Paws and Effect (15 page)

I smiled. “What did you say to her?”

Roma sighed softly. “I told her it was complicated. She said that was what adults said whenever they were doing something stupid.”

“She loves her dad and she loves you, too,” I said.

“And I love her. I'm so glad I still get to be part of her life.” She looked away for a moment and then her eyes met mine again. “Do you think it's selfish of me to stay in Syd's life? Is it going to be too awkward when Eddie meets someone else?”

“You don't have a selfish bone in your body,” Maggie interjected. She was at the sink. I had no idea what she was doing. Not dishes, because it seemed like every surface in the small kitchen was covered with dirty ones. “And it's not like there's so much love in
the world that there isn't enough room for a little more,” she added.

I nodded. “What Maggie said. It's not selfish. It's loving.” I reached over and gave Roma's arm a squeeze. I didn't say that I didn't think Eddie
was
going to meet someone else. When Roma had decided she couldn't marry Eddie because she was older than he was, she'd told Maggie and me she didn't want us to feel we had to take sides. I'd promised her that we'd do our best not to, but if it came down to that we were one hundred percent on hers.

Roma leaned sideways to see what Maggie was doing in the kitchen. “Could we please do something?” she asked.

Maggie opened the oven door, slid the pizza inside and then poked her head in to check something.

“I guess it's not too early to set the table,” she said, her voice echoing a little from inside the oven. She pulled her head out and brushed off the front of the denim apron she was wearing.

Roma was already getting the placemats. I got up and started clearing off the table.

“These are nice,” Roma said, holding up the woven placemats. “Where did you get them?”

Maggie turned to look at her and smiled. “They are nice, aren't they? You know the big barn, Hollister's, about a mile past you?”

Roma nodded.

“That's where I got them. Brady was with me and he bought an old Lime Ricky bottle.”

“You mean the place with the American flag weathervane?” I said, wondering why there were chocolate chips on the table if we were having pizza. “I thought they were a vegetable stand.”

“They are,” Maggie said. “They have the best corn and potatoes. Oh, and honey. But then the barn is like a flea market, plus Gerald—he's the father—always has a few old vehicles for sale. People use them mostly for off-roading.”

“I almost forgot,” Roma said as she folded napkins to put at each place. “Did you talk to Oren?”

“He thinks Ira might have gone to Florida.” I moved over to the sink and began running some hot water so I could wipe the table and the counter.

Maggie opened the dishwasher and started putting spoons in the utensil rack. “You mean Ira who's been living out by the lake?”

I nodded, adding soap to the hot water in the sink. Even though Maggie had a dishwasher I knew she didn't put her good glasses in it and I could see four of them in various places around the kitchen. “There's no sign of him out at the lake. Or anywhere else for that matter.”

“Kath, you don't think Ira had anything to do with the death of Marcus's friend, do you?” She turned and peeked at the pizza through the oven window. For Maggie, pizza-making was as much an art as collage or painting.

“I don't know,” I said. “Not deliberately, but maybe by accident.”

Mags shook her head emphatically. “Ira doesn't have that kind of energy.”

Roma gave me a look. Maggie was a very spiritual person. I'd heard her make that kind of comment about someone before. And in my experience she was usually pretty accurate in her assessment of people.

“Should I set a place for Brady?” Roma asked.

I rinsed my cloth and went to wipe the table for her. She smiled a thank-you.

Maggie had picked up a plastic spatula and was scraping at some bits of dough dried to the granite countertop. “He has a meeting. He'll be here later.”

Roma finished setting the table and helped Maggie scrape dishes and load the dishwasher. I washed all the glasses and Maggie's big saucepot, and the kitchen was pretty much cleaned up by the time the oven timer beeped.

Maggie reached for her oven mitts and peered through the window in the oven door. “They look like they're done,” she said. She tipped her head in the direction of the counter by the sink. “Kath, would you grab the platter for me?”

The pizza was delicious as always—sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes and chewy mozzarella on a thick crust with just a hint of olive oil and a dusting of cornmeal on the bottom. As good as the pizza I'd had at the hotel with Simon had been, this was better. The resolution I'd made to just have one slice was very quickly broken.

