Lending a Paw: A Bookmobile Cat Mystery (Bookmobile Cat Mysteries)

by Cass, Laurie

  I slid open the side windows, then rotated the driver’s seat to face the computer desk, and stood. I pushed the one-step stool from its home behind the passenger seat and stood on it to reach the fan installed into the ceiling. I’d turn on the air-conditioning if I had to, but that would mean turning on the generator and that was a dull roar I’d just as soon do without.

  “And now what do I do with you?” I asked my cat. After this stop we’d take a short break at a county park just down the road. I’d get him some water and a nice out-of-the-way, sandy spot for him to do anything he needed to do, but for now . . .

  “Mrr.” Eddie half closed his eyes and settled into a comfortable slouch.

  For now, what was I going to do with him? In the time between leaving Chilson and arriving here, I’d come up with zero ideas. There was no cat carrier for him, I wasn’t wearing a belt that might be turned into a leash, and I was not about to take off my bra and fashion it into an Eddie restraint.

  Knock knock.

  No time to think, no time for anything but action. “Just a minute!” I opened the cabinet door that held a tidy arrangement of filing and cleaning supplies, gathered them up, dropped them onto the floor in front of the passenger’s seat, grabbed Eddie, shoved him in the cabinet, and shut the door. “Sorry, pal,” I whispered. “I’ll let you out as soon as they’re gone.”

  I hurried down the length of the bookmobile, almost tripped in my rush to maneuver the steps, and pushed open the door.

  A small group of children stood outside. “Hi, come on in. Welcome to the bookmobile!”

  The six kids ranged from age five-ish to ten-ish, three boys and three girls. They stood there, glancing at one another, shifting from foot to foot. None of them made a move.

  I grinned, made waving come-on-in motions, and did my best carnival barker imitation. “We have books, all sorts of books. We have Curious George, we have Hardy Boys, we have Amelia Bedelia, we have Indians in the cupboard, we have books about horses, we have books about baseball, we have books about cats and kittens. We have books with stories about far-off lands and castles and dragons and princesses and kings and queens and—”

  “Princesses?” a girl asked, her eyes big and round. “You have princess books?”

  I smiled at her. “We sure do. Come aboard and I’ll show you.”

  She ran up the two outside steps, jumped onto the first stair on the bookmobile and turned around. “I’m going to get princess books,” she told her compatriots. “I’m going to be first to get a bookmobile book.” She whirled back around and bounced up to my side, her face bright and shiny. “Can I see them now? Where are they?”

  “They’re right over—”

  My words were lost in the pandemonium of five children trying to get up into the bookmobile simultaneously. In no time at all, I’d guided the smallest to the picture books, and shown others the locations of biographies, nature books, and, of course, princess books. While I was guiding one of the girls to the Boxcar Children, a deep male voice boomed up into the bookmobile. “Hey, you kids! You were supposed to wait for me!”

  They froze. Except for the princess-fixated girl. She was so focused on the golden-haired pictures on her lap that she probably wouldn’t have heard lightning strike the ground next to her.

  A big, bearded man came up the steps and glared at the kids one by one, starting with the oldest boy. “Trevor. Rose. Cara. Patrick. Emma. Ethan. What do you have to say for yourselves?”

  “It was here, Dad,” the smallest child said. “And you were going to be on the phone a long, long time.”

  Dad glanced at his watch. “Five whole minutes is indeed a long time.” He sent me an amused look. “But you knew you were supposed to wait for me.”

  “It was here,” the princess girl said. “And look!” She brandished the book at him, a cover of pinks and purples and gold.

  “Again with the princesses.” He shook his head. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “It’s good!” She pulled the book to her chest. “It’s my favorite!”

  He patted his daughter on the head and held out his hand to me. “Chad Engstrom. And, yes, they’re all mine. Three sets of twins, what are the odds?”

  “Minnie Hamilton,” I said, shaking his hand. “They were hesitant to come on the bookmobile. Now I think I understand.”

  “Kids,” he said, sighing. “Can’t live with them, can’t leave them out on the street for someone else to take.”

