Faux Paw: A Magical Cats Mystery (18 page)

F
or a moment there was silence; then Marcus said, “Rena Adler, you have the right to remain silent. Do you understand?”

Rena set down the tape dispenser and folded her arms over her chest. “Yes.”

He continued reading her the rest of her rights. When he finished she nodded. “I understand, Detective. But I don’t need a lawyer. Go ahead and ask your questions.”

I touched her arm. “Rena, are you sure about that?” I asked.

“I’m sure,” she said. Her gaze never left Marcus’s face.

“What did you do with the artwork?” he asked.

“Nothing. When I got here the security system was already turned off and the drawing wasn’t in the display case.”

“Let me get this straight; Margo Walsh hired you to steal the Weston drawing, but when you broke in it was already gone?” Marcus didn’t try to hide the skepticism in his voice.

“Yes. She wanted to prove that the security system wasn’t enough to protect the artwork so the tour would be canceled.”

Rena turned her head to look at me then. “The first meeting we all had with Margo.” She pointed across the library to one of our meeting rooms. “You were there, Kathleen. You heard what she said about the pieces belonging in a museum.”

I glanced at Marcus and nodded. “Margo thought the artwork was too old and too fragile to be out of a controlled setting.” I turned to Rena. “I don’t understand; you said your name isn’t Devin Rossi.”

“My real name isn’t Devin Rossi,” she said. “My real name is Rena Adler, and, yes, it’s a variation on Irene Adler, but I’m guessing you already figured that out. My father was a mystery lover. I got the name Devin Rossi from a movie.”

So even though Rena’s name had made me think she might be Devin Rossi, I was wrong about which of her names was a fake.

“Can you prove Margo hired you to break in to the library?” Marcus asked Rena.

“You mean did I sign a contract or write a receipt? No.” There was nothing defensive in her body language, but there was an edge of sarcasm in her voice. If anything she looked . . . angry. “Talk to the insurance company. They were involved in this.”

“I already have talked to them. They didn’t say anything about some plan to test the security system.”

It was impossible to miss the surprise that flashed across Rena’s face. She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again she focused totally on Marcus. “Then check Margo’s bank accounts or her credit cards. She transferred ten thousand dollars to an account in Turks and Caicos just after one a.m. Thursday morning.”

“Do you have a routing number?” Marcus asked.

“If it comes to that,” Rena said. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I didn’t kill Margo. You must have her cell phone. There should be a text from Doyle’s Art Supplies telling her her order isn’t ready. That’s me letting her know there was a problem. She sent a text back saying she’d call to change her order. But she didn’t call. I was at Eric’s Place for about an hour. The waiter was flirting. He’ll remember me.”

“You were flirting with Larry Taylor to find out how the security system worked,” I said. “You were trying to figure out how to disable it.”

Rena looked away for a moment. “I’m sorry about Larry. He’s a nice guy. And, no, he didn’t do anything to compromise the library’s security, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Marcus glanced over at the main doors. “You couldn’t have tampered with the keypad. It’s set up to call the police if there’s a security breach.”

For a long moment Rena just looked at him. Then she shrugged. “In theory it is possible to redirect the keypad, send it to a rogue cell phone network. Or so I’ve heard. But like I told you. The system was off. “

“You’ll need to come down to the police station,” Marcus said, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “And you really should find a lawyer. There’s still that fingerprint from Chicago you need to explain.”

I saw a hint of a smile cross Rena’s face. “I don’t think that’s going to be that big a problem,” she said. “I don’t think the alleged owner really wants to explain how she ended up with that painting in the first place.”

“Where’s the Weston drawing?” Marcus asked again.

Rena brushed her hair back impatiently from her face. “I didn’t take it. I told you. It wasn’t in the case.”

“You’re asking me to take a lot of things on faith, Ms. Adler,” Marcus said.

Rena actually smiled at him. “You know I didn’t take the drawing, Detective,” she repeated.

Marcus held up a hand. “Hang on a second,” he said. He frowned at Rena. “What do you mean,
I
know you didn’t take it?”

