Part 7 (2/2)

”Thank Abigail.” I told him. ”She made it.”

”I will,” he said.

I took a drink from my own cup. Harrison was right. It was good coffee. I s.h.i.+fted sideways, watching as he settled himself a little more comfortably in the chair. Some inner resilience had taken over.

Balancing the cup on the arm of the chair, he looked at me. ”Are you going to ask me about Agatha?” he said.

I wasn't really surprised by the question. ”It's not any of my business.”

”Not a lot of secrets in a small place like this.”

I had to smile at that. Sometimes it was annoying how quickly news spread through Mayville. On the other hand, I was growing to like the fact that people knew me, that I was starting to belong.

The old man studied his left hand for a long moment, and I wondered what he was really seeing-some image from the past? Abruptly, he looked up at me again. ”You probably figured out that I knew Agatha pretty well.”

The fact that they had been standing on the street in the cold, arguing, did make it pretty clear that Harry and Agatha had been more than casual acquaintances. I remembered Oren saying Harry had coached the juniorhigh hockey team.

”You were friends,” I said.

He took another sip of his coffee. ”Years ago, yes. We had a falling-out. We hadn't spoken in years.”

Okay, I wasn't expecting that.

”You're surprised,” he said.

I twisted the mug in my hands. ”A little,” I admitted. He didn't seem the type to stay angry for so long.

”I was stubborn. She was stubborn.” There was regret on his face and sadness, too.

”Is that what you were angry about last night?” I asked. ”That same falling-out?”

His expression changed. For a moment it softened. ”I can't tell you what we were arguing about. I can tell you it had nothing to do with her dying.”

I took a long drink from my coffee while I figured out what to say next. ”Harry, the police are going to hear about that argument you had with Agatha,” I said finally. ”I probably wasn't the only person who saw you two.”

His jaw tightened. ”Kathleen, how did she die?” he asked.

”I don't know.”

He stared at me intently. ”There's something you're not saying. Don't humor me because I'm an old man.”

I swallowed and took a moment to set my cup back on the tray. ”Agatha was found in the alley that runs behind the back of the buildings on Main Street.”

”Was it her heart, or did she fall?”

I leaned forward in the chair. ”I don't know, Harry. Really, I don't.”

”But you think you know.”

”I only saw her long enough to see for certain that she was . . . gone.”

”Good Lord,” he muttered. ”You think someone . . . I didn't kill Agatha.”

I reached out a hand to him. ”Harry, I know that,” I said. ”Maybe . . .” I stopped. I'd been going to say that maybe Agatha had had a stroke. But I didn't really believe that. I leaned an elbow on the arm of the chair.

”Harry, the police are going to have questions. It's their job. Detective Gordon is investigating Agatha's death. He has integrity. Whatever you tell him won't get spread out around town.”

Harrison shook his head. ”I know you mean well, Kathleen,” he said, edging forward in the chair so he could set his own cup on the tray. ”But I gave my word and that still means something to me. Agatha isn't here to release me from that promise, so I intend to honor it.”

I pressed my lips together and didn't say anything.

”I suppose it seems old-fas.h.i.+oned to you.”

It seemed foolhardy to me, but I didn't say that. ”I didn't know Agatha,” I said. ”But from what I've heard, she cared about the people close to her. Roma told me about the kids she helped, how she changed their lives.”

He smiled. ”It's true. She wouldn't give up on a kid. She was like a dog with a bone.”

”So would she want you to maybe get into trouble with the police because of a promise you made to her? Especially when she isn't here?”

He slowly shook his head. ”It's not the same thing. Agatha's word was her bond. I may not have always liked that, but I will honor it.”

I wasn't going to change his mind. ”Then I respect your decision,” I said.

”You still think I'm wrong,” he countered.

”I think you have to do what you think is right.” I reached over and patted his hand. ”And I am sorry about Agatha. Truly.”

His eyes were sad again. ”The last words we had were angry. I do regret that. Maybe that's why I feel I have to keep my word to her. I can't take back what I said.”

Just then there was a sound behind us. I turned. Young Harry was standing there. ”Time to go,” he said.

The old man struggled to his feet. I hovered in case he needed any help, but he waved me away. He struggled into his heavy coat, and handed me his cane while he pulled on his hat. ”Thank you for the coffee and conversation,” he said.

I smiled. ”You're welcome.” I handed him back his cane. He started for the door.

”Thanks, Kathleen,” Harry Junior said.

”Anytime. I enjoyed the visit,” I said.

Once they were gone I took the tray upstairs. By lunchtime I'd finished the final report on the refurbishment of the library and e-mailed it over to Everett Henderson's secretary, Lita. Everett had funded the library renovations as a gift to the town.

Kate knocked on my open door midmorning. She was wearing purple-and-black striped leggings with a long purple sweater and black high-tops that she'd jazzed up with glued-on rhinestones. She had an evaluation sheet from her teacher for me to fill out. ”You can fax it back to the school,” she said.

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