Лори Касс - Gone With The Whisker

She nodded. “Go ahead, Deputy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He took a breath, and stared at the wall as he spoke. “We have learned that Ms. Katrina Hamilton, known as Kate, had taken cell phone photos of the Fourth of July crowd on her cell phone before her discovery of the body of Mr. Rex Stuhler.”

Kate’s relatives swiveled to gaze at her. Kate herself started sliding down in her chair.

Ash went on. “Since that day, Ms. Kate Hamilton has been taking the pictures into downtown businesses and asking staff and customers if they could name the people in the photos. An hour ago, she walked into the Wood Shed bar. Deputy Gardner was inside the establishment, off-duty, and recognized Ms. Hamilton. Knowing that she was under age, the deputy approached and overheard her conversation with the bartender. He called Detective Inwood regarding the matter. Detective Inwood requested that Deputy Gardner bring Ms. Hamilton into the sheriff’s office.”

There was so much wrong here that I didn’t know where to start being angry. But . . . the Wood Shed? Really? The dive-iest bar in Chilson? How did she have the courage to walk into a place like that at her age?

Sheriff Richardson stirred. “Ms. Hamilton,” she said flatly. “Please explain two things. One. What on God’s great earth did you think you were doing? Number two.” The sheriff leaned forward, focusing her laser-like stare on my niece. “Get us those photos or I’ll charge you with obstruction.”

Kate looked up. “But—”

“Now!” the sheriff roared.

My niece flinched, then hurriedly pulled out her phone.

Sheriff Richardson glanced at Ash. “Give her your e-mail,” she said, then pulled Aunt Frances and Otto and myself into her office, where she assured us Kate wasn’t in any real trouble. “The girl has guts, I’ll give her that,” the sheriff said. “But she has to be safe and smart.”

I liked that phrase: “safe and smart.” So I used it when, half an hour later, Aunt Frances, Otto, Kate, and I sat in their kitchen with my cell phone on speaker, talking to my brother and sister-in-law.

“You did what?” Jennifer asked, her normally calm voice going shrill.

“It was no big deal, Mom,” Kate said. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Really? Then why were you hauled down to the sheriff’s office?”

“I’m more concerned,” Matt said, “that you didn’t show those pictures to anyone. How could you not know that the police would want to see them?”

Jennifer sighed. “Katrina, I thought we could trust you, but this isn’t working. You need to come home.”

A pang of disappointment made me swallow, but I understood. “Sorry,” I murmured. “This is my fault. I should have kept a better eye on her.”

“She’s old enough to know better,” Jennifer said firmly. “Thanks for taking the blame, Minnie, but it’s on her. When we talked about her going north this summer, she promised she was old enough to be trusted. It’s not your fault.”

Though it was nice my sister-in-law was letting me off the hook, I knew I shared in the responsibility for Kate’s actions. I sighed. “I’ll look up flights first thing tomorrow and let you know what time to pick her up.”

My niece sat up straight, glared at me, then glared at the phone. “What about my jobs? I have three. You want me to leave without telling them? Or give them what, an hour notice?” She snorted. “Isn’t that what you’re always complaining about, that kids today aren’t being held accountable, that we don’t have common courtesy, that we don’t understand how our actions impact others?”

Matt sighed. “Honey, you can’t pull out the responsibility card when it suits you.”

“No, but she has a point,” Aunt Frances said. “Summer help is hard for retailers to find, let alone good summer help.”

I nodded at the phone. “And two of her employers have, without prompting, told me how happy they are to have her.”

“Yes, but . . .” Jennifer’s voice trailed off. She was clearly wavering.

“Mom, Dad, they need me.” Kate’s hands turned into fists. “No one has ever . . .” She stopped, then started again. “They really need me,” she said quietly. “Please let me stay?”

And eventually, they did.

* * *

The next morning, my boss was in the break room ahead of me. “The sunset was gorgeous last night,” Graydon said, as he poured coffee into his mug, and then into the travel mug I was clutching. “So many colors. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I stared at him through bleary eyes. The bookmobile was ready to roll, parked temporarily just outside the door, with Julia and Eddie aboard, but I’d popped in to pull a book that had just been requested online and was making double use of the time by maximizing my caffeine possibilities.

“Didn’t see it.” I screwed down the mug’s top. “I was . . . busy.”

Which was almost certainly the understatement of the year. Graydon was stirring creamer into his coffee and eyeing me.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “You look a little tired.”

Again with the understatement. I put on a smile. “Some family problems. Nothing I can’t handle.” I hoped.

Graydon smiled as he edged toward the doorway. “More niece issues?” Then, before I could say anything, he added, “Just remember that everything gets better eventually.” He nodded, and was gone.

“Yeah,” I muttered to myself, “but what kind of time frame are we talking about?” What did “eventually” mean? A week? A month? A year? Lots of years?

Sighing, I headed out to start the day, and immediately felt my spirits rise, because no matter what else was going on, everything was better on the bookmobile.

* * *

Julia squirmed around in her seat, rearranging herself and her seat belt so she could reach into the pocket of her shorts. “Hah!” she crowed. “Got one!”

I was about to ask “Got what?” when I saw that she was pulling back her long, loose strawberry blond hair and tying it up with a hair elastic. It was times like this—when Julia was so completely human—that I had a hard time reconciling the woman seated next to me with the pictures Aunt Frances had shown me of a younger Julia in the days of her Broadway success, cavorting with the rich and famous, and dazzling everyone with her smile.

“Do you miss it?” I asked. “Being an actor?”

She snorted. “Hardly. The backstage arguments, the hotels, the crappy food, the sheer hard work, the wondering if I’d ever get another role after the way I yelled at that bean counter for how he was messing with director’s vision . . .” She paused. “Which was a lot of fun. Did I ever tell you about it?”

I grinned as I braked, because the pending story sounded excellent. And I’d ask for it specifically after the bookmobile stop. I turned into the parking lot of a convenience store and came to a halt in the shade of an even more convenient maple tree, because it was now afternoon and the temperature was very July-like.

We ran through the pre-stop routine of turning the driver’s seat around to face a small desk, unlatching Eddie’s carrier, releasing the rolling chair in the back, firing up the computers, and popping the roof vents. Julia did the vent thing, because she could do it through the simple act of reaching, while I would have had to use some kind of step, which we would have had to find, purchase, and then store somewhere, so it was handy to have a ride-along clerk who was tall.

“Come one, come all,” Julia sang out as she opened the door.

A flurry of feet scurried up the stairs. When everyone was inside, I counted three children in the three-to-seven-year-old range, one female adult about my age, and one elderly male. I’d never seen any of them before, and neither had Julia, so introductions came first.