Лори Касс - Cat With A Clue

Mitchell faced me. “Do you? Do you really? Or are you just saying so because you like to have me around to make fun of?”

His accusation stung. I didn’t want to think it was true, but I was the least bit afraid there was some truth in what he said. My mother would have been ashamed of me, and for good reason. I flushed. “Mitchell—”

“And you know what?” he said, interrupting, yet another thing that was very un-Mitchell-like. “It’s kind of stupid. All these years people have been telling me to get a real job, and now that I’m working like crazy, people are asking me why I’m working so hard. I can’t win for losing.”

He had a point. A very good one. And when I told him so, he shrugged again.

“Anyway,” he said, “I bet you’re working as many hours as I am at your one job than I am at all of mine put together.”

“That’s different.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, and there was the old Mitchell, right there in front of me. “How’s that exactly?”

I opened my mouth to respond, couldn’t think of anything to say, and closed it again.

Because there was a strong possibility that there was no difference.

* * *

“Your splits are getting faster,” Ash said.

“My what?” I asked, panting. My body was not made for doing splits. The last time I’d tried had been in third-grade gym class and, if I thought about it, the humiliation still stung, so I’d done my best not to think about it for the past twenty-odd years.

“Splits,” he said, not panting at all. “Your mile times on our runs. They’re down almost thirty seconds since we started running together.”

How nice for me. And as soon as I found the breath enough to say so out loud, I would.

But as soon as I had the uncharitable thought, I tried to unthink it. Most runners wouldn’t slow down so much for a friend. This wasn’t helping Ash’s fitness level at all; he was only doing this for my sake. To spend time with me.

And I did enjoy our morning routine. No matter what I did the rest of the day, I could think back to this run and know I’d done something right.

We were about halfway through our normal route, which started out at the marina and went up the hill, through downtown and its outskirts, toward the high-priced real estate on the point, then back along the edge of Janay Lake along the public walkway.

“How about trying for a fast quarter mile?” Ash asked. “Bet you can do under two minutes.”

A few weeks ago, I’d been happy enough to run three miles at all; now I was trying to improve my times. “You think?” I asked, trying not to gasp.

“Sure,” he said easily. “Interval training is the way to go.”

If I’d had the wind, I’d have asked, “The way to go where?” but I didn’t, so I didn’t.

“We can start at the next intersection.” Ash pointed ahead. “Through the last block of downtown, past the gas station, past the church, and up to the Point Road. That’s a quarter mile. I’ve clocked it.”

“Sure,” I said. What the heck. I didn’t mind pushing myself. I might even learn what an interval was.

His running watch made some beeping noises, and when we reached the upcoming intersection, he said, “Go!” at the same time his watch made another beep.

I put my head down and concentrated on my running. Don’t be a rabbit, I told myself. Don’t go out too fast. Set a pace you can maintain for a couple of minutes. You can do anything for two minutes.

So I tried. I really did. But then, in front of the office to the local propane dealer, I saw a man who looked familiar. He must have heard our footsteps, because he turned. “Morning, Minnie,” he said.

I slowed to puff out, “Morning!” then worked to return to my former pace, but must have been distracted by trying to remember the guy’s name and missed my target time by ten seconds.

It wasn’t until I was showered, dressed, breakfasted, and walking to the library that something went click in my brain and I remembered why I knew the guy in front of the propane company. Or at least I’d been introduced to him. He was the attorney for Talia DeKeyser’s estate, the one I’d met in Rianne’s pilot’s house of an office. Peter? Paul? Something like that.

For some reason, I was suddenly embarrassed, which made no sense because I had, in fact, said good morning; I just hadn’t remembered his name.

And then, since the thing was done and there was nothing I could do about it, I put the incident from my mind.

* * *

“Long time no see,” Josh commented.

Startled, I jerked the coffeepot and narrowly missed pouring hot coffee all across the counter. “What are you talking about? I was here yesterday afternoon. And all day Friday.” I counted back. “And Wednesday and Monday and the—”

“I mean mentally here.” He picked up the coffeepot I’d set down and filled his own mug. “The past two weeks you’ve been walking around like a zombie, hardly paying attention to anything anybody says.”

My knee-jerk reaction was to deny all, but I had a sneaking suspicion he was onto something. And it was one of those somethings I would address as soon as I had a spare few minutes. Of course, when that might be, I didn’t have a—

“Minnie, I need to talk to you right now.” Denise Slade stood in the doorway of the break room, her arms crossed.

“Have fun,” Josh murmured. “Hey, Denise,” he said in a normal voice. “See you later, okay?”

And he was gone.

“Hello,” I said to Denise. “How are you this fine morning?”

“What?” She frowned. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

I could have mentioned a number of reasons, starting with the death of her husband less than a year earlier, moving on to the troublesome situation in the Middle East, and ending with the cost of bacon, but I just smiled and asked, “What’s up?”

“Here.” She uncrossed her arms and brandished a piece of paper. “It’s that list of names you wanted, all the Friends who worked in the book-sale room.” She flapped the paper up and down, which made a bizarrely loud noise.

I walked around the table and reached out to take the paper from her. “Thanks, Denise. This really—” I stopped. The list, which I’d anticipated to have four or five names, had more like twenty. “All of these people worked in the sale room that week?”

“No idea,” Denise said. “Say, can I get a cup of caffeine? I’ll even take it if you made it.” She laughed.

Silently I took a mug from the cupboard, checked its insides for dust, and poured it full of coffee. When I handed it to Denise, I also pushed over the small tray that held creamer, sugar, and a jar taped with a note that said, Please donate to our coffee fund . Ignoring the jar, Denise added two packs of sugar and one pack of creamer to her mug.

Denise stirred the contents of her mug with a spoon and then laid the spoon on the table, where it would leave a small puddle, “That list is all the people who were scheduled to work this month.”

Though it was wonderful that the Friends had so many people who volunteered for the good of the library, the task of calling them all would take a while. “I thought you said you’d know who worked that week.”

Denise paused in the act of sipping her coffee. “I do. They’re on that list.”

I almost looked around for the rabbit hole I must have fallen into. “Which ones?”

“Minnie,” she said, frowning at my obvious stupidity, “I told you already. They’re on that list.”

“But you can’t tell me which ones?”

“Are you nuts? Of course I can’t. Maybe you have time enough on your hands to waste it doing that kind of paperwork, but I have better things to do.”