“I know the police have the drawing, Detective. I’m assuming you’re saying you don’t to throw whoever killed Margo off base.”

“We don’t have the drawing,” Marcus said, flatly.

Rena shook her head. “You mean all this time this building’s been closed and you still haven’t found it?”

“Wait a minute,” I said, pointing with one finger. “You think the Weston drawing is here? In the library?”

She looked from me to Marcus and back to me again. “It has to be. It was dotted, so there’s no way it can leave the building with the alarm system still in place. I assumed Margo put it somewhere for safekeeping.” She was looking at us both as though we were incredibly dense—which is how I felt. I had no idea what she was talking about and, judging from Marcus’s face, neither did he.

I looked blankly at Rena. “What do you mean the drawing was dotted?”

“I mean there was a computer chip—a very tiny computer chip—attached to the back of it,” she said. “If anyone tried to take it out of the building the chip would trigger the security system and—”

I shook my head. “No,” I interrupted. “We weren’t using that aspect of the system here. It was too expensive and both the museum board and the insurance company thought the risk of anything happening was small. That was Gavin’s recommendation as well.” I did see the irony in that.

Rena ran a hand over the cardboard encasing her painting. “Margo went over his head. She convinced the insurance company that the extra security was needed and there wasn’t much the board could do at the last minute. She wanted them to see that no matter what security procedures were in place, the artwork wasn’t safe.”

I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand. A knot of frustration made it feel as though a giant hand was squeezing the back of my head.

Marcus shook his head. “No, she didn’t. There was no extra security. No computer chips on the back of any of the artwork.”

Rena looked like someone had just punched her in the stomach. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would Margo tell me that?”

I didn’t have an answer. I couldn’t understand why Margo had wanted to sabotage the exhibit at all.

“So if the drawing had a computer chip attached to it, what were you supposed to do with it?” Marcus asked.

Rena pointed across the library. “I was supposed to hide it in the fourth book from the left in that case over there.” She was indicating one of the special cabinets that held our rare book collection.

Marcus’s phone rang then. He pulled it out of his pocket and held up his hand. “I need to take this; give me a minute.”

He walked a few steps away from us.

“Kathleen, I didn’t kill Margo,” Rena said. “I had no reason to. Because of her, my paintings were going to be on display; my first real exhibit.”

I held out both hands. “You seriously thought the exhibit would continue after you stole the drawing?” It was hard to believe Rena could have been that dense.

She shook her head. “No, I knew there wouldn’t be an exhibit here, but Margo was going to add all the Mayville Heights artists to the next stop on the tour.”

I didn’t know what to say. I knew that Margo had already spent time at the other five stops on the tour. The layout of the artwork had already been planned. There was no way the artists from Mayville Heights would be part of the exhibit in some other place.

Marcus put his phone back in his pocket and walked back over to us. He gave Rena a look, narrowing his eyes, and I realized something in his attitude had changed. I wondered who had been on the other end of the phone.

“Do you know anything about the history of the Weston drawing, Detective?” Rena asked. She was still fingering the cardboard wrapped around her painting.

“I know there’s some dispute about whether or not Weston himself is the artist,” Marcus said.

“Margo believed, very strongly, that he wasn’t. She did a lot of research on Sam Weston and on that drawing in particular. She went to talk to his first wife’s great-great-grandson. I don’t know what she found out, but whatever it was, she was convinced that that particular drawing wasn’t done by Weston and that several others weren’t, either.”

“She told you all that?” Marcus didn’t even try to keep the skepticism from his voice.

Rena smiled, not particularly warmly. “Uh-huh. It’ll probably surprise you, but I agree . . . agreed with her.” She gestured in the direction of the computer area turned exhibit space. “These pieces should be in a controlled environment with proper security. They’re part of this country’s heritage—part of our heritage.”

“We should get going, Ms. Adler,” Marcus said.

Rena nodded. “I understand.” She turned to me, indicating the wrapped painting as she did. “Is it all right if I leave this here?”

“Of course it is,” I said. “I’ll put it upstairs in my office.” I looked at Marcus. “Is that all right?”

He nodded. “It’s fine.” He looked around. “I’m sorry, Kathleen,” he began.

