Лори Касс - Wrong Side Of The Paw

The man standing on the lawn chuckled. “Sorry about that. You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

“Not enough to need an ambulance,” I said, still rubbing. “But houses don’t move much when you bonk into them.”

“If any house would, it’d be this one.”

I stopped my self-ministrations and looked at the guy. He seemed affable enough. Sure, I was looking at him through a half light that was growing darker every second, but his hands-in-pockets pose, along with an easy smile and a baseball hat that proclaimed him the WORLD’S GREATEST GRANDPA, combined for a nonthreatening persona. “What makes you say that? Are you Ray Boggs?”

“Neighbor. Or I was until they stuck that in the ground and headed off.” He nodded toward the real estate sign. “I told them I’d keep an eye on the place, so when I saw your headlights, I came over to make sure that someone wasn’t up to nefarious deeds.”

By this time I’d walked off the porch and stood in front of him. “Minnie Hamilton,” I said, offering my hand. “Assistant director and driver of the bookmobile for the Chilson Library.”

“Fred Sirrine. Retired from Ford Motor Company.” As we shook hands, he asked, “So what are you doing out here? Hope you’re not chasing down overdue fines; the Boggses haven’t been around in weeks.”

“Not today.” I debated how much to share. “A minute ago, you implied the house wasn’t built well.”

He glanced at the structure. “I shouldn’t have said that. All I have to go on is what Ray and Gail told me. Secondhand information isn’t a good way to form an opinion.”

I started to wonder what Mr. Sirrine had done for Ford. “Sometimes secondhand information is the only kind available.”

“The formation of an opinion should wait for solid data,” he said firmly.

“Oh, dear,” I said. “Then I’ll have to take back the opinion I’m already forming that you’re a nice man.”

He laughed. “Point taken. But getting back to my question, what are you doing out here?”

“I’m not looking for overdue fees, but I would like to talk to the Boggses. Do you know where they moved?”

“They had a place in Royal Oak when they built this for a weekend getaway, but they sold that when they thought they’d stay up here year round. After last February, though, they’d had enough of snow and cold. They put it up for sale and rented a condo near Santa Fe.”

“So they’re in New Mexico?” If so, I didn’t have much chance of finding them.

He shook his head. “That was only for the winter. They said they’d be staying at their other place in Michigan, but who knows?” He eyed me. “You going to tell me why you’d like to talk to my former neighbors?”

“Dale Lacombe, the contractor who built the Boggses’ house, was killed two weeks ago.” My new friend nodded, and I went on. “His daughter is a friend of mine and I’m just . . .” Just what? Think, Minnie, think! “Just following up on some of the clients he’d had troubles with.”

Fred eyed me. “Following up,” he said.

“Yes.” It was my story and I was going to stick to it. “I’m trying to help,” I said. “The family is . . . having a hard time.”

“I imagine.” He looked at me, at the house, then back at me. “You do realize that the Boggses and Lacombe ended up in court.”

“Yes, and I was hoping to talk to them about that. To clear the air, if nothing else.”

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and adjusted his Grandpa hat. “If Ray or Gail had been in town when Lacombe was killed, then you’d have some ideal candidates for the murder. They could hardly say his name without spitting. I assume that’s what you’re really doing here? Trying to find out who killed your friend’s dad?”

Was I that obvious? I sighed. “Leese is a lawyer. She grew up around here and moved back home this summer to open her own business and . . . well, she’s having a hard time right now.”

Fred flicked another glance at the house. “Please tell me she’s a better lawyer than her dad was a builder.”

I smiled. “She and her dad didn’t get along.”

“Good to know. Well, good luck to you,” he said. “It’s commendable that you’re trying to help your friend, but take care. Don’t forget there’s a killer out there.”

And with that comforting thought, he gave me one last nod and headed back into the woods.

• • •

The next morning I woke up, put one foot outside the covers, then pulled it back with a yelp. “Hokey Pete! It’s cold out there!”

I carefully reached out for my cell phone, keeping my hand under the sheet, blankets, and comforter until the last possible moment. Even then, my skin went all prickly with the temperature change. I ducked all the way back under the covers, turned on the phone, and opened the weather app, which showed a temperature of twenty-nine degrees.

That couldn’t be right. The weather people had predicted a low in the mid-forties.

I poked at the phone and checked the current temperatures in Petoskey, Charlevoix, Mackinaw City, and Bellaire. All were hovering just below freezing.

“How could they be so wrong?” I asked out loud.

“Mrr,” said Eddie’s muffled voice.

“At least you have a fur coat,” I said, then made a few more taps that resulted in my aunt’s voice saying, “Let me guess. You want to move to the boardinghouse today.”

“Yes, please,” I said meekly. “Very much, please.”

She laughed. “Come on up, dear heart. You know you’re welcome any time.”

Immediately after the bookmobile day ended, the Eddie delivery took place. He studied his surroundings, emitted a very loud “Mrr!” and promptly jumped onto the back of the couch, where he’d spent a large portion of the previous winter. I drove to the marina and started heaving things into boxes.

It wasn’t the most organized of moves, but the unexpected cold snap was motivating and Aunt Frances, Otto, and I hauled the last item out of my car and up the stairs just past ten o’clock that night.

Aunt Frances surveyed the array of boxes, totes, and grocery bags strewn across my bed, the floor of my bedroom, and the hallway. “Do you know where anything is?” she asked.

“Not a single thing,” I said cheerfully. “Except for this.” I hefted the small duffle bag that I used for overnight visits.

Otto looked around. “I’m surprised you could fit this much stuff into that little boat.”

“Cabinets and drawers can hold more than you think. It’s all in the packing.”

“But why do you move everything back here in the winter? Couldn’t you leave most of this down there?” He grinned. “Certainly the kitchen equipment we hauled up won’t get used.”

I laughed. “Are you kidding? I hardly use any of this stuff on the boat. To answer your question, though, the first winter I did leave a number of things in place. Then a squirrel got in.”

“Ah.” Otto nodded. “Thus the moving.”

“Thus.” I pointed at the boxes. “Aunt Frances, I promise I’ll have everything organized and either put away in my room or up in the attic by Sunday afternoon.”

“Take your time,” she said. “That is, as long as you have everything out of the hallway before you go to work on Monday.”

I held up my hand, Girl Scout promise style, and vowed to do so. I’d have to go down to the boat one more time to do what my brother called a Paranoid Check, making absolutely sure one final time I hadn’t left anything behind, but I’d already called Chris Ballou, the marina’s manager, and asked him to get it out of the water.

Otto rubbed his hands together. “All righty, then. I say it’s time, don’t you, Frances?”

“Way past,” she said, and the two turned and started to make their way downstairs. “Minnie, are you coming?”