Borrowed Crime: A Bookmobile Cat Mystery (24 page)

“We’re . . . not dead?” Denise uncovered her eyes.

“Not even close.” But I wasn’t sure how stable we were. The washout looked wide, but the light was so poor that I couldn’t judge the depth. Ten feet? Twenty? I didn’t know and couldn’t guess. And if so much of the road had already washed away, how much more might go with it? “We need to get out, okay? Slow and easy.”

“I’m out of here.” Denise flung off her seat belt and scrambled for the rear door.

“Easy, pal,” I told Eddie. He was cowering in the back corner of his carrier. “Sorry about the noise. I’ll make sure it never happens again, okay?”

He hunched back ever farther, clearly not believ- ing me.

“Yeah, can’t say I blame you.” I released his carrier and lifted him free. “You were even closer to her than
I was, and your ears are a lot more sensitive than mine.”

“Mrr.”

“You are such an Eddie,” I said, lugging him the length of the bookmobile and down the steps. “You really couldn’t be anything else, could you?”

“Now what are you talking about?” Denise demanded. “Are you talking to that cat again? That’s so weird. I like cats and all, but you—”

Eddie said, “Mrr!” at the same time I heard an odd metallic
thunk!
kind of noise, and before my brain could register what the noise was, the report of a rifle reverberated back and forth across the hills.

Someone had shot at us. At the bookmobile. At my cat.

Denise screamed and ran around to the other side of the bookmobile. Even in the murky dark, I could see her arms waving in the air as she scuttled to safety. Eddie’s carrier was firmly in my hand and I walked hurriedly to where Denise was crouching behind a tire. I thought fast and hard, trying to push down the red-hot fury that was rising in me.

Someone had shot at Eddie, dammit, and whoever it had been was going to pay and pay hard.

I took a deep breath and tried to assess our situation in a calm and rational manner. This was difficult, because I was so angry that I wanted to charge up that hill, shouting angrily at the top of my lungs, but I knew that would be stupid in the extreme.

Calm. I needed to stay calm and figure out how safe we were behind the bookmobile. But I had no idea. All I knew for certain was someone up the hill was shooting at us. Then again, maybe the shooter was already gone, but from here there was no way to know.

“Wh-what are we going to do?” Denise asked.

Her teeth were chattering, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t from cold. I felt a surge of sympathy for her. Three weeks ago today, her husband had been killed, and here she was, afraid for her own life, her children one parent away from being orphans. Sure, the children were adults, but they still needed their mom.

I looked at her. “Do you have your phone?”

“My what? Oh. My phone.” There was a rustling as she searched her pockets. “No, I must have left it . . .” She gasped out a giggle. “It’s in my hand. How stupid—here I am looking for it and it’s in my hand.”

Now was not the time to give Denise a hug and tell her it was okay to be stupid once in a while. “Do you have any reception?” I asked. “Call nine-one-one. Tell them we’re disabled and that a shot—”

Ping!

We ducked, because we couldn’t help it, and as the rifle’s report echoed, Eddie thudded up against the back of his carrier, hissing.

“That shots have been fired.”

“I know how to call nine-one-one,” Denise snapped, thumbing the phone, which lit her face with a faint blue glow. “And the reception’s crappy. I can’t believe you got us stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. Of all the places to run into a washout, you— Oh, hi,” she said into the phone. “What’s my emergency? Well, I have a couple of them going on.”

Ping!

This time, the bullet slammed into the ground at the back of the bookmobile.

Denise shrieked, and I felt sorry for the person at the other end of the phone.

I laid a hand on Eddie’s carrier and knew what I had
to do. “Here you go, bud.” I unlatched the door and swung it open wide. “Can’t have you trapped in there.” In the short time we’d been outside, my eyes had started adjusting to the dim light. Objects were beginning to have defined edges, and Eddie’s carrier was one of them, making it a clear target for anyone inclined to turn it into it one.

