Faux Paw

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 building?” 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?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’ll walk you,” Marcus said, getting to his feet again. He glanced at me. “Be right back.” He and Hope disappeared around the side of the house. I could hear their voices, too low to make out the words.

Micah studied me from her seat on the bench. Then she jumped down, came across the deck and launched herself onto the swing, timing her jump to match its slight sway. “Mrrr,” she said softly, tipping her head to one side inquiringly.

If it had been Owen or Hercules sitting beside me, I would have convinced myself the cat was asking if everything was all right.

Micah put a paw on my lap and continued to give me that look.

Feeling a little silly, I leaned toward the cat. “Marcus doesn’t like Gavin,” I said, keeping my voice low, because after all, I was talking to a cat. “Why?”

“Mrrr,” she said again, pawing the leg of my jeans. I had no idea what she meant.

“You and Hope are awfully friendly,” I said.

The little tabby turned and looked at the back door before resting her chin on my leg next to her paw. I “spoke enough cat” to know that meant “scratch behind my ears.” So I did.

“Hope has been to the house a lot.”

Micah opened her eyes, looked at me and then dropped her head back onto my lap.

“I sound jealous, don’t I?” I said. Did I actually think I was having a conversation with her?

I had conversations with Owen and Hercules all the time, which I told myself was just a way of thinking out loud. But the truth was, deep inside I did think they understood what I was saying. Was it really that far-fetched to think a cat who could walk though walls or disappear at will would also be able to follow a conversation?

“It makes sense that Hope would be out here,” I said to the little cat. “She works with Marcus. It’s just that . . .” I shifted in my seat, trying not to disturb her. She opened one eye, looked at me as if to gently chastise me and then closed it again. “Why didn’t he ever say so?”

Marcus was very private person. So much so that it had been a big stumbling block to our relationship getting off the ground.

“And what’s taking him so long?” I whispered.

Micah meowed softly without opening her eyes, and Marcus came around the side of the house. He sat down beside me. The cat sat up, stretched, shot me a look and jumped down to the deck. Then she disappeared down the steps and into the backyard.

Marcus put his arm around me. “Sorry that took so long,” he said. “There were just a couple of things we needed to talk about that had to do with the case.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Micah kept me company.”

“She likes you,” he said.

I leaned my head against his shoulder. “The cat or Hope?”

“Well, both, but I was talking about Micah.” I felt his lips brush my hair. “I think Maggie is right. I think maybe you are the Cat Whisperer.”

Maggie had given me the nickname for my ability to get so close to Lucy and the other cats in the feral cat colony that called the old carriage house out at Wisteria Hill, where Roma now lived, home. And she had jokingly dubbed Marcus my sidekick, the Cat Detective.

“Well, I am pretty much a cat person,” I said lightly. “But I do like Hope as well. And so does Micah, it seems.”

The moment the words were out I was sorry I’d said them. There was a sour taste at the back of my throat. I was fishing, and I didn’t want to be that kind of girlfriend.

“She’s been out here a few times,” Marcus said, “you know, when we’ve been working on a case.”

“That’s what I thought.” I leaned forward and picked up my cup. “I should get going,” I said, standing up. “Who knows what Hercules and Owen could have gotten into, and I need to call Everett and see how he wants to handle the building being closed.”

Marcus reached out and caught my hand. “The cats are fine, and couldn’t you call Everett from here?” The space between his eyebrows was furrowed into two frown lines.

I turned to face him, setting my mug on the deck railing and rolling my arm in his grasp so I could link my fingers through his. “You and Hope work together a lot. You’re close,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” he said. There was just a hint of color on those gorgeous cheekbones.

“Close as in colleagues who work together a lot or close as in this?” I held up our clasped hands.

“I should have told you sooner,” he said. “We went out a few times. Before us. Before I even knew you.” To his credit, he didn’t look away.

“So why didn’t you?” I asked.

He swiped a hand across the stubble on his chin. “I don’t know. I didn’t want things to be awkward. The longer I waited, the harder it got. I’m not good at sharing personal stuff. You know that.” He did look away then and swallowed hard. “I am sorry.”

I leaned over and plinked the middle of his forehead with my thumb and index finger.

“Ow!” he exclaimed.

I dropped back down beside him on the swing. “What did you think I’d do when you told me? Jump on Hope’s back, pull her hair and yell, ‘Keep your hands off my man!’”

“No,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. “Probably not.”

I leaned back and started the swing swaying slowly back and forth. “My mother, on the other hand, would be perfectly capable of doing something like that, but she’s not here.” I nudged him with my shoulder, smiling at him because I felt better.

