Лори Касс - Tailing A Tabby

“Practically health food.” Ivy leaned down and reached her fingers through the wires of Eddie’s cage. “Hey, Mr. Ed. You doing okay in there?”

I glanced over. Eddie was rubbing up against her and I could hear his purring even over the bookmobile’s engine. “If he’s not, it’s his own fault.”

“Oh?” Ivy sat back and rearranged her shoulders, making herself comfortable. “I hear a story coming. Tell all.”

So we drove across the county, west to east, me relating the main story of Eddie the Stowaway and How He Managed to Become a Fixture on the Bookmobile and then the almost as important substory of Why the Library Director Must Never Know.

Ivy was an excellent audience, laughing, gasping, and sniffling in all the right places. When I came to the end, she reached down and gave Eddie another scratch as we drove into the outskirts of the village where our first stop was scheduled. “You’ve created quite a dilemma for Miss Minnie, Mr. Eddie.”

“Mrr,” he said.

Ivy laughed delightedly. “It really does feel as if he knows what you’re saying.”

“He excels at sarcasm,” I said. “Especially when—”

“What’s the matter?” Ivy asked.

There was concern in her voice, but I didn’t look at her. Couldn’t, really, because my gaze was stuck on the sight of two of my aunt’s boarders walking along the sidewalk, hand in hand.

I squinted. Maybe I was seeing things. It was early, after all. Maybe my eyes weren’t all the way awake yet.

“Minnie?”

But no. The sight was undeniable. There was Paulette, whom Aunt Frances had matched with Quincy, side by side with Leo, whom Aunt Frances had matched with Zofia. They were gazing happily into each other’s eyes, goopy smiles on their faces. “Oh, jeez.”

“You’re sure you’re all right?”

This time I spared a glance away from the road and looked at Ivy. “Sorry. I’m fine, it’s just…” The idea of explaining the inner workings of the boardinghouse was daunting. How could I possibly start this story?

“It’s just what?” Ivy asked. “Tell me, Minnie. You look troubled and who better to confide in than someone you barely know?”

I thought about it. In lots of ways, she was right. “Okay. I have this aunt…”

By the time I flicked the turn signal in preparation for the wide right turn into the parking lot of an elementary school, I’d already described the typical boardinghouse summer. I braked the bookmobile to a complete stop, and by the time we opened the doors, I’d pretty much covered everything.

“So you see the problem?” I asked.

“The only problem I see is getting your aunt to stay out of other people’s business.”

She’d spoken with a smile, but it was clear that she thought Aunt Frances’s efforts were misguided. Up until that moment I’d thought Ivy and my aunt could be great friends. Now I realized that it would be best if they never met.

“Any more problems I can help with?” Ivy asked, laughing.

“How about employee relations issues? Any experience there?” Not that Mitchell was an employee, but I didn’t want to tell anyone I had a problem with a library patron.

“Not an ounce. One of the beauties about working for yourself and then teaching college is not having employee issues.” We greeted a young woman and three children coming up the steps; then Ivy turned back to me. “Minnie, I know you’re looking for answers, but sometimes there aren’t any. Sometimes you have to go with your instincts and hope for the best.”

I sighed. “I’m not sure my instincts are up to the job.”

Ivy clapped me on the shoulder. “Now, don’t go all whiny on me. You’re smart and you’ll figure things out.”

“Oh, honey,” the young woman said. “You should have asked first.”

I whipped around. Her little honey had stuffed his mouth full of Kristen’s maple-flavored candies. Candies that had come out of the jar for the guessing contest.

My knee-jerk reaction, which was to shriek at the top of my lungs, warred with my training to take everything in stride. There was a short battle, but my training slid into the lead.

I took the jar out of the child’s hands. “Sorry,” I said politely but firmly, “this candy is for a contest.” I handed out the slips of paper. “Here’s a form for guessing the number of candies. If your guess is closest to the correct total, you win the candy and the bookmobile will come to your house.”

“But Charlie ate some of the candies,” one of his siblings said. “You don’t know the number anymore.”

“Yeah,” said the remaining sibling. “And maybe other people have taken candies, too. How are you going to pick a winner if you don’t have the right number?”

My smile grew more fixed. “We know the number of candies we started with. We’ll count them again and use the average for the winning number.” And after the recount, I’d tape the lid down with half a roll of duct tape.

The kids protested that it wasn’t fair. I nodded, agreeing that it probably wasn’t, introduced them to Eddie, and they immediately went into cat rapture.

I watched, shaking my head. Eddie had saved the day. Wonders truly never did cease.

• • •

“I can’t believe you talked me into this, Minnie-Ha-Ha.”

I looked over at Chris Ballou. We were about to walk through the front door of Crown Yachts, and Chris was still whining. “What I can’t believe,” I said, “is that you’re complaining about talking to some guys about boats.”

At lunchtime, I’d been thinking about what I knew and didn’t know about Greg Plassey and Trock Farrand and Hugo Edel. In pursuit of more information, I’d called Crown to ask Hugo if Carissa had said anything about a professional athlete. And if, during our conversation, he let something slip about the depth of his involvement with Carissa, well, that would be just a little bonus, wouldn’t it?

When I’d been told he was out for the day, I’d had the brilliant idea of getting Chris to come with me to Crown after work. It was my experience that every employee is more forthcoming when the boss isn’t around. Chris could legitimately talk to a salesguy about a boat for Greg, and while he was talking I could show the picture of Carissa around and see what I could see.

At the end of the bookmobile day, I’d dropped Eddie off at home and gone to the marina office to coerce Chris into helping. It had taken the promise of a six-pack of The Magician from Short’s Brewing Company in nearby Bellaire, but he’d eventually agreed.

“It’s not that,” Chris said now. “It’s that you didn’t give me time to get ready.”

“For what?”

“Asking about Crown boats. I got a reputation to keep up. Don’t want these guys thinking I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

I raised my eyebrows and opened the door for him. “A smart guy like you?” I asked. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“Yeah, well.” He grinned. “Whatever you got cooking, I can play along. You ever going to tell me what this is all about?”

I smiled but didn’t say a word. If you told Chris anything, it was best to assume the entire town of Chilson, half the county, and a hefty percentage of the region would have the same information within a day. Or faster.

“Good evening.” A middle-aged man came toward us, his hand outstretched. He wore a navy blue jacket, a white polo shirt, khaki pants and… I looked down… yes, deck shoes without socks. “How can I help you?” he asked.

In seconds, he and Chris were deep in a conversation about boats suitable for a former Major League Baseball pitching star, complete with pantomime of a curve ball delivery. At least that’s what Chris said to the guy, claiming he was taught the windup by Greg Plassey himself.