Лори Касс - Wrong Side Of The Paw

Our library director, today dressed in a silky gray jacket and skirt with four-inch heels and hair in a tight bun, crossed the lobby without a glance toward her employees. Donna shook her head. Softly, I said, “Mitchell Koyne says he’s not coming back to the library until Jennifer is gone.”

“He’s not the only one,” Donna muttered. “Half the staff feels like that.”

“Sure, but I think Mitchell’s serious.”

“So am I.”

I stood there, struck to silence by the quiet confidence in her tone. If the library had a mass exodus of employees, we would be in serious trouble. It was hard finding qualified people to work long hours for relatively low pay. Sure, working in a library, especially this library, was an incredibly rewarding job, but not everyone was willing.

“Donna,” I said, “please—”

The loud call of my cell phone’s ring tone cut into a plea to keep me abreast of any potential resignations. Somehow I’d forgotten to silence the phone when I’d walked into the building. I pulled my backpack around and fumbled through it, feeling my face burn hot with embarrassment. Me? I was the jerk who forgot to turn off her phone in a library? Me?

My fingers found the phone, but I couldn’t stop myself from looking to see who was calling. “Weak, I am so weak,” I murmured, pulling out the phone.

It was Leese.

Though I almost thumbed it to decline, something made me push the Accept button. “Hey,” I said. “What’s up with you on this gorgeous fall day?”

“Mia,” she said with a gasp. “This time it’s Mia.”

My stomach clutched itself into a tiny hard ball. Waiflike Mia, who’d endured anorexia and who knew what else as a teen. Mia, who’d just lost her father. Who had felt so guilty over his death that she’d turned herself in for his murder even though she’d been hundreds of miles away at the time. “Is she okay?” Please , I thought, let her brother be okay. Let Carmen be okay. Let all of them be okay.

“Physically, I think so.” Leese, big and strong Leese, had a voice full of tears. “Emotionally, I don’t know.”

“What happened?”

“Where she works. They’re blaming her.” Leese huffed out the words one by one. “She’s responsible for the company’s computer servers. It’s all gone.”

“Gone? What’s gone?”

“She’d installed new servers last week. And they crashed. Crashed dead. All their data, all their proprietary software, all their designs and data. All of their everything. Along with all of their cloud storage. It’s just . . . gone.”

My mouth went dry. “Where is she now?”

“Here. At my house. In my spare bedroom, lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling.” Leese swallowed loudly. “They didn’t fire her, but she says it’s only a matter of time. She’s suspended. If this sticks, she’ll get a reputation and won’t be able find work like this ever again. Computers are the only thing she knows.”

I made soft noises of comfort as best I could, but all the while my brain was shrieking at me, saying one thing over and over again.

This was just like Brad’s suspension from the brewing company.

Just like. Was the Lacombe family having a horrible run of bad luck? Or was someone targeting them and picking them off, one by one?

Chapter 15

“There has to be a connection,” I said. My right hand held the phone to my ear while my left was making broad gestures that could have endangered innocent library patrons if I hadn’t removed myself to my office. “How could there not be?”

“Ms. Hamilton—”

I cut off Detective Inwood. “Yes, I know. You’re going to say that in law enforcement there’s nothing even close to a ‘has to be.’ You’re going to tell me that you need proof and that you’re exploring all avenues of investigation.”

There was a short silence. “It occurs to me,” the detective said, “that you’ve learned a tremendous amount about police techniques in the last year or two.”

“Yet it isn’t helping,” I said, and my tone was close to snippy. Back off , I told myself. Getting Inwood angry would not be helpful. After pulling in a short calming breath, I said, “It seems way outside the realm of coincidence that both Brad and Mia could have made significant mistakes at their respective workplaces.”

“Indeed it does,” Detective Inwood said.

“Really? You agree with me?”

“And since both of them,” he went on, “have suffered the recent loss of their father, a loss compounded by the tragic fact that he was murdered by person or persons unknown, it’s not unexpected that they would be distracted.”

“So you don’t agree with me,” I said flatly.

The detective’s sigh blew into my ear, which was more than a little weird. “Ms. Hamilton, I’m not certain what you’re asking me to agree with.”

And suddenly, neither was I. My first inclination, which had been to call Ash, had faded as soon as I started typing in the phone number for the sheriff’s office. Sure, we were still friends after the least emotional breakup ever, but it was early in the Friends Only phase and I didn’t want to interfere with how that was progressing. So I’d asked for Detective Inwood when what I should have done was hang up the phone and thought harder about what I was going to say.

Luckily, Inwood hadn’t paused for my response. “If the brewing company asks us to investigate a possible criminal act, we will. Likewise, if Ms. Lacombe’s place of work asks the Charlevoix County Sheriff’s Office to investigate a criminal act, I’m certain they will do so. It’s not up to me to chase down theoretical crimes when I have enough to do working on the ones that are already in front of me!”

Another short silence filled the phone. “Yes,” I said quietly. “I know.” And I did. Ash had told me many times how hard Inwood worked and how badly they needed another experienced detective. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

The detective sighed again. “Ms. Hamilton, I’m the one who should apologize. I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

“And I shouldn’t have bothered you about something like this.”

“Please believe that we are working very hard to build a case for the arrest of Mr. Lacombe’s killer,” Detective Inwood said. “And please believe me when I say that I can’t say any more.”

I half smiled. “All avenues of investigation . . .”

He picked up the end of the phrase he’d told me many times. “Are being explored. Thank you for the call, Ms. Hamilton,” he said. “I do appreciate your willingness to assist our office.”

“Only maybe not quite so often?” I asked, but he’d already gone. “Just as well,” I muttered, spinning my chair around to sit. As I flopped down, once again I had the thought that I was missing something, that I wasn’t looking at something the right way, wasn’t considering the right angle, wasn’t remembering something critical, wasn’t remembering . . .

Jennifer.

Not fifteen minutes earlier I’d vowed to talk to her that very day. Before I could convince myself that I was too busy, I stood and headed up the stairs to her office. There was no time like the present.

All the way up the stairs, I tried to come up with a way to broach the subject. The knee-jerk “Did you know Mitchell Koyne won’t set foot in this place until you’re gone” didn’t work for a number of reasons. “I’m not sure I agree with you one hundred percent about the changes you’ve been making” was too vague and a little wishy-washy.

When I reached the second floor, a solid plan still hadn’t materialized. “Won’t be the first time,” I muttered to myself, and knocked on the doorjamb of Jennifer’s office.