Лори Касс - Cat With A Clue

“If this is all about books, you should be extra careful.” I thumbed toward the front of the store. “You have books, too.”

Rianne blinked, then laughed. “Minnie, I appreciate your concern, but I can’t think that our small selection of paperbacks is going to tempt anyone, no matter what this is all about.”

I’d expected that kind of reaction, but I stuck to my theme. “We don’t know what’s going on. Until this is over, please be extra careful.”

“This one be careful?” A tall man entered Rianne’s office. He wore the unofficial summer uniform for Up North male professionals: khaki pants, a polo shirt, and a blazer. “She hasn’t been careful since the day she was born, and probably was a problem to her mother in utero.”

Rianne rolled her eyes. “So nice to see you, Paul. Minnie, don’t ever hire an attorney who used to babysit you. There’s just no respect in the relationship.”

“From either side,” Paul said. “For example, when her attorney asks her to get together the items listed in her grandmother’s will for distribution to the family, she puts the list who knows where and says she’ll look when she has time.” He spread his hands. “And that will be when? October? Back before Cal died, I went through the house myself to put together the list, so I know there’s not much. Meanwhile, the estate remains unsettled and the papers continue to clutter my desk.”

His tone was jocular, but there was an undertone of annoyance. I stood. “Well, I should get going. Thanks for letting me take so much of your time, Rianne.”

“Not a problem,” she said. “I’m glad you stopped.”

Paul held out a business card. “In case you never need an attorney,” he said. “Any friend of Rianne’s is a future client of mine,” he said, laughing.

I smiled. I already had an attorney, Shannon Hirsch, who’d set up my will and advised me on some estate issues. Shannon had been one of the people who’d answered my call to help set Pam’s store to rights. “Thanks,” I said, taking the card and sliding it deep into my backpack. “You never know, do you?”

He grinned. “Nope. That’s why we have insurance and lawyers. You can’t prepare for everything.”

“Sounds like a tagline,” Rianne said. “All you need is a tune, and you’ll have the best lawyer jingle in the north.” She hummed a nonsense tune.

Paul laughed. “Lawyers don’t do jingles. It’s beneath our dignity.”

“Oh yeah?” Rianne challenged. “Didn’t I see you wearing the ugliest holiday sweater in the history of ugly sweaters?”

“That was twenty years ago.” He dropped into the seat I’d just vacated. “Way past the statute of limitations for embarrassment.”

I nodded my good-byes and walked out. As I made a left turn, back into the store, I heard Rianne say in a low voice, “What’s going on with Aunt Kim—do you know?”

Paul gusted out a sigh. “All I can say is, Bob Parmalee hasn’t been in to see me in months.”

“The rest of the family is saying they’re going bankrupt,” Rianne said in a shaky voice. “I keep wanting to call, but you know how they keep to themselves. They spend more time in Petoskey than they do in Chilson.”

“Almost makes me glad your grandparents are gone,” Paul said. “They would have been devastated about a bankruptcy in the family.”

I eased away, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping— Sorry, Mom. I won’t eavesdrop ever again, but if I do, I promise I’ll feel horrible about it afterward —and walked out into the store.

“All set?”

I looked at Brian Howe, latest in the long line of DeKeyser relatives to spend a summer working in the store. “Yes, thanks,” I said, and headed out into the day.

But as much as the sun and the fresh air tried to distract me from my dark thoughts, on the way back to the library, all I could think about was how money was one of the most common motives for murder.

Chapter 10

“Excuse me,” said a polite voice.

I jumped. “Sorry,” I said, moving away from the middle of the grocery store’s aisle, which was where I’d parked myself and a small cart. “I was just . . . thinking.”

The sixtyish woman sent a vague smile in my direction and moved on past.

“Good job,” I muttered. “Next thing is you’ll start talking to yourself in public.” I glanced around fast, but I was alone with the spices and baking supplies.

Which, truly, was a strange place for me to be, considering my inclination to cook as little as possible. Then again, even noncooks had to feed themselves once in a while in order to avoid spending too much disposable income in restaurants.

Then I remembered that eating out could be considered doing my bit to help the local economy. Commendable, that’s what it was, not indulgent.

Cheered, I faced the spices and tried to remember what it was I used for the steak dry rub I’d made last summer and liked so much. I shoved my hands into my pockets and tried to think, but my brain kept going back to my chat with Rianne and the conversation about her aunt Kim.

It was easy enough to imagine that a pending bankruptcy could drive almost anyone to do deeds she—or he—would never have considered otherwise. But in this situation, I still had no idea if there was anything involved that was worth a lot of money.

“Maybe whatever it is, it’s worth something that isn’t money,” I murmured. Which led me back to the possibility I’d posed to Ash and Detective Inwood, that this thing someone was looking for might be a tell-all journal. Of course, that didn’t tie back to Aunt Kim’s need for money, so maybe—

“Can I help you?” asked a male voice.

Startled, I whirled around to face the twentysomething store employee who’d asked the question. He wore black pants, a black cap, and a polyester short-sleeved shirt in a color that did nothing for his skin tone. “Uh, no, thanks. I was just . . . looking.” As I manufactured a fake smile, I realized that I’d seen him recently. My fake smile grew fixed. This was the guy who’d looked vaguely familiar at Cookie Tom’s. This was the guy who’d yelled at me for cutting in line. Angry Guy.

The expression on his face shifted from polite to hostile. He was recognizing me, and there was no Cookie Tom around to save me.

I put my chin up. I was short, but I was strong and invincible in many ways, none of which I could remember just then, but if I had a few minutes, I was sure I would. I didn’t need Tom. I had myself.

“You’re that librarian ,” he said, making it sound like a swearword. Certainly it was italicized.

I glanced at his name tag. Shane Pratley. “Hi, Shane,” I said politely, holding out my hand. “Yes, I’m the bookmobile librarian. Minnie Hamilton. We got off to a bad start the other day. I understand that you’re upset about the arrangement I have with Tom, but I think I can explain.”

My arm was getting tired from holding my hand out for so long, but I gamely kept it up there. “Tom’s a longtime supporter of the bookmobile, you see. He’s a big believer in getting books to people who can’t come to the library. His margin is so slim that he can’t afford a big donation, even though he’d like to, so giving me a discount on cookies and letting me jump the line is his way of—”

“I don’t care what Tom thinks.” Shane pushed my hand away. “You got no right to take cuts. That’s just wrong.”

What was wrong was his rudeness. This was a man who was desperately needed to borrow an etiquette book from the library. Why was it always the people who needed a library the most were the least likely to visit one?

Of course, this was a tricky situation, because in principle I agreed with Shane; cutting in line was wrong. Then again, if I wanted to provide cookies to the bookmobile folks, and I did, zipping to the front of the line was the only way it was going to happen.