Лори Касс - Pouncing On Murder

“Your phone isn’t the only thing that went into the water, I hear.” Stephen gave me a once-over. “But I can see that you came out without injury.”

“Yes.”

Our conversation, such as it was, languished.

“The book fair went well,” he said.

“It did.” Was this why he’d expected a call from me today? He’d made an appearance at the fair, and at that point he’d seemed agreeable to getting the final numbers for attendance on Monday, but maybe he’d woken up this morning and found that he couldn’t wait. “If you’re looking for the final numbers,” I said, “I won’t have them until tomorrow.”

“Hmm?” He was looking at Janay Lake. “No, no, tomorrow is fine.”

Then why was he here? I had things to do, friends to chat with, and cats to pet. I shifted from one foot to the other, trying to figure out what was going on and failing completely.

“Minerva,” he said suddenly. “I am leaving Chilson.”

“You . . . what?” This didn’t make sense. Last winter he’d told me he would be retiring in about six years and that he’d been grooming me to take his place as director of the library. “But—”

“My plans have changed,” he said. “I’ve been offered a job in Georgia, close to family, and it’s an opportunity that seems tailor-made for me.”

I realized that I knew very little about Stephen’s personal life other than vague knowledge of a sister. I supposed he must have had parents, and there was a rumor that he had children, but some things are harder to imagine than others and I hadn’t yet expended the energy it would take to envision Stephen diapering a baby.

“When?” I finally asked. “Are you leaving, I mean.”

“They would like me to start the first of June.” He kept his gaze on the lake. “I just notified the library board, and they will be starting the search for a new director next week.”

“Oh,” I said.

“I have also told them that they couldn’t do better than to select you.” He paused. “There are a number of board members, however, who think there is an obligation to do a wider search.”

No surprise there. Besides, they were probably right. “Thank you, Stephen.”

“No need for thanks. The board has made no decision.” He nodded toward the lake, started to walk away, but stopped and half turned toward me. “Good luck, Minnie,” he said.

I blinked. Then, when I still didn’t know what to do, I blinked again at his retreating back. “Well,” I said out loud.

“What was all that about?” Kristen called from the marina’s patio.

I held up my index finger, indicating I’d be right back, and went to the houseboat. “Hey, Eddie, are you awake?” When I’d left, he’d been curled up on the bed and snoring louder than I’d thought it possible for a cat to snore. “Eddie, where—ow!”

My cat looked up at me innocently, as if he hadn’t just whacked my chin with the top of his hard head.

I picked him up and gave him a good snuggle. “Want to go sit outside with Aunt Kristen?”

“Mrr,” he said, straight into my face. Cat food breath wafted over me, but I didn’t feel like complaining, not after last night.

“So,” I told him, “Stephen thinks I should become the new library director. Which sounds good in a lot of ways.” One of which was money. I’d make not quite double what I was making as assistant director. And I’d be able to expand the children’s programming, and I’d be able to do more outreach, and all sorts of other things that Stephen had resisted doing. “But what would I do about the bookmobile?” Because there was no way I’d have time to drive the bookmobile if I was director. “I love driving us around and—”

Eddie put his paw across my lips.

“You’re right,” I murmured as I rearranged him into a shoulder snuggle. “I’ll think about it later. It’ll all work out, won’t it?”

“Mrr,” he said, and started purring.

Sometimes the advice of a cat is the best advice of all.

Read on for a sneak peek of Minnie and Eddie’s next adventure,

CAT WITH A CLUE

Available August 2016 from Obsidian!

In my almost thirty-four years of living, I’d discovered that there were remarkably few things I absolutely had to do.

Yes, I had to feed and clothe and house myself, but besides those basics, there wasn’t much that couldn’t be put off for the sake of sitting for a few minutes in the morning sunshine, especially when said morning sunshine was smiling down on my very own houseboat, which was resting comfortably on the sparkling waters of a lovely blue lake alongside Chilson, a picturesque town in northwest lower Michigan that happened to be my favorite place in the whole world.

I lay flopped in my lounge chair, eyes closed and soaking up the sun, content with pretty much everything and everyone. Life was good and there wasn’t much that could improve it other than making this particular moment last even longer. Peace and quiet reigned throughout my little land. There were things to do, but they could wait. Nothing I had to do that day was so important that it couldn’t be put off for a few more minutes and—

“Mrr!”

Of course, my idea of what defined important didn’t always match my cat’s.

I opened my eyes and looked at Eddie, my black-and-white tabby, who was approximately three years old and who had placed his nose two inches from my face.

“You know,” I told him, “if you’d gone out with us, you wouldn’t have so much energy.”

For the past few weeks, I’d actually been exercising. Sweating, even. I’d been meaning to start working out for a long time, but it had taken a number of gentle suggestions from Ash Wolverson, my new boyfriend, to get me to invest in some decent running shoes. A few more suggestions and I’d started hauling myself out of bed early three times a week to run with him. Luckily, he swung by the marina four miles into his own run, so he’d already had a good workout by the time we got together.

“Think about it,” I said to Eddie. “You’ll sleep even better during the day.”

He blinked.

“Right.” I patted him on the head. “You never have trouble sleeping during the day. It’s the nights that are a problem. What do you think about going for a run in the late afternoon?”

“Mrr.” Eddie pawed at yesterday’s newspaper, which was sitting on my lap. I’d stayed at the library late the night before and had been too tired to do anything except reread 84, Charing Cross Road when I got home. Since my boss, Stephen Rangel, had left his job as director of the Chilson District Library, I was interim director until the library board hired someone. This was stretching me a little thin, because in addition to my normal duties as assistant director, I also drove the library’s bookmobile and was out of the building almost as much as I was in it.

“Which section do you want to hear first?” I asked, picking up the two-section paper.

“Sports, please,” said a male voice.

I looked over toward my right-hand marina neighbor. Eric Apney, a fortyish male of undeniable good looks, was sitting on the deck of his boat, eating a bowl of cereal while a mug of coffee steamed next to him.

My left-hand neighbors, Louisa and Ted Axford, had spent summers in the slip next to mine for years and would usually be in residence by then, but a new grandchild had captured their hearts and Louisa had e-mailed me that they wouldn’t be up until mid-July.

Eric, who lived downstate but spent as much time in Chilson as he could, was new to Uncle Chip’s Marina. I’d met him a few weeks before and had turned down his invitation to dinner when I’d learned he was a doctor and, worse, a surgeon. I’d recently dated an emergency room doctor for almost a year and had learned that with doctors, dates were things that were made to be broken. Maybe I was being prejudiced, but my reaction had been instant and instinctive.