Part 26 (1/2)

I was still having a problem picturing Eric as the young man Justin was describing.

”He had blackouts when he had no idea what he'd been doing.” Justin looked at me. ”It's good that he doesn't drink anymore. Period. I just don't want what's happened to mess up everything he's worked so hard for.”

I thought about seeing Eric at the rink and how my first thought was that he looked like he'd just come off a binge. ”Are you saying that something like Agatha's death could start Eric drinking again?”

”No,” he said. ”I mean, she was one of the few people who stuck by him when he was still drinking, so her death had to hit him hard. But start drinking? No.”

He fiddled with one of the silver skulls again. ”Stress is not good for an alcoholic. There's the impulse to have a couple, you know, just to take the edge off.” He exhaled slowly and noisily. ”But that's not where Eric is anymore. He has a wife and kids.” Justin traced the edge of the stool's curved seat with his finger. ”And he'd never do something and let Ruby or anyone else take the blame.”

Abruptly he got to his feet. ”Sorry,” he said. ”Sometimes I talk too much. I need to go see how Ruby's doing. Excuse me.”

I watched him walk over to where Ruby seemed to be saying good-bye to Peter and slide his arm around her waist. I slipped off my own stool and went to Maggie. ”I have to get back to the library.”

”Did Justin talk your ear off?” she asked.

”No, I, uh, learned a couple of things,” I said.

”Anything you want to share?”

”Later,” I said.

Maggie studied my face, but all she said was, ”All right.”

I grabbed my coat and left. As I walked, I thought about what Justin had said, his insistence that Eric wouldn't drink. I thought about Eric's appearance, his evasiveness, and Susan's out-of-character excuses. If I didn't know better, I'd say he had been drinking. And now I couldn't help thinking that maybe I didn't know better.

I stopped at the corner. Peter was farther ahead of me, already on the other side of the intersection. All at once I was frozen in place, watching him making his way down the sidewalk in a black woolen Winterfest hat . . . and Ellis Slater's aviator jacket.

20.

I had to remind my feet to move, and by the time I was across the street I'd lost sight of Peter. I must be wrong, I told myself as I trudged back to the library. He'd been wearing a jacket that looked like the one I'd seen in Agatha's house, not the actual jacket. Peter wouldn't take something that didn't belong to him. He was a lawyer, after all, and a pretty decent guy, from what I'd heard.

I was glad to get home at the end of the day. I heated the last of the stew and ate with Owen for company. Hercules appeared long enough to let me scratch behind his ears and then he wandered off.

I thought about Hercules' little forays into Ruby's apartment and Eric's office.

”You know what the problem is?” I said to Owen. The cat leaned forward as though he really wanted to hear the answer to the question. ”Too many secrets. I'm starting to see connections where there aren't any. I saw Peter Lundgren ahead of me on the street and I actually thought he was wearing a jacket I'd seen in Agatha's house and that had belonged to her brother.”

There were a couple of pieces of meat and a bit of carrot left in my dish. I set it on the floor for Owen. ”Don't tell Roma,” I said. Admittedly, I was telling him to keep a secret when I had been complaining about other people doing it.

I checked the clock. I had about a half hour before Harry came to get me. What was the old man going to tell me? Anything? The more roadblocks I ran into, the more curious I got, and the more convinced I became that the envelope's contents held the key to Agatha's death.

”Ruby knows what Agatha was carrying around with her.” Owen had finished eating and started to clean himself up. ”And Eric is mixed up in this in some way, too. Why won't anyone tell me what's in the d.a.m.n thing? What's the big secret?”

It didn't make any sense. What were Harrison Taylor, Eric and Ruby all willing to risk being implicated in a crime for? Had Agatha done something illegal? Had someone else? It wasn't money. I was fairly certain of that. Harry wouldn't keep his mouth shut, promise or no promise, over money. For him it was personal, emotional. Probably for Eric and Ruby, too. The one thing they had in common was they all loved Agatha.

I was going to have to talk to Eric again. I kept trying to push the thought that he'd been drinking out of my mind. But it wouldn't quite go. Justin said Eric had been destructive when he drank and sometimes he blacked out.