Like we usually did, we moved into the living room for dessert. Roma had made lemon pudding.

“This is really good,” I said, scraping the bottom of my bowl.

Roma smiled. “The recipe is easy. I'll e-mail it to you.”

“There's more,” Maggie said. She got to her feet, took the small glass dish from my hand and walked over to the kitchen. “Roma, what about you?” she asked.

Roma shook her head, “I'm good, thanks.”

Maggie came back with more pudding for both of us, handed me my dish and sat down again, stretching her long legs onto the footstool.

“What happens now as far as the investigation goes into the death of Marcus's friend?” Roma asked. “Do the police have any suspects other than Marcus—which is ridiculous, by the way?”

“They're looking for Ira; at least I assume they are. And Hope has been doing what she can.”

Maggie licked her spoon and gestured at me with it. “Marcus's friend, is her brother Dominic McAllister by any chance?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“That's kind of odd,” she said. I waited for her to explain but she ate another spoonful of pudding instead.

Roma glanced at me and smiled. “Odd how?” she asked.

“Remember last year when that group of artists in Minneapolis wanted to buy the old shoe factory and
turn it into studio space with a café on the main floor? They were going to reinforce the roof and put solar panels up there and a garden so the building would be completely self-sufficient.”

“I remember that,” I said. “But it didn't work out. The building was torn down and some developer is building a condo high-rise.” I looked at my bowl, wondering where exactly my second serving of pudding had disappeared to.

“Not some developer,” Maggie said. “Dominic McAllister.”

“So his sister's an ardent environmentalist and he's not,” Roma said.

Maggie nodded. “Like I said, odd.”

I heard a noise behind us then and a voice called, “Hello.”

Brady.

“C'mon up,” Maggie called. She turned in the direction of the stairs. Her smile got a little wider.

Brady Chapman had his father's smile and the same strong arms and huge hands. He'd started to go gray very early but the salt-and-pepper hair didn't make him look old at all. He wore it short and spiked a bit on top.

Maggie got up and took his jacket from him and I noticed the smile that passed between them. Even though she kept insisting the relationship with Brady wasn't serious I could see that it seemed to be heading in that direction.

“How was your meeting?” she asked.

“Long but worth it, I think.” He smiled at Roma and me. “How was the pizza?”

“Wonderful as always,” Roma said. “We saved you a piece.” Her eyes darted in my direction. “We did, didn't we?”

“I made two,” Maggie said.

Brady dropped onto the arm of Roma's chair. He looked over at me. “Maggie said you wanted to ask me about Elliot Gordon?”

I'd told Maggie and Roma about Marcus's dad arriving the night before while we were eating. “He showed up on my doorstep last night.”

One eyebrow went up but Brady didn't say anything.

“I really do believe he wants to help Marcus and I don't think he's leaving any time soon.” I stopped. Now that Brady was here I wasn't sure how to continue. It seemed petty to say I wasn't sure if I could trust him. But it seemed as though Brady could read my mind.

“You want to know if you should give him all your trust.” It was a nicer way of expressing my reservations.

“Yes.”

Brady made a fist with one hand and cupped it with the other. “I really only know Elliot by reputation. I don't know him personally and I've never faced him in court, so keep in mind what I'm telling you is secondhand.”

I nodded, leaning forward a little and propping my elbow on the arm of the sofa. “He argued a case in
front of the Supreme Court when he was only twenty-eight and won against a far more experienced and seasoned litigator.”

“Wow,” Roma whispered.

“We studied the case when I was in law school. My professor said Elliot was a cross between F. Lee Bailey and Johnnie Cochran with some Perry Mason thrown in.”

I remembered the man's somewhat melodramatic arrival at Eric's Place. The description seemed accurate from what I'd seen so far.

“So he's good at what he does?”

“Very good,” Brady said. I noticed Maggie was leaning against him, although I wasn't sure she was aware of that. “He also has a reputation for stepping over or on people who get in his way.”

I nodded.

“Has this helped at all?” he asked.

“It has,” I said. “Thanks.”

