Лори Касс - Tailing A Tabby

“After the Fourth of July,” Chris said, wincing. “Man, I’m getting too old to stay up all night.”

I left the Four Stooges to their stories of all-night parties and headed to my houseboat for a quick dinner of nacho chips and cheese. With salsa, which would count as a vegetable with anyone except my mother.

While I ate, I pondered the looming cloud on the horizon that was Thessie’s upcoming college trip. All the people I’d already called had pleaded houseguests or other commitments and I had no idea what I was going to do.

After dishes and a see-you-later hug for Eddie, I set out to visit Cade at Lakeview to let the volunteer problem bounce around in my head. There were a couple of people interested in taking over from Thessie once school started, but in summer it was difficult to get people to donate their time.

I yearned for the day that Stephen was going to recognize how much the bookmobile was doing for the library. Outreach, image, and presence were all improving in an anecdotal evidence sort of way, and circulation was up compared to this time last year.

“October board meeting,” I said out loud as I walked into Cade’s room.

“Why wait?” he asked. “Do it in September.”

“But you don’t want to rush things, either,” Barb said. “Maybe November would be better.”

I looked from one McCade to the other and laughed. There was no possible way they could have known what I’d been mumbling about, yet they’d joined into my narrative without a pause. “Can’t do September,” I said, “because I won’t have time to get the August circulation numbers into report form before the meeting. And by November everyone is concentrating on the holidays.”

“Sounds as if you have whatever it is well in hand.”

“Don’t I wish.” I sat down. “But my most immediate problem is that I’m losing my bookmobile volunteer for a week and the library board insists on having two on board.”

Sadly, it had to be two humans. There had been one time that I’d danced closely with prevarication and led Stephen to believe that there were two people on board when it had actually been just Eddie and me, but I didn’t want to push my luck.

“Does this volunteer actually drive the bookmobile?” Barb asked.

I grinned. Thessie kept trying to convince me that letting her drive made sense—“for backup, just in case you break both feet, or something”—but it wasn’t going to happen. “Library policy is employees only,” I said, “and any driver has to take a commercial driver’s license class.” Truck-driving school would have been better, but it was a long and expensive course. “The bookmobile volunteer checks materials in and out, helps patrons find books. Normal library stuff, only it’s on a bookmobile.”

Barb grabbed her purse and excused herself.

“Hey, watch this.” Cade lifted his weak arm, made a fist, then released it. “Not bad, eh?”

I clapped loudly. “That’s fantastic! You’ll be painting again in no time.”

He started to make another fist, but this one fell apart halfway through. “Time being a relative term,” he said, but there was humor at the back of his voice. “So, tell me.” He glanced up at the open door. “Have you made any progress with… with…”

“With you-know-what?” I supplied.

His face, still uneven from the stroke, twisted into a smile. “Exactly.”

“Sort of,” I said.

“As I recall,” Cade said, “our deal was that you ask a few questions of a few people. You’re sticking to that agreement, yes?”

I filled him in on what I’d found out so far, ending with the fact that Hugo Edel had mentioned Carissa hanging out on Trock’s set. He did some nodding and some frowning, then said, “Trock Farrand. I’ve met the man. A little flighty, I’d say. Be careful, Minnie. Someone killed Carissa, and I don’t want anything happening to you.”

“Careful as I’d be in a crystal shop.”

“One more thing,” Cade said. “Please don’t say anything about your efforts to Barb.”

I blinked. And here I’d thought they shared everything. “If that’s what you want, sure. But why?”

“For her own peace of mind. Please. The police have been silent for days and if she hears you’re looking into this, she’ll be worried and get upset all over again and I don’t want that for her.”

I swallowed. True love. That’s what these two had. I couldn’t speak, so I gave a weak nod instead.

It must not have been very convincing, because Cade leaned forward. “I’m sure you think it’s silly, but—”

“That man thinks everything is silly,” Barb said as she breezed in. “Don’t take it personally, Minnie. The only thing he’s ever taken seriously in his life is his painting, and I’m not always sure about that.”

She smiled at her husband fondly. “Now, what was it you two were arguing about?”

“Whether or not ‘de rigueur’ is a real D word,” I said. “What do you think?”

She considered the question, then made her pronouncement. “Doubtful.”

“Darn,” I said, sighing dramatically, and left them to their evening.

Chapter 12

Two things accompanied me to bed that night, a brand-spanking-new copy of Bernard Cornwell’s latest historical novel and an Eddie. Both were heavy, but both gave me comfort, and after a relaxing hour of reading about the early days of England, I turned off the light and slept the night through.

The next morning, I was halfway through my prework preparations when I realized I wasn’t scheduled to work that day. And since I was the one who made up the schedule, there was no excuse for my early rising.

“Here I am,” I said. “All dressed up and almost ready to go. Now what?”

I asked the question of Eddie, who had squeezed himself onto the houseboat’s small dashboard. Since I docked the boat nose-out, the dash not only allowed a view of Janay Lake and the passing boats, but also showcased seagulls, mourning doves, swallows, the occasional evening bat, and every so often a bald eagle.

He hunched down and made a cackling noise at the feathered creatures that were wheeling about.

“You do realize those birds are on the other side of the window, don’t you?” I spooned up the last bite of cereal. The bottom of the bowl held a cat-sized pool of milk. “Ready, Eddie?”

The second he heard the light thump of the bowl hitting the floor, Eddie leapt down and trotted over for his morning treat.

I listened to the noise of his laps. “You know, my mother always said to eat with my mouth closed.” Eddie ignored me. When he finished with the milk, he sat down and began cleaning his back leg, which had mysteriously gotten dirty when he was drinking.

That wasn’t something I had much interest in watching, so I started sliding out of the booth.

My movement startled Eddie. He jumped, squirreled sideways, and fell over, all four legs scrambling for purchase on the smooth flooring. After an eternity of effort, he managed to right himself. One long jump later, he was back on the dashboard, staring at the birds as if nothing had happened.

But one thing had. Eddie’s bumbling antics had given me an idea for the day’s activities.

• • •

A little bit of Internet searching and one phone call later, I tracked down the location of the day’s filming of Trock’s Troubles , the cooking show that had made Trock Farrand a national celebrity.

Or at least a national celebrity in certain circles. For someone like me, who wasn’t overly interested in food except as fuel, the man’s name had scarcely been heard except from my aunt and my down-to-earth best friend who started talking in giggles when asked if there was any chance her restaurant was ever going to be featured on the show.