Part 26 (2/2)

Harry Senior was sitting on a chair by the corner woodstove in the kitchen. He smiled at me.

”Don't get up,” I said, but he was already pus.h.i.+ng himself to his feet.

”I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I didn't get up and take your coat,” he said.

I slipped out of my jacket and gave it to him. His son gave me a quick smile, which his father caught. He dipped his head toward the younger man. ”See, Kathleen? My son has already figured out to humor the old man.”

Boris padded over for a scratch behind the ears. When I bent to undo my boots, he nudged my hand with his head, much the way the cats did when they felt they weren't getting enough attention.

”Dog's spoiled,” Harry said, reaching down to pat him on the head.

”Would you like some coffee?” his father offered. ”Will it keep you up?”

”I'll chance it,” I said. ”Thank you.”

”Let me get that, Dad,” Harry said, taking off his boots.

The old man shot him a look.

”Or not,” his son said, holding out both hands in surrender.

”Coffee cake,” I said, holding up a foil-wrapped package.

Harrison smiled at me. ”I was hoping I'd get to try some of your cooking.” He pointed to one of the cupboards. ”Plates are in there. Knives are in the top drawer.”

Harry Junior had put his boots back on without doing up the laces. ”I'll be outside, cleaning up the driveway,” he said.

”You don't have to leave,” the older man said without looking up from the coffee he was pouring.

”It's okay, Dad.”

I cut several slices of cake and put them on a blue bubble-gla.s.s plate. Harrison had poured three mugs of coffee. He set them on a wooden tray along with spoons, napkins, cream and sugar. I added the cake plate.

”Would you set that on the table over there, please, Kathleen?” he asked, gesturing at the low wooden trunk in front of the woodstove.

”Of course,” I said. I picked up the tray as the old man made his way over to his son, still standing by the door.

Harrison clapped a hand on his son's shoulder. ”Sit down and have a piece of cake.”

The old man's seat was clearly the chair closest to the fire. There was a plum-colored corduroy pillow against the cus.h.i.+ons for his back and a couple of books and a newspaper on the floor. He liked Scottish history and political biographies, I knew. I took the chair next to him. Boris came and lay down with his head against my leg.

”Over here, boy,” Harrison said to the dog, patting the side of his chair. ”Give Kathleen some s.p.a.ce.” The dog lifted his head, gave the old man a mildly interested look and lay back down.

”Stubborn,” he said, shaking his head.

”Wonder where he learned that,” his son muttered.

”I heard that,” Harrison said, reaching for the coffee.

The hint of a smile played across the younger man's face.

Boris raised his head again, nose twitching. I took a piece of cake for myself, broke off a small piece, and slipped it to the dog. If the two men noticed, they didn't say.

The old man added cream and sugar to his mug and settled back in his chair. I held on to my coffee with one hand and scratched Boris's neck with the other.

Old Harry smiled at me.” You have more questions about Agatha.”

”I'm sorry for being so nosy,” I said. ”But I like Ruby. I truly believe she had nothing to do with Agatha's death.”

”The police are idiots. You're thinking they'll stop looking for answers now that they think they have the killer.”

”Yes.”

”For what it's worth, I agree with you about Ruby.” He studied the flames behind the gla.s.s window of the woodstove door. ”You want to know what Agatha and I were fighting about,” he said, still watching the flickering fire.

”I'm sorry to invade your privacy and hers. But whatever was in that envelope that Agatha was holding on to so tightly, I'm convinced it has something to do with her death.”

The old man let out a slow breath. To my left his son hadn't moved an inch. ”You don't think Agatha's death was an accident?”

”No, I don't,” I admitted. ”Even if someone did hit her by mistake and then panicked, they ran and they left Ruby to be blamed. Either way, Agatha's death is a crime.”

I set my cup back on the tray and turned toward him. ”I saw three very different people argue with Agatha about that old brown envelope. Now it's disappeared.”

His face went pale and he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again he looked at me. ”Would it be enough if I told you that what was in the envelope had nothing to do with her death?”

I held out a hand. ”I need to be sure,” I said softly. ”I'm sorry. But I need to know why you're so certain.”

He sighed. Boris looked over at him. I gave the dog another scratch behind the ears.

Boris got up and moved over to the old man's chair. His hand settled on the thick fur on the back of the dog's neck. ”There have been too many secrets,” he said, absently patting the dog. ”And I've been guilty of keeping them.” He looked over at his son. ”You know how much I loved your mother.” It was a statement, not a question.

Harry nodded.

”I'm not making excuses,” the old man began. He stopped and fingered his beard for a moment. ”If I'm not making excuses, then I shouldn't be making them, should I?”

”It's okay, Dad,” Harry said quietly.

They locked eyes and something stretched between them. For a moment it felt almost the way it did when Hercules walked through a wall or a door. The energy in the room seemed to somehow change.

Finally the old man leaned back and smiled wryly. ”You know, don't you?”

I looked from one man to the other, but I didn't say anything. It was clear I was on the verge of learning something important.

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