Лори Касс - Booking The Crook

“Sorry,” I said. “My thoughts were wandering, and . . . oh. Hey, Debbie. Here to check out the new releases?”

Debbie Ottavino smiled as she buttoned her black velvet cape and pulled on bright pink mittens. “Not today.”

I widened my eyes dramatically. “Don’t tell me your husband has convinced you to start reading science fiction.”

She laughed. “Not yet. And no trying to convince me that The Martian was science fiction. That was a survival story from start to finish.”

“You’ve almost changed my mind on that one. What did you check out?” I asked, nodding at her leather messenger bag. “Anything fun?”

Debbie lived in Chilson, worked for an accounting firm in Petoskey, and was the library’s auditor. In some ways she was the stereotypical accountant—just the facts and nothing but the facts, please—but she also shattered that stereotype by having a tremendous sense of humor and a flamboyant sense of style.

“Well, I think it’s fun,” she said, “but I’m an accountant, and you know how skewed our worldviews are. Then again, Graydon and Trent were all smiles just now, so maybe it’s contagious.”

I watched her push out through the double doors. The annual audit was done, so why would our auditor be meeting with the library director and the library board president now? And what could possibly be making all of them happy?

While the library’s finances were stable, we could always use more revenue. Josh wanted a new server, it would be great to expand our programming, and I’d love to be open more hours, but we couldn’t afford the staff time. And then there was that nagging need to start saving for a new bookmobile. Sure, this one was only a couple of years old, but they didn’t last forever and it would be better to start stashing money away now.

The whole thing was making me nervous, a feeling I hated. Add the weird questions that Graydon and Trent had been asking and you have a recipe for Minnie anxiety that rivaled driving over the Mackinac Bridge in the dark during a howling snowstorm.

I divested myself of outer clothing in my office and headed upstairs. “Knock, knock,” I said, poking my head in Graydon’s office. “Do you have a minute?”

“Hey, Minnie.” He smiled and clicked his computer’s mouse. “What’s up?”

“I just wondered why Debbie was here. Is everything okay?”

“Oh. Sure,” he said. “I mean, they’re fine. It’s just . . . Trent and I wanted to go over a few things with her, is all. Trying to get more familiar with the library’s financials, not just now but the past, too, if you see what I mean.”

Sort of, but not really. That was another reason I’d decided against applying for the library director’s job; to me, financial statements were a mystery, and not the fun kind with a plot and characters and snappy dialogue.

“Okay,” I said. “Because you’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

He smiled. “You’re my assistant. I’ll always need help.”

I nodded and left him to his work, but it wasn’t until I was halfway down the stairs that I realized he hadn’t answered my question. Frowning, I considered my options. Should I ask Trent? Or the board’s vice president?

No, and no. Reason number one against stepping over my boss to satisfy my curiosity was that it would be a rotten way to treat Graydon. Number two against was I barely knew Trent and hadn’t known the vice president very long, so asking a semi-sneaky question was a poor foundation for what I hoped would be long and productive relationships.

Which meant I was stuck. Being glued in place without any way to get to my objective was frustrating. Which meant a crappy mood for Minnie until I pulled out of it.

I took a deep breath, tried to summon a happier frame of mind, and felt myself failing. Rats. What was it Aunt Frances said? “This, too, shall pass,” I said out loud as the stairwell door shut behind me.

“True words,” Stewart Funston said. He was standing in front of the drinking fountain, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “But you can make time pass faster by having as much fun as possible.”

I tried not to glare at him, but that’s how my look probably came across, because I was still cranky. “Sounds like what people say to justify the dumb things they do. Like that time you vandalized the principal’s office.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to grab them back. “Stewart, I am so sorry. I’m in a bad mood and I’m taking it out on you.”

Smiling ruefully, he waved away my apology. “One of the worst things about living in the town where you grew up is that your youthful escapades never go away.”

“Makes me glad I moved north.”

Stewart laughed. “I find it hard to believe you’ve ever strayed from the straight and narrow.”

Now why did that annoy me? I was, in fact, pretty much a Goody Two-shoes, but somehow I didn’t like people knowing. “Well, sorry again for dredging up your past,” I said, and went back to my office, thinking that I wouldn’t classify the damage that Aunt Frances had described (“furniture reduced to kindling”) as a mere escapade.

• • •

Just as I was finishing the bookmobile’s April calendar—well done, Minnie; this is the earliest you’ve ever sent out a schedule!—my cell phone made its incoming call noise. At lunch, Rafe, thinking he was funny, had downloaded the bleats of a herd of goats as my ringtone, and since it was actually pretty funny, I hadn’t yet changed it.

I flipped my phone over and saw it was Barb McCade. “Hey, Barb. What’s up?”

“We will be, or at least we will in a few minutes.”

“Should I act as if I know what you’re talking about, or should I admit that I’m clueless?”

Barb laughed. “We’re at the Traverse City airport, waiting for our row to be called.”

“Heading back to the sun and sand?”

“More rock than sand,” she said. “Have you ever been to Arizona? No? You have to come visit us someday.”

“Sounds great,” I said, although I wasn’t being completely sincere as I was not a fan of snakes, big spiders, scorpions, or anything remotely similar. While I understood that Arizona was outstandingly beautiful, I wasn’t certain that I’d fit in well with all of its creatures. “Did Cade finish his new series?”

“Close enough,” Barb said. “He’s going to let them sit until we get back here in April. The time lag will do him good. I think they might be his best work ever, but you know Cade.”

I laughed. “Right now he thinks they’re so horrible that he’s on the verge of whitewashing them all.”

“With a big fat brush,” Barb said. “Anyway, I just wanted to hear how Kristen was doing.”

“She’s fine. Already back at work.” She’d actually returned to tending bar less than a week after her fall. When I’d questioned the wisdom of that decision via text, she’d texted back: Being bored makes me think about starting a new restaurant .

Me: In New York? Scruffy would like that.

Kristen: Not in winter. Brr.

Me: Their winters aren’t like Chilson winters.

Kristen: Colder than Key West.

There was no point in arguing with that, so I didn’t. How Kristen and her fiancé were going to work out their geographical separation once they were married was still a big question mark, but I’d long ago put that on the list of things I wasn’t going to worry about.

Barb said, “Good to hear. I wouldn’t want my favorite chef to have a permanent injury. The world would be a lesser place without her crème brûlée. And now we really have to go. See you in April, Minnie!”

“Have a good—” But she was already gone.