by Laurie Cass
“Look, Kate!” I bumped my silent niece with my elbow and nodded toward the waterfront sidewalk, specifically at the two teenage girls with ice cream cones who were more focused on keeping their ice cream from dripping than they were on where their feet were taking them. I didn’t think they’d actually fall into the water, but since I happened to know they were both good swimmers, I wasn’t too worried. “There’s Emily and Alyssa.” The Gwaltny girls were regular library patrons, sisters who actually got along, funny, smart, and about Kate’s age.
Kate shrugged and kept on dipping her chips.
“Let’s go meet them,” I said with forced cheerfulness, ignoring the look of warning from Rafe. “Come on.”
“Do I have to?” she asked.
“Well, no, but I thought it’d be fun for you to meet some other teens. When I was up here at your age, I—”
“That was, like, a generation ago,” Kate said, suddenly fierce. “It’s not like that now, okay? Everything’s different.” She jumped up and ran off.
“Be back in a minute,” I murmured to Rafe and went after my niece. Inside the houseboat, I looked around. No Kate in sight, which on a boat this size had to mean she was in the bathroom. “Kate?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” came her voice from behind the door. “Just leave me alone.”
“But—”
“I’m fine!”
I twitched at the intensity of her tone and was about to venture directly into the Not Leaving Alone category of aunting, when I heard an odd rustling noise. I looked left and right and up and down and finally found my cat, who was mostly under Kate’s sleeping bag.
He wriggled out from underneath and stretched. After moving roughly six inches closer to me, he sat upright and looked me in the eye. “Mrr,” he said.
“Do you believe her?” I asked softly.
“Mrr.”
“Yeah, I don’t, either.” Because there was no way Kate was fine. She’d suffered the trauma of falling over a murder victim, and was probably dealing with a variation of post-traumatic stress syndrome. I wanted to help her, I was trying to help her; I just didn’t know how.
I sighed, called to Kate that I was going to finish eating, got a muffled “Fine” in reply, and headed out.
* * *
* * *
Rafe hadn’t wasted any of the time I’d left him alone. In those ten minutes, he’d finished eating, gone up to the house for a small cooler, filled it with ice and adult beverages, brought it back down, and replaced me with someone else.
“Hey, Ash. Long time no see and all that.” I settled down next to Rafe and made a come-hither gesture to my plate. Ash slid it over and I debated my next bite. Chip? Potato salad? Burger?
“How’s she doing?” Rafe tipped his head in Kate’s direction.
“She says she’s fine.” I picked up my fork and aimed it at the potatoes, opting to eat first the food more likely to make me sick if I didn’t eat it soon.
“Takes after her aunt.” Ash eyed an unopened bag of chips. “Is someone eating these?”
“Knock yourself out,” I said. “And what do you mean, she takes after me?”
The two men at the table exchanged a glance. “But what I stopped to tell you,” Ash said, opening the bag, “is about Barry Vannett.”
I sat up straight and leaned forward. “You found a gun in his car, matched the ballistics to the bullet that killed Rex, and you’ve already arrested him.”
Ash paused, looking at me over the top of a laden potato chip. “That’s quite a sequence.” He took the time to eat, chew, and swallow before he continued. “But no. None of that happened.”
I deflated. While I hadn’t been a hundred percent sure of Vannett’s guilt, it would have made for a fast resolution. “What did?”
“The senior generation of Vannetts have a cottage on Janay Lake, and every year there’s a big family reunion over the Fourth. A different family member is in charge every year. This year it was Barry’s turn.”
My deflation continued. I could picture the scene. Multiple generations of Vannetts running around from dawn to dusk and beyond, making memories of boating and s’mores and sparklers that would last a lifetime.
“So Barry Vannett is out as a suspect,” I said.
“Looks like.” Ash glanced at the houseboat. “You going to tell Kate? I could, but—”
“No, it’s my job.” I started to stand, but sat back down again, remembering the closed bathroom door. “It can wait a few minutes, though. Pass the chips, will you?”