Maggie put a hand on Brady's leg. “Want a slice?” she asked.

He nodded and then held up two fingers. “Two, maybe?”

They moved into the kitchen. Roma touched my arm and I shifted in my seat to face her.

“I have a suggestion. I don't know if it will help.”

“What is it?”

“Do you remember when we were trying to find out how Tom—my father—died?”

“I remember,” I said. It had been a very painful time for Roma, finding out that the biological father
she'd thought had abandoned her had really been dead for almost all of her life.

“The key to figuring that out was learning more about him as a person. Maybe that's true for Dani as well.”

Some of the things I'd learned about Tom Karlsson were ugly, but they had ultimately led to his killer. Maybe I did need to find out more about Dani the person.

I nodded slowly. “Maybe it
is.”

I
t was unseasonably warm the next morning. I took my coffee outside. Owen came to sit on the wide arm of the Adirondack chair. He was washing his face when suddenly his head came up. His ears twitched and he turned his head to look at the side of the house. “Mrrr,” he said.

I waited and after a moment Elliot Gordon came around the side of the house.

I got to my feet. “How do you do that?” I said to Owen. He'd already resumed washing his face and ignored me.

“Good morning,” Elliot said. He was wearing jeans and a close-fitting black sweater with black leather shoulder and elbow patches. And he was carrying a large manila envelope.

“Good morning,” I said. I held up my mug. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“I would, if it's no trouble.”

“It's already made.” I gestured to the door. “Come into the kitchen.”

I got Elliot a cup of coffee, refilled my own and we sat at the table. He slid the envelope across the table to me.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Everything I've been able to find on the McAllister family.”

I pulled out a sheaf of papers. There were notes in fine, neat handwriting made in the margins of some of the pages. I suspected this was research done by a legal assistant.

“Can you give me the short version?”

“American Land Trust, the organization Danielle McAllister worked for, is funded by her grandmother.”

I frowned, flipping through the pages. “Are you sure?”

He didn't say anything and when I looked up the expression on his face told me he was just going to ignore my question.

“The money is filtered through a number of different corporate entities,” he said.

“Which means it's not common knowledge—or something the family wanted to be common knowledge.”

“I think that's a safe assumption,” Elliot said, adding cream to his coffee.

“Do you think Dani knew?” I asked.

He nodded over the top of his coffee cup. “Based on when the organization was formed and when she went to work for them I don't see how she couldn't.”

“The McAllisters have a lot of money.”

“Old money,” Elliot said. “There's a difference, you know, between old money and nouveau riche.”

“Old money brings tradition, prestige, influence, connections,” I said.

He nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. “Exactly.”

I remembered the story Maggie had told me about Dani's brother. “Dominic McAllister is a developer. I'm not trying to imply developers don't care about the environment.”

“McAllister doesn't,” Elliot said flatly.

“I'll take your word on that,” I said. I took a sip of my own coffee. “So if environmental concerns aren't at the top of Dominic McAllister's priorities, why did the family secretly fund an organization that seems to be at cross-purposes to their day-to-day business?”

“Not the family. Matilda McAllister.”

Hercules wandered in from the living room, glanced at us as he passed the table and went to sit in front of the door to the porch. I got up and opened it for him, grateful that he hadn't just walked through the way he often did.

“Dani's grandmother,” I said as I retook my seat.

“She controls the family trust and has money of her own,” Elliot said. “Dani has always had her grandmother's favor and ear.”

I sighed. “Which also means access to her money.”

“Something some other family members haven't been happy about.”

I stretched one arm up over my head. “So are you
suggesting someone in her family killed her over that?” I sounded skeptical because I was.

“Rumor has it that Matilda has the ear of the governor, not to mention several other powerful people in the State House.”

I tried to follow the logic through. “So if Dani could find any reason to stop the project at Long Lake, no matter how flimsy, between pressure exerted by the coalition and her grandmother's influence the project would have been scuttled.”

It gave Ernie Kingsley even more of a motive. I thought about my deal with Simon. I was going to hold him to his promise to set up a meeting with the developer. As far as I was concerned I definitely still wanted it.

