Лори Касс - Tailing A Tabby

Comfortable was good. It might be a long night.

• • •

“A pointless night,” I told Eddie when I returned at half past four. Tried to tell him, anyway, since I was doing as much yawning as talking. “Who would ever have expected the Olsons to show up on a Tuesday and have a party?”

It had turned out that Tuesday had been Mrs. Olson’s birthday and Gunnar had surprised her with a quick trip north via chartered aircraft large enough to hold their closest friends, of which I now knew there were many.

Cade and I had stayed in place until long past the hour when all the partying people had gone to bed, but our quarry hadn’t shown. “The only danger involved was the danger of falling asleep,” I murmured sleepily.

My furry friend flicked his tail at me and jumped down. I followed him, still yawning, as he stalked through the kitchen, down the steps, past the bathroom, and into the bedroom, where he jumped up on the spare bed and started rubbing his chin against the bulletin board. I’d installed the magnetic bulletin board a few weeks ago when I discovered that my former cat-free existence had given me habits that did not suit a life with cats. Specifically, how I kept track of my household paperwork.

In the old days, I’d put all my receipts in a tidy pile in the middle of the spare bed until I got around to checking my credit card and bank statements. Now I stuck the small slips of paper to the board and hoped they didn’t attract Eddie’s attention.

“Not a cat toy,” I said, pushing at his hind end and twisting him away from the latest object of his affection. “There’s nothing about a magnetic board that should interest you.” I started pulling my sweatshirt over my head. “I mean, can’t some things be off-limits? For example, I don’t eat your cat food, so why do you—”

A small thunk set me on pause. So much for asking nicely. I yanked off the sweatshirt and inspected the Eddie damage.

“Not so bad,” I said, pulling the small calendar out from underneath the furry black-and-white body and putting it back where it belonged. “Pulling down the receipts would have made a much bigger mess. Better luck next time.” I leaned down to kiss the top of his head.

“Mrr,” he said.

“I know just what you mean,” I said, and gave him another kiss.

• • •

For the first time ever, I was glad the next day wasn’t a bookmobile day. With my level of fatigue, it was extremely possible that I could have fallen asleep at the wheel, and that wasn’t a possibility I wanted to dwell upon at all.

I made it through the morning by pouring copious amounts of coffee down my throat and decided the best way to stay awake through the early part of the afternoon was to take an informal inventory of the reading room. Check on the wear of the magazines, straighten the newspapers, all things to keep me on my feet and conscious.

As I put the copies of Time magazine into chronological order, Mitchell’s booming voice bounded across the room. “Minnie! Hey, Minnie! Guess what?”

He was grinning and more full of life and energy than I’d ever seen. I’d been ready to tell him my guess was that he’d decided to enter the world beard and mustache championship, but he looked so happy that I didn’t have the heart. “Hey, Mitchell. What’s up?”

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About what you and Holly and Josh have been saying, and I think maybe you’re right. I should get out more. It’s good to try new things, right? Keeps the old noggin going, yeah?”

He tapped the side of his head. It made a hollow sound, but that could have been my imagination. “So you know what I’m going to do?” he asked. “I’m going to open my own business. It’s going to be great, and I’m sure I’m going to be real busy real soon. I probably won’t be hanging around here as much anymore, but I’ll stop in every once in a while so you remember my name.” He laughed, flashed a dazzling smile, and bounced out.

I stared after him. Mitchell was starting a business? What could it possibly be?

“Well, well, well.” Stephen stood in the reading room’s doorway, his arms folded on his chest. “Looks like you’ve finally taken care of The Situation. Excellent work, Minnie. Nicely done.” He gave me a nod and strode off.

Excellent work? I hadn’t done a thing. And nicely done? I wasn’t so sure.

At all.

• • •

All that afternoon and through the evening I mentally tossed everything I knew about Carissa into a big pot and tried melting it together.

As I should have known, all that did was make a big muddled soupy mess that gave me no answer in particular and only made my stomach start to hurt. I didn’t feel any closer to keeping Cade out of jail now than I’d been the day I vowed to help him.

The next day was a bookmobile day. Being out and about, bringing books and good cheer to the countryside, should have made me feel better, but the black cloud of fear hung on my horizon all day. On the plus side, Thessie had returned, and her chatter about her college visits kept my darkest doubts out of view.

We had a busy stop late in the day, which was our favorite kind of stop. Kids looking for books, teenagers looking for books, adults looking for books. It did my heart good to see the bus so crowded, and when I heard footsteps creak up the stairs, I turned, ready with a welcoming smile.

“Hello,” I said, then stopped. “Hey, Brett.” The man, tallish and thinnish, with sandy brown hair, looked at me oddly and I realized it wasn’t Greg Plassey’s friend at all. It was just someone who resembled him.

“Sorry.” I gestured an apology. “I thought you were someone else.”

“I get that a lot. Guess I have one of those faces,” he said, shrugging. “I was wondering—can I get a library card here or do I have to go into Chilson?”

Happy day! Was there any job better than this? I reached for the forms and a pen. “All you have to do is fill this out. I’ll give you a temporary card now and send you a permanent one tomorrow.”

He put the paper down on the computer desk, scribbled in his name and address, and handed it back. “That’s it?” he asked.

“Easier than buying groceries,” I said. “If you want, you can go select any books you’d like, and by the time you’re done, I’ll have you entered in the system and…”

In the act of turning away, he paused when I did. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“Your name.” I stared at the form.

“Oh. Yeah, sorry about my handwriting. It’s Randall,” he said. “With two L ’s. Last name is Moffit, two F ’s, one T .”

I looked at the form. Looked at him. “You have a cousin named Faye.”

“Sure. She’s the one who told me I should try the bookmobile.”

“You dated Carissa Radle.”

He shifted. “Yeah. Hate that she died, but we’d been over for a couple of years. I’m dating a dental hygienist these days.” He smiled, showing bright white teeth.

I pointed him in the direction of the thrillers and watched, thinking, as he browsed through the Stuart Woodses and James Pattersons.

Randall Moffit and Brett Karringer looked enough alike to be brothers. Randall had dated Carissa. And I remembered Jari saying that Carissa had said she needed to break out of her lean build and sandy brown hair boyfriend rut. Jari had said the Weasel lived downstate. Brett lived downstate. Could Brett be the Weasel? Could Brett be the killer? Could Greg’s golfing accident have been a murder attempt?

The questions tumbled around in my brain. I needed to find Greg. For the first time ever, I was in a hurry for the bookmobile day to be done.

At long last, the forty-five-minute stop was over. Thessie and I started shooing people in the direction of the door while Eddie surveyed our efforts from his new perch on the dashboard. Finally only Randall was left. As I slid his checked-out books over to him, he handed me a slip of paper. “My guess for the contest,” he said, gesturing at the candy jar, whose lid was now firmly taped shut with clear packaging tape.