* * *
* * *
My talk with Kate about the murder investigation didn’t go as expected. When I told her that Barry Vannett had been eliminated as a suspect, but that the investigation was still continuing, she didn’t accept the family reunion alibi.
“But that doesn’t make sense,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest. By the time I’d finished dinner and returned to the houseboat, she had left the confines of the bathroom and gone out to the houseboat’s deck with Eddie and her tablet.
I sat on the vacant chaise—well, vacant except for a sprawling Eddie—and gave her the news, which she didn’t like. “How does it not make sense?” I asked, trying to keep my expression interested, neutral, and not at all annoyed and disagreeable.
“Because,” she said oh-so-patiently, drawing out the word into five or six syllables, “with so many people around, it would be easy for him to go out for an hour without anyone noticing. I mean, how far is the cottage to Chilson? A five-minute drive? Ten?”
She sat up and faced me. “Or maybe, since Barry is dead set against that trail, maybe the whole family is, too. So maybe it wasn’t Barry who killed Rex, but maybe it was someone else in the family.”
My mouth opened, then closed. “You’re right,” I said slowly. “You’re absolutely right.”
“I . . . am?”
“Yep. Do you want to tell Deputy Wolverson about this, or should I?”
She demurred on talking to Ash, so I texted him the theory. He didn’t completely dismiss it, but it didn’t sound as if he took it seriously, either. Not that I told Kate. What I told her was that the sheriff’s office appreciated her ideas and to keep passing them along.
The next morning, I left for the library when Kate was still in her sleeping bag. I touched her on the shoulder. “Time to get up,” I said. “You start at Benton’s in an hour.”
Benton’s was the classic general store, from its wood floors to its tin ceiling, from its stick candy to its shiny brass cash register. It had been run by the same family since its birth, and was now in capable hands. Rianne Howe, a woman a few years older than myself, had been raised in Chilson, left for the big city, but had come home to run the family store.
“Mmm,” Kate said, snuggling deeper into her sleeping bag.
She had my sympathy; the morning was cool and she had to be comfortably cozy in there.
“Mrr!” Eddie jumped from the floor to the sleeping bag, landing on what looked like her midsection.
“Oooff!” Kate rolled over. “Fine, I’m awake, I’m awake!”
I laughed, but it was a laugh of sympathy. “At least I know it’s not personal. He does that to me once a week.”
“Rotten cat,” Kate muttered, but she extracted one of her arms and rubbed the side of his head.
“He is pretty horrible. Sorry, pal,” I said, “but it’s true. Doesn’t mean we don’t love you.”
So I headed up to the library feeling downright perky. I’d had a good night’s sleep, my niece and I were talking, and my cat was wonderfully awful. Sure, the sun was covered with clouds and the air felt more like September than July, but that would pass. I sang cheery morning nonsense songs, waved at Cookie Tom on my way past the bakery, and spent a happy hour in my office reading librarian trade magazines.
�
�You look pleased with yourself this morning.”
I grinned at Holly, who’d just come into the break room, a room I’d recently entered myself. “Easy to be happy on mornings I get to do this,” I said, hitting the coffeemaker’s Go button.
“Who made it?” Josh asked as he entered.
“You have a gift,” Holly said. “Every time the coffee is fresh, there you are. Have you ever actually made a pot of coffee?”
It was a good question. For the majority of his adult life, Josh hadn’t been a coffee drinker, preferring to get his caffeine via diet soda from the vending machine. That had all changed when he’d bought a house and come to grips with his altered financial status. And now he had a serious girlfriend and they were talking about moving in together. It was a concept hard to wrap my tiny little mind around.
Josh slapped the pockets of his cargo pants. “Nope, don’t have it.”
“Don’t have what?” Holly frowned and I wondered if this was going to turn into one of their sibling-like spats.
