by Cass, Laurie
People.
I plomped myself down on the bumper.
Waited.
Roughly a year and a half later, a rattletrap of an SUV appeared. I’d heard the sputtering muffler long before it came around the long curve, so I was already standing in the middle of the road, feet spread across the centerline, hands out in a Stop! gesture by the time it came into view.
This time, everything was different. The driver’s window rolled down and a blond head poked out. “Miss Minnie? What’s wrong with the bookmobile?”
I walked up to the ancient Jeep Cherokee. It was Surfette, the young woman who’d been on the bookmobile twice, hunting for a book she wouldn’t let us help her find. “Hi,” I said. “Two flat tires and I’m not getting any cell coverage.”
“Oh, wow. What can I do?”
And they say the youth of today is self-centered. I wanted to hug her. “I don’t want to leave the bookmobile, so if you could find a phone and call our mechanic, that would be a lifesaver.” I gave her the name of the garage that did the bookmobile maintenance.
“You bet. I know the people who live a couple miles up the road. I’ll be right back.”
She took her foot off the brake, but I waved at her to stop. “There’s another phone call to make.” While I didn’t want to scare her, this had to be done. “I need you to call the police.”
“What?” Her mouth dropped open, showing perfectly white teeth. “Why? What happened?”
I gave her as brief a description of the event as possible, and her reaction wasn’t anything close to fear. “Some rotten kid, I bet,” said the girl who couldn’t be much more than twenty. “Stupid jerks. Some of them have nothing better to do than take potshots at anything that moves.”
She eased her vehicle forward a few feet, then braked. “Um, this may sound like a weird question, but is your cat with you?”
My heart did an odd thump-thump. This was Eddie’s real owner. She’d cried buckets over losing him and I was going to have to give him back. I deeply, desperately wanted to lie, but was stopped by an image of my mother shaking her head at me and saying, “Minerva, I am so disappointed in you.”
“Thanks a lot, Mom,” I murmured.
“What’s that?” Surfette asked.
“Eddie’s in the bookmobile.”
She nodded. “Okay, good. Is there anything I can get you?” I shook my head and she pulled away, speckles of rust falling off the wheel wells as she accelerated.
I stood, slump-shouldered, and watched her Jeep vanish into the distance. She was going to take Eddie away from me and I was going to have to be grateful to her for rescuing the bookmobile. And to think I’d started this day happy.
Hands in my pockets, I scuffed my way back to the bookmobile. If I only had a little time left with Eddie, I was going to make the most of it.
I climbed up the steps and found him in the back corner, sitting on a small pile of children’s books he’d pulled off a shelf. Any other day this would have earned him a scolding and a threat of no treats for a week. This time I lay on the floor next to him, stomach down, and laid my head on one arm while I petted him with the other, not thinking, just being.
In what felt like three minutes, I heard the Cherokee’s muffler return. I got to my feet, scooping up Eddie on the way, and sat on the carpeted step to wait.
Surfette knocked on the back door and came on in, all bright smiles and energy. “Your garage guy said he’ll be out as soon as he can. He didn’t see how you’d blown two tires, though. He must have asked me six times if I was sure it was two tires.”
I laid my hand on Eddie’s flank. My friend, my companion. “Did he say how long he thought it would take to get here?”
“Less than an hour, he figured.” She introduced herself as Hannah, thereby blasting the surfer girl image to bits. Surfettes would be named Didi or maybe Jenny. Never Hannah. “He said he’ll bring an extra guy and the big tow truck.”
I nodded. “That’s great. Thanks so much for your help, Hannah. I could have been here all night if you hadn’t come along.”
“Oh, anybody would have stopped,” she said, shrugging. “I must have been the first person by. Just luck it was me.”
Luck. You could call it that. There was a pause that neither one of us seemed in a hurry to fill. “So,” I asked, “do you mind if I ask you a question?” My inquiry came at the same time Hannah asked, “Is it okay if I ask you something?”
We both laughed and I gestured for her to go ahead. “Rescuers get to go first. It’s a rule.”