  “You’re stuck with us,” Trevor said, his nose buried in a biography of Thomas Edison.

  Chad made a deep, menacing, growly noise. “And you’re stuck with me. What do you think of that?”

  “We think we love you,” they chorused.

  I laughed out loud. A scene like this would never have happened inside a library. If this was what driving a bookmobile was going to be like, I was hooked.

  A hand tugged at the hem of my cropped pants. “Do you have a book about a puppy?” A girl—Cara? Or was it Emma?—looked up at me, her small face full of hope and expectation.

  “You bet,” I said promptly. For two months I’d done little except get ready for this day. I knew every inch of the bookmobile. I knew how many steps it was from front to back, I knew the mechanical systems inside and out, and I knew every single book on the shelves. “Right over here.”

  As soon as she was settled, another hand tugged at my pants. Big blue eyes filled with question marks looked up at me.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Miss Minnie. What’s your name?”

  “Ethan.”

  “Hi, Ethan. How can I help you?”

  “My dad said you’d show me the bookmobile.”

  “Absolutely,” I said just as a quiet thump came from inside Eddie’s cabinet. “Why don’t we start at the back?”

  I showed Ethan and his father the wheelchair lift, spent some time over the strapped-in book carts that I’d soon be wheeling into senior centers and day cares, and told him how the books and DVDs and CDs and magazines were arranged. The top half of my brain was engaged with being a bookmobile librarian. The bottom half, however, was running around in frantic circles. How long could Eddie stay in the cabinet undetected? I knew he’d survive the day if he didn’t eat anything, but by noon he’d start complaining that he was starving to death. Loudly.

  “What’s in there?” Ethan pointed at the critical cabinet.

  “Storage,” I said. “Paper towels. Glass cleaner. Nothing interesting.”

  Eddie gave the door a thump. I gave it a light whack, hoping the child would think I’d made the noise both times.

  “Mrr,” Eddie said.

  “Shhh,” I whispered.

  “Sorry?” Chad asked.

  “Shoot,” I said quickly. “I forgot to bring a book your children might have enjoyed.”

  “Oh? What?”

  Four years of undergraduate work in library science, two years of graduate school, nine years of working in libraries, college summers working in a children’s bookstore, not to mention my own book-filled childhood, and my brain was dry of any suggestions. I gave a sheepish smile. “Afraid I can’t remember the title. I’ll try to—”

  “Dad, look!” Ethan pointed. “The cabinet’s moving!”

  “Leveling,” I said, putting my heel firmly against the door. “The bookmobile must not be completely level, so the door is opening on its own.” Or it would have, if there hadn’t been magnets holding the door closed, but there was no need to bother these nice people with that little point. I braced my heel against the bottom of the door, trying for a casual pose. “Do you have any other questions?”

  His brother Trevor, sitting on the carpeted step at the base of the shelves, snorted. “Bet he has more than one.”

  “Answering questions is why I’m here,” I said. “What do you want to know, Ethan?”

  He pointed to the driver’s seat. “Why does the library have a steering wheel?”

  “Because this library is on wheels. You saw me drive up, rememb
er? And if something has wheels, you need a way to steer it.”

  He nodded, then pointed to a shelf of books. “If the library moves, why don’t those fall on the floor?”

  “You have bookshelves at home, right? And I bet yours are flat, like this.” I held my hands out in front of me. “If books on the bookmobile were like that, they would fall off when we hit bumps on the road.” My hands made bouncing motions. “But these shelves are different. Do you see how?”

  Ethan looked at my hands, looked at the shelves, and frowned deep enough to put crinkles in his forehead.

  Trevor sighed heavily, but otherwise kept quiet.

  Finally, Ethan pursed his lips and nodded firmly. “They tip.”

  His father clapped him on the shoulder. “Way to go, kiddo! You figured it out all by yourself.”

  But Ethan wasn’t done asking questions. He pointed at the laptop computer on the counter behind the driver’s seat. “What’s that for?”

  I moved away from the cabinet and showed him the RFID scanner and the wiring connecting it to the computer. “We use these to keep track of where all the books are.”