I look down at Owen and gave voice to the thought that had been twisting in my head and in my stomach since I'd left Maggie's studio. ”Eric did not get drunk, have a blackout and run over Agatha. Did he?”

Hearing the words made me see how preposterous the idea was. Owen didn't even dignify the question with so much as a twitch. I didn't have any real proof that Eric had been drinking, let alone that he had been drunk. And if he had fallen off the wagon and had a blackout I didn't believe that meant he'd turned into someone else. Even if there'd been some kind of accident, I refused to believe Eric could drink enough to turn into the kind of person who would just leave someone to die.

”I'll talk to Eric again after I talk to Harry,” I said to Owen as I reached for the bowl on the floor. ”If Harry tells me what all the secret keeping has been about maybe I'll be able to find out what's happening with Eric.”

I began filling the sink with hot water. ”And maybe somewhere in all of this we'll find a way to help Ruby.” Owen finished was.h.i.+ng his tail and went to get a drink.

”I'm going out to the Taylors to talk to Harry in a little while,” I said. ”I forgot to tell you.” Owen's head snapped up. I could read his little kitty mind. ”Forget it,” I said. He ignored me, walked over to the door where the messenger bag sat by the heating vent and stuck one paw side.

”No,” I said. ”You can't go with me.” After what had happened this morning I wasn't chancing taking a cat with me to Harry's.

He leaned his head over the top of the bag and peered inside.

”Owen, have you forgotten about Boris?” I asked. His paw came out a lot faster than it had gone in. Boris was Harry Junior's German shepherd. Boris was a p.u.s.s.ycat, pun intended, but I couldn't convince the cat of that. The only menacing thing about Boris was his bark, but Owen wasn't taking any chances.

Harry pulled into the driveway at exactly seven o'clock. ”Your father knows I'm coming?” I asked as I got in the truck.

He nodded. ”I wouldn't ambush the old man.”

”I didn't really think you would.”

”He knows about Ruby being arrested. He wants to talk,” Harry said as he backed out onto the road and started up the hill. ”I think there's stuff he's been wanting to get off his chest for a long time.” He glanced over at me. ”And he likes you.”

”As I said before, I like him, too.”

”There's no way he's going to talk to me. He still sees me as a kid. Dad keeps his cards pretty close to his vest, but for some reason he trusts you.” He blew out a breath as he realized how that sounded. ”I'm sorry,” he started. ”I didn't mean-”

”It's okay,” I said, lifting a mittened hand to stop him. ”I know what you meant.”

”I think the fact that you didn't grow up here makes a difference,” Harry continued. ”You don't have any judgments about anyone, or any ideas about who they ought to be or how they ought to live.”

It was the first time being from away was seen as an advantage. I liked Harry's way of looking at things.

The Taylors lived close to Oren, two roads above the Kenyon family homestead. Young Harry and his kids-a boy and a girl, both teenagers-lived in the main house. I knew Harry and his wife were divorced and she lived out of state, but the town talk was silent on that subject.

The old man lived in a small house, more like a cottage or a guesthouse, behind and to the left of the main house, in a cleared area surrounded by trees, with Harry Junior's shop nearby.

”Your dad still lives alone?” I asked as the truck followed the curve of the neatly plowed driveway.

”Oh, yeah,” Harry said. ”There's a woman who comes in every weekday to clean up and do some cooking. Paula Stevens-she's a cousin somehow to Lita. You know, Everett's secretary.”

I nodded. It seemed like half of Mayville was related to Lita somehow.

”Old man doesn't like it,” Harry went on, ”but sometimes he lets me win one.”

We pulled into a wide, clear area between the little house and the shop and we both got out of the truck. It was a bitingly cold night. The tiny house looked warm and welcoming. An amber light shone in the outside fixture, and a spiral of smoke came from the chimney.

We walked toward the back door. ”Dad's been very quiet and thoughtful the past couple of days,” Harry said. ”Whatever this all is, I think he wants to get it out.” He rapped on the back door, then turned the k.n.o.b and stepped back so I could go in.