“I can’t stay here,” I finished. Once again I was shut out of my own library.

Marcus took me by the arm and led me over to the main doors. Rena was putting a bit more tape on the cardboard-wrapped painting.

“You don’t think she killed Margo,” I said.

He shook his head. “How do you do that?”

“That was Hope on the phone and she told you something that convinced you that Rena isn’t the killer.” I was only guessing, but his expression told me I was correct.

He pulled a hand over his mouth. “Rena is left-handed,” he said.

I glanced over at her. “I noticed that, too.”

He didn’t say anything.

I turned back to him. “The killer wasn’t,” I said slowly. Then I gave my head a slight shake before he could speak. “I know. You can’t tell me that.”

He shrugged. “I’m sorry.” He looked around. “There was no computer chip on that drawing,” he began.

“But you want to search again.”

“I do.”

Another thought had just occurred to me. “Marcus, if Rena didn’t kill Margo, that means someone else got in here and did.”

He nodded.

“But if it wasn’t about the drawing, if she didn’t walk in on the thief, on Rena, then why would anyone want to kill her?”

Marcus shook his head. “I don’t know.”

I took Rena’s painting up to my office. While I was gone Marcus opened the cabinet and checked to make sure the drawing wasn’t inside.

It wasn’t.

“Is it all right if I let Lita and Everett know we’re going to be closed a bit longer?” I asked as we headed for the front door.

“It’s all right,” he said. “But for now, everything else stays between us.”

I nodded, then reached for his hand to give it a squeeze. He smiled and the gleam that flashed in his blue eyes sent a warm feeling flooding through my chest.

I turned and walked back to Rena. “Think about a lawyer,” I said softly.

All she did was smile at me.

Curtis Holt was at the front doors. I realized Marcus had worked out the timing of that in advance. He and Rena headed for the police station and I walked over to Henderson Holdings and brought Lita up to date on what was going on. Then I headed home.

Hercules was sitting in the blue Adirondack chair in the backyard when I got home. I scooped him onto my lap and sat down. “What are you doing out here?” I asked.

He looked over at the big maple tree and meowed. Hercules had a love-hate relationship with a grackle that spent a lot of time in that tree. I thought of their perverse connection as love-hate because while Hercules had managed to snag one of the bird’s feathers, he’d never come any closer to the bird—something he was quite capable of doing. And the grackle, in turn, had dive-bombed the cat, but never, as far as I had seen, touched a single strand of fur on his head.

“Where’s your friend?” I said, stroking his fur. It was warm from the morning sun.

He responded with a sharp meow.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I meant your archnemesis.”

Hercules made a grumbling sound low in his throat, shook off my hand, then jumped to the grass and headed for the house. He didn’t bother waiting for me; he just walked through the door into the porch.

I watched him, thinking how much easier it would be if I could do that instead of stopping to fish out my keys all the time and unlock things. I couldn’t help laughing as I let myself into the porch the normal way. When had I gotten so blasé about the cats’ abilities?

I spent the afternoon catching up on what work I could from home. Lita called with a message from Everett that in essence promised any resources I needed to get things back to normal at the library as quickly as possible. I called Maggie to let her know we’d need her space for a few more days if that was okay. I told her that Rena was answering some questions for the police, but it didn’t look like she’d killed Margo. I didn’t think that violated Marcus’s request not to talk about what had happened at the library. Gavin didn’t call and I didn’t call him, either.

I couldn’t get Rena’s story out of my head. Margo had hired her to break in to the library and take the Weston drawing out of its case and hide it? That made no sense. The case we kept the rare books in would make a good temporary hiding place, but I couldn’t believe that Margo would do anything that might put the fragile piece of artwork at risk of damage. This whole thing was so out of character for the person I’d gotten to know.

But why would Rena make up a story like that? Even though Margo was dead, there were parts of her tale Marcus and Hope would be able to check on.

When I got to tai chi, Maggie took me aside to tell me that Rena was out on bail and had to stay in town, but she didn’t seem concerned about the time she’d spent at the police station. “Did Marcus say anything?” she asked.