Hannah giggled and pushed her sun-bleached hair back behind her ears. “You know how I’ve been in here a couple of times looking for a book? Well.” Her voice went low, almost into a whisper. “My fiancé and me, we’re getting married in the fall.”
For the first time, I noticed the diamond ring on her left hand. A very small diamond. Hannah spun it around on her finger, smiling a little.
“Anyway, both our families want this great big wedding. Our parents really can’t afford it, and anyway, Bobby and me don’t want a big wedding. Too much money for one day, and you’re still just as married if you go to a justice of the peace, right?”
My mouth might have dropped open. “Yes,” I managed to say.
She gave a sharp nod. “That’s what I keep telling my mom. I tell her we don’t want them to run up their credit cards for a wedding, but she kind of tells me to go away, that she has to pick out napkins since I haven’t done it yet.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, it’s our wedding. Shouldn’t we be able to say that we don’t want napkins?”
“Absolutely.”
“So what I was looking for was a book on having a small, cheap wedding. There’s got to be a way.”
I smiled. “I know just the book.”
Her eyes lit up with hope. “You do?”
“Not here, but I’ll put it on the bookmobile as a reserved book and you can pick it up anytime.”
“Really?” She grinned wide. “This is so cool. I thought for sure if I checked out a wedding book, you’d tell my mom—she knows everybody, it seems like. Bobby and me, we’ll figure out a plan first, and then we’ll just, you know, go ahead and do it.”
I looked at her happy smile. It wouldn’t be that easy, but given the firm look in her eye, she probably knew that already. We fell to talking about weddings, easy happy talk that stretched out long.
Finally Eddie gave a wide yawn and said, “Mrrr.”
“Oh, hey.” Hannah snapped her fingers. “That’s another thing I wanted to ask. . . . Um, are you okay?”
I patted myself on the chest, playing at pretending the sharp gasp I’d let out had been something else entirely. “Fine, thanks. What’s the question?”
“Him.” She pointed at Eddie and I thought my heart was going to freeze. “Is he a silver tabby?”
It took me two tries, three, to say, “That’s what the vet said.”
“Cool.” She squatted down in front of Eddie. “He’s a good-looking cat. Bobby and me, we’re breeding boxers, but we’re thinking about doing cats, too.” She squinted up at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
My muffled laughter smoothed out into a wide smile. “Eddie was a stray, and he’s been neutered.”
“Oh.” She made a face. “That’s too bad.”
The honking of a truck startled all three of us. We looked through the bookmobile’s windshield to see my second set of rescuers pile out of the biggest tow truck I’d ever seen.
“Well, guess I’ll get out of your way,” Hannah said.
I have her a quick hug. “Thanks again. I’m glad it was you who stopped.”
She hugged back. “Me, too.” Halfway down the steps she turned. “Hey, you wanted to ask a question, too. What was it?”
“You know, I really don’t remember.” I smiled and hugged Eddie to my chest, holding him tight.
• • •
I was averting my eyes from the sight of the front end of the bookmobile being hoisted onto the
tow truck when a sheriff’s cruiser pulled up.
The deputy who climbed out looked familiar and I realized it was Deputy Wolverson, the officer who had dripped rainwater all over the bookmobile the day I’d found Stan.
“Ms. Hamilton,” he said, nodding. “Sorry it took so long for me to get here, but I was on another call. What’s the problem?”
“Thirty aught six, I’d guess,” the head mechanic said. He kicked at the shredded tire they’d removed. When I’d ordered the bookmobile, I’d also ordered a spare rim and tire and had it stored in their garage. Ordering two in case someone attacked the bookmobile had never occurred to me.
Wolverson lowered himself into an easy crouch and studied the remains. “Got it a good one, didn’t he?” He glanced up at me. “You okay?”
“Mad, mostly.”
He smiled. “Healthy reaction. Good for you.” Standing, he walked to the front end and looked at the ruined tire that was still attached. “No damage other than the tires, looks like. Some fine driving on your part, Ms. Hamilton.” He took a small notebook out of his shirt pocket. “How far apart were the shots, timewise?”
