked.
“You’re both so awful at the symbolic moment,” Maggie said. She wiggled her fork. “C’mon. All for one.”
I looked at Roma. “She isn’t going to give in until we do this.” I picked up my fork and stretched across the table so it rested on Maggie’s fork.
Roma looked at the two of us and shook her head; then she picked up her own fork and leaned forward until the tines were resting on the other two. It would have been far more dramatic with fencing foils.
“All for one,” Maggie said with a grin.
“And one for all,” Roma and I joined in, laughing.
In that moment, whether or not I should stay seemed so simple.
16
Both Harry Taylors—Senior and Junior—came into the library Saturday morning just after we opened.
I put my arm around the older man’s shoulders and gave him a hug. “It’s so good to see you,” I said.
“It’s good to be seen,” he said. “I was getting so tired of being cooped up in the house. I figured I was going to have to use a soup spoon to tunnel my way out when my keepers were asleep.”
“You can see he’s feeling much better,” his son said dryly, heading over to the desk to give Mary three hardcover books and a couple of DVDs.
Harrison had just gotten over a second serious middle ear infection that had left him unsteady on his feet and caused at least one blackout that I knew of. He was using his cane, but he wasn’t relying on it quite as much as the last time I’d seen him.
“I’m not planning on being a customer of Dan Gunnerson anytime soon,” he said tartly.
“I’m very glad to hear it,” I said, smiling at him. Dan Gunnerson ran Gunnerson’s Funeral Home.
“I have a few more bulbs I want to put in,” Harry said. “Dad figured he’d come along and freeload a cup of coffee he shouldn’t really be drinking off of you.”
“First of all, if a cup of coffee once in a while was going to kill me, Gunnerson would have planted me—probably in some ridiculously overpriced box—years ago,” the old man said. “And second, Kathleen enjoys my company.” He winked at me. “I’m very charming.”
The younger Harry shook his head and headed for the door. “He’s all yours, Kathleen,” he said over his shoulder. “I won’t be long.”
I offered Harrison my arm. “Are you actually allowed to have a cup of coffee?” I asked.
“Depends on how you define ‘allowed,’” he said, as we made our way to the seating area overlooking the water, at the end of the double row of computer desks.
I narrowed my gaze. “Am I going to get in trouble if I get you one?”
He gave me a sly grin. “Not with me you won’t.” With his snowy beard and mischievous blue eyes, he looked like Santa Claus without the red suit. And he really was charming.
I got Harry settled in front of the high windows and then went upstairs and got him half a cup of coffee, partly because I knew he probably shouldn’t be drinking it and partly because having it downstairs, even away from all the books and the computers, was against library rules.
He took a long sip from the cup and sighed with pleasure. “Now, that’s a cup of coffee; a lot better than that decaf stuff the boys and Elizabeth are trying to get me to drink.” He balanced the stoneware mug on his knee and turned
to look at me. There was a question in his deep blue eyes. I waited for him to ask it.
“So, what have you found out about the Glazer boy’s death?” he said.
I knew there was no point in trying to bluff him. He might have been old, but he was as sharp mentally as a man half his age.
“How did you know?” I asked, shifting sideways in my chair and crossing my legs.
He took another sip from his cup. “There’s nothing wrong with my hearing, and just because it looks like I’m asleep doesn’t necessarily mean that I am. So what do you know?”
“Not very much,” I said.
“It wasn’t an accident.” He wasn’t asking a question.
“What makes you say that?” I asked. Had he heard some bit of gossip I’d missed?
“Because if it was, Marcus Gordon would have said so by now.”
I nodded. “No, I don’t think it was an accident.”
Harrison stroked his close-cropped beard. “You think it was someone in town or someone from away? I hear the boy was pretty much making an ass of himself. More than a couple of people had words with him.”