  Ethan was roaming, running his fingers over the shelves, his intelligent eyes hunting for things he didn’t understand. More questions were clearly imminent.

  Chad watched his son. “You’ve done a great thing here.” His other five children had piles of books at their feet.

  “Thanks,” I said. “We had a generous budget, but even a great big pile of money runs out at some point.”

  “That’s right, you had a donation.” Chad snapped his fingers. “I remember reading about it. Some guy who grew up around here?”

  I nodded, smiling as I thought of my elderly friend. “Stan Larabee. He’s about seventy now. He moved away after high school and got into Florida real estate development. When he retired a few years ago, he moved back up here and—”

  There was a click that sounded a lot like the click the cabinet doors made when being opened. I looked up. Froze solid. Half a nanosecond later, my mouth started to open, but I was far, far too late.

  “Hey, look!” Ethan said, pointing.

  Princess jumped to her feet. “It’s a kitty cat!”

  “Mrr,” said Eddie.

  Chapter 3

  “A cat?” Chad looked at me.

  I sucked in a large breath and blew it out. “Your kids aren’t allergic, are they?” Because now all six of them were sitting or standing or kneeling in front of the cabinet, giggling and pointing.

  Chad snorted. “Those kids are so healthy, my wife and I have been tempted to inject them with a flu virus so they know what it’s like to be sick.”

  “Can I pet him?” Ethan asked.

  “Why do you have a cat in the cabinet?” Trevor asked.

  “He’s beautiful,” Princess cooed.

  The middle girl asked, “What’s his name?”

  “Eddie,” I said, sighing. “His name is Eddie.” I made my way through the children and crouched down. The troublesome one had retreated so far into the cabinet that his fur was sliding up against the back wall. “We’ve been discovered, pal. You might as well come on out.” His yellow eyes stared at me. “Come on,” I said, “the natives are friendly.” I danced my fingers on the front edge of the shelf. He inched forward, sniffing, and finally came forward far enough to let me swoop him up.

  I kissed the top of his head, then turned around to make the introductions. “Eddie, this is Ethan. And Trevor. And Mr. Engstrom. And . . .” I looked at the other kids. “And what are your names?”

  “Rose,” said Princess Girl.

  “Emma,” said the youngest girl.

  “I’m Patrick,” said the middle boy, “and she’s Cara.”

  “Hi, Eddie,” Cara said in a voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear her. “You’re a pretty cat.”

  “Mrr,” he said, and then the total and complete ham started purring. I rolled my eyes and the kids crowded closer, all reaching out to pet him. Eddie sighed and let them.

  “I take it Eddie wasn’t a planned feature?” Chad asked.

  Maybe the world wouldn’t end. At least not today. “He’s a stowaway,” I said, “and if word gets back to my boss that I let a cat on the bookmobile, my job will be toast.”

  Chad gave Eddie a head pat. “He’s a friendly little guy. Why would your boss care?”

  Reasons filled my brain so fast that my skull felt two sizes too small. Cat hair on the books. A distraction to driving. A disruption to the business of the bookmobile. Allergies. Unprofessional. Unclean.

  Eddie was getting heavy, so I put him on the carpeted step. Five of the six kids surrounded him, oohing and aahing. Trevor went back to his book.

  “My boss,” I said, “is very concerned about the library’s image and I’m quite sure Eddie doesn’t fit into that picture.” I wasn’t sure the bookmobile fit into Stephen’s grand plan, either, but once Stan Larabee had written that lovely big check with “Bookmobile donation” written in the memo field, he hadn’t had much choice.

  Stephen was a big believer in a centralized library. He’d convinced the board that the availability of e-book lending made our small outlying libraries unnecessary and shut them all down in the name of fiscal responsibility. When I’d floated the idea of a bookmobile at a library board meeting, Stephen had asked in stentorian tones, “Is there anyone here who thinks a library should waste money on an expensive, high-maintenance operation like a bookmobile?”

  Mine was the only hand that went up. It had been an awkward moment, but I’d kept my hand stubbornly high.

