Лори Касс - Tailing A Tabby

“What degree was the diploma for?”

But she shook her head. “I didn’t get that close a look at it.”

After a pause, I asked, “What was Carissa like? Her personality, I mean.”

Abby pointed to Janay Lake. “Like that. All shiny and sparkly. She was one of those happy people, the kind that make you smile when they walk into a room. I can’t think of anyone who didn’t like her.”

“Even her neighbor, Rob?”

She smiled. “Even Rob. He’s been all broken up since she died. Not that there was anything going between them. He and his girlfriend have been dating forever. Carissa was like a little sister to Rob.”

Enough like siblings that murderous anger could have been spurred up during a spat of teasing? I gave the idea some thought, then gave it a pass. If the killer had been so obvious as to be the next-door neighbor, the police would already have latched onto him.

“Did you know Carissa very well?” I asked.

There was a moment of quiet. “I’d like to say yes,” she said, “but since I got the news, I’ve realized that I hardly knew her.” Abby watched the lake far below us. “I didn’t know her hopes and dreams and I didn’t know what she lay awake at night worrying about. I didn’t even know why she moved up here.”

Her sadness tugged at me, but I knew what she meant. There were people who let us into their lives, and people who didn’t.

“I worry about losing my eyesight,” I offered.

Abby pulled in a shaky breath and smiled. “I worry about knee replacement surgery.”

“I moved up here because this is my favorite place in the whole world, even in March.”

She lifted her glass to me. “Here’s to Chilson.”

“To Chilson.” We tinked glasses. My hand, I was happy to notice, didn’t shake at all.

• • •

After riding back to the marina, switching my bike for my car, and taking a short drive, I walked through the main entrance of Crown Yachts and into a cavernous showroom featuring extremely large, very shiny, and amazingly expensive boats. A chair at the desk near the front of the room was occupied by a twentysomething guy whose attention was completely focused on his smartphone.

At my question, he made an over-there gesture with his head. “Hugo? I think he’s in his office.”

The guy’s thumbs were moving rapidly, but from this angle I couldn’t tell if he was texting or playing Angry Birds. “Should you call ahead, let him know I’m coming?”

“Nah. Hugo’s okay.”

His being okay wasn’t what I was worried about; it was whether or not he’d be annoyed at my unannounced arrival. I wanted him friendly, not irritated. But I shrugged and made my dwarfish way around the massive boats, being exceedingly careful not to touch anything. My mother had instilled the “if you break it you buy it out of your allowance” creed in me at a young age.

The first office door off the showroom floor was large and spacious and sported a brass label that read HUGO EDEL, PRESIDENT. The man inside, who was fit with short hair and tanned skin, was standing in front of a paper-covered desk, staring at a set of boat plans, talking on a cell phone, and tapping a particular spot on the plans over and over.

“Phil, I know you want that storage compartment next to the head, but—” A torrent of words came through the phone’s receiver. Edel listened, then said, “Right. I’ll get the designer to work on it.” He clicked off the phone and looked up at me. “Good morning,” he said, then frowned. “No, wait. It’s afternoon, isn’t it?”

The phone in his hand buzzed. He looked at the readout. “Sorry. I have to take this. Sit down, if you can find a spot.”

I tried not to listen in on his conversation, but it was a little hard to pretend I couldn’t hear him when we were less than ten feet apart. I picked up a pile of Crown Yachts brochures, sat down in the chair where they’d been, and did my best to show an interest in boats I would never be able to consider purchasing.

As soon as that phone call was over, another one began. He held up his index finger, indicating that he’d be with me in a minute, and I contented myself with choosing what color fabric to upholster my yacht’s master suite in.

“No more.” He turned his phone off and tossed it, skittering, across the boat plans. “Hugo Edel. What can I do for you?” He came around the desk to shake my hand.

I introduced myself, adding that I was the bookmobile librarian.

He smiled, and ten years dropped off his face. “I’ve seen you driving around. That looks like a great job. I’m a little jealous.”

“It’s not all fun and games.” I said, then grinned. “But to tell you the truth, a lot of it is.”

He laughed and leaned against the edge of his desk. “So, what does the bookmobile librarian want with Crown Yachts?”

I made my smile as warm as I could. “As the library’s assistant director, I get stuck with doing everything that the director doesn’t have time to do. In this case, it’s fund-raising. I’m contacting the area’s most successful businesses and asking them to consider a donation.” It was a brilliant idea, and I was glad I’d thought of it that morning.

Edel was losing interest fast. “I’m afraid our donation budget is tapped out for the year.”

I nodded. “Sure, I understand. That’s why I’m talking to you now, so you can keep a donation in mind for next year.” I handed him my card. “Do you have any questions? Lots of people want to know about the bookmobile.”

Sadly, he didn’t have a single one. This meant I was forced to take a more direct approach to the Carissa question than I would have liked.

“Say,” I said, “I know where I’ve seen you before. Didn’t I see you having dinner with Carissa Radle a couple of weeks ago? You know, that poor woman who was killed?”

“Rotten thing to have happen,” he said. “But sure, I had dinner with her. There’s lots of wining and dining in this business. She was asking about boats for some car client of hers from downstate.” He tipped his head back, considering me. “You’re not thinking that I had anything to do with her death, are you?”

I opened my eyes innocently wide. “What? Oh, gosh no. I just remembered seeing you, that’s all.” Well, technically Faye had seen him, but that was close enough.

“Okay, then,” Edel said. “Because if you thought she seemed interested in me, you’re wrong. Once we got done talking about boats, she mostly talked about how much fun it was to hang out on the set for that TV cooking show they film around here.”

“ Trock’s Troubles ?” I asked.

“That’s the one.”

And I suddenly had another lead to follow.

• • •

The twentysomething guy waved at me as I left. “Have a nice day!”

I walked into the small vestibule area, and, with my hand reaching for the doorknob, came to a sudden halt.

A trim, fiftyish woman was using the door’s glass as a mirror. She pushed a stray strand of hair into place, patted a little color into her cheeks, checked for lipstick on her teeth, gave herself a bright smile, then opened the door.

“Oh!” She stopped abruptly. “I didn’t know anyone was there.”

I’d stepped backward, but there was no getting around the embarrassing fact that I’d caught her primping. There were two options here, either politely ignore the incident or make the most of it. I smiled and said, “You look great.”

A faint red stained her cheeks. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I hope you have a nice day.” She gave me a nod and walked into the showroom.

“Hey, Mrs. Edel,” I heard the twentysomething say. “How you doing?”

So the woman who was so concerned about how she looked was Annelise Edel, Hugo’s wife. Hmm, I thought, as I left the building.