Лори Касс: Lending А Paw

But a better question was, why had Larry lied? He’d told Kristen the injury was from softball and he’d told me he’d cut himself, yet it was really a break. Why the multiple lies? Maybe he was just one of those guys who was trying to tell the best story. Sure, that could be it.

“It’s easier than you think,” Tucker said. “Saw a lot of it, downstate. From street fights, but also people who’d get mad and haul off and hit a wall. Metacarpals with spiral fractures? Those guys are in a world of hurt for a long time. Surgery, nerve damage, sometimes they never get their strength back a hundred percent.”

He talked about the importance of physical therapy for full recovery and how the length of recovery varied tremendously, but all I kept hearing was the loop of my question and his initial response.

How hard is it to break a bone in your hand?

Easier than you think.

• • •

Eddie and I sat out on the houseboat’s front deck, me on the chaise lounge in shorts and sweatshirt, Eddie warming my lap as the sunset glow faded. I’d set the chaise in the exact center of the deck. No chance of any accidental fallings-in tonight.

“Mrr,” Eddie said, snuggling in closer to me.

“Yeah,” I told him, petting him long from head to tail. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

I’d asked Tucker if he wanted to come aboard. “Love to,” he’d said, and I’d started smiling. “But I have to work tomorrow, so I’d better get home.” So, once again, it was me and my pal Eddie hanging out.

In a minute, I’d go figure out who was hosting the Friday night party. One dock down, maybe two. It wasn’t far. Over the quiet water I could hear music and laughter and the popping of beer cans. Eddie and I would sit here for a while and then I’d put him inside and head for the lights and the noise.

Soon.

The stars came out, bright in the moonless sky. The scattered white of the Milky Way eased into view. It must be at least eleven o’clock. I should find the party before the diehards were the only ones left.

Soon.

Eddie purred gently. “Trying to get me to stay?” I asked, resting my hand on his back, feeling the vibrations up through my arm, shoulder, and deep into my heart. “I should really go and be social.”

He shifted and his purrs became lower and even more soothing.

I thought about Stan, about how he’d died, how he’d lived, and about how much I owed him. I thought about my responsibilities to the library, to the ever-increasing number of bookmobile patrons, to Holly, to Aunt Frances. I thought about my obligations. Which overlapped quite a bit with the responsibilities, but wasn’t an exact match, somehow.

What is a friend obligated to do? Did I want to be the kind of person who ran the risk of being taken advantage of, or be the kind of person who walked away? And what is a niece obligated to do? More than a friend? Less?

I thought about the times I’d talked to the detectives. Had I been too impatient? Unrealistic in my expectations? Maybe I’d assumed too much; maybe I hadn’t listened to them just as much as they hadn’t listened to me.

The party noises faded. Up above, a yellowy green curtain waved into view, a slow dance moving to a beat I could almost feel in my bones. The northern lights, gorgeous and unworldly, beautiful and primeval.

I watched the show all the way to the end, hours past the time I should have gone to bed, watching and wondering.

And thinking.

Chapter 18

The next day, Saturday, had been scheduled to be a Bookmobile Day. Unfortunately, the bookmobile was still in the mechanic’s garage. I’d called all the stop contacts and volunteered to bring a selection of books in my car. “Tell me what you’re interested in, and I’ll make sure I bring something that suits.”

They’d all asked the same question: “Is Eddie going to be with you?”

When I’d said no, there wouldn’t be enough room in my small car for books and cat, I’d gotten a universal response. “Thanks for the offer, but we’ll make do until you come around next time.”

So instead of driving around southwestern Tonedagana County, I headed to the library itself to cover for a part-time clerk who was in the Upper Peninsula attending a family funeral.

“You believed that story?” Josh laughed. He was in the break room, up to his elbows in printer parts. Why he hadn’t taken it to his office I didn’t know, but some questions were best left unasked, since if you asked, you ran the risk of getting an answer that included things you didn’t want to know.

“Yes, I believed her,” I said, “and so would you if you’d seen how upset she looked.”

He snorted. “What I see is the U.P.’s weather forecast of eighty degrees and sunny all weekend when it’s supposed to be maybe seventy and rainy down here. They’re saying really heavy rain, too.”

“So young, yet so cynical.” I mock-sighed heavily and left him to his tinkering.

I was deep into the task of processing the Friday night returns when Stephen strolled past. “Good morning, Minerva,” he said. “How are you this fine day?”

“Uh . . .” I stared at the apparition. Though the presence in front of me resembled my boss, it couldn’t be him. Stephen had made it a Thing that he was never at the library on a Saturday. He’d said repeatedly that if he was doing his job properly, overtime hours weren’t necessary. Plus as far as I knew, Stephen had never once wasted time on the casual conversational exchanges made by everyone else in the universe. “Uh, hi. You seem . . . chipper this morning.”

“Why, yes. Yes, I am.” He smiled broadly. “Last night we got the news that my sister and the new baby are going to be fine. Out of the woods and out of the ICU today.”

I blinked. Stephen had a sister? “That’s great. Your family must be thrilled.”

“Thrilled and relieved both.” He laughed, an unexpectedly rich sound.

“This is a younger sister?” I asked. “Have you been to see her?”

Up until that point, his face had been open and easily read. Now it closed down. “Younger,” he said shortly. “She and her husband live in Oregon.”

I grinned on the inside. Crankmeister that he was, it was good to have the old Stephen back. “Well, I’m glad she and the baby are okay. You must have been worried sick.”

“Concerned, yes,” he said. “I wouldn’t say worried.”

I watched him walk off and snorted quietly. Maybe he didn’t want to admit it to his assistant director, but whatever had been wrong with his sister and her baby, it had been so serious that he’d worried himself almost to the point of illness.

He headed out through the front door and I heard what might have been him singing, and words that might have been a chorus of “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’.”

And my teeny tiny worry that Stephen might have been involved in Stan’s death, that he’d been a mess the last few weeks over guilt and fear of getting caught, puffed away into the air and disappeared forever.

The phone rang. “Good morning, Chilson District Library,” I said. “How may I—”

“Yo, Min,” Kristen said. “Got a question for you.”

It had been a while since Kristen had called with a job for her personal search engine. I pulled the computer keyboard toward me. “Ready and waiting, ma’am.”

“Kyle says Onaway potatoes are named for Onaway, Michigan, and I say they came from Maine. Who’s right?”

“Hang on.” In a few seconds I found the answer. “You both are. The first seedling came from Maine, but it was sent to Michigan for research and development and named the Onaway potato. Don’t ask me why it was sent here because I don’t know. And who’s Kyle?”