Part 30 (2/2)

”Why didn't you say so? I'm on my way.”

I was so surprised for a moment, I didn't speak.

”You thought I'd say no.” Maggie chortled.

”I thought you'd at least want more of an explanation.”

”Oh, I do,” she said. ”You can tell me on the way. Right now go put on some lipstick and wear something feminine.”

I looked down at my comfortable exercise pants and long-sleeved T-s.h.i.+rt. ”You mean, don't dress like a librarian.”

”I didn't say that,” Maggie countered. ”But yes. You have fifteen minutes.” With that she hung up.

Owen and Hercules were both sitting by the footstool. ”Maggie and I are going barhopping,” I told them. I looked down at Owen. ”Your girlfriend wants me to dress cute.” He turned and headed for the stairs. I looked at Hercules and shrugged, and we followed Owen up to the bedroom.

I pulled a pair of khaki pants out of the closet. I might have imagined it-he might just have been taking a swipe at something stuck to his fur-but it almost seemed as if Owen put a paw over his face. I took out my favorite black trousers. He sneezed. ”There's nothing wrong with those black pants,” I said. He disappeared into the far left end of the closet.

”There's nothing back there,” I said. I heard an answering meow. I looked at Hercules, who was just sitting and watching the two of us.

Owen meowed again. I started flipping through the hangers. I had two more pairs of black trousers, the gray pants with the cuffs I've been wearing the morning Ruby had found Agatha's body, and way at the back, a pair of slim jeans. I could see Owen's golden eyes gleaming up at me.

”Those don't fit.”

He meowed his dissent. I took the hanger off the rod. ”Maggie's going to be here in ten minutes,” I said. ”I'm going to try these on just to show you you're wrong and then I'm going to pick out my own clothes, because last time I checked you didn't have a subscription to Vogue.”

I tugged on the jeans. The first surprise was that I could get them on. The second was that I could zip them up. They were snug, but not skintight. Hercules walked around me. Owen poked his head out of the closet door.

”Fine. I'll wear them,” I said. The last time I'd fit into those jeans was probably more than a year ago. My sister, Sara, had talked me into them. I couldn't help checking out the rear view in the mirror. Maybe all that walking up and down Mountain Road was paying dividends-which still didn't mean I didn't need a car.

I rifled through my tops and found a cranberry sweater. Sara had bought that for me. It had a deep V-neck and the soft knit hugged me all over. It wasn't me at all. Which probably meant I should wear it.

I put on lipstick and dangling earrings and tousled my hair. Not only did I not look like myself, but I didn't feel like myself, which probably indicated I was on the right track.

I was ready when Maggie tapped on the porch door and came in. I held up my arms and did a little twirl.

”Not bad,” she said approvingly.

Owen walked in as I got my coat. Maggie bent down and he stopped maybe three feet from her. ”Hey, Fur Ball,” she said. He got all squirmy but didn't get any closer. Maggie kept talking softly to him, and I grabbed my purse and boots.

”Hey, do you have any other boots?” she said over her shoulder.

”What's wrong with my boots?”

”Well, they're kind of . . . sensible.”

”You think they're ugly.” She was wearing brown suede boots that molded to her legs. I swear my first thought was that they probably didn't have a very warm lining.

Maggie looked me up and down. ”I don't think they go with your outfit.” She turned back to Owen and gave him a conspiratorial grin.

I went fis.h.i.+ng in the living room closet and pulled out a pair of black dress boots with heels. I'd bought them in Boston and brought them with me when I moved to Mayville. The first time it had snowed here, I'd worn them to work. I didn't make that mistake the second time it snowed.

Maggie said good-bye to Owen. I locked up and we got in Maggie's bug. Before she had even fastened her seat belt she turned to me. ”Before we go, where are we going and why are we going?”

I handed her a piece of paper on which I'd copied the names of the bars I wanted to check out.

Maggie's face was unreadable as she scanned the list. She looked at me again. ”Now I know where we're going. Why are we going?”

”You know Eric doesn't drink?” I said.

”Uh-huh.” She nodded and gave a slight shrug.

I hated violating Eric's privacy, but there wasn't any way around it that I could see. ”He was drinking Wednesday night.”

Maggie blinked a couple of times, then frowned. ”Are you sure?”

I picked at loose thread on my glove. ”I'm sure.”

She began to slowly shake her head. ”Kathleen, no. I'm sorry. You're wrong.”

I held up a hand. ”Maggie, I don't think Eric ran over Agatha. Wherever he was, he walked home. But he definitely drank. What I want to know is where he was and, more important, who he was with.”

She exhaled slowly. ”Why don't you ask him . . . or Susan?”

”I did,” I said. ”Whoever this person is, Eric used to be his sponsor. He won't violate that relations.h.i.+p for anything.”

”You think the person Eric was with might have hit Agatha.”

I nodded.

”Kathleen, that's a real long shot.”

I peeled off my glove before I picked that loose thread into a hole. ”I know,” I said. ”It's not the only thing I have to go on. I found out that there may be as many as three trucks identical to Ruby's on the road.”

”So who owns them?”

”Roma is checking that out for me.”

Maggie stared out the winds.h.i.+eld. ”Kath, what about talking to Marcus?”

”I already did.”

That got her full attention.

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