Part 14 (2/2)

”Yeah. She wasn't much of a pants person. She didn't think they were very ladylike.” She caught the skirt of a black-and-white print, holding out the fabric. ”But which one?”

”That's pretty,” I said. ”But why don't you look at each dress. Maybe one of them will, I don't know, spark a memory.”

Ruby did smile then. ”That's a good idea.” She looked around the room. ”Would you see if you can find a suitcase? I don't think the bag I brought is going to be big enough.” She hesitated. ”And I know no one is going to see, but I don't want things to be wrinkled. Agatha would care about that.”

I squeezed her arm. ”I'll see what I can find.”

Ruby started flipping through the hangers while I took a quick look around the room. There was no suitcase in the corner under the old spool bed. I went back into the hallway.

The living room was to my right. A three-sided bay window with a deep window seat looked out over the street. Like the rest of the house, the furniture here was all old-a maroon sofa and matching chair, plus a gray-and-maroon flowered wingback chair with matching footstool. There was a low walnut coffee table in front of the couch and a matching side table by the wingback. A brick fireplace filled the entire end of the room, the heavy bra.s.s andirons in the shape of watchful lions.

The living room was spartan. There were no magazines on the coffee table, no stacks of books anywhere. There were no pictures, no photographs, no artwork. There were no pillows on the sofa, no blanket to curl up in. Everything was functional, but there was nothing that told me about Agatha as a person. Even allowing for the fact that she'd spent the past several months in a rehabilitation hospital, the house still seemed lonely and empty.

I pictured my own house, with kitty treats cooling on the kitchen counter, Owen sneaking onto the footstool in the living room, Herc grooving to Barry Manilow, and pieces of Fred the Funky Chicken always needing to be vacuumed up. I felt sad for Agatha.

I went back out into the hallway, glancing in the bedroom as I pa.s.sed the door. Ruby had a long-sleeved teal dress laid out on the bed.

The second bedroom in the tiny house was next to the living room. It was big enough for a single bed and dresser and very little else. I opened the closet door and found the suitcases Ruby needed, sitting on a large cardboard box with the name Ellis written on the side in spidery handwriting.

There was also men's clothing hanging in the closet. Several gray suits, a navy blazer and a weathered aviator's jacket, sheepskin lined and worn to a chocolaty softness on the outside. With the exception of the jacket, the clothes were very much out of style; in fact, the suit had probably been in and out of fas.h.i.+on several times.

I grabbed the smaller of the two suitcases and took it back to Ruby. She had everything spread on the bed-dress, slip, underwear, stockings, even a lacy, knit white cardigan.

”Here,” I said, holding out the blue suitcase. ”This should work.”

”Thanks, Kathleen,” she said. She looked shaky.

”Why don't you let me fold these for you?” I said. ”I'm a master at folding and packing. I promise.”

Ruby hesitated for a second, then nodded and sat on the edge of the bed.

I folded the green dress and laid it in the bottom of the suitcase. Then I added the sweater, the slip and the rest of the underclothes. ”There,” I said to Ruby, snapping the suitcase closed. ”Ready to go?”

She grabbed the suitcase handle and stood up. A look of panic crossed her face. ”Wait a minute,” she said. ”I didn't get her any shoes.” She took a couple of steps toward the closet.

”We don't need shoes, Ruby,” I said softly. She looked at me, confused. ”Agatha doesn't need shoes,” I repeated.

Ruby swallowed, turned her head and blinked away the tears that filled her eyes. I waited silently until her breathing even out. ”You're right,” she whispered. ”For a minute I forgot why we were here.”

We went back to the kitchen, turning off the lights behind us. I pulled on my boots and held the suitcase while Ruby stepped into hers. Outside she locked the door, twisting the k.n.o.b to make sure it was fastened securely.

”It looks so sad,” she said.

”I know.” I pulled on my mittens. ”But don't forget that Agatha was away from here for months.”

We walked down the driveway to the street. ”Ruby, who was Ellis?” I asked. ”Was that Agatha's husband?”

”No,” Ruby said. ”Ellis was her brother. Ellis Slater. He died, oh, almost twenty years ago. This was his house. He left it to Agatha.” She s.h.i.+fted the suitcase from one hand to the other. ”Why do you ask?”

”There were boxes in the second bedroom. The name Ellis was on one of them. And there were some men's clothes in the closet.”

Ruby gave me a wry smile. ”That would be Agatha. Never throw out something that might be useful.”

”My father does the same thing.” I didn't add that my dad's idea of useful didn't usually meet the average person's idea of what was useful. Which was why every time we'd moved, someone had had to pack the candelabra made from a pair of moose antlers.

We walked to the corner together. ”Thank you for coming with me,” Ruby said. ”I'm going to take this down to Gunnerson's. I want things to be there when she . . . when her . . .” She stopped to clear her throat. ”When they're needed.” She shrugged. ”Silly, isn't it?”

”No,” I said. ”It's kind.” I pulled my hat down over my ears. ”Will I see you later at the Winterfest supper?”

She nodded. ”As far as I know. I'm meeting Justin later.”

”I'll see you later, then,” I said. I started for the community center, looking back over my shoulder once to see Ruby heading resolutely down the street for Gunnerson's Funeral Home.

Maggie was at the entrance of the parking lot as I came up the street. She was wearing her purple fake-fur jacket, stamping her feet on the sidewalk to stay warm. She waved when she caught sight of me, and I quickened my pace. ”Am I late?” I asked.

”No,” she said. ”You're few minutes early. Let's go get in line before it gets any longer.”

The line at the front door of the community center, of maybe two dozen people, snaked down the street. Maggie and I scurried to get to the end.

The queue moved pretty quickly. We were inside in five minutes, maybe even less. Maggie had money hidden in her glove and paid for both of us before I could even get my wallet out.

”Why did you do that?” I asked, as we followed the crowd to the hall.

”Because you've been doing so much to help me while I've been working on the display.”

”I climbed a ladder and adjusted a couple of lights.”

She held up a hand. ”You did more than that,” she said. ”How many times did you bring me supper? How many cups of tea did you make? How many times did you listen while I sat in your living room, going on and on about this project?”

I grinned and elbowed her. ”You thought I was listening? I don't even think Owen was listening.”

She stuck out her tongue. ”Even so, I just wanted to say thank you. So let me. It's beans and scalloped potatoes and pie, for heaven's sake. I didn't buy you a car.”

”Okay,” I said. ”Thank you for the thank-you.” I looked around. There were at least a couple dozen people checking out Maggie's display.

Maggie had spotted a pair of vacant chairs at one of the long tables. I threaded my way around the chairs and people, trying to keep up with her long legs. A lot of people smiled, said h.e.l.lo or raised a hand in greeting. I was surprised by how good it made me feel, especially after being in Agatha's lonely house.

Mags was standing by the table she'd spotted, a hand on each of the chairs.

”Now what?” I asked.

”Take off your coat and sit down.”

<script>