“Lots of people didn’t like him,” Helen said.
“I still say it has to be the cat. No other reason for someone to take it.” Lets get this board filled up.
Ruth wrote Kyle first, because Kyle had acted defensive and Ruth said he acts like a man that needs money. Needed money. Angry about June selling without asking. Defensive. Ruth paused, then added: might be desperate with a small question mark.
Margo went up next. Reacted to the cat. Close to June. Believable reason to care.
Next, Ruth wrote Tina. Needs money fast. Storage unit trouble. No evidence yet she has the cat. She stopped, uncapped a second marker, and wrote: livestreams? with a circle around it.
“Her livestreams might have recorded something,” Ruth said.
“I’ve been watching them,” Lexy said. “Haven’t found anything yet.”
“Keep watching,” Nans said.
Ruth wrote Beatrice. Talked the cat down. Knows antiques. Shop currently closed. She underlined shop currently closed. Then: May have recognized value and played dumb.
“She was angling,” Lexy said. “When she gave Everett that low ball number. The way she said it.”
“Like she was hoping he’d take a low offer from her and walk away,” Helen said.
“And when he didn’t—” Lexy stopped.
Nobody finished the sentence out loud. Ruth wrote: when he wouldn’t sell? and left it with the question mark hanging.
Darlene went up last. Always searching the house. Seemed nervous. Ruth capped the marker.
Ida had been quiet for approximately four minutes, which was her personal record. She pointed at the board with a scone. “Darlene should be underlined. Wine-store women are always hiding something. It’s a known fact.”
“That’s not a known fact,” Ruth said.
“Underline it,” Ida said. “I’m serious. She might have been looking for that cat. Maybe she knew there was something valuable in there all along. It was her grandparents house.”
Ida nodded. “Okay then we have all the suspects up, what now?”
“I say we talk to the one person who seems to have avoided our investigation thus far.” Ruth shoved the cap onto the pen. “Beatrice Sloan.”
CHAPTER NINE
The bell above the door of Sloan’s Antiques announced them before Nans could decide on what to say to get Beatrice talking.
Beatrice looked up from behind the counter. She took in all five of them and said, “I’m not buying anything today.”
“We’re not selling,” Nans said. “We want to talk about why you’ve been closed.”
“Private buyer.” Beatrice straightened a letter opener that didn’t need straightening. “And before you ask — client confidentiality.”
Ida made a sound.
Beatrice looked at her. Ida looked back, the picture of innocence.
The shop smelled like old wood and beeswax polish and the particular dusty sweetness of things that had been sitting in the same place for decades. Every surface held something — candlesticks, framed maps, stacked china, a gilt clock that had stopped keeping time decades ago.
“What do you actually want,” Beatrice said.
“We want to talk about the cat,” Nans said. “The porcelain one that Everett Pike had in the Cup and Cake.”
Beatrice’s expression didn’t change, exactly. Something behind it did. “I remember.”