Booking the Crook

by Laurie Cass

“Morning,” the woman said, a little breathlessly. “We’re looking for picture books.”

  “Kitty,” pronounced the toddler. “Kitty!”

  The woman deposited the child she’d carried on her hip onto the carpeted step and unzipped both of her children’s coats. “Emily, what did I tell you? Books first, then we’ll ask about the bookmobile cat.”

  “Kitty!”

  She looked up at me apologetically, and I suddenly knew who she was. “You work at the bank,” I said, and searched my memory for her name. Something unusual and pretty. Started with an M, two syllables . . . “Mara.”

  “And you’re Minnie.” She smiled. “It’s nice to finally get on the bookmobile. I usually work Saturdays, but the bank’s closed today for software maintenance.”

  Julia took Emily in hand and guided her toward the picture books, murmuring about cat stories and cat adventures. The smaller child seemed content to sit on the step and look about, wide-eyed.

  “Eddie’s up front,” I said. “He’s sleeping in his carrier, but we can haul him out in a little bit. He won’t mind.” And maybe if he stayed awake all day, he’d sleep through the night. I eyed the small child and wondered if there were parallels between cat and kid sleeping habits.

  “I wanted to thank you,” Mara said.

  “Uh.” I stared at her blankly. We’d had a few interactions at the bank, but most of my financial activities were online.

  “For what you did at Rowan’s. I hear you tried really hard to save her life, and I wanted to say thanks. She was fun to work with, once you got used to her, and I was sad when she started working from home so much.”

  “Oh. Well.” I shifted from one foot to the other. “It was what anyone would have done. I’m just sorry it didn’t help.”

  Mara watched her toddler and Julia stack a pile of books. “They’re saying she was murdered,” Mara said softly. “That’s so hard to think about.”

  I nodded, but didn’t say anything because it seemed as if something was hanging in the back of her mind, waiting to come out, and I didn’t want to break her focus.

  “You know,” she said, “I wonder if the police know about that day at the bank.”

  More specifics were needed. A lot more. “What day was that?”

  She glanced at her smaller child, who was happily stuffing both of his hands into his mouth, and inched closer to me. “It was Bax Tousely.”

  For a moment there was no sound, no movement, no nothing. Then my heart restarted its beats. “What happened?”

  Mara took her son’s hands out of his mouth and inserted a pacifier she’d deftly pulled from her pocket. “He came in a while back when everybody else was at lunch and asked about a commercial loan. I told him to talk to Rowan, and a couple of weeks later, on one of the days she was in the office, he marched in and slammed her office door shut so hard all the windows in the building rattled.”

  “She turned down his loan?”

  Mara nodded. “Even with the door shut, you could hear him yelling. Not what either one of them said exactly, but enough to get the idea. Her office is mostly glass, so I could see it all. It was scary, to tell you the truth, and I was thinking about calling the police when Bax threw the loan application across the desk at Rowan—papers went everywhere—and he stormed out of her office.”

  “Did he threaten her?” I asked.

  She looked troubled. “Bax is such a nice guy, I’ve never seen him be anything but considerate and thoughtful. But he was really upset, and that’s when people say things they don’t mean, right?”

  Sometimes. Other times people said exactly what they meant but under normal circumstances kept buttoned up inside, safe from view. “What did he say?”

  Mara looked troubled. “He said . . . he said, ‘I won’t take this lying down. You’ll pay for this if it’s the last thing I do.’”

  * * *

  • • •

  “Earth to Minnie. Hello, Minnie.”

  “What? Oh. Hey, Josh. How are you doing?” It was Tuesday morning, I’d just dropped Kristen off at the airport, and I was standing in front of the coffeepot watching the dark liquid dribble down.

  “It would be better if I had some of that stuff.” He leaned around me and, in one deft movement, pulled the pot aside and shoved his mug underneath the flow. Four seconds later, he reversed the move, saying, “You’re a coffee freak. Don’t you do it this way when you’re in a hurry?”