“I know,” Marcus said with a wry smile. “She made it very clear what would happen if I made you unhappy.”

I kissed his cheek. “Lucky for you that you make me very happy.”

“Lucky for me, period,” he said, turning his head so my second kiss landed on his mouth.

I could have stayed there for another half an hour just kissing him, because oh my, could he kiss, but I made myself pull away and stand up. “I really have to call Everett,” I said. “I’m sorry. And talk to Gavin, and I need my computer and my date book so I can keep everything straight.”

Marcus got to his feet as well. “Why do you need to talk to Solomon?”

“You heard what Hope said.” I started for the back door, looking around to see if Micah was close by and wanted to come in. I didn’t see her. “The insurance company wants to keep the rest of the exhibit in my library until the museum cleans up after that sprinkler malfunction. I don’t want to stay closed for another two weeks. Maybe he can satisfy them and we can find a way to open.”

My phone was lying on the kitchen table. I picked it up and sent a text to Gavin asking if we could meet for breakfast to talk about things at the library. He texted right back suggesting Eric’s first thing in the morning.

“I could join you,” Marcus said, leaning against the counter as I pulled on my sweater.

“Thanks, but we’re going to spend the whole time talking about the exhibit and the security system,” I said, tucking my cell in my pocket. “I know you have better things to do with your time than listen to that.”

“I don’t mind,” Marcus said with an offhand shrug. “I’ll pick you up.”

I laid a hand on his cheek for a moment. “It’s a business meeting and I need the truck because Hope is going to let me into the library and there are some things I need to take home.” I smiled at him. “How about lunch?”

He hesitated just a moment too long.

“You’re jealous,” I said slowly.

“I just want to spend some time with you,” he said, reaching out with one hand to pull me closer. “You’ve been so busy getting ready for the exhibit, and now Hope and I have this case.”

I held up one finger. “True I’ve been busy.” I held up a second finger. “True that you’re going to be tied up investigating Margo’s murder.” I added a third finger to the first two. “Also true that you, Marcus Gordon, brilliant detective, are jealous.”

I felt his breath against my hair as he exhaled slowly. “I’m not jealous,” he finally said. “I just don’t like the way Solomon looks at you.”

I pulled back so I could see his face. “And how does he look at me?”

His cheeks reddened. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

I felt my shoulders tighten, and this time I was the one who took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly, once, twice. “How does Gavin look at me?” I asked again, my dark eyes locked on Marcus’s blue ones.

His mouth twisted and he broke the gaze, looking over my shoulder. “He looks at you like you’re a hamburger and he hasn’t eaten for a week.”

“Gavin’s a flirt,” I said. “He flirts with me; he flirts with Lita; he flirts with the senior women in the book club.”

“If Burtis catches him flirting with Lita, we’ll have another case to investigate,” Marcus said, with, it seemed to me, just a touch of petulance in his voice.

“You’re missing the point,” I said, struggling to keep the frustration I was feeling out of my voice. “It doesn’t matter if Gavin puts on a G-string and dances around to Beyoncé at the next meeting we have with him. Neither Lita nor I am interested.” I was pretty sure I could speak for Lita, given how serious the relationship seemed to be with Burtis.

“I trust you,” he said, his gaze coming back to my face. Trust had been an issue in the past between the two of us, with Marcus feeling I didn’t trust him enough to share an instinct I had about one of his cases and me feeling shut out because he hadn’t shared any details about his family. I didn’t really think this was about trust. I was pretty sure it was a guy thing.

“You just want to mark your territory.”

“I’m not a dog, Kathleen,” he said, reaching out to run a hand down my arm. “I’m not trying to lift my leg and—”

I held up one hand. “I get the picture,” I said. “And I think you’re more like Owen.”

Marcus frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“Before he figured out that Hercules had no interest in catnip in general and yellow chickens full of catnip in particular, whenever he got a Fred the Funky Chicken, the first thing he’d do is lick it from one end to the other. It was his way of saying, ‘Mine.’” I folded my arms over my chest. “You’re trying to do the same thing by joining us for breakfast. And you’re not invited.” I caught his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“You’re mad,” he said, frowning in surprise.

I held up my thumb and index finger about an inch apart. “Little bit,” I said.

Micah was sitting on the top of the deck railing by the stairs, next to my empty cup. I stopped to give the top of her head a scratch. “Sometimes he makes me crazy,” I whispered to her.

She gave a soft “mrrr” and nuzzled my hand in what I decided was solidarity.