Лори Касс: Booking The Crook

“Soon,” I said out loud, then replaced my shoes with boots, put myself into my coat, hauled on my hat, and pulled on my mittens. My technical quitting time had slipped past almost two hours ago—my talk with Kristen had lasted roughly half an hour, so the library had once again made money on me. Not that I kept track, but I also wasn’t about to feel any guilt for using the library’s computer and high-speed Internet connection for a bit of personal use.

I padded out to the lobby, waved to Donna, who was working until the library’s eight o’clock closing, and was about to head into the cold when someone said, “Minnie? Do you have a minute?”

Turning, I saw a young woman toying with her long lovely auburn braid. A young man, with his hand on her shoulder, looked at me with question marks in his eyes.

Stepping forward, I gave first Collier Bennethum, then his sister, Anya, long hugs. “I’m so sorry about your mom.” I wanted to apologize for not being able to do anything to help Rowan, but at the last second I held back from blurting out my own guilt. A confession from me wouldn’t help the twins deal with their mother’s death; I needed to deal with my feelings on my own.

“Thanks.” Anya sniffed down a sob. “It’s been hard.”

Collier put his arm around his sister. “We wanted to thank you for all you did that day.”

I murmured something about doing what anyone would have done.

“I don’t think so,” Collier said. “Most people would have maybe called nine-one-one, but you tried CPR and kept trying, and . . .” He swallowed. “Anyway, we wanted to say thank you. In person.”

Anya nodded. “Dad says thanks from him, too.”

Responding with, “You’re welcome,” didn’t seem appropriate, so I simply nodded. Then I took a closer look at the twins. Both were, of course, far taller than me, with dark-haired Collier close to the six-foot mark and Anya a few inches less. They were both college seniors, Anya at Central Michigan University and Collier at Northern Michigan. The first year I’d worked in Chilson, I’d had the fun of helping them complete high school term papers, and I’d enjoyed hearing Rowan tell me about their college acceptances and exploits.

I’d seen Collier over Christmas, and he’d still been bursting with happiness over the fact that his girlfriend had said yes to his Thanksgiving marriage proposal. Now his face was pale, his expression bleak, and Anya didn’t look much better.

I longed for words that would make things easier, but I knew no such words existed. Time was the only thing that could soften their pain, and that would likely be a long time coming. Still, I wanted to say something. I opened my mouth to do what people do, which was to offer any kind of help they needed, but Anya started first.

“You’ve helped others,” she said softly.

Collier edged closer. “Leese Lacombe. Over Christmas we heard you helped her find out who killed her dad.”

“And Dana Coburn,” Anya added. “Dana’s parents are summer customers, you know how we run errands for people? Dana told us about your research into the DeKeyser family and how that helped you figure out who killed that lady.”

Dana was a twelve-year-old who possessed more brains than three Minnies put together. Leese Lacombe was a good friend and an attorney specializing in elder law. I made a mental note to respectfully ask both of them to keep their mouths shut about my past involvements in murder as it wasn’t a reputation I aspired to. And since I could see where this conversation was going, I jumped in ahead of their request.

“The sheriff’s office,” I said, “is working very hard on your mom’s investigation. What I did those other times was more a matter of circumstance.” I echoed what I’d been told before by numerous people. “Let the police do their job. They’re professionals and they know what they’re doing.”

“But—”

I shook my head. “Your hearts are in the right place, but there’s nothing I can do that the sheriff’s office isn’t doing already.” Plus they actually knew what they were doing, but I didn’t say that out loud.

“At least think about it?” Anya begged.

I glanced at Collier, who was staring at the floor, his face vacant of . . . anything. It was an expression I recognized, that of too much pain. Too much sorrow.

“Sure,” I said, “maybe I could think about it.” Collier lifted his head and a small spark of life flitted across his eyes. I gave them both another hug. “I’ll let you know, okay?” And then, coward that I was, I hurried out before either twin could say another word.

• • •

“Mrr.”

I looked at my cat. “Are you aware that you bear a striking resemblance to a vulture?”

Eddie blinked, but didn’t say a word. He was sitting up straight in a new spot—the top of the low bookcase that was jammed full of jigsaw puzzles and board games—and peering down at me in a manner that was a bit unnerving.

“Cat got your tongue?” I asked. This was an old joke between us, and just like all the other times I’d said it, I laughed and he didn’t. “Oh, come on,” I said, “it’s funny.”

A double yellow-eyed gaze drilled a hole in my head.

“Really? Not even a giggle?”

His shoulders heaved as he sighed a little kitty sigh. Back in my pre-Eddie days, I’d had no idea that cats could sigh, sneeze, yawn, or snore. “Thanks to you, my horizons have expanded immensely,” I said, getting up off the couch. “And to show my appreciation, I’m going to give you a big snuggle.”

I swept him off the bookcase and gave him a gentle squeeze. Most times, Eddie enjoyed a good hug. This was not one of those times. He squirmed out of my grasp and made a Herculean lunge back to the shelf. I watched his wake of cat hair tumble in the air and make its way to the floor.

“Nice,” I said. “Do you realize I need to clean up all of that unwanted fur?” Preferably before Aunt Frances got home from her night class. “How does it feel to have someone tidying up after you at every turn?”

“Mrr!”

“I’m right here, pal. No need to yell.”

“MRR!”

I winced, hoping my eardrums healed quickly. “Now what did I do wrong? Not enough treats? No, wait, it’s too cold outside? Or is there too much snow? Maybe there’s not enough snow? I know—you’ve suddenly decided you like Otto’s adorable little gray cat and want me to take you over there to play with her?”

Eddie glared and jumped to the floor. Before reaching the floor, however, he landed on a board game that was a bit too big to fit all the way into the bookcase. This created a spectacular crash of board games and jigsaw puzzles and decks of cards. Dice, cards, puzzle pieces, and poker chips scattered and rolled across the living room floor.

“Someday,” I said, “this will be funny.”

“Mrr.”

It didn’t sound like an apology, and the set of his tail as he trotted up the stairs didn’t look embarrassed.

Cats.

Sighing, I crouched down and swept together a deck of cards older than I was and started counting to make sure I had all of them. I sorted the cards into suits, counting the hearts, diamonds, clubs, spades, and suddenly there it was.

The ace of spades. What some called the death card.

Fingering the card’s corner, I thought about death. About Rowan. About the right thing to do. About the kind of person I wanted to be. About how easy it would be not to do anything.

I slid the deck of cards into its box and stood. My cell phone was on the coffee table, and I reached for it before I changed my mind.

Tomorrow, I texted Anya and Collier. I’ll start doing what I can to find your mom’s killer.

Chapter 4