Лори Касс - Gone With The Whisker

“She’s doing okay,” I finally said. “She hasn’t had a nightmare in almost a week.” As far as I knew. “But she’s come up with a theory I promised to share with you.”

He settled a bit farther down in his chair and crossed his ankles. “I had no idea that messing around with murder investigations had a genetic component.”

“The theory,” I said, ignoring his comment, “is that Fawn, Rex’s wife, and Dominic, Nicole’s husband, have been having an affair. And to avoid lengthy and costly divorce proceedings, which Dominic didn’t believe in anyway because he’s a really devout Catholic, Dominic killed Rex and Fawn killed Nicole. Which was why they had alibis for the murder of their spouses.” I was embellishing a bit, but now that I was saying it out loud, I was warming to the idea.

Ash, however, did not look convinced. “One question.” He yawned. “Do you have any evidence that Fawn and Dominic knew each other? E-mails, letters, witnesses.”

Of course not. “I think it’s a possibility that’s worth looking into.”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll get on that, right after I work through those other theories you’ve tossed into my lap. How many were there for Rex Stuhler? There’s Fawn, naturally. And John and Nandi Jaquay, plus Barry Vannett. And who have you come up with for Nicole Price?”

I refrained from pointing out that Fawn had been their own first suspect. “I have some thoughts.”

“Of course you do,” he murmured.

“Hark!” I said, holding my hand to my ear. “Do I hear the echo of Detective Hal Inwood?”

Ash clutched his chest. “Ooo, that hurt. Stop it, already.”

“If you promise to listen to me, sure.”

“Since it’s way too hot to move, and it’s pretty comfortable here, I don’t have much choice.”

“That’s what I like in law enforcement,” I said. “A captive audience.”

And I proceeded to tell him about what I’d discovered in the last week or so. That Violet Mullaly had expressed deep anger about the library books Rex and Nicole each had just before Rex was killed. That Lowell grew up in the same town where Nicole taught, and had acted oddly when I’d casually asked him about it. That Mason at the convenience store had been friendly up until I’d started talking about Nicole and Rex. The only possibility I didn’t mention was Courtney Drew, the home health aide, who’d worked with Rex’s mom, because that didn’t seem like enough, even for me.

“Violet Mullaly, Lowell Kokotovich, and Mason Hiller.” Ash pulled a large cell phone out of his front pocket. He tapped away without saying anything.

Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, just looking,” he said idly. “How do you spell ‘Mullaly’? Okay, thanks, that’s . . . huh.”

He stared at the screen.

“What?” I asked. “Something about Violet? What is it?”

Ash shook his head and slid the phone back into his pocket. “Looks like dinner is coming up the sidewalk,” he said, standing. “Want anything out of Rafe’s fridge?”

I shook my head and let him go without pressing for answers. Clearly, he’d learned something about Violet, and he’d tell me when he could. And if I couldn’t wait that long, I could always drop by the sheriff’s office and not go away until they shared.

“You look happy,” Rafe said, dropping the bags of food on the porch table.

I smiled up at his handsome self. “That’s because I am.”

* * *

The next morning I embarked on a new outreach venture. Instead of trying to combine bookmobile trips with dropping off books to shut-ins, I’d decided to try using my own vehicle to do the drop-offs.

“Only in the summer,” I’d told Eddie as I was leaving. My fuzzy-headed buddy was sitting on top of his cat carrier and clearly ready to head out for a day of bookmobiling.

“Mrr?” He looked at me in a questioning manner.

“Because in the summer there are a lot more people around,” I explained patiently. “Word has spread that people who qualify as shut-ins can have books picked up and dropped off, and it’s getting too hard to mesh their needs with the bookmobile’s route and schedule. It’s cheaper for the library to pay me mileage than it is to drive the bookmobile to all these people’s houses.”

Eddie stood and scratched at the carrier with his front feet, then his back feet.

I watched him for a moment. “If you’re trying to bury that, it’s not working.”

“Mrr!”

“No, you’re not coming. You wouldn’t like it, honest. It’s going to be mostly driving and you’d never get out of the carrier. Remember the last time I took you downstate?”

We’d driven to Dearborn to stay with my parents over Christmas, and I’d taken Eddie because everyone I might have left him with was either out of town or coming along. My dad’s allergies meant that Eddie had to live, work, and play in my bedroom, but that wasn’t the hard part.

It had turned out that Eddie didn’t care for car rides when the car was driving faster than sixty miles an hour. And when Eddie didn’t like something, everyone knew about it. Aunt Frances, Otto, and I had endured four hours of nonstop howling on the way down and another four hours on the way back up. The three humans had made a shuddering vow never to do that again, and so far we’d kept our promise.

Of course, a trip around Tonedagana County wasn’t likely to provide many opportunities for driving that fast, but there were a couple of straight stretches of county highway on the east side, so it might happen.

“See you tonight,” I said, leaning down to kiss the top of his furry head.

But he collapsed himself, missing my gesture of endearment by an inch, then jumped down and ran off with thumping feet.

“Have a good day,” I called. “I’ll miss you!”

Though he called back—“Mrr!!”—I was pretty sure he wasn’t returning my sentiment.

Four hours later, by the time I arrived at the home of Rupert and Ann Marie Wiley, I’d decided I was never again going to do a book run.

“Not like this anyway,” I said, gratefully taking the chair they offered me on their front porch.

“What do you mean?” Ann Marie asked. “No, wait. Let me get you something. I just made some lemonade, this heat simply calls for it, and I made some brownies this morning before it got hot because I knew you were coming, and—” She saw my expression of dismay. “But you like brownies. Don’t you?”

“Used to,” I muttered.

Ann Marie frowned, but Rupert had already caught on. Nodding, he said, “Bet you’ve been offered brownies, cookies, pie, or coffee cake at every place you stopped this morning.”

“You forgot the bagels and doughnuts. And everyone’s so nice, how could I say no?”

Ann Marie laughed. “You’re going to have to learn fast; otherwise you’ll get too big to fit in the bookmobile.”

I patted my stomach, then winced, which made her laugh all the harder. “So kind of you to laugh at my misfortune.”

“It’s what she does,” her loving husband said. “You should hear her when I’m trying to put on my socks.”

“Now that’s funny.” Ann Marie pointed at Rupert. “Plumber’s cracks are nothing compared to—”

“Come to think of it,” I said, interrupting before I got an image in my head I’d never be able to erase. “A glass of your lemonade would taste great.”

Rupert watched her go, then he turned to me and rubbed his hands. “Now. What did you bring me?”

I handed the books over. “Have you finished all the others I dropped off?”

“Waiting for you inside.” He touched his chest. “I should be able to drive soon,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry to make this extra work for you, but Ann Marie’s medications . . . well, let’s just say that getting behind a wheel wouldn’t be good for her. We hope she has a lot of years left, but . . .” He shook his head.