Лори Касс - Lending А Paw

“Soon,” I agreed.

The pair went down the steps, Brynn waving to Eddie over her mother’s shoulder and chattering about the dress she wanted to bring for Eddie to wear next time.

“Pretty cat,” Surfer Girl said.

“Pretty much a pain in the butt,” I muttered.

“Sorry?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, turning, “he is a good-looking cat. My name’s Minnie, by the way.” I held out my hand. She shook it briefly, but didn’t give her name, and didn’t stop looking at the Edster.

“Where did you get him?” she asked.

A sudden and paralyzing fear struck at me. What if Surfette here was Eddie’s real owner? What if he’d done the running thing on her, run for miles and miles, and ended up in the cemetery? What if she’d been looking high and low for months? No wonder she was acting so weird.

“I, um.” I couldn’t lie, not on the bookmobile. “I got him from a friend.” Alonzo Tillotson, if I remembered the name from the headstone correctly, born 1847, died 1926.

“Oh,” Surfette said, still staring at Eddie, who had settled himself on the carpeted step that ran underneath the shelves.

The fear continued to pick at my stomach. “We only have a few more minutes at this stop,” I said. “If you’ve found a book you’d like to check out, please take it to the front checkout. If you’d like to order a book for us to bring next time, we can do that. All we need is your name and—”

“Oh, no, I’m good. Thanks.”

She fled.

Thessie looked from the door to me and back. “What was that all about?”

I put on a puzzled expression. “No idea.”

• • •

Happily, the rest of the bookmobile run went without a hitch. Eddie and Thessie engaged in a mutual admiration society. He purred, she cooed, and I tried not to make gagging noises. Back at the library, Thessie helped me get Eddie into the picnic basket and spotted for me during the transfer from bookmobile to car.

“Same crew next time?” she asked, winking.

“We’ll see,” I said.

• • •

The next day I got to the library early. With the numbers from the bookmobile continuing to exceed expectations, I wanted some time to think about how to get more runs into the schedule.

I was in the act of carrying my first cup of coffee into my office when I heard the unmistakable sound of Stephen’s footsteps.

“Morning,” I said, toasting him with my Association of Bookmobile and Outreach Services mug. “Can I get you . . .” But once I got a good look at him, I could see that coffee wasn’t going to do him much good. In addition to the previous danger signs of rumpled hair and clothing issues, now Stephen also had the ashen skin that spoke of exhaustion. What the man needed was sleep.

“The library board . . .” He slid his index fingers under his glasses to rub his eyes. When he opened them again, he spied my mug. “Is that coffee?” He held out his hand peremptorily.

I held the mug out to him. “Stephen, are you okay? You look beyond tired.”

He knocked back half the contents of the mug, paused, then drank the other half. “I’m fine.”

Riiiight. And I was the Queen of the Library. But if he didn’t want to discuss whatever it was that was bothering him, I wasn’t going to badger him to talk. Not today, anyway. Tomorrow was a different matter.

“The library board,” he said, “has been in contact with the executors of Stan Larabee’s estate. His relatives have indicated that they’ll be contesting the will.”

Just as Rafe had said. For once the word on the street had been right. “They won’t be able to break it, will they?”

“Extremely doubtful. But the issue could tie up dispensation of the will for as long as his family wishes to pay lawyers.”

“I heard he had a lot of sisters.”

“Six,” Stephen said.

I’d often wondered what it would be like to have a sister or two. I’d never once wondered what it would be like to have six.

“The library board is concerned,” he went on. “If the news gets bandied about that the library is losing Larabee’s bequest, they fear we’ll lose other sources of money, and you know how much this library depends on donations.”

“But that’s nuts,” I blurted out. “No one except you and the board knew the library was getting money from Stan’s will until a week ago. And, anyway, why would any potential donor care?”

“The library board is concerned,” Stephen repeated. “It’s our job to allay their concerns. With that in mind, we need to consider alternative sources for donations. As I recall, you are meeting with Caroline Grice this evening. The gallery will be closed, yes? Good. Sound her out for becoming a library supporter. A onetime ‘no’ isn’t necessarily a permanent no. You have a certain expertise at noting people’s reactions and emotions. Notice hers and exploit them.”

“I . . . what?”

“The library is depending on you,” Stephen said.

“It . . . is?”

“We need to head off any financial troubles before they start. Now is the time, and you’re in the right place at the right time. It’s up to you, Minnie.” He upended the coffee cup, swilling down the last drops. “I’ll expect a complete report first thing tomorrow morning.”

And off he went, taking my favorite mug with him.

• • •

“Minnie? Hey, Minnie!”

I slowed, then stopped in the front lobby, as Holly hurried to my side. The day had passed quickly, and now late-afternoon sun spilled over both of us, blinding me and putting Holly into dark silhouette.

“Sorry, sorry to bother you,” she said, her words running over the top of one another. “I wanted to catch you since I won’t be in tomorrow. Do you have a second?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Remember, a little while ago, I was downstairs and you said . . . you said that you’d try to help prove I didn’t kill Stan Larabee . . . and I was wondering, you know, if you really meant it?”

“I promised,” I said, stepping close to her and lowering my voice. “So, yes, I meant it.”

“Right.” She smiled, relief washing over her face. “So, um, have you found out anything?”

What I’d discovered was that many residents of Chilson were getting far too much enjoyment speculating about murder, that rumors did, in fact, travel faster than the speed of light, that the new doctor in Charlevoix was appearing in my dreams, and that it was going to take hours and hours to clean the Eddie hair out of the bookmobile.

I started to say something to that effect. Luckily, I took a good look at Holly before I opened my mouth.

Her brown hair, normally shiny and smooth, had a straggly look. Her face looked almost gaunt and her hands didn’t know what to do with themselves. They were in her pockets, cupped around her elbows, around her upper arms, back to her pockets.

She was worried and scared and she was relying on me. But what could I tell her? Rumors? No way was I going to repeat those stupid stories. Yet what else was there to say?

“There’s a chance,” I said, “that I’ll learn something soon.”

“Really?” Hope shone in her eyes.

No, not really, and I was already sorry I’d said so. “Just a chance,” I said. Firmly. “It’s not as if I have any experience doing this. All I can do is listen and—”

“But you’re so good at listening!” Smiling, she nodded, apparently reassured by my seeming confidence.

Unfortunately, she was the only one.

• • •

“Thank you so much for meeting with me, Mrs. Grice.”

“Caroline, please.” The older woman smiled. She wasn’t showy or even glamorous, but the simple lines of her white shirt spoke of a tailoring that was designed to flatter without being revealing, to complement without drawing attention to itself.