  “Tried it the other day. It didn’t go well.” Which was an understatement. Coffee had gone everywhere—all over the burner, the counter, and the floor. Even coffee grounds had somehow gotten into the mix. “I’m a bit gun-shy to try it again so soon.”

  “What were you daydreaming about just now?” he asked. “You looked a million miles away.”

  “Oh, this and that,” I said vaguely. “You know how I get.” What I’d been thinking about was Bax Tousely’s bank tirade. After Mara had finished telling the story, I’d gently asked her why, once she’d learned that Rowan had been murdered, she hadn’t told the police. “I didn’t want to get anyone into trouble,” she’d said. “I mean, he was just venting, right? After his loan had been turned down. People do that all the time and nothing happens.”

  I’d wanted to point out that something had, in fact, happened this time, but I’d smiled instead. Later that day, when I’d called Ash, he’d been very interested indeed and said he’d look into it. Whether or not he’d let me know what he found out was the big question.

  Holly came into the break room and asked, “Have you done it yet?”

  “Done what?”

  “Not you. Him.” Holly pointed at Josh, who was leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee. “Time is ticking away. If he doesn’t act soon, all will be lost.”

  I was the one who was lost. I’d once had my finger on the pulse of library gossip, but now that I was out on the bookmobile a third of the time, it was hard to keep up. “What are you talking about?”

  “Valentine’s Day,” she said, huffing. “He needs to start making plans if he wants to impress his new girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my—”

  Holly didn’t let him keep talking. “Maybe not officially, but tell me this. Don’t you want her to be your girlfriend? Don’t you think she could be The One? Do you really think you will ever find anyone that suits you better than Mia Lacombe?”

  “Well . . .” Josh looked at the floor, and dark red stained his ruddy cheeks.

  On the inside, I was cheering wildly. Mia was Leese’s half sister and was adorable in every way. Sure, she had a few problems, but didn’t we all? A solid and nonvolatile relationship could easily be the best thing for her. And Josh could certainly use some social companionship that wasn’t on the other end of a computer. Of course, Mia herself was in IT and maybe all their romance would be in bits and bytes, but if it worked for them, did it matter?

  Kelsey stopped in the doorway. “Well, rats,” she said, looking at the coffeepot. “Who made it? Minnie?” She sighed, but came forward anyway.

  “Just the person we needed,” Holly said. “Minnie isn’t being any help. We need to help Josh plan his first Valentine’s Day with Mia.”

  As Josh made a gagging noise, Kelsey nodded. “This is a critical event. It will set the tone for the rest of the relationship. Think carefully, Josh.”

  “What I’m saying.” Holly pointed at Josh again. “Figure out where you want to set the bar. Low or high. Too low and you might lose her because she’ll think you don’t care enough. Too high and you could scare her into thinking you’re an over-the-top freak. Don’t be a Bax.”

  I’d been edging out of the room but stopped dead. “Bax Tousely? What did he do?”

  “You haven’t heard the story?” Holly squinted at me. “Hang on, I think it happened the February before you started here.”

  “Everybo
dy was talking about it,” Kelsey said. “Half the town thought it was the most romantic gesture ever. The other half thought he was a nutcase.”

  Josh shot me a glance. “The halves were divided by gender. You can guess which went with the nutcase side.”

  “What did he do?” I asked again. “Who was his girlfriend?”

  “Anya Bennethum,” Holly said, and it was possible that my mouth dropped open. “She and Bax were a couple for years. It was the Valentine’s Day of their junior year and the entire town of Chilson woke up to a huge banner hung from the top of the steeple of the Catholic church, the tallest thing in town, a banner saying, HAPPY V D, ANYA. LOVE, BAX.”

  “V D?” I asked, wincing. Even on Valentine’s Day, to me V D could only mean venereal disease.

  “Yeah.” Kelsey grinned. “It was a vertical banner. There wasn’t room to spell out “Valentine’s,” so he used initials instead. They’d broken up by the end of the day.”