“For Minnie,” he said. “An article about these new servers. A little more money than those other ones, but these would—”
Holly made a rude noise. “You’re spending Stan Larabee’s money, aren’t you? New servers might be nice, but the ones we have work fine. The first thing we need to do with that money is buy more computers for the children and young adult sections. And get tablets with educational software so kids can check them out. They’re doing it at the library in—”
“Not a chance,” Josh interrupted. “Who do you think is going to look after all that? I already have too much to do. There’s no way I can support more computers and tablets.”
“If you’re that busy,” Holly said, “why are you in here half the time?”
If there was any chance of keeping the spat from becoming a full-blown argument, I had to do something fast. So I asked the first question that came to mind. “Do either one of you know anyone around here named Vannett?”
They turned and blinked at me.
“I know a Nate Vannett,” Josh said. “He’s a website designer, has a place next to that art gallery your buddy has stuff in.”
Holly said, “There’s a Faith Vannett who works at the eye doctor downtown. Is that who you mean?”
“If she’s related to Barry, then yes.”
“What’s up?” Josh asked, adding more coffee to his coffee.
Holly studied me. “Does this have to do with Rex Stuhler’s murder?”
“Not sure yet,” I said. “If it does, I’ll let you know.”
Eventually.
* * *
* * *
At lunchtime, I hurried home for a quick peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich—see Mom, I’m eating fruit!—encouraged Eddie into his carrier, and drove him up to the bookmobile, where I’d done the preflight check before I’d left the library. One of the things I’d wanted to do for ages was expand the bookmobile’s summer hours, and now that Graydon had settled in as library director, he was taking over a lot of the work I’d been doing when I’d been stuck as interim director. All that meant I was able to squeeze in an extra half bookmobile day and it was wonderful.
Julia was waiting in the parking lot, leaning against the side of her SUV, looking like a 1950s teenager with her hair in a ponytail, a bright white T-shirt, and rolled-up jeans.
“Nice look,” I said, unlocking the bookmobile door.
“Yes, isn’t it?” She checked her ponytail in the bookmobile’s side mirror and slightly rearranged its pink polka-dotted bow. “I lost a bet with my husband and now I have to dress like I was when we met.”
I eyed the bobby socks and flat sneakers. “In what universe did you wear clothes like that?”
“Playing an extra in Grease.”
That explained the particulars of the clothing, but not the rest of it. “You going to tell me about the bet?”
She arched one eyebrow and gave me a slow smile. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Well . . .”
“Mrr!” said Eddie from his carrier, which was still in my hand.
Julia leaned toward it and whispered loudly, “I’ll tell you later, okay? But it involved a bottle of wine and a new negligee.”
“All righty, then,” I said, suddenly wanting to change the subject. “This morning Josh was asking about new servers. Again. And Holly wants to buy more technology for the youth sections.”
“This is about the Larabee money?” Julia climbed aboard ahead of me, sat, and accepted the cat carrier I handed over. “There you go, my feline friend,” she said, strapping Eddie in snugly. “The board hasn’t decided?”
“Not yet.” We buckled our seat belts and I started the engine. “What do you think should be done?”
“I’ve been thinking about this,” Julia said, her voice shifting to a serious tone. “And the only real answer is a full set of Sookie Stackhouse books.”
“That would be nice,” I agreed, “but even with all those books, there would still be a lot of money left.” Thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars, actually. “What else?”
Julia waved off the question. “I’m part time. My opinion doesn’t matter a tinker’s you-know-what.”
“It matters to me,” I said.
She reached over and patted my shoulder. “And I love you for that, my dear, but I know my place in the world of the Chilson library and I’m quite happy not having an opinion. Safer that way.”
I made a rude noise in the back of my throat. If she’d wanted to play life safe, she never would have left Chilson in the first place, let alone become a successful stage actor.