“Half an hour?” Denise asked loudly, even as I tried to shush her. “What do you mean it’ll take someone half an hour to get here?”

Outstanding.
Denise’s voice carried like no other. If the shooter was listening to us—and there was every reason to assume so—the shooter now knew we were sitting ducks for thirty minutes. Even if someone showed up in half that time, there was still plenty of time to . . . to . . .

I soft-footed it to the rear bumper. Unless the shooter had a night scope, there was no way my small and dark shape could be seen. And if the shooter were good, Denise would have been picked off the second she’d fled the bookmobile.

My breaths were short and quick as I stood there, convincing myself of my safety. I studied the hillside, looking for signs of life, looking for anything, really, and there, not a hundred feet away, was a slight widening in the treetops. A narrow trail. Perfect.

As noiselessly as I could, with my hair pulled forward to cover my pale face, I slipped out from behind the bookmobile.

Behind me, Denise was still talking to the 911 dispatcher. For the first time, I was glad her voice was so loud. Her talking would focus the shooter’s attention. I could quietly make my way along the trail and carefully sneak up to see who was doing the shooting. All I
needed was an identification. All I needed was to see if it was Allison or Shannon or someone I’d never considered.

Because maybe I didn’t know who was shooting at us. Maybe I’d never met this person. Maybe I’d never once checked out his books or answered his questions about how to set up an e-mail account. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as I’d thought.

Slightly cheered, I walked slowly across the road and started up the hill. Eyes detected movement like nothing else, so I made no sudden moves and tried not to think about how stupid I was being. On a scale of one to ten, this was probably way on the high end. Eddie would have an opinion on that, but he’d skittered under the bookmobile when I’d opened the carrier door, and I hoped he’d stay there until this was all over, one way or another.

The leaves under my feet were saturated with water, and I was suddenly grateful for all the rain we’d had. Wet leaves were quiet; dry leaves were noisy. Then again, if we hadn’t had so much rain, the road would never have washed out and we wouldn’t be in this mess, so I stopped the efforts of appreciation.

Every few steps I took, I stopped and listened. Denise was still talking, rain was still dripping down, and, unless spontaneous combustion was a dark and soundless reality, whoever had shot at my cat was still on this hillside.

I pressed on, moving ever closer to the shooter, treading quietly up the path, feeling my silent way in the gloom through trees and brush and rocks.

She had to be up here somewhere. Had to be—

Bang!

The rifle fired, and I saw a flash of light. From the
end of the gun’s barrel, I realized. By shooting, the shooter had revealed her—or maybe his—location: off to my left and slightly down the hill.

Excellent.

I edged closer. But not too close. All I wanted was a positive identification. I wasn’t hero material. All I wanted was to see who this person was.

I was practically tiptoeing through the forest, which was silly, but I couldn’t stop myself. With my gaze fastened on the spot where I’d seen the flash, I took slow steps closer and closer. I heard the rustle of fabric—the shooter was moving!

Not breathing, I froze solid until there was another rustle and some metallic noises that I couldn’t identify. Something gun oriented, no doubt, and I suddenly wished my self-defense classes from last summer had included working with rifles in the dark.

Then my brain clicked.

Reloading the magazine.
The shooter was filling up the rifle’s magazine with new bullets. Which was bad, but there was a good side. Her—or his—attention would be on the work at hand, not on what might be approaching from the rear.

I edged forward, oh, so quietly, breathing slowly and evenly, my skin tingling with tension. Every cubic inch of me was wide awake and alert.

Closer . . .

Just a little closer . . .

There was a plastic-sounding
click
, and a tiny circle of light appeared. The beam from a tiny flashlight danced around, illuminating the ground, a small pile of bullets, the magazine, the rifle, and a hand gloved in black.

Show me your face,
I thought fiercely.
Show your face!

The flashlight dropped to the ground and the shooter muttered a low curse. Another black glove reached to pick up the flashlight, and, as it picked it up, the beam skidded across the shooter’s face.

