Лори Касс - Pouncing On Murder

“You know Ross Weaver?” Maybe everyone did, except me.

“But of course.” He chuckled, and I could almost see the big man’s round face all puffed up with laughter. “It’s New York, Minnie dear. The biggest small town in the world. Besides, we share a publisher.”

“A . . . publisher?”

“Dear, dear girl. Didn’t you know I was coming out with a cookbook? Yes, I resisted the lure of publication for years, so much work, you see, but I was finally convinced to assemble a collection of my favorite recipes. Delectable, every single one, and the pictures are exquisite.”

“Sounds nice,” I said.

Trock tsk ed at me. “You are not getting the point, my curly-haired young friend. My cookbook was released this week. And I will fly to your tiny little airport on Friday so I can appear at your book fair on the a.m. of Saturday.”

My mouth got stuck half-open. The only noises that came out of me were odd squeaky ones that made Eddie pick his head all the way up off the comforter and look around.

“Is that an acceptable solution to your difficulty, Ms. Hamilton?” Trock asked.

I sniffed. “That’s . . . that’s . . .” Sniff . “That’s wonderful. You’re wonderful. But I can’t let you. It’s too much. It’s too far to fly for a little book fair. I can’t let you spend that kind of money.”

“Ha.” He scoffed. “My son tells me I’m made of money. And if money can’t help me do a favor for a friend, what good is it?”

Sniff . “None, I guess. Trock, you’re—”

“Indebted to you for many reasons,” he said gruffly. “And stop blubbering. It’s unlike you, and far, far worse, it’s making me uncomfortable.”

Which made me laugh. I gave him the details of the event, asked how many books he could bring, asked if he had anything special he wanted us to provide, thanked him again, and ended the call. Then I jumped out of bed.

“Mrr?” asked a sleepy Eddie.

“Sorry, pal,” I said, grabbing my laptop from the other bed and turning it on. There were Facebook posts to make and a press release to write and e-mails to send and an emergency flyer to convince Pam to create.

“This is going to be great,” I murmured. Trock hardly ever made public appearances in Chilson; it was his vacation home and he didn’t like to tape there unless the show’s schedule demanded it. To have him volunteer to attend the book fair—in the off-season, no less—made it even more of a special event.

The book fair was a go. “It’s clear sailing from here on out,” I told Eddie. “Nothing else could possibly go wrong.”

I really should have known better.

Chapter 16

The next morning I woke up to sunshine.

“Which is the best way to start the day,” I said to my unmoving feline friend. But his inactive state was understandable because slightly over half of his body was lying inside the sunshine and nothing short of an irresistible force was going to get him to relocate.

And since I had the morning off, nothing short of an immovable object was going to keep me from heading off into the wild blue yonder and checking out the timing on a couple of new bookmobile routes.

So as soon as I’d showered, dressed, and breakfasted, I was out the door and into my car, stopping only to get my standard provisions of a can of diet soda and a bag of popcorn.

I timed the possible routes while driving at bookmobile speed, and considering the parking options at three new homebound patrons. “It’ll work,” I said, nodding to myself. How I’d manage to squeeze the new routes into the current schedule was a different question, but it wasn’t one I was going to worry about on this gorgeous spring day full of open skies and sun and trees that were growing leaves as fast as I could watch.

But on my way back toward town, while driving over forested hill and lake-filled dale, my mind circled back to Henry and Adam.

How, I wondered, could I find out if Felix was being truthful when he said he hadn’t been on Henry’s property before Henry was killed? Who would be able to tell me? Was there anyone who might be able to—

A small mental lightning bolt zinged my brain all the way awake. “Duh,” I said out loud, and took the next left. Five minutes later, I was puttering up Irene and Adam’s driveway.

Irene opened the door. “Good morning! Is it a bookmobile day?” She peered outside.

“I was driving around, planning some new routes. I have a question for Adam, that’s all. Will he let me come inside if I don’t have any books?” I spread out my empty hands, palms up.

“No,” he called.

Irene laughed and opened the door wide. “Don’t listen to him. He’s only cranky because the doctor just told him he can’t start working again until the full two months is over.”

Which explained why Irene was here and not at work—she’d taken Adam to the doctor. “It’ll be here before you know it,” I told him. “And then you’ll be complaining that you have too much work to do.”

But the worried glance Irene gave her husband made me rethink my casual statement. Adam was self-employed. If he couldn’t get his clients’ work done on time, they’d go elsewhere, perhaps never to return.

There was nothing I could do about that, though, so I perched on the edge of the couch and said, “Adam, I was wondering. Did you see anyone at all near Henry’s property? Not necessarily the day he died, but any time you were out there. A neighbor, a friend of Henry’s who stopped by, a door-to-door salesman, anyone?”

“Do you mean guys only?” Adam asked. “Because I don’t remember seeing anyone other than that redhead.”

“What redhead?” He’d never mentioned her. “When did you see her?”

“Day before Henry died. So, the first Saturday in April.”

“Was she a neighbor of Henry’s?”

Adam shrugged. “Henry said he’d never seen her before, but he also said a couple of houses on the lake had sold over the winter, so who knows?”

“What was she doing?”

“Not much.” He laughed. “Not the way she was dressed. Wearing those stupid little boots that aren’t really boots at all but heels that go past the ankle. No hat, no gloves, jeans tight as paint, and a short jacket that wasn’t long enough to keep her waist warm, let alone her rear end.”

Irene and I shared a glance. “Sounds as if you got a close look,” Irene said. “She was pretty, too, I bet.”

“Not my type,” Adam said, shaking his head. “Seriously high maintenance. And definitely not the kind of girl who’d be able to take down a tree, let alone a huge one in a certain direction at a certain time.”

I wanted to speak up in defense of womanhood, to say that you never knew what people were capable of, that it didn’t do to underestimate anyone, but Adam was getting that “I need a nap” look, so I thanked him and got up to leave.

“I’ll walk you out,” Irene said.

Outside, clouds were sliding over the sun, so instead of a comfortable chat in the sunshine, we stood next to my car, shivering in a rising wind.

Irene hunched her shoulders and rubbed her upper arms. “There’s something I need to tell you. I know I’m probably being stupid and please don’t tell anyone because it’s probably not true, but I have to tell someone, and you know all about this, so I thought you’d be the one to tell.”

“Okay,” I said, not smiling, because in spite of her run-on sentence she seemed deadly serious. “Tell.”

She blew out a breath. “I think there might have been another attempt on Adam’s life.”

• • •

“Here’s where I figured we’d put the big guy,” Gordon said.

Gordon, whose last name I hadn’t figured out, was the owner of the company who was supplying the tents for Saturday’s book fair. Tent rental had originally been my boss’s idea, and I’d objected to the expense at first, saying that it was a small fair, that we could hold it inside the library, but he’d told me to use my imagination. This had, of course, irritated me no end, since I was the one with the imagination, not him, so I’d stood there in his office and closed my eyes, trying to see what he was seeing.