“Opinions get you into trouble,” she said, squiggling comfortably in her seat as we reached the outskirts of Chilson and headed into the rolling, wooded countryside. “Did I ever tell you about the time the director of a Streetcar Named Desire production asked for my opinion on his directing?”
As she told the story, which ended with a thrown chair and a damaged stage set, part of my brain was thinking about Rex Stuhler and Barry Vannett. Was their difference of opinion on the proposed trail a deep enough motive for murder? Or were there deeper reasons out there waiting to be uncovered?
“Mrr!”
Julia looked down at Eddie. “You know what? That’s exactly what I told him.”
I grinned, getting an inkling of what she’d been like to work with onstage, and tried to focus on enjoying the rest of the tale. But it was not to be, because Julia diverted to a completely new topic.
“Speaking of opinions,” she said. “Do you have any on Rex’s murder?”
“Too early to tell.” I glanced over and saw her looking at me. “What?”
She tapped her chin with an index finger. “Just wondering. Is it possible that we saw something, the last day Rex was on the bookmobile, that might be a clue?”
“I can’t imagine what.”
“Me either.”
We sat in silence a minute, then Julia said, “Say, you were outside with Mr. Eddie for a while, answering the call of kitty nature. Did you see anything?”
I shrugged. “Just a couple of cars going by. I remember wondering where they thought they were going, it being a dead end road and all. Then, when they didn’t come back right away, I figured they were hiking or something.”
“Do you remember anything about the cars?”
For maybe the first time in my life, I wished I’d actually paid attention to vehicles. Even better, that I had a habit of memorizing license plate numbers. “The second one was an old sedan with a bunch of stickers on the back bumper.” I’d been too far away to read any of them, but they’d all been bright pink. “And the car was kind of noisy.” Eddie had flattened his ears as it drove past. “The first one was a truck, just crawling along. I remember thinking it was probably a new truck, and that the driver didn’t want
to get any gravel dings or dust on it.”
“So we have a noisy car and a new truck, and no real reason to think they’re connected to Rex’s murder.” Julia nodded. “We’re halfway to solving this.”
“Mrr,” Eddie said.
* * *
* * *
The rest of the day flew past, as per usual on the bookmobile, and in the blink of an eye we were back in Chilson, lugging books from vehicle to library. The chore didn’t take long with two people working, and soon Eddie and I were back at the houseboat. Which was empty. I opened the carrier, Eddie sauntered out, and I went to look at the whiteboard. To my surprise and delight, Kate had actually left a message.
Went up to Great-Aunt Frances and Otto’s to eat. Back later.
Smiling, I erased her note and added my own. Going for a walk, then over to the house. Back later.
I nodded. “What do you think of that, Mr. Edward? My niece and I are communicating!”
Eddie didn’t say a word, so I went on the hunt, and found him in the tiny bedroom closet, up behind my shoes. It had been his favorite place a year or two ago, but I hadn’t seen him in there since.
“Is this another phase?” I asked, looking down at his curled-up self. “I’m fine with it, as long as you don’t chew anything.”
One yellow eye opened, then closed.
“Right. Well, I’m off for a walk.”
Eddie sighed and curled himself a little tighter. For some reason, this made me smile, so it was with light spirits that I headed outside. It was a Wednesday, but it was also only four days after the Fourth of July, so it was a guarantee that the sidewalks of downtown Chilson were near peak capacity.
To avoid that, I walked the block parallel to the main street. One street over, the pedestrian and vehicular traffic was minimal. I felt a bit smug as I made long-ish strides past the parking lots and backs of buildings. From back here, the downtown’s architectural mishmash was even more apparent. Our mix of hundred-year-old buildings and new buildings, brick and wood, expensive and not, all summed up to create a business district whose appeal could never have been planned. The main street was almost exclusively retail, and the side streets were filled with professional businesses that didn’t need the higher foot traffic and retail stores that didn’t want to pay astronomical rent.