I gasped, loudly enough to be heard.

The shooter picked up the rifle and pointed it in my direction. “Who’s there? Come out right now, or I’ll shoot!”

There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to go. No possible place to hide, and there was a gun pointing straight at me. How could I have been so stupid?

Possibilities flashed through my mind. It was dark. If I ran, there was a good chance the bullets would completely miss me. And there was a good chance there weren’t any bullets in the rifle anyway, with that magazine on the ground. Maybe there was one in the chamber, or maybe there were two magazines. I didn’t know enough about guns to know what was most likely, but I did know I wasn’t going to stand here and get ordered around by the person who killed Roger Slade.

“It’s Minnie, isn’t it?” Allison Korthase said.

I heard a sound behind me, from down low. Not a swish, exactly, but not a rustle, either. Something in between, or maybe a combination.
A swistle? Could there be such a thing? And if not, why? More to the point, why was I having such inane thoughts when a gun was pointed at me?

“I know it’s you,” Allison said, her voice growing louder. “Where are you?”

Right. Like I was going to tell her. Do that, and I might as well mark my location with a flare while screaming “Shoot me!”

Allison’s small flashlight beamed into life. “I know
you’re there, Minnie. It can only be you. I can still hear Denise down there, yapping away to nine-one-one. I’m so cold,” Allison whined in a Denise-like voice. “I’m so scared. I’m so worried about being killed.” Allison dropped the mimickry. “Like anyone cares.”

The flashlight danced closer to my feet. I edged backward. If I could get a little farther away, I’d make a run for it, bullets or no. In my opinion, which wasn’t exactly expert but was all I had, Allison was ready to kill again, and I needed to get clear of her murderous intentions.

“Come on,” she said impatiently. “I know you’re just a librarian, but there’s no reason for you to be such a scaredy-cat.”

Just
a librarian?
I opened my mouth to argue the point, but before I could say a word, my retreating heel found a rock and I fell to the ground hard, arms windmilling, the air rushing out of me in a painful “Oof!”

“There you are.” Allison chuckled, and her voice turned snide and sarcastic. “What were you trying to do, run backward? How stupid are you? You’d have thought that someone with a job like yours would be at least a little smart, but here you are, in the woods alone, up against someone like me, who is smart and has a gun. Stupid.” She practically spat the word. “Stupid!”

I’d been pushing myself back, trying to get out of her reach, moving away from where I’d fallen, doing my best not to be stupid, when the swistle noise ran past me and toward Allison, a low, rumbling growl moving along with it.

“Eddie!” I shouted, scrambling to my feet. “No! Get back!”

Allison screamed. “Get it off! Get it off!” The rifle clattered to the ground.

In the last vestiges of the day’s dim light, I could see her waving her arms, flailing at Eddie, who was growling, hissing, and climbing up her back, all at the same time.

I ran forward and scooped up the rifle, momentarily unsure whether to hang on to it or to fling it into the woods, where neither one of us would be able to find it until daylight.

“It’s a bobcat,” she yelled. “It’s a mountain lion. It’s going to kill me! Minnie, get it off!”

She was in a full-blown panic. Allison, I suddenly realized, was afraid of cats. She wasn’t allergic, as she’d claimed to Denise. She was scared.

I turned and placed the rifle behind a tree.

“Minnie!” Her shrieks were becoming tinged with desperation. “You have to do something!”

Oh, I’d do something all right.

“You’re a good boy,” I told Eddie. He was on the back of Allison’s neck, clutching onto the collar of her coat for all he was worth and howling into her ear. “If you can hang on a little bit longer, we’ll be good.”

“MRRR!!” he said, which I took for agreement.

I lifted up my coat, unbuckled my belt, pulled it off, and pushed the belt’s length though the buckle, creating a loop. I stepped forward and bumped into Allison, making her scream just a little louder.