  Poor Anya. How mortifying. And poor Bax, who’d shown a spectacular lack of . . . something.

  “Moron,” Josh said, not unkindly. “I hear he won’t talk about it now.”

  But I wasn’t talking, either, because I was suddenly thinking furiously. Leese said she’d seen Bax driving past the Bennethums’ house a number of times before Rowan died. And Jared, the hardware store guy, had told me Bax had been in the store the morning of Rowan’s murder, but had been acting oddly.

  Was it possible that Bax had heard about an engagement of a Bennethum twin and assumed it was Anya? Had his love for her turned into obsession? Had he meant to kill Anya but killed Rowan instead?

  Chapter 11

  The next day was a bookmobile day. I got out of bed with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. “Good thing it was just in my heart,” I told Julia as we drove across the frozen tundra of Tonedagana County, “because otherwise you’d find out how horrible my singing is.”

  “Can’t be any worse than mine,” she said. “There’s a reason I never did musicals. Like they say, you can make an actor out of a singer but you can’t make a singer out of an actor.”

  I had no idea anyone had ever said that, but it made sense. Sort of.

  Julia leaned forward to peer into the cat carrier. “Eddie, what do you think of your mom’s singing?”

  “Mrr.”

  She sat back. “He said he thinks it’s wonderful.”

  “I’m pretty sure he said he wants treats and why haven’t we given him any this—” I came to a full stop.

  “What’s that?” Julia asked, looking up at me sideways.

  “Um.” I continued to stare out the windshield. First thing that morning, I’d called the sheriff’s office to ask about road conditions, and after listening to the deputies’ comments about drifting snow blocking some back roads, I was taking a different route to the first stop of the day, a route that was taking us past Rowan’s house. “There’s a car at the Bennethums’.”

  “There is?” Julia sat up. “You’re right, there is. Isn’t Neil gone?”

  “Far as I know. And he drives an SUV.”

  The two of us studied the small sedan as we drove past. “That’s weird,” I said.

  “Maybe a neighbor has guests and is using the drive for overflow parking,” Julia suggested.

  I nodded slowly. Possible, but now that it was almost February, a need for extra guest parking seemed unlikely. Also unlikely were any of the other scenarios I was running in my head. “This afternoon,” I said, “we’ll loop around and come back this way. If you’re okay with getting home a few minutes late.”

  She was, we did, and when we did, the car was still there.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I turned the bookmobile into the driveway and parked behind the dark gray sedan. “You can stay here,” I told Julia, “but I’m going up to the house.”

  “If you’re in, I’m in.” Julia looked down at the carrier. “We’ll be back in a few minutes, Mr. Ed, okay?”

  “Mrr,” Eddie replied, and I was pretty sure I heard a little kitty snore by the time the door shut behind us.

  As we approached the front porch, we saw that someone had shoveled it clear of snow. This was not normally a part of the service provided by plow guys, and a few seconds after I rang the bell, the front door was opened by Anya Bennethum.

  “Wow, hello, Minnie, Ms. Beaton.” She looked over my shoulder. “And the bookmobile! Is something wrong?”

  “No, no,” I said quickly. “We were driving past in the bookmobile and saw a car in the driveway. I just wanted to be sure everything was okay since I didn’t think anyone was here.”

  She smiled. Not a huge one, but it was unmistakably a smile. “It’s nice that you cared enough to stop. Do you want to come in?”

  I glanced at Julia and she nodded. Since the outside temperature was maybe fifteen degrees and the wind was kicking up, I was in full agreement. “Thanks. Just for a minute, though. I like to get back to Chilson before dark.” In theory, the days were getting longer, but on thick cloud cover days like this, it was hard to believe in the sun at all.

  Inside, we stood in the front hallway. “I had a couple of days off from school,” Anya said, “so I decided to come home.” She sighed. “It’s just so weird, with Mom gone. They say I’ll get used to it, but I can’t even park inside the garage. It’s where her car is . . .”