We did the question and answer routine for a few minutes. I pointed to where I’d seen the rifle-toting quad rider drive off, and the deputy made extensive notes. When he was done, he lifted his gaze to the distant line of hills. “You know that Larabee’s farmhouse is that way, just two or three miles, right?”
I nodded. Steep and rough miles, but nothing for a quad.
“Maybe there’s no connection between your bookmobile’s tires being shot out and his murder,” he said, “but maybe there is. I’ll take some pictures and do what I can out here, but I’m going to pass this on to the detectives in charge of the Larabee case.”
I’d guessed as much and had actually hoped for it, because at this exact moment Holly was working at the library. Had been, all afternoon. If there was any silver lining to this episode, it was that now Holly would be dropped to the bottom of their suspect list.
• • •
After Eddie and I got home, courtesy of the tow truck’s narrow backseat, I made the dreaded phone call. “Stephen? Sorry to bother you at home. It’s Minnie. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
At the end of my recitation of the afternoon’s events, Stephen grunted and asked, “The bookmobile will be out of commission for how long?”
“Just a few days, they told us.”
“Us?” Stephen’s voice was sharp. “You had a volunteer on the bookmobile when some maniac with a rifle was shooting at you?”
“No, no,” I assured him. “I dropped Thessie off long before that. By us I meant me and the bookmobile and three thousand books.” I laughed as if I hadn’t a care in the world. Stephen didn’t laugh with me. I tried not to take that as a bad omen, since Stephen had never been prone to breaking into uncontrollable laughter, or any kind of laughter for that matter, but a sick sensation started gnawing at the back of my brain. Stephen hated the bookmobile. He would use any excuse to take it away.
“We’ll be off the road one week maximum,” I said, projecting assurance into my voice. “And the guys said the tires may even get up here in time for Saturday’s run.”
Stephen grunted. “Keep me informed,” he said.
He sounded grumpy, but not the world-class grumpy that he’d been. “Say, Stephen, you’re starting to sound more like your old self. Have you had one of those summer colds?”
“No, it’s my . . .” He stopped. “I’m fine.” A pause. “But thank you for asking.”
Thank you? Stephen had unbent enough to say thank you? It was a day to remember. “One more question,” I said. “Do you know if Holly scheduled the summer book sale with the Friends?” I’d meant to do it myself the day before, but had forgotten and asked Holly to take care of the small chore.
“Holly went home early,” he said. “One of her children was sick, I was told.”
Sighing, I hung up the phone. “So much for Holly being dropped to the bottom of the list,” I told Eddie. While I’d been on the phone with Stephen, Mr. Ed had placed himself exactly in the center of the dining table. By rights, I should be enforcing the No Cats on the Table rule. Somehow, though, I didn’t have the heart. Not tonight.
“Mrr,” he said, then shut his eyes and purred.
Smiling, I scratched him behind his fuzzy ear. He wasn’t so bad for an Eddie.
• • •
The next morning I was hard at work sorting through applications for a new part-time library clerk when the detectives stopped by.
“Can we have a moment of your time?” Detective Inwood asked.
“Sure.” The one guest chair for which my office had room was piled high with books. “Do you want to go into the conference room?”
“No, thanks,” said the short stout detective who was shaped like the letter D. Devereaux. “We just want to get your story about yesterday.” He pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket. Its cardboard covers were curved slightly, molded to the shape of his body.
As clearly as possible, I related the events of the day before. The lurching of the bookmobile. The second lurch. My sighting of the quad and the rifle. And how the distance from where the bookmobile’s tires had been blown out to the farmhouse wasn’t that far, not cross-country with a quad.
Detective Devereaux flipped his notebook shut. “Bet it was some kid messing around,” he said, chuckling. “Probably he was shooting at a stop sign and missed.” They both laughed.
If I’d been a cartoon, steam would have poured out of my ears. “He came close to destroying a vehicle worth a quarter of a million dollars,” I said.