Grabbing one of her arms, I looped the belt around her wrist and pulled it tight. She struggled, but I held hard and reached around for her other arm. “Now would be a good time,” I panted to Eddie, “for you to help out just a little more.”

He scrambled up off Allison’s back and onto her shoulder, where he gripped hard and yowled like the
hounds of hell. Even I was a little startled by the volume of noise coming out of my thirteen-pound cat.

Allison sank to her knees, whimpering.

I took hold of her free arm, pulled it behind her back, and wrapped my belt tight around both wrists, looping and tying it firm.

“Get him off,” she whispered, tears in her words. “Please, just get him off.”

And after a minute, I did.

“M
innie?” Denise’s shout came from far below. “Are you all right up there?”

Me and Eddie both, thanks.
“We’re fine,” I called. “You can tell the dispatcher that I have the shooter disarmed and—” And what? Saying Allison was in custody wasn’t accurate. “Disarmed and incapacitated. Send the police up here, okay?”

“Incapacitated” still wasn’t quite right, but I’d come up with the right word eventually. Probably at three in the morning, as Eddie was deciding that the top of my head was the best place for him to sleep.

At this particular moment, however, the cat in questions was nestled in my arms and purring like a champ. I patted my furry little friend on the head.

“Mrr,” he said sleepily.

“Get that cat away from me,” Allison said. “This is all her fault, you know.”

I frowned. “Eddie is a boy.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped.

Eddie gave a low growl and, in the dark, I felt Allison shrink away.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “What I mean is, it’s all Denise’s fault.”

“Really?” Though he’d seemed light enough a few minutes ago, Eddie was gaining weight rapidly. I felt around with my feet, found a good-sized rock, and sat down. I’d stand up with a wet rear end, but it would be nice to rest for a little. I rearranged Eddie on my lap. “What did Denise do?”

“It’s all so stupid.” Allison said.

She had a thing for that word. “What is?”

“I wasn’t trying to pass off someone else’s speech as my own,” she explained in the patient voice that grated on me like nothing else—far worse than fingernails on a chalkboard. “I just forgot to make an attribution that day I talked to the Friends of the Library. A simple mistake, that’s all. I can’t believe that Denise was trying to ruin my career over it!”

Eddie shifted, lost a little of his balance, and dug his claws into my thighs.
Ow.
“She told me all she wanted was a letter to the editor correcting the mistake.”

“It would have ruined me! They would have said I was a liar, a cheat! Every time anyone Googled me, it would come up, again and again. I’d never be able to escape it. All because of one stupid speech.”

“And you have plans,” I said. “For the future.”

“Exactly.” Allison sounded satisfied. Why, I couldn’t imagine, but the tone was unmistakable. “A term on the city council, a couple of terms as a county commissioner, and eight years from now I’ll run for the state legislature. One term there and I’ll be forty-nine, the perfect age for me to run for a national office.”

Assuming she won all those elections, of course, but
I decided not to mention that small detail. “That’s quite a plan.”

“Yes,” she said. “Don’t you think it’s time for a female president?”

I blinked in the dark. “Of the country?”

“Why not go straight for the presidency from a state seat? Why taint yourself with the inner machinations of Washington? Why not go straight to the top? Take you. Why don’t you angle to get Stephen’s job? Or work at the State Library? Even better, the Library of Congress? Think of the things you could do. Why are you limiting yourself?”

I could think of a lot of reasons, but the primary ones were that I liked my current job, that I loved where I lived, and that Eddie wouldn’t like living in a city. He was a small-town cat, just like I was a small-town girl. Why would I want to fit myself into a square hole when I was a round peg?

“Ah,” Allison said, even though I hadn’t said a word, “you’re just like everyone else in this town. Stuck in a rut. Happy with the status quo. Living with blinders on.” She made a rude noise. “Not me. I’m going places. I’m not going to let someone like Denise ruin my life. I’ll get out of this—just wait and see.”