“Kingsley-Pearson is leveraged to the hilt. If this project folds the company will go under.” Elliot's face hardened.

“You think someone from the company could be involved,” I said.

“I think neither one of us wants my son to be accused of something he didn't do.” He had a great poker face. I wouldn't want to play cards with the man.

“That's true,” I said.

“You doubt my intentions.”

I shook my head. “No, I don't. I believe that you care about Marcus and you want to help him. But as my friend Burtis says, I didn't just fall off the turnip truck. You didn't just come out here to share information. You could have done that over the phone. So tell me what else you want.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “I want you to give this information to my son's lawyer. If I give it to Marcus I'm not sure he'll even look at it. “

“I can do that,” I said. I picked up the papers and put them back in the envelope.

“You and Burtis are friends,” Elliot said. “How did that happen?”

“He saved my life. He and Marcus. And my cats like his turkey jerky.”

“Next time you see him tell him I said hello.”

I nodded. “I will. And just so you know, he still lives in the same place.”

He smiled but didn't say anything.

After Elliot left I went out to the porch and sat down next to Hercules, who was looking out the window. “Interesting man,” I said.

He wrinkled his nose at me almost as though he was agreeing.

I looked at my watch. I'd been mulling over Roma's advice to learn more about Dani. I'd told Marcus I wanted to talk to both John and Travis. “Maybe now is a good time,” I said to Hercules.

He jumped down and headed for the kitchen door, meowing at me without even looking back.

I'd made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies after I'd gotten home from Maggie's. Now I put a dozen in a bag to take to Travis. Hercules was sitting by my shoes.

“Want to come with me?” I asked.

“Meow,” he said, eyeing the bag with the cookies, whiskers twitching.

“No, these are for Travis,” I said. “Do you still want to come?”

I couldn't help grinning as he cocked his head to one side, seemingly considering the question. “Mrrr,” he said after a moment of thought.

I gestured at the door. “Let's go.”

We drove out to the Bluebird Motel first, Hercules on the passenger seat beside me, looking through the windshield and making little noises from time to time as though he were giving directions.

Even though Ruby wanted to sell the piece of land her grandfather, Idris, had left to her, she'd given John and Travis permission to access it, so if Travis wasn't at the Bluebird I'd head for Wisteria Hill.

“I don't want that development to be built if it's not the right thing for the town and the land,” Ruby had told me when I'd said I thought it was good of her to let John and Travis on the property. “I'd rather hang on to the land.” She'd grinned at me. “Maybe I'll build a tree fort and go live out there.”

I was hoping it was early enough that Travis would still be at the motel, and when I pulled off the highway I saw his rental car still in the lot.

“I won't be very long,” I said to Hercules.

He looked pointedly from me to my cross-body bag. How did he know I had a tiny container of fish-shaped crackers in there? A friend of Roma's owned a small cat food company and Owen and Hercules had been taste testers—happily—several times for his new products.

“Stay in the truck and I'll give them to you when I come back.” I patted the bag.

He sighed and laid down on the seat, putting his head on a small paperback book on the history of Minnesota that Abigail had gotten for me for a quarter at a flea market.

I picked up the bag of cookies and got out of the truck. I knocked on the door of Travis's motel room, expecting him to ask who it was. Instead, after a moment, he opened the door. His hair was disheveled. There were dark circles under his eyes and a couple of days of stubble on his cheeks. Everything about him, even the way he was standing, was so profoundly sad I knew I couldn't ask him any questions about Dani. I knew it would be wrong to take advantage of his grief like that.

“Hi, Travis,” I said. “I just came to see how you were, if you need anything.” I suddenly felt a little silly standing there with the bag of cookies. I held them out to him. “I, uh, made these for you.”

He didn't take the bag. “Did you come to plead Marcus's case?” he asked in a voice edged with snark. “Are you going to tell me we should grieve together?”

I shook my head slowly. My heart ached for him, my chest actually hurting. “No,” I said. “I just came to see if I could do anything for you. Not make you feel worse. I'm sorry.” I turned to go.

“Have the police figured out who killed her?” Travis said.

