Лори Касс - Gone With The Whisker

“Yeah,” I said, leaning down to kiss the top of his fuzzy head. “The answer to both is yes, isn’t it?”

“Mrr,” he said, yawning.

I patted his hip and stood. “Hope you’re okay that I leave you alone again. But . . .” My voice trailed off, because I’d turned while talking and was now reading Kate’s whiteboard message.

Working late at Benton’s. Closing and doing end-of-month inventory, so don’t wait up.

This was followed by a drawing of a curly-haired stick figure lying in a bed. I peered at the sketch, trying to make out what was on top of my stomach, then smiled. It was a stick figure Eddie.

* * *

I was still smiling when I parked in the side lot of Mason Hiller’s convenience store. It lasted as I walked to the front, and remained stuck on while I opened the door and walked inside. Then it dropped off.

“Oh,” I said. “Um, hello.”

The kid I’d met the first time I’d stopped looked up. “Hey.” As I approached the counter, he put down what he’d had in his hands, which wasn’t his cell phone, but a graphic novel.

This, of course, distracted me completely. I nodded at his choice of reading material. “Is that Mooncop ?”

He eyed me, suspicion clear in his expression. “Yeah. You know it?”

“Sure.” The bookmobile carried a healthy stock of graphic novels, and I enjoyed reading them. “I won’t tell you the ending, but it’s great. Have you read the Sandman series?”

The kid’s face lit up. “Neil Gaiman is, like, the best ever!”

I did not disagree, and we launched into a rousing discussion of his work. “This is so cool,” he eventually said. “My parents tell me to read a real book. I can’t wait to tell them the bookmobile lady reads graphic novels, too.”

“If they don’t believe me, have them give me a call,” I said, laughing. “But I have to confess that I stopped by to talk to your cousin.”

“Mason?” The kid made a face. “Yeah, he almost fired me that day after you were here the first time. Sorry. I was nervous about being here on my own and it came out all wrong.”

I nodded. Understandable. Not commendable, but understandable. “Is there anything else you remember?”

“About Mr. Stuhler and Ms. Price?” He shook his head. “Nah, I didn’t know them. Mason, though. He’s worked here for a long time, and I think he said he knew them both.”

I tried to remember exactly what Mason had told me. Hang on, he’d said he didn’t know either one of them. And that’s when he’d turned all cranky on me. “You sure?”

The kid shrugged. “Pretty sure. But it’s hard to hang with Mason these days. All he talks about is money, money, and again, money. And how he doesn’t have it.”

Though we chatted a little longer, he didn’t have any more information. As I drove toward Chilson, I thought about what I had learned.

Mason was focused on money, which seemed like a red flag, at least of a sort. But why would that make Mason nervous to talk to me about Rex and Nicole?

Did any of it connect to murder?

And if so, how?

Chapter 18

Halfway to town, my cell phone beeped with an incoming text. When I saw it was from Rafe, I pulled into an old-fashioned roadside park and read the message.

Rafe: Cars

Minnie: What about them?

After a moment, the dots started blinking, then up popped a message.

Rafe: Suspect

Minnie (typing while frowning in a puzzled manner): Complete sentences, please. What do you suspect about cars? That mine needs new struts? That the one my mom is thinking about buying is nice? That we’ll be able to buy completely autonomous ones in ten years?

Rafe: Check out the vehicles of our suspects to see if anyone is driving a new truck. Maybe that was Luke driving ahead of Courtney that day on Brown’s Road, but maybe it wasn’t. Doesn’t hurt to look at the others.

Minnie: Three whole sentences inside a single text message. A new record! I’m so proud.

Rafe: 1 off—later

I laughed, sent him a thumbs-up emoji, and, with help from Google Maps, drove around looking at cars. By the time I got back to Chilson, the gas tank was low, so I stopped for gas. Since the air temperature was mild and the sky was clear, I set the gas to flowing and started inching away to stand in the sunshine.

“Thanks anyway,” said a semi-familiar male voice.

I turned and saw Mason Hiller walking out the gas station’s front door. I edged back into the shade as he crossed the asphalt parking lot and got into a slightly dirty and slightly battered SUV.

He started backing up his vehicle as I thought about possibilities. So far my Car Mission had yielded only negative results. Neither of the Vannetts’ cars had been noteworthy in any way, or particularly clean. Same with the vehicles parked next to the Prices’ cabin, same with the car in Violet’s driveway. But Mason’s cousin had said Mason was always talking about money. And Mason had acted oddly when I’d started talking about Nicole and Rex.

I released the gas lever and whirled around to put the nozzle back into the pump. Did I want a receipt? Not this time, thanks. Jumping in the car, I started the engine and sped after Mason.

Happily, he’d turned toward downtown, and it was easy to follow his vehicle. He parked in a public lot far enough from the retail district that the city hadn’t installed parking meters. I pulled into a space on the other side of the lot, waited until he’d walked away, then got out and hurried after him.

“This isn’t stalking,” I muttered, though I was pretty sure it was. I pushed that uncomfortable concept to the back of my mind, where I hoped it would fade away.

Mason was walking briskly, and I found myself almost trotting to keep up. Two blocks later, at the first store we came to—a new place that sold T-shirts—he went inside.

I couldn’t very well go in with him, so I stopped and pretended to be interested in an accountant’s window display. This was difficult, because the display was a sign with the name of the business, but fortunately Mason was back outside before I had time to look truly stupid.

Mason ducked into the next place, which sold sunglasses. He was back outside quickly, and went on to the shoe store.

By this time I’d decided that the key to an innocent lurk was to pull out your cell phone and tap away while surreptitiously keeping an eye on your subject. Mason had left the shoes and was entering a men’s clothing store when I heard my name.

“Minnie.”

I looked up at the forty-ish woman who’d called to me, and smiled. “Hi, Rianne. How’s business at Benton’s been this summer?”

“Amazing!” She grinned. “And part of it is due to your niece.”

“Um, that’s . . . great.”

“She’s such an asset, you wouldn’t believe it. No, of course you’d believe it; you’re her aunt, so you know how great she is.”

“Um . . . you bet.”

Rianne nodded. “You know, if all of my staff were as fun and cheerful and hardworking as Katie, I’d be able to take a full day off in the summer without thinking my grandparents would roll over in their graves.”

Fun? Cheerful? Hardworking? “So glad it’s working out,” I murmured.

“If she comes back next summer,” Rianne said, “I’ll give her as many hours as she wants. I’ll even pay her overtime. With her sales skills, it’s worth it.”

I managed to pick my jaw up off the ground without Rianne noticing anything was wrong.

She waved and headed off, and while I was standing there, trying to rearrange my concept of the universe, Mason walked out of the men’s store and into a fudge shop. It was time to figure out what he was doing, so I retraced my steps back to the T-shirt place. A twenty-something man with a scraggly beard and a backward ball cap greeted me. “Can I help you?”