Though a good defense attorney could do wonders, I wasn’t sure how being on trial for murder, even if she was found innocent, could help her political career. Then again, who knew? It was a weird, weird world and stranger things had—

A swooshing noise startled me and I felt instant intense pain. I fell back, rolled to the ground, and curled into a fetal position, cradling my forehead. Allison had jumped to her feet and whacked me in the head with her own noggin.

“Mrr!”

“Get out of my way, you . . . you cat! Get away from me!”

More swooshing noises. Allison was trying to kick Eddie, and here I was, lying like a lump. I tried to scramble to my feet, but dizziness sent me back to the ground. Eddie was hissing and growling and yowling.

“Leave him alone!” I got to my hands and knees and crawled to the nearest tree. “Don’t you dare hurt my cat!” I grabbed the rifle I’d propped up and stood. Swaying, I staggered forward toward the scuffling and swung the rifle around by its barrel. “Leave him alone!”

The heavy stock of the gun thumped against something softish. Allison yelled, and I whacked again. She fell to the ground and stayed there.

In the distance I heard slamming doors, male shouts, and Denise’s voice directing them up the hill. Never had I been so happy to hear that penetrating sound.

Feet thudded in our direction. The glare of bright flashlights skittered over the trees and reached our group of two humans and one feline. “Got them!” someone called.

Allison tried to get up again, but I flipped the rifle around and pointed the business end at her. “You killed Roger,” I said. “You tried to kill Denise, and just now did your best to kill my cat.” Which was boiling my blood something fierce.

“What if I did?” she spat. “Shooting Roger was a mistake, but they’ll understand. I have answers. I have ideas, excellent ideas. I have plans!”

The feet and the lights reached us.

Willingly, I surrendered the gun, and as soon as I detached Eddie from Allison’s leg, I let them lead me away.

*   *   *

Denise was already gone by the time I reached the road, taken away in one of the three patrol cars that had arrived one after the other.

As I watched, Allison was brought down, her hands in front of her, wrists together. She didn’t look at me as a deputy put her into the back of the second patrol car and didn’t speak until the deputy started to close the door.

“I’ll get out of this,” she said to the air over my head. “Just you wait and see.”

The deputy shut the door, went around to the driver’s side, and started the engine. He made a three-point turn and accelerated, the car’s taillights winking out of view as it went around the curve.

“Minnie, are you okay?”

I turned. Ash Wolverson, a flashlight in hand, stood nearby.

“Fine,” I told him. “Really. The rain stopped a few minutes ago.”

“The rain did, yes. But precipitation didn’t. You’re covered in snow,” he said. “Let’s get in my car.”

“Eddie, too?” My cat, who had had enough of my cuddling, was slinking around my legs, pausing every so often to whack my shin with the top of his head.

“From what I hear, he’s the hero of the hour.” Ash scooped Eddie up into his arms and scratched him behind the ears, just the way he liked it. “He can walk all over the dash if he wants.”

So the three of us climbed inside into the warmth, but I still shivered.

“You’ve got to be wet, through,” Ash said. “I should get you home.”

I shook my head. “My phone’s in the bookmobile. Can you call the garage? I need to get a tow truck out here.”

Ash nodded and started pushing buttons on his radio.

Which was good, because there was no way I was leaving the bookmobile until it was safe and sound. Or at least on solid ground. The knowledge that it might have suffered serious damage was depressing. If the bookmobile was out of commission for an extended period of time, it would take more than Eddie’s purrs to make me feel better.

“Mrr,” he said from the dashboard.

Well, maybe they’d make me feel a little better.

“You’re all right,” I told my furry friend, “for an Eddie.”

“He’s a pretty cool cat.” Ash gave him a long pet. “His fur is silky. Not like any cat I’ve ever had.”

Wonderful
.
Eddie already thought he was one of a kind. Now he had the stamp of approval from the sheriff’s department. Outstanding. I half smiled. What we really needed was an Eddie stamp of approval. A sketch of his face with a paw print for a signature. We could stamp his food dish. And the back of the couch. And the rocking—

“You’ll need to make a statement,” Ash said.

