Two Tall Tails (2 page)

“Based on when the thefts took place and who was in the store, we've narrowed it down to three . . . suspects. I'm just having trouble believing it could be any of them.”

Ruby slid the stack of bracelets she was wearing up and down her arm. “Look, Kathleen, we don't want anyone to get in trouble. That's why we need your help.”

I knew them, I realized. I knew the three potential thieves. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. “Who are your suspects?” I asked.

“Nic,” Ruby said.

I frowned at her. “Nic Sutton?”

She nodded.

Nicolas Sutton was a found metal and paper artist who also worked part-time at Eric's Place, my favorite restaurant in town. He'd previously lived in Minneapolis but had come to Mayville Heights for a new start after the death of his father, who had owned a pawn shop in the city.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Nic wouldn't do something like that. Look at everything he's done to help with fund-raising for Reading Buddies. And he volunteers at the animal shelter.”

Ruby shrugged.

“Why would he steal from the store, given how welcoming you've all been? It doesn't make sense.” I picked up my glass and set it down again. “Who else?”

I could see from the expression on Ruby's face that she was reluctant to answer my question even though she'd asked for my help. Her shoulders were tense, and the expression in her eyes was guarded. “Susan,” she finally said.

“That's impossible,” I said flatly. Susan and I worked together at the library. She was hardworking, funny and kind. I knew her well enough to know she wouldn't steal from the co-op or from anyone else. I shook my head again, feeling my jaw tighten.

Ruby held out both hands in a gesture of resignation but said nothing.

“That's two,” I said. “Who's the third suspect because Susan is not a thief and neither is Nic for that matter.” I folded my arms over my midsection and turned to Maggie because Ruby still wasn't speaking. “You don't need my help, Mags, because that third person, whoever they are, is your thief. So who is it?”

Maggie swallowed and said softly, “It's Rebecca.” One arm hugged her body.

I closed my eyes briefly. “This doesn't make sense,” I said. “I don't know what sort of evidence you have, but it's wrong. There has to be some other explanation. Rebecca would
not
steal from the store any more than Susan or Nic would.”

“The things that were taken, they were taken on two different occasions,” Maggie said. “Rebecca, Susan and Nic were the only people who were in the shop both times.” She glanced at Ruby.

I shifted in my seat to look at her as well.

“We've checked the purchase receipts, I've talked to everyone else who was working on those days, we've gone over hours of footage from the security camera on the street.” Ruby held up one, two, then three fingers as she recited what had been done.

“You said there has to be some other explanation and I agree with you.” Maggie leaned forward, propping her forearms on the table. “That's why we need your help.”

“I'm not the police.”

Ruby played with a strand of blue hair that had slipped out of her topknot. “Kathleen, it wasn't the police who figured out who killed Agatha Shepherd and cleared my name. It was you.”

“And it was you who gave Roma some closure by putting together all the pieces with respect to what happened to her father,” Maggie added. “People tell you things, things they don't or won't tell the police. And somehow you put them all together a lot like the way I make a collage, only what you end up with is the truth. So please say that you'll help us.”

I didn't know whether or not I could figure out what happened but I knew there had to be some kind of alternate, logical explanation for the items missing from the co-op store. “All right,” I said. “I'll see what I can do.”

Ruby gave me a tight smile. Maggie reached across the table, grabbed one of my hands and gave it a squeeze.

Even cold, Maggie's pizza was still pretty good. After we'd eaten, I pushed back my plate and checked my watch. “Since I'm heading back to the library and since Susan is working, I may as well get started with her,” I said.

“I hope we're not putting you in a difficult spot,” Ruby said, slipping off her stool.

“You're not,” I said. “I want to help if I can.”

“Do you need anything else from us?” she asked.

“I know you said that Susan—and Nic and Rebecca—were the only people who were at the shop both times things went missing.”

Ruby nodded. “That's right.”

“You must have more than that.”

“We do,” Maggie said.

I turned to face her.

“I was working in the store the day of the first theft,” she said. “Ray Nightingale was working as well. It was really busy because two busloads of tourists who were on a winery tour had stopped here in town for lunch.” Maggie reached for our plates and stacked them one on top of the other, setting the forks on top. “I was at the cash register and Ray was showing one of his own pieces to a couple of the tourists when Susan came in.”

Ray Nightingale had a degree in graphic arts, and he did a lot of commercial work for different businesses. He also created large, incredibly detailed, acrylic ink drawings that reminded me a little of the
Where's Waldo?
series of books
.
Somewhere in each of Ray's drawings was a tiny rubber duck, no more than an inch or so long, wearing a pair of sunglasses and a snap-brim fedora. For me, much of the charm of the artwork was looking for the little duck, whose name was Bo.

“Susan had been at the diner for lunch, I think,” Maggie continued. “She walked a group of the tourists over who wanted to look around the shop before they got back on the road.” She picked up the plates and moved over to the small sink that she used to wash her brushes.

“So what happened?” I asked as she rinsed the plates.

“Susan kept going back to look at the linen stitch scarves. There were four of them at the time.” Maggie glanced up at me. “You've seen Ella's work. They're beautiful.”

I nodded. Ella King had an eye for color. I'd bought one of her scarves as a gift for my friend Lise in Boston. Even though it was hand knit, it looked like something that had been woven. “So Susan liked Ella's work. No offense, Mags, but I don't see how you went from that to her stealing something.” I gathered the glasses and took them over to the sink.

“She went back to those scarves at least half a dozen times that I saw. She handled them a lot and she—” Maggie stopped and turned to face me, holding one dripping plate in her hand. “She was acting furtive, looking around all the time as if she was trying to see if anyone was watching her. And yes, I know how out of character that sounds, but that's what happened.”

“I believe you,” I said.