The laughter stopped. “Yes, ma’am,” said Detective Inwood. “We realize that. We’ll find him. People talk, and kids talk even more. It won’t take long to track him down.”
I nodded, slightly mollified.
“What garage is working on the vehicle?” he asked. I told him and he nodded. “We’ll take a look at the blown tires. Where were you when this happened?” When I gave him directions, he said, “We’ll check it out.”
He was saying the right things, but I sensed that I was losing them. “Do you think there’s any link between Stan’s murder and the bookmobile?” Yesterday I’d spent hours driving up and down the same few roads, trying out routes. The bookmobile was a big thing and didn’t move very fast. Easy enough to follow it, if you wanted.
I didn’t want to come out and ask if they thought my life was in danger, but how could it not be a possibility? I was very attached to my life and I wasn’t keen on it ending any time soon.
The detective smiled. “Ma’am, like I said, we’re investigating every possibility. If there’s a link, we’ll find it.”
And with that, they were gone.
I stared after them, my face red with the effort of restraining my temper. They’d find it? Sure they would. Right after they figured out what really happened to the lost colony on Roanoke Island and right before they tracked down D. B. Cooper.
• • •
“Hiya, Minnie. What’s that you’re doing?”
I jumped. I was doing a stint at the research desk and Mitchell Koyne had done his usual trick of walking up from behind and scaring the living crap out of me. I pushed back from the desk and looked up at him. “Hey, Mitchell. I’ve been meaning to ask you something. You know Gunnar Olson, right?”
“Olson . . . oh, yeah. Big guy, too much money, not enough nice?”
I smiled. Mitchell had pegged it. “He said you did some driving for him a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah. Buddy of mine said a bud of this guy he knows was going to be in town for the weekend without a car and needed somebody to drive him around.” He shrugged. “Paid me decent. Cash, too.”
“Where did you take him?”
“Did more waiting than taking. Don’t know why he didn’t rent a car. I told him so, but he said I was stupid to talk myself out of a job.” Mitchell shrugged. “Hey, I was trying to save him money, but w
hatever.”
“You drove him around town?”
“What?” He tipped his head the other way to look at my computer from another angle. “In Chilson, you mean? Hardly any.”
My breath stopped, but my heart beat on and on, whooshing air through my veins and arteries so loudly that I could hardly hear anything else. I sucked in air and my ears started working again. “Then where did you take him?” To the farmhouse? The answer to Stan’s murder couldn’t really be so simple, could it? If anyone could have missed a murder happening under his nose, it would be Mitchell.
“Casino.” He pointed at the computer. “You looking to buy some property? I could find you some cheap acreage, if you want. There’s a sweet quarter section I know about, lots of maples you could harvest, probably pay for itself and then some. And the guy who owns an eighty next to me wants to sell.”
I swallowed down a laugh. Me, buy eighty acres of land? Mitchell obviously didn’t know the size of my salary. “Which casino?”
“More like which one didn’t we go to.” Mitchell shook his head. “I don’t get gambling. I mean, sure, maybe you’ll win sometimes, but those places aren’t dumps. You got to figure they’re making money hand over hand.”
Little spin, Gunnar had said.
“You don’t gamble, Minnie, do you?” Mitchell asked.
Not unless you counted waking up every morning. “So you drove Gunnar around to casinos? You didn’t drive him around the rest of the county?”
“Here, you mean?” Mitchell pointed at the map on my computer screen.
I’d been using the county’s geographic information system. This view showed property lines and I’d zoomed into the eastern part of the county. One click on a parcel and up came details like legal description and taxable value. And property owner. I was poking around at the properties near where the bookmobile had been damaged, but I wasn’t reaching any conclusions. I needed more information and I had no clue how to get it.
Mitchell tapped the screen. “Can you move the picture over this way? A little more . . . yeah. This long skinny property here? I was out there cutting trees for some guy a few weeks ago. Ash. Dead from that emerald borer bug. Ever see one? They’re kind of cool looking, for bugs.”