  I reached out and gave her a long, hard hug. Whoever was giving her advice was an idiot. You never got used to losing someone you loved. You learned to live with it, is all.

  Julia snorted as only an award-winning actor can snort. “Get used to it? Utter nonsense. You will adjust, but it takes time. Lots of time. Be patient with yourself. And even years from now, you might have crying jags that come out of nowhere. Grief is triggered by the oddest things. Two years after my dad died, I bawled my eyes out over a hammer.”

  I looked at her and mouthed, A hammer? She shrugged.

  “Thanks.” Anya sniffed. “I’m kind of a mess, but I’m dealing. It’s Collier I’m worried about.”

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “He’s skipping a lot of classes. Not even showing up to take tests.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “He says he’s fine, but I know he’s not. His roommate and his fiancée say all he does is play video games and sleep. The only thing he talks about is how whoever killed Mom should be in jail.”

  Anya took a deep breath and looked at me. “Are you any closer to figuring that out? I’m sure Collier would get better if that guy was in jail. It’s eating him alive that her killer is walking around free while Mom is . . . while Mom isn’t.”

  “The police are working on narrowing down the suspects,” I said, hating how that sounded. “And I just passed on some information they’re looking into.”

  “Really?” Her face brightened. “When do you think they’ll make an arrest?”

  Her obvious excitement startled me. “I really don’t know. As soon as they can, I’m sure.”

  “That’s great,” she said. “I’ll tell Collier right away. This has been so hard for him. He and Mom were really close, and it’s hard that he’s going to get married this summer. Mom won’t be at his wedding, see?”

  I did. But it didn’t do to have unrealistic expectations, either. “You should hold off on telling Collier anything about the investigation,” I cautioned. “Say the police are working hard. Say I’m helping. But I don’t think they have enough of a case yet to arrest anyone.”

  Anya deflated. “Oh. Okay,” she said, and the tremble of her lower lip nearly broke my heart. Right then and there I renewed my vow to do whatever I could to track down her mom’s killer.

  I gave her a quick hug and said we needed to get going. Then, remembering what I’d learned yesterday, I asked, “I saw Bax Tousely the other day. Didn’t the two of you used to date?”

  Anya’s fa
ce turned the faintest shade of pink. “I don’t . . . we don’t . . .” She took a breath. “I haven’t seen him since high school graduation.”

  Hmm, I thought.

  Julia must have had the same thought, because once we were back on the bookmobile, she said, “Looks like Anya still has a thing for Bax, in spite of that unfortunate Valentine’s Day episode.”

  “Looks like it,” I said, and hoped for Anya’s sake that he wasn’t also a killer. Because if making an arrest for Rowan’s murder would help Collier, if the killer was Bax, it might crush Anya.

  * * *

  • • •

  Julia and I lugged the crates of returned books into the room dedicated to the bookmobile’s separate book collection. The work was by far the worst part of running outreach, but it didn’t take all that long, especially with Julia’s ability to distract me with stories of her theater days.

  “You do realize,” I said, double-checking the computer to make sure the small stack of books checked out of main circulation and returned to the bookmobile matched the list on the screen, “that if you ever run out of theater stories, I’ll have to fire you.”

  She smiled. “I ran out a long time ago. I’ve been making them up for the last six months.” And with that, she waved and left, leaving me to wonder whether or not she’d been joking.

  As I finished up the last of the day’s tasks, I finally decided. “She was joking,” I said out loud to Eddie, but he was in his carrier and fast asleep.

  I squatted down and peered in. He looked as if he could sleep for hours. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I whispered. Eddie didn’t move, so I felt hardly any guilt at all for what I was about to do. Hurrying a bit, I headed to my office. All I wanted to do was make a single phone call, and the cell phone reception in the bookmobile collection room was horrible. I had only a few minutes to make the call so what I really needed to do was sneak into my office without anyone noticing I was in the building and—

  “Minnie, you are just the person I wanted to see.”

  And I was toast. Dry burned toast.