I turned back around to face him. “Not yet.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “She came here because
he
was here. She wanted to talk to him.”

Dani knew Marcus was in Mayville Heights?
“How do you know?”

He swallowed and his face tightened. “I went looking for her, after the restaurant that morning. She was on her phone talking to someone. I heard her tell whomever she was talking to that now she'd have the chance to talk to him. Then she said, ‘No more secrets.'” He pulled a hand across the stubble on his chin. “She wouldn't talk to me. She wouldn't tell me what the hell she was talking about. She wouldn't let me apologize.”

The bit of conversation Travis had overheard didn't prove anything. I sighed. “I'm sorry.” The words seemed inadequate but I didn't know what else to say.

“Secrets, Kathleen,” Travis said bitterly. “All these years later and the two of them are still keeping secrets.”

I noticed he was still referring to Dani in the present tense. Marcus had done that a few times as well.

“I know,” I said.

“You know?” He narrowed his eyes at me.

I let out a long slow breath. “I know there's something they were keeping from everyone. I don't know what it is.”

Travis's mouth worked before he spoke. “You're okay with that?”

I looked away for a minute and then met his gaze again. “Marcus told me it wasn't his secret to tell. Which means he's protecting Dani. I don't expect you
to ever be friends again with Marcus after what happened, but you know whatever else he is, he's deeply loyal to the people he cares about. Whatever his reason is for keeping this secret, he thinks it's important. I know he'd do the same thing for me if I needed it.”

He looked at me for what felt like a long time. Then he cleared his throat and inclined his head in the direction of the room behind him. “I have a coffeemaker. You want a cup?”

I nodded. “I'd like that.”

Travis and I sat at the small round table just inside his room. He told me more about Dani, his face lighting up as he related the story of how they met in high school when he skidded down an icy stretch of sidewalk outside the school and she caught him. As he had before, he talked about Dani in the present tense, as though she wasn't gone.

Very quickly I realized I wasn't going to learn anything from Travis that would tell me more about who Danielle McAllister had been as a person. His memories were colored by how he felt about her. There was nothing critical or negative in them and while I'd thought more than once since her death that I probably would have liked Dani if I'd had the chance to get to know her, I knew that no one was quite as perfect as Travis described. It struck me that he had been a little obsessed with her.

Still, it seemed to help him to talk. “If I hear anything about the investigation, I'll let you know,” I said when I got up to leave.

“Thank you,” he said. It seemed like there was
something else he wanted to say so I waited for a moment without speaking. Finally he spoke, looking past me as he did. “Tell, uh, tell Marcus that Dani's family is having a service for her a week from Sunday. Maybe . . . maybe we could, uh, drive up together.”

I nodded. “I'll tell him.”

Hercules was sitting on the driver's side when I opened the truck door. He looked up expectantly at me. “Let me get in,” I said. He moved over about a foot. I took the little box of crackers out of my bag and shook three of them onto the seat.

“Ready?” I asked after he'd eaten them. He made a quick pass at his face with a paw then moved over a few inches and gazed out the windshield. He was ready.

I got home in lots of time to change for work, make a sandwich and start dinner in the slow cooker before I left for the library. It was a quiet morning and I was arranging a display of Halloween-themed books when Simon Janes walked into the building just before lunch. He nodded to Mary, who was at the desk proofreading the mock-up of the poster advertising Spookarama, and walked over to me.

“Good morning, Kathleen,” he said with a smile.

I smiled back at him. “Good morning.”

“Could we talk somewhere private?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. I led him over to one of our meeting rooms. Once I'd closed the door he handed me the brown envelope he was holding.

“What is it?' I asked.

“Ernie Kingsley is a lousy businessman and a first-class ass, but he didn't kill anyone.”

“How do you know?” I said, my heart sinking.

Simon indicated the envelope. “Look inside.”

I lifted the flap. The only thing inside was a photograph. Looking at it, I realized it was a screen capture from a security video. The black-and-white image was of Kingsley and a young woman who barely looked eighteen wearing red stilettos, red fringed bikini bottoms and nothing else. She was giving him a lap dance.