by Laurie Cass
I told this to Kristen. “What’s the charity?” she asked.
“You’re not going to believe it.”
“Society for the Advancement of Mincemeat?”
“You make the weirdest guesses ever. No, her mother said her favorite thing as a kid was visiting the library. When Cade told her there’s a wonderful library in Chilson, she said that would be the perfect memorial.” I looked over at Kristen. “Are you crying?”
Kristen sniffed. “Allergies. I get them something fierce this time of year.”
She’d never had an allergy in her life, but I smiled and kept my mouth shut.
Coughing and rubbing her eyes, she asked, “So, is the Mitchell Situation resolved?”
“Now, that’s an interesting question.” I reached into my pocket and handed her the business card Mitchell had handed me the day before, a card inexpertly printed via a home computer and a laser printer.
“Northern Detective Agency,” Kristen read out loud. “Mysteries Solved by Mitchell Koyne.” She read it again, this time with her voice rising into question marks. “Mysteries solved?” She hooted with laughter. “Watch out, Minnie. This guy might be your new competition for tracking down killers.”
“He’s welcome to it,” I said. Poor Mitchell. He was operating his new business out of his sister’s attic, which, as it turned out, was where he was living these days. I wished him the best of luck. And who knew? Maybe this time Mitchell would actually make a success of himself.
Which reminded me. “Say, did I tell you who won the candy contest?”
Randall Moffit had been the only person to guess the correct (averaged) number of candies. I’d called him yesterday and he’d been happy enough to take the candy, but he hadn’t cared about the bookmobile coming to his house. I’d suggested that he give the bookmobile prize to young Sheridan, the boy who’d wanted to have it stop at his grandmother’s house.
Moffit had agreed, and my ear was still ringing from the squeal Sheridan had made when I called. I’d contacted the grandmother, who was thrilled at the idea of a library coming to her house. We got to talking, and it turned out that Sheridan’s grandmother was on the board of Chilson’s chamber of commerce. One thing led to another and the bookmobile and I were already booked to be in the town’s Christmas parade.
Kristen hopped her chair a little to follow the sun at a slightly better angle. “Soon Eddie’s going to have more friends than you do.”
I patted Eddie on the head. “He already does. Everyone who sets foot on the bookmobile knows Eddie’s name. I bet only half of them know mine. But that’s okay. I don’t really enjoy being the center of attention.”
Kristen yawned. “That’s the understatement of the year.” She dipped another chip. “So, what’s the deal with this furry guy and your doctor guy? Is he really allergic?”
I sighed. “My doctor guy has an appointment with an allergist. We’ll know more in a couple of weeks.”
“Hey, isn’t that Greg Plassey?” Shading her face from the sun with the flat of her hand, Kristen pointed to a large boat cruising past.
It was indeed. Greg had ended up buying the boat that Chris had picked out for him the day I dragged Chris to Crown Yachts. I wasn’t sure I believed in fate, but sometimes it was hard not to.
“Forgot to tell you,” Kristen said. “The Edels were in the restaurant the other day, celebrating their anniversary. The two of them looked like newlyweds.”
If Hugo had been seeing Carissa on the side, maybe her death had made him see how stupid he’d been. I smiled, happy for Annelise. “Was it a special anniversary?”
“Dunno. All I know is Hugo called ahead, asking for that small room, and had the whole place filled with roses.” She rolled her eyes. “Nice gesture, I guess, but that rose smell didn’t do anything to enhance their dinner.”
“You have the sentiment of a soap dish.”
She grinned. “Did you know that Trock Farrand’s right-hand guy came in the other day? Said you’d talked up my place so much that he had to try it.”
“Scruffy?” I went at the dip again. “Are they going to put the Three Seasons on their show?”
“Maybe.”
The way she said it made me look up. “What do you mean, maybe?”
“Just what I said. Maybe. Scruffy would like to discuss it over dinner. At the City Park Grill in Petoskey.”
The potato chip broke in my hand. “You’re going on a date with Scruffy?”
“And I have you to thank for it.”
“Huh.” I put the chip pieces together. “Aunt Frances is the matchmaker in the family, not me.”
“About that. Is it still all messed up?”
I smiled. “Yep. But it’s just the way it was meant to be. Aunt Frances had things mixed up a little, is all.” I laid out the news I’d heard at breakfast yesterday morning. Some of which I’d known already, of course. Deena and Quincy were engaged, as per the scene in the jewelry store. Paulette and Leo were making plans to move in together, and Zofia and her bicycle partner were making plans to drive Route 66 in October.
“What about that hot kid?” Kristen asked. “You know, what’s his name?”
“Harris.” I laughed out loud, disturbing Eddie enough to make him pick up his head and move it two inches. “Remember Megan? The girl Josh was dating but dumped because she’s a White Sox fan?”
Kristen groaned. “Don’t tell me. Harris was born into a White Sox family. His childhood bedroom was decorated with Sox stuff and his first book report ever was on a biography of Whitey Herzog.”
“Pretty much.”
We ate the bowl of chips down to the bottom, talking about nothing in general, giving Eddie an occasional scritch under the chin as we watched the boats float past and the clouds drift by. Late summer in Chilson with my two best friends. I couldn’t think of any place I’d rather be.
“Pretty as a painting,” Kristen said lazily. “Speaking of which, how is Cade’s recovery coming? Will he… you know.”
“Ever paint again?” I patted Eddie’s head, thumping him just enough to make his head go up and down and up and down. He started purring. “Cade’s physical therapist says he should be able to have enough motor control for painting before Christmas. Maybe even Thanksgiving.”
“Sweet.”
Yes, it was. I’d been worried that the exertions of Friday night had set him back, but it turned out that the clearing of his name had been of more benefit than a month of exercises.
“And it’s all due to you,” he’d said. “You and your ferocious feline. Thanks to your efforts, the investments of thousands of people are safe and sound. What can I possibly do to repay you?”
I’d protested, saying I didn’t need anything, that I’d been glad to do it, that any halfway decent friend would have done the same thing, but he’d insisted. So had Barb and so had Ivy. Eventually we’d hammered out a compromise. He would paint a portrait of Eddie and I’d say thank you when it was delivered.
Kristen looked at me. Looked at Eddie. “You know,” she said, “I’ve been watching him the whole afternoon and it really does seem as if he understands what we’re saying. Especially you.”
“Don’t be silly.” I picked him up and turned him around. “What do you think, Eddie? Do you understand a single solitary word of this sentence? If you do, say something. Anything.”
Eddie looked me straight in the eye.
And didn’t say a word.
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