I slid my palms over the armrests of my chair. “His two partners were at a fund-raiser in Minneapolis in front of a couple hundred witnesses. As for the people who had words with Mike Glazer, Liam Stone was helping someone who’d had a flat tire. That leaves me with Mary”—I dipped my head toward the circulation desk—“Burtis Chapman and the woman who’s the new baker over at Fern’s, who doesn’t look like she’s big enough to kill a grasshopper.”
He gave a snort of laughter. “Mary wouldn’t kill anybody. She might have left him singin’ soprano, but that’s about it.” He frowned in thought. “Baker over at Fern’s? Didn’t she do those fancy cupcake things for the reception after the music festival?”
I nodded. “That’s her. Her name’s Georgia.”
Harrison took a long pull from his coffee. He folded his hand around the mug. The skin on his hand was heavily lined, like a close-up of a street map. “She’s about the size of a piece of dandelion fluff. I can’t see her killing Glazer. Why would she want to? Because he didn’t like those little chocolate sprinkles?”
I put both feet on the floor and leaned forward. “Tell me about the Glazers. I know about the accident that killed Mike’s brother.”
He sighed and fingered his beard again. “That was a terrible thing. If anyone had predicted that one of the Glazer boys was going to end up dead the way he did, well, no one would have figured it to be Gavin. It tore that family apart. And now both boys are dead.” He shifted in his chair. “You know, Kathleen, when you have kids, you love them for different reasons. Hell, they’re different people. When I met Elizabeth for the first time—” He patted the left side of his chest. “It was as though a little part of myself that had been missing had been given back to me. But that didn’t mean I loved my other children one bit less.”
“It wasn’t that way in Mike’s family,” I said.
Harrison shook his head. “I’m sorry to say it wasn’t. I can’t say I know what it’s like to lose a child, because I don’t and I hope I never find out. But I know what it’s like to be without a child, and you just don’t hold that against your other ones.”
“Gavin Glazer was the golden boy.”
“And I guess you could say Michael was young and reckless.” He drained the last of his coffee. “I had a bit of a reckless streak myself when I was young,” he said, the twinkle coming back to his blue eyes. “I grew up, and who’s to say young Michael wouldn’t have done the same thing, except Gavin died, and once he was dead, well, I don’t mean to criticize, but some people turn the dead into saints.”
“Do you think it was just a coincidence that Mike died here in Mayville Heights?” I asked.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harry Junior come in the front door; at the same time, the old man reached for his cane and pushed himself to his feet. I wasn’t sure if he’d seen his son or somehow just known he was coming. I offered my hand and he took it, giving it a squeeze.
“I don’t put a lot of stock in coincidences, Kathleen,” he said. He handed me his cup. “Thank you for the coffee.”
“Ready to go, Dad?” Harry said.
“Would it matter if I said no?” the old man asked.
“Not in the slightest,” Harry said. He smiled at me. “Thanks, Kathleen.”
“Anytime,” I said.
Harrison stopped at the desk where Mary was working. I saw him smile at her and thought—not for the first time—what a handsome man he must have been in his prime. Even stiffened with arthritis, he was striking.
“Mary, you make a fine cup of coffee,” I heard him say. “If you weren’t a married woman, I’d be camped on your doorstep.”
Mary gave him a flirtatious smile. “If I weren’t a married woman, you wouldn’t be camped out there very long.” She winked. He laughed, and Harry Junior looked back at me and shook his head.
I took the empty cup and headed upstairs, thinking about what Harrison had said about coincidences. Was the fact that Mike Glazer had died here, not somewhere else, not anywhere else, important? Was that the key to figuring out why he’d died and who had been involved?
17
When we closed the library at one o’clock, I decided to walk over to Eric’s for lunch. As I came down the steps of the building, I saw Abigail and Georgia on the sidewalk. Georgia looked troubled, dark hair windblown, shoulders hunched, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Abigail saw me and motioned me over to them. “Kathleen, please tell Georgia that Marcus Gordon is one of the good guys,” she said.