Maggie set the wet plate in the sink. “At the end of the day we discovered there was a scarf missing.”

“You had a store full of tourists. Are you sure one of them wasn't the thief?”

“That's what we thought,” Ruby said. “We've never had a shoplifter before, but it happens. A couple of days later I was working, Susan came in again and I noticed the same thing with her and the scarves as Maggie had seen. At the end of that day we discovered two placemats and another scarf were gone. It was very quiet. No busloads of tourists.”

I glanced at Maggie, who nodded.

“If Susan wanted a scarf, she could buy one,” I said.

Ruby shrugged. “As a former semi–juvenile delinquent, I can tell you that swiping things isn't always about not being able to pay for them.”

Maggie had finished rinsing the plates. She took the glasses I was still holding.

“So why did Nic and Rebecca make your suspect list, aside from the fact that they were at the shop both times the thefts happened? It has to be more than just the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Well, Nic was just plain acting weird,” Ruby said.

Maggie nodded in agreement.

“Weird how?”

“He worked with me,” Ruby said, leaning against the worktable. “And his shift was after Ray's so he overlapped a little with Maggie. He kept going over to the shelf where the scarves and the placemats were displayed, and he was looking over his shoulder as though he thought he was being watched. He seemed really nervous.”

I turned to Maggie again. “What about Rebecca?”

“Rebecca was just like Nic and Susan. She wasn't acting like herself.” Maggie made a face. “I know that I said this about Susan, but Rebecca was acting furtive as well, glancing about a lot, standing by the display, and fishing around in her bag.”

I didn't know what to say. The description didn't sound like Rebecca, but then again what Maggie and Ruby had described about the other two didn't sound like Susan or Nic, either.

I glanced at my watch again. “I need to head back,” I said. I gave Maggie a hug. “Thank you for lunch. I promise I'll call you as soon as I talk to Susan.”

Maggie tipped her head in the direction of the cinnamon rolls. “Thank you for those, and for . . . everything.”

I nodded. “Anytime.”

“I'll walk down with you,” Ruby said, reaching for her jean jacket. She turned to Maggie. “Thanks for the pizza. I have a couple of things to do but I'll call you later.”

Ruby and I headed down the hall. “You're coming with me,” I said once we were on our way down the stairs out of Maggie's earshot. I didn't frame the words as a question.

“Look, Kathleen, it's not that I don't trust you,” Ruby said, stopping one step above the turn landing. “It's just that . . . I'm head of the co-op board now. It was my decision not to call the police and I'm okay with that. But I still need answers.”

“I understand,” I said. “If the same thing had happened at the library, I'd feel the same way.”

It had stopped raining, I discovered when we stepped out into the parking lot. “Are you taking your car or do you want to ride with me?” I asked. I gestured toward the nearby side street. “I'm just parked over there.”

“I'll come with you, if that's all right,” Ruby said. “I'm going to the store after and I can walk there from the library.”

“It's fine with me,” I said. “There's lots of room in the truck.”

I looked toward the water. The dark clouds were already thinning, and I could see bits of blue sky breaking through. The rain was over. My left wrist, which was a pretty good predictor of wet weather since I'd broken it, didn't ache anymore.

“I forgot to tell you that I have a meeting at the hotel tomorrow,” Ruby said as we started up the hill to the truck. “I'm hoping they'll be interested in putting together a room package for tourists who are coming for the workshops.”

“That's a great idea,” I said.

The library and the artists' co-op were teaming up to offer a weekend workshop called “The Art of the Doodle” in September. The library was hosting a talk on the popular art form along with an exhibit of doodle art and books. The co-op was offering hands-on workshops at both the store and the library. Even though we hadn't made an official announcement since we were still firming up details, word of mouth was getting around and I was surprised by how much interest there already was.

“Eric is interested in offering a breakfast special for the participants. He should have some options put together for me next week.”

“That would be great.” Ruby smiled. “Those are the kind of small extras that I'm hoping will sway people who might be on the fence into coming.”

We'd reached the truck, and as I unlocked the passenger door, she patted the front fender. “I can't believe this thing is still working.”

At one time Ruby had driven the identical mate to my truck. Mine had been a gift from Harrison Taylor for helping him find his daughter. Before that I'd walked everywhere since I'd sold my car when I left Boston for Minnesota. I'd spent my first few weeks in town wandering around exploring, which is how I'd stumbled on Wisteria Hill, where I'd found Owen and Hercules. Or more accurately, where they'd found me.

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “How long are you going to keep driving it?”

“Probably until it falls apart,” I said, sliding on to the driver's seat. “It's a good dependable truck and it has a lot of sentimental value.” I ducked my head for a moment. “And would you think I'm crazy if I say Owen and Hercules really like it?”

She shook her head. “That seems like a perfectly valid reason to me.”

I headed down the hill, thinking that since the lunch rush was over, I should be able to make a left turn on to Main Street. The streets that ran from one end of town to the other all followed the curve of the shoreline so it was almost a straight line back to the library.

The brick building sat on the midpoint of a curve of shoreline, protected from the water by a rock wall. It had a stained glass window that dominated one end and a copper-roofed cupola complete with the original wrought iron weather vane.

The Mayville Heights Free Public Library was a Carnegie library that had been built in 1912 with money donated by philanthropist Andrew Carnegie. It had been restored and updated to celebrate the library's centenary. I'd come to town to supervise the renovations and taken the head librarian job permanently when they were finished.

Abigail Pierce was at the circulation desk when we got inside, rimless reading glasses perched on the end of her nose as she went through a list of book requests. Along with working at the library, Abigail had a second career as a children's book author.

“Any messages?” I asked.

She shook her head. “None.” Then she eyed Ruby's hair. “I like that color,” she said.

Ruby smiled. “Anytime you'd like to try it, let me know.”