Part 25 (2/2)

”Well, whose secret is it?”

She took a long moment to think. ”You should talk to Harry Taylor,” she said at last.

All roads led back to the old man. ”Old Harry?”

She nodded. Harry had a secret. Ruby had a secret. Agatha had a secret. And now it looked like it was the same secret. All this secret keeping was a very, very bad thing to do. You just had to watch a couple of episodes of The Young and the Restless to know that.

Justin was looking in our direction and I knew I didn't have much more time to make my point. ”Agatha had some secret that Harry apparently knew, that you knew, and who knows how many other people knew.”

”No one else knew.”

I thought about Eric and realized that probably wasn't true. ”Agatha is dead. The police don't think it's an accident. That envelope with whatever was in it is gone. And you, who just happen to be one of the secret keepers, have been charged with Agatha's murder. That's four too many coincidences.” And way too many secrets.

”Harry didn't hurt Agatha,” Ruby said, her mouth set in a tight line, hands on her hips. ”First of all, he's too old, and second, he's not strong enough. And even if none of that stuff was true, I can promise you he would never ever hurt Agatha.”

”Ruby, I know that,” I said. ”I know Harry didn't kill Agatha any more than you did. But I can't help but to keep thinking that whatever she had in that old envelope had something to do with her death.”

”It didn't. You just have to trust me on this. It didn't.” She made a dismissive wave with a hand. ”Talk to Harry, Kathleen,” she said. And then she walked back to the others.

For a moment I thought about turning around and leaving, but Maggie was on her way over to me. ”Everything all right?” she asked, ”Ask me later,” I said, watching Ruby go over and hug another one of the building's artists who had just come in.

”Okay.” She linked her arm through mine and walked me toward the food. ”Come have some soup,” she said. ”It's tomato vegetable, and there's fresh Parmesan and those sourdough croutons you like.”

Maggie got me a bowl of soup and sprinkled cheese and croutons on top. I picked up a spoon and took a stool at the end of her worktable. I'd eaten about half the bowl when Justin came over, hooked the rung of an empty stool with his foot, and pulled it close so he could sit down.

”Hi, Kathleen,” he said. ”I wanted to thank you for helping Ruby, so”-he held out his hands-”thank you.”

”You're welcome,” I said.

We sat in silence for a moment. Then he said, ”This doesn't feel real, you know. Ruby being arrested and me suddenly getting all this money from someone I didn't know.” He shook his head. ”I got something that will do so much good from Agatha Shepherd's death, and Ruby-who loved her-got a load of trouble.”

So it was definitely true. ”No one thinks Ruby killed Agatha.”

”The police do.”

”And they'll figure out they're wrong and find the real killer.”

Justin put his fingers flat on the table. And stared at them. ”The funding fell through and I thought it was the end of the project. I was out of ideas. I'd begged for money. I'd literally begged for it. And then I found out a stranger had left me what I needed to get started. A stranger. I thought it was a dream or some kind of sick practical joke.” His eyes went to Ruby before giving me his attention again. ”I'm thinking about not taking the money.”

”Because of Ruby.”

”Yeah.”

I could actually feel the energy coming off of him. It didn't seem like he ever stopped moving. Some part of him-hands, feet-was always in motion. Right now it was his right foot moving up and down on the rung of the stool.

”Turning down that money isn't going to change anything for Ruby,” I said. ”And she'd hate your doing it.”

He shrugged. ”Yeah, I know. But it would ease my guilty conscience.” He gave me a small smile.

I could sympathize a little on the guilt.

Justin s.h.i.+fted in his seat, picked up his coffee and set it down again. ”Kathleen, what do you think happened in that alley?” he asked.

”I don't know.”

”It could have been an accident,” he said slowly. He was still playing with his cup. ”Maybe it was, I don't know, someone who panicked, someone who was drinking. They ran and now they're afraid to come forward. Otherwise . . . why would anyone want to kill an old woman?”

I shrugged.

”I just don't buy that someone her age, who'd just come from rehabilitation hospital, for G.o.d's sake, would have any enemies.”

”So maybe it was an accident and the driver panicked.”

”Yeah,” he said. ”That had to be it. And it's a stupid shortcut, you know. I walked through it.”

I'd thought the same thing myself. The alley didn't really save any time or any distance, but if someone were driving it would help him avoid the stop sign at the corner.

”I feel bad for Eric, too,” Justin said, looking past me toward the high windows of the former school cla.s.sroom behind us. ”This can't be good for business, and he made a h.e.l.l of a lot of sacrifices to get that place off the ground.”

”You two are friends?” I asked. I glanced over at Maggie. She dipped her head in Justin's direction and raised her eyebrows, code for Do you need rescuing? I gave a slight head shake.

He s.h.i.+fted on the stool again, pulling it a bit closer to me. His foot was tapping to some rhythm only he could hear. ”We go way back,” he said. ”We used to hang out together.” He laughed. ”We got into a fair amount of trouble together.”

”Eric?” I said. That didn't quite fit with the man I knew.

”Oh, yeah,” Justin said. ”Kids I work with? Kids I want the camp for? I used to be one of them. I drank; I used. There's a big chunk of time when I wasn't straight for even an hour.”

I wasn't sure what to say, although I was starting to see the reason for his intensity. ”I was shoplifting,” he continued, ”swiping stuff out of cars. You know that straight stretch of highway just outside of town, headed for Minneapolis?”

”I do.”

”Raced out there more times than I can count or remember. Pretty much every time with Eric riding shotgun.” He gave me a wry smile, almost like he had a bit of pride for the memory ”So, what changed?” I asked, leaning my elbow on the table and propping my head on my hand. ”I take it you're not still doing that anymore.”

He laughed, ”Nope. Sober and straight for seven years now. No dope, no booze, although I do admit to still having a bit of a lead foot on the highway. What happened is I got arrested. I got sent to juvie.”

”Where you've learned . . . ?” I prompted.

”How to hot-wire a car and pretty much nothing else.” He fingered the silver skull bracelet on his right arm. ”It took a couple more trips there and a couple of kick-a.s.s counselors to turn me around. It's why the camp's so d.a.m.ned important. Some of us need a kick in the a.s.s and a lot of help to get it all together.”

He drummed his fingers on the edge of the stool between his legs. ”Eric, on the other hand, he got it together by himself. With Agatha Shepherd's help.” He laughed. ”Of course, it probably helped that I wasn't around.”

His face got serious. ”When I drank I was just mostly looking to have a good time, you know, but Eric, he was”-he hesitated-”destructive.”

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