I gave Georgia a small smile. “He is.” There were tight lines around her mouth and eyes. She didn’t look convinced. “Is something wrong?” I asked.
Georgia’s gaze flicked to Abigail, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Georgia looked at me again. “The police found something of mine . . . in the tent where they found Mike Glazer’s body. It was a little spatula I use for spreading frosting.”
The knife that Oren had found. It wasn’t a butter knife—it was a spatula.
She pulled a hand over her neck. “I wasn’t in that tent. I was over at the community center, where the art show is going to be, but I wasn’t in the tent and I have no idea how that spatula ended up there.”
“How did the police figure out it belonged to you?” I asked.
Georgia looked down at her feet. “My fingerprints,” she said.
That meant her fingerprints were in the system. She might have been no bigger than a piece of dandelion fluff, as Harrison Taylor had described her, but it wasn’t her first encounter with the police.
“Georgia was arrested for assault, when she lived in Chicago,” Abigail said quietly. “The charges were dropped.”
Georgia lifted her head and met my gaze. “They were dropped because I didn’t assault anyone. The thing is . . .” She hesitated. Then she took a deep breath and uncrossed her arms, lacing her fingers together in front of herself. “I changed my name. I’m not really Georgia Tepper. My real name is Paige Wyler.”
I shook my head. “It’s not really any of my business.”
“Everyone’s going to find out,” she said. “I may as well start by telling you.” Her eyes darted for a moment to Abigail. “Abigail says I can trust you.”
“Go ahead then,” I said. “I’m listening.”
“I was married,” she said. “My in-laws didn’t like me—they’d wanted their son to marry someone else—but it didn’t matter as long as he was alive.”
“He died?”
“Our daughter was only six months old. His parents tried to get custody. When that didn’t work, they tried to kidnap her. That’s where the assault charge comes from.”
She was twisting a narrow gold and platinum ring around her right ring finger. I wondered if it was her wedding ring, moved from her left hand.
“I left Chicago in the middle of the night with Emmy—that’s my daught
er. We moved around for a while. Eventually we ended up here. The police think I knew Mike because I used to live in Chicago.”
I shifted my briefcase from one hand to the other. “Did you?” I asked.
Georgia shook her head. “But the company my former father-in-law works for has used Legacy Tours; at least that’s what that detective told me.” She held out both hands. “I know it seems like a lot of coincidences, but that’s what they are. I’d never met Mike Glazer before, and I didn’t know about any connection between his company and the one my former father-in-law works for. I haven’t had any contact with my husband’s parents other than through my lawyer.”
She didn’t shift her feet or look away from me. There was no hesitation in her words. I believed her, which is what I said.
“The police are going to check out everything you told them. All they want is to get to the truth. No one is going to try to railroad you.”
She exhaled slowly. “I hope you’re right,” she said. “I really like it here, but . . . I’ve been thinking maybe it would be better if Emmy and I just moved on again.”
I gave Georgia a small smile. “I hope you don’t,” I said. “There are a lot of good people in Mayville Heights.” I glanced at Abigail. “Including Detective Gordon. I’m not going to tell you to relax, because I know you can’t, but I think it’ll be okay.”
Abigail reached over and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks,” she said.
“What I don’t understand is how a spatula belonging to me ended up in that tent,” Georgia said, rubbing the back of her head with one hand. “I wasn’t anywhere near it.”
“Maybe someone else borrowed it and then dropped it and didn’t notice,” Abigail offered.
I realized they didn’t know the spatula had been stuck into the ground, not just left in a booth or on the grass. “What’s the last place you were that you were using a spatula?” I asked.
Georgia shrugged. “Well, over at Fern’s, because I did a couple of caramel fudge cakes.” A couple of frown lines appeared between her eyes. “I did decorate a batch of cupcakes in the kitchen at the community center—one of the other partners from Legacy came for a quick meeting with us all, and Liam asked me to put together a little food for after. But that was a couple of days after Mike was already dead.”