Лори Касс - Booking The Crook

He had, which was why I was sitting in Jared’s office, paging through a catalog thick and heavy enough to require weighing in for a commercial flight. It was a nice office, bright with fluorescent lights and cheery with framed posters of abstract art. Through the open office door, I could see out into the store, a pleasant enough space of utilitarian metal shelving filled with items whose uses were a complete mystery to me.

“You see how the different designs are arranged, right?” Jared asked. “By finish and style?”

“Um.” I returned my attention to the catalog. “Sure. It’s just . . . there are so many.” It was overwhelming and reminded me of the sensory overload I felt in a shopping mall. It made me tired and tended me toward crankiness.

“What kind of cabinets is Rafe building? Knowing that will help you choose a style.”

Jared’s patience seemed extensive, but my own was far more limited. “I don’t know,” I said, sitting back. “Maple, is all I remember.”

“Three panel? Single panel? Beadboard?”

I looked at the man. “Do you seriously think I have any idea what you’re talking about?”

He grinned. “Don’t want to assume you don’t.”

“Excellent attitude,” I said approvingly, “but in spite of my exposure to woodworkers and woodworking for most of my life, very little has stuck in my brain.” This wasn’t strictly true, but it was close enough. “What I do know is that Rafe is using a light stain and—” I’d been using my hands to talk and knocked a pile of folders to the floor.

“Sorry about that.” I jumped out of the chair and kneeled down.

“No worries,” Jared said, rolling his chair around and leaning forward to help. “Just a stack of customer account files I was going through, studying buying habits.”

I hadn’t thought about purchasing habits for hardware, but I supposed every business had trends. “You have a lot of customer accounts?”

“Wish I had more.” Jared piled the folders into a tidy heap. “A few people have them, and a few businesses. The city is our best customer by far, but . . .” His voice drifted off.

“But what?” I asked, because his face looked troubled. “Are they starting to buy stuff from Amazon?”

Jared shook his head. “No. At least I don’t think so. It’s just that Bax Tousely—you know him? No? Friendly guy, always comes in with some horrible joke he can’t wait to tell. He was in first thing a couple of weeks ago and didn’t say a word. No joke, no nothing. And he left all of a sudden, without buying a thing. It was weird and I haven’t seen him since. I hope nothing’s wrong.”

I felt a prickle at the back of my neck. “Do you remember what day that was?”

“Sure. It was a Monday. Almost two weeks ago. I remember because it was the first anniversary of when I bought this place. I gave the day’s first customer a gift certificate and Bax was the second guy in the door.”

And it was also the day Rowan had died.

Had Bax gone to the hardware store, ostensibly looking for a piece of hardware, but instead driven to Rowan’s house and killed her? It was possible; surely it was possible. But why?

Jared was looking at me. “I have a suggestion. You’ve looked at too many possibilities. Why don’t you look at some magazines, or watch some home improvement shows. See if any cabinet hardware catches your eye. When you have a couple that you like, come on back.”

“That’s a great idea,” I said vaguely, put on my coat, and headed out to the car, where Eddie was waiting for me.

• • •

Monday morning was very January-like: snowy, cold, and blustery. For a short second I thought about driving to the library, but knew that was a slippery slope to start sliding down. “Get it?” I asked Eddie. “You know, because it’s the middle of winter and pretty much everything everywhere is slippery anyway?”

Eddie, who was roosting on the back of the couch, opened one eye, then closed it again.

“Huh.” I kissed the top of his head. “Since you don’t appreciate my very funny jokes, I’m going to take them to the library for the day.”

“Mrr.”

“I’m going to assume that was shorthand for have a nice walk, do good work, come home to me safe and sound, and I’ll miss you like crazy the entire time you’re gone.”

My cat’s response was a whistling snore.

Smiling, I headed outside. And as I knew would happen, my reluctance to venture out disappeared by the time I reached the bottom of the porch steps. Yes it was snowy, yes it was cold, and yes the northwest winds were blasting my face. But the cold was invigorating and the very fact that I was outside made me feel brave and intrepid. There I was, mushing myself through the mean streets of Chilson, intent on ensuring that everyone had access to the wealth of knowledge and wisdom that resided inside the library walls. Valiant Minnie! Strong Minnie! Dedicated . . .

I winced as a particularly strong wind gust blew snow down the back of my neck.

Bleah. Snow down my neck was almost as bad as snow up my sleeves. Both chilled me, giving me shivers that seemed to last for hours.

I looked up from the study I’d been making of the sidewalk. Ah. I was downtown. And even though it was long before any retail stores typically opened, I could see Mitchell inside, dusting the toys on the top shelf. I stopped and knocked on the front door.

He turned and saw me. “Come on in,” he said, his words barely making it through the glass. “The door’s unlocked.”

Silly me. I opened the door and hurried inside, accompanied by a rush of snow and cold.

“Surprised you walked today. It’s ten below out there, and that’s without the windchill.” Mitchell headed toward the back. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” I said through chattering teeth. Ten below? Seriously? I hadn’t looked at the thermometer that morning, something I was suddenly quite sure I would never forget to do again. “Thanks,” I said as Mitchell handed me a plain white mug of steaming goodness. I buried my face in the heat, letting its warmth thaw my nose and cheeks. “This is exactly what I needed. You’re the best.”

Mitchell shuffled. “Well, I remember you like coffee, that’s all.”

I took a sip and ignored the faint blush that was coloring Mitchell’s cheeks. Once upon a time, he’d asked me out on a date and I’d let him down so gently that he’d managed to get the very mistaken impression that I’d been pining for him but couldn’t walk away from an existing relationship without doing serious harm to another man’s soul.

Since there was no earthly reason to discuss any of that, I said, “You asked me about Bianca, so I’ve been doing some investigating.”

Mitchell stiffened. “You’re not talking to her, are you? She’s smart, she’ll figure out what’s going on and—”

“Don’t worry,” I interrupted soothingly. “Not that kind of investigating. I’ve been reading journal articles and relationship books”—Okay, technically what I’d done was glance over the abstracts and conclusions, but that’s where all the good stuff was, so I didn’t feel I was misleading him, not really—“and from what I know of you and Bianca’s relationship, what you have going on is positive, healthy, and sustainable.”

“Yeah?” Mitchell perked up. “What should I do now?” He could have been a human version of a puppy, albeit a very large one.

“If it was me,” I said, “I’d just talk to her.”

“Sometimes I think about doing that.” Mitchell stared at his mug, a chipped version of the one he’d given me. “But then I wonder what if I got this all wrong? I don’t want to be like my buddy at that Tigers game.”

I suddenly got a hint of what it might be like to be a guy—or at least a guy like Mitchell—and I got an inkling of how the possibility of humiliation could shape life decisions.