Part 31 (1/2)

”I b.u.mped into him on the way to cla.s.s.”

”And?”

”And he didn't exactly do a Perry Mason and declare it was clear that Ruby was innocent.”

Maggie opened her mouth, but I spoke before she could. ”Look, I know you think Marcus and I would make a great couple, and I do think he's a decent cop, but he thinks he has the person who ran down Agatha-Ruby. I could find all of those trucks and line them up in front of the police station, and unless I had the person who really killed Agatha trussed up with duct tape in the back of one of them, I don't see him changing his mind.”

Maggie looked thoughtfully at me. ”So, you want to do this alphabetically or by location?”

”You're not going to argue with me?”

She stuck the key in the ignition and started the car. ”Nope.”

I was at a loss for words.

Maggie smiled as she backed out of the driveway. ”Look. You're right,” she said. ”I think Marcus is an excellent detective, but he's probably already handed the file on Ruby's case on to the county attorney. It's going to take more than just the possibility of there being another truck or even three to get Ruby out of this mess. This is a long shot, but it's better than no shot.”

She glanced at my list on the dashboard. ”We may as well go to the Brick first,” she said. ”Did you bring a picture of Eric?”

I pulled a snapshot out of my purse. It had been taken at the library picnic. Eric was at the grill, squinting into the sun. I held it up and Maggie glanced at it briefly. ”That's good,” she said.

I'd heard that tone in her voice before. ”You have a plan, don't you?” I asked. Watching her, I could feel the energy as all the neurons fired in her brain.

”I have a couple of ideas.”

That wasn't good. The last time Maggie had one of her ideas we'd ended up hijacking Roma and her SUV. Part of Maggie was laid-back and Zen. She truly believed that what you put out into the world would come back to you, positive or negative. She thought Matt Lauer from the Today show was s.e.xy.

On the other hand, she could keep a secret better than anyone I'd ever met. And she'd seen every Dirty Harry movie Clint Eastwood had ever made, more times than even she could remember.

”Watch for the sign,” Maggie said once we were on the highway out of town, headed for MinneapolisSt. Paul. ”The last time I was by, the B and the R were burned out in the sign.”

”So what I'm really looking for is the Ick,” I said.

”Probably in more ways than one.”

The Brick was a strip club. It was dark and loud and we had to pay a cover charge to get inside. Maggie put her mouth close to my ear. ”Follow my lead and try to look uncomfortable.”

I was uncomfortable. There was a woman dancing on the T-shaped stage. At least she had all her clothes on-”all” being a hot pink, feather-trimmed bikini top and matching bottom. She actually looked like she was having fun. She did a slow twirl around the pole, and I caught sight of her face.

”I know her,” I said, grabbing Maggie's arm. ”She brings her little boy to story time.”

Maggie looked past me. ”Yeah, that's Jenna. She's in my yoga cla.s.s.”

”I didn't know she was an exotic dancer.”

”She's not,” Maggie said. ”It's amateur night. If we're here very long you'll probably see some other people you know.” She climbed on a stool and smiled down the bar at the female bartender.

I took the stool next to her and turned my back to the stage. There was a long list of people I had no interest in seeing in feathers and spike heels.

It wasn't at all hard to follow Maggie's instructions to look embarra.s.sed. I kept picturing people I knew in town up on the small stage. Abigail. Lita. Rebecca. How would you look someone in the eye after seeing her swing around a pole while wearing next to nothing?

”You want wine,” Maggie whispered as the bartender approached.

”Hi. What can I get you?” she asked. She was about Maggie's age, blond hair in a ponytail, serious dark-framed gla.s.ses, and arms that suggested a regular workout with weights.

”I'll just have coffee,” Maggie said. ”I'm driving.”

”I'll have a gla.s.s of red wine,” I said.

”No problem,” the bartender, whose name was Zoe, said. She put a basket of pretzels between us. I grabbed one and popped it in my mouth. If I was going to have to drink, I wanted to eat something.

The pretzel was good, crisp and lightly salted. The wine was not good. I had another pretzel.

Maggie had paid for our drinks and was talking to the bartender, leaning forward, elbows on the bar. I saw her eyes flick sideways a couple of times at my gla.s.s. I was guessing she wanted me to drink a little more or at least look like I was. I took a swallow and chased the taste with a couple of pretzels.

I wasn't sure what Maggie's plan was, but it didn't seem to be working. I was tired, the music was too loud and I was afraid of what I might see if I turned in the direction of the stage. I was about to tell her this had all been a bad idea when she looked at me and said, ”You got his picture?”

The picture. I'd put it back in my purse. I pulled it out. Maggie took the photo from me and slid it across the bar. ”Were you working last Wednesday night? Did you see this guy?”

The bartender studied the picture, then looked up at Maggie. ”What did he do?”

”Well,” Maggie said, holding out both hands. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

I felt my face getting red. I ducked my head, took another drink and followed it with pretzel.

Zoe smiled knowingly and looked at Eric's photograph again. ”No, he wasn't here. It was very quiet last Wednesday night because of that auction.”

She gave me a look of . . . pity? Sympathy? I wasn't sure which. Then she turned to Maggie. ”He wasn't here. Is that a good thing?”

”Maybe,” Maggie said. ”But everybody has to be somewhere, so maybe not. Thank you for your help.”

”No problem,” she said. There were a couple of guys at the far end of the bar, trying to get her attention. She grabbed another basket of pretzels and headed toward them.

Maggie picked up her coffee cup, drained it and set it down again. She looked at my winegla.s.s. ”You want one for the road?”

I grimaced. ”No. I think the winds.h.i.+eld-washer fluid would taste better.”

”Let's go, then,” she said, slipping out of her seat.

We were halfway to the door when Maggie caught my arm and said, ”Please tell me that's not who I think it is.” She was gurgling with laughter.

I put a hand up to the side of my face. ”I'm not looking.”

She grabbed my wrist and pulled my arm away from my cheek. ”If you don't look I'm going to describe what I just saw in teeny, tiny detail.”

I took a quick look at the stage. Then a longer one. Then I grabbed Maggie's sleeve and dragged her out of the Brick so fast she tripped over a step and almost landed in a heap of snow in front of the building.