Part 11 (1/2)
”So how did you learn to cook?”
I shrugged. ”How else? The library, and a very nice woman in South Carolina who owned a little theater right on the coast. She taught me the secret to the best chocolate cake.”
He smiled at me over the top of his cup. ”Which is?”
I laughed. ”I'm not telling you. It won't be a secret anymore.”
”You at least have to make one sometime and let me taste it.”
”Deal,” I said.
He finished the cocoa and handed me the empty cup.
”Would you like some more?”
”No, thanks,” he said, fis.h.i.+ng in his pocket for the car keys. ”So, what's the martini like?”
”Martini?” Then I realized what he meant. ”Good, as far as I know. I'm not a martini connoisseur, but my friend Lise is and she likes them.”
He found the keys then and reached for his seat belt. Mine was already fastened. I finished my cocoa and put the thermos back together. Marcus started the SUV.
”Home, or is there somewhere I can drop you?”
”Home, please,” I said. ”I don't go to the library until lunchtime.”
He backed up the car so we could drive out. ”Are you closing the library early because of Winterfest?” he asked.
I nodded. ”Lita said everyone will be at the supper at the community center.”
”She's right,” he said, as we eased our way down the rutted, frozen driveway. ”The food is terrific, by the way.”
I grinned. ”I believe you. I've had Mary's apple pie.”
”I'm looking forward to having a slice or two myself tonight.”
This was my opening. ”Will you be able to make it?” I asked. ”Or will the case keep you too busy?”
”You mean Mrs. Shepherd's death?” He slowed to a crawl as we lurched over a particularly large frost heave. ”I should be able to make it.” He kept his eyes forward, but I noticed a tiny twitching muscle in his cheek.
Change of plans. Subtlety wasn't going to work. ”Was she hit by a car?” I asked. Based on what I'd seen, I was still convinced Agatha hadn't died from natural causes.
”The autopsy isn't until later this morning.”
That wasn't a yes or no.
We were at the bottom of the driveway. Marcus stopped, the back end of the SUV slipping a little on the ice. ”Why are you asking?” he said. ”Is there something you didn't tell me?”
”I told you everything that happened yesterday morning.” Just don't ask me about the night before, I added silently.
We pulled onto the old highway. The sun was behind us, surprisingly warm on the back of my head. Marcus continued to watch the road. ”Did you see anything any other time? The night before, for instance.”
How did he do that? It was as though he could read my thoughts. I pulled a ChapStick out of my pocket. My lips were suddenly dry and I needed to buy time.
I snapped the cap on the little tube and rolled it over my fingers and back again before I put it in my pocket. The movement caught his attention.
”How did you do that?”
”Excuse me?” I said.
”Flip that lip stuff over your fingers.”
I looked down at my hands. ”Oh, that. It's just the same as doing it with a quarter.”
He let out a breath. ”And how do you know how to do it with quarter?”
I felt my cheeks getting warm. ”Well, poker,” I said.
”Poker?”
”Uh-huh, a lot of poker games happen backstage. Crew, cast. I watched. I learned things.”
”So I see,” he said, making a left turn onto Mountain Road, slowing a little in the traffic.
I hadn't answered his question. Maybe I was in the clear.
”So,” he said, checking the mirrors. ”You were going to tell me if you saw anything Wednesday night.”
I exhaled slowly. I was making myself crazy trying to protect someone who didn't need protecting. Harry Senior didn't drive. What did it matter if he'd had an argument with Agatha?
”I don't think this has anything to do with Agatha's death,” I began, holding up my hand, because I knew he was going to interrupt. ”And yes, I know you'll be the judge of what's important and what's not.”
He closed his mouth on whatever words he'd been going to say. When he did speak it was only to say, ”Go ahead.” His tone told me he was already s.h.i.+fting into detective mode again.
”Agatha came in to the cafe while Maggie, Roma, and I were there. We were waiting for Oren to open the community center for us.”
An image of the old woman in the out-of-fas.h.i.+on plaid wool coat flashed in my mind, followed by another image of that same coat, stained dark with blood.
”Eric had food for her. Right after that we all came out.”
Marcus said nothing, hoping that the silence would make me say more, I was guessing. I already knew what I was going to say. ”Down the street a little I saw Agatha with Harrison Taylor.”
”What were they doing?”
”As far as I could tell, talking. I couldn't hear what they were saying.”
”That's it?”
”Uh-huh. I did walk Harry to Eric's.”
He shot me a quick look. We were almost at my house. ”Why did you do that?”