  “Have any of you ever been on a bookmobile?” I’d asked, and rejoiced when a few heads nodded. “Do you think that maybe, just maybe, the thrill of being visited by a bookmobile is what helped give you a love of reading? Isn’t that part of our mission as a library?” A few more heads had nodded, but then Stephen brought the topic back to dollars, specifically the library’s lack thereof, and the nods stilled.

  The single, solitary thing that had made our bookmobile possible was that lovely, large check. I knew in my bones that if Stephen found any reason to shut down the bookmobile, he’d do so without a second thought. I’d be in disgrace, possibly fired, and the bookmobile would be sold as quickly as possible. A letter of apology would be written to Stan Larabee and that would be that.

  I watched Eddie strut down the aisle, flicking his tail to touch the bare legs of each child. He ignored me, head-butted Chad, then, in one smooth leap, jumped to the passenger’s seat headrest.

  “Mrr,” he said, surveying his human subjects.

  The kids giggled. Chad chuckled. I sighed.

  • • •

  The Engstroms lugged away three milk crates full of books and made promise after promise that they’d return everything when the bookmobile came back.

  “Bye, Eddie,” they called. “See you next time.”

  “Or not,” I said, closing the door behind them. I turned the dead bolt and went forward to the driver’s seat, talking to Eddie all the way. “Because there isn’t a chance in you-know-what that you’re ever setting foot on this bookmobile again. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event that will never be repeated, and may my tongue turn black if I’m saying anything other than the total truth.”

  I stuck out my tongue and crossed my eyes. “Still pink, see?” I pointed at my tongue. “I hope you’re enjoying the ride because it’ll be your one and only.”

  Eddie, of course, was paying no attention. At some point during my monologue, he’d slid into his dork position—all four legs spread out and draping over whatever object was the right shape. In some cases it was my backpack; at other times it was the back of the houseboat’s dining booth. Any time he did it, he looked like a complete dork. In this case, he was doing it on the passenger’s seat headrest. And looking like a dork.

  I stood there, hands on hips, giving him my best Librarian Look. “You’re not listening, are you?”

  He turned his head. Looked me up and down. Opened
his mouth in a silent “Mrr.”

  A laugh giggled up inside me. I shook my head and gave him a few pets. There wasn’t much point in scolding a cat.

  • • •

  At each of the next four stops, it didn’t take long for someone to notice that the bookmobile carried more than books.

  “Look, Mommy, there’s a kitty cat!”

  “Sweetie, this is a bookmobile, there can’t be a . . . oh. There is a cat.”

  I spent as much time explaining Eddie’s presence and the need for secrecy as I did telling people where to find the Stephen King books.

  “You mean Eddie won’t be back?” a white-haired lady with hot pink glasses asked.

  “This was a special day,” I said, giving Eddie a pat and sending cat hair flying in four dimensions. “He really wanted to be here for the first trip, but he’ll be happier at home.”

  “He looks really happy right here,” the woman said.

  I kept my smile pasted on. “Let me show you those Janet Evanovich books you were asking about.”

  The scene replayed itself at every stop, excluding the unscheduled halt at the lone gas station/convenience stop on the route. The closest thing to a Tupperware container in the entire place was a bowl of microwavable chicken soup. I bought it, took it into the bathroom, threw away the soup, washed out the plastic with hot water and soap, filled it with water, and carried it out to the bookmobile, ignoring the puzzled glances of the proprietor.

  “No cat food,” I told Eddie. “But they did have this.” Unclipping the end of a loaf of bread, I said, “It’s not the stuff I usually buy, but it’s what they had.” I pulled out the first inside piece of bread—Eddie didn’t like the end slices—and tore it into cat-sized pieces.

  He sniffed, then must have decided I’d suffered enough for the day and started eating. One bit went down, two, then parts of a third. He backed away, licking his lips, so I picked up the uneaten pieces and tossed them into a wastebasket. Bread wasn’t part of a healthy cat’s diet, but he liked it and it was better than nothing.

  “Four stops down,” I said, “and two to go. Ready, Eddie?”