Reluctantly, I steered my thoughts back to the unfortunate and unhappy present.

“She admitted to killing Roger,” I said. “Right before you got there. She said it was a mistake.” I swallowed, hating that Roger had died. And now Denise would learn with certainty that it was her threats that had unhinged Allison to the point of murder, that Allison had indeed killed Roger, thinking he was Denise.

I sighed, wondering how long it would take Denise to learn to live with that knowledge, with that guilt, and I hoped she’d be okay. Poor Roger had been in the wrong place, just like that book on the bookmobile.

“Mrr.” Eddie jumped onto my lap and flopped down. His thick purrs started to fill my empty spaces, and I leaned down to kiss the top of his head. He really was a pretty good cat. Even without the qualifier of being an Eddie.

“You’re shivering,” Ash said.

“I’ll be okay,” I said through chattering teeth.

He gave me a long look and smiled. “Yeah. I bet you will be.” And then he reached forward and turned up the heat.

*   *   *

On Sunday, after sleeping late and waking with Eddie curled into the crook of my elbow, I poked at the breakfast Aunt Frances cooked for me and then walked through the snow to the sheriff’s office to give my statement.

I’d been exhausted the night before when I returned home, and even more exhausted after I’d texted Tucker and called Stephen. But a good night’s sleep, and, after my visit to the sheriff’s office, a nap and a phone call with Kristen (“Your cat has excellent taste in women”) revived me to the point of smiles, if not laughter. Aunt Frances, Eddie, and I spent the evening eating pizza from Fat Boys and binge watching episodes of
M*A*S*H,
and my sleep that night was clear of dreams.

The library was quiet and dark when I arrived early on Monday morning, and first thing, even before starting up my computer, I called the garage for the bad news.

“Ah, it’s not so bad,” Darren said. “Nothing structural—just a little body work. And it won’t take much to patch up those bullet holes.” He paused. “You’re all right, right?”

His concern made my eyes sting a bit. “I’m fine,” I
said. And I would be. Denise was safe, Eddie was safe, and the bookmobile would live to ride again. Somewhere, anyway.

I thanked Darren and looked at the number on my e-mail’s in-box with disfavor. How, exactly, could I have received seventy-three e-mails since leaving the library on Friday? Once again, I patted myself on the back for making a firm vow to never check library e-mail when I wasn’t working. I could have, sure, but why? There wasn’t much that happened at a library than needed instant attention.

Then again, seventy-three e-mails . . .

I pushed back my chair and stood. This required coffee. Maybe even Kelsey coffee. With a mug or two under my belt, I’d be ready to tackle anything.

But before the coffee was done brewing, the entire library staff was in the break room, all wanting to know what happened on Saturday, all with twisted stories of what they’d heard had happened.

“Denise got shot, is what the guys at the Round Table were saying,” Josh said.

“The poor bookmobile!” Kelsey was almost crying. “I heard it was totaled!”

“What about Eddie?” Donna asked, her face creased with concern. “No one’s said anything about him. Is he okay?”

Holly looked me up and down. “Someone told me you were in the hospital, in the ICU, but that was probably wrong.”

I grinned at her. “Probably,” I said and, for no reason other than the fact that I was surrounded by friends who cared about me, my dark mood lifted and the metaphorical sun came out.

Then came the voice of doom: “Minerva.”

My compatriots froze solid. “Good morning, Stephen,” I said cheerfully. In the past two days I’d almost destroyed the bookmobile, faced down a stone-cold killer, and edged away from an uncomfortable situation with Ash Wolverson into what might be friendship. There was nothing Stephen could do that would topple me.

“Upstairs,” he said tersely. “Now.”

As soon as the door shut behind him, my good friends started chattering about the pending possibilities.

“Is he going to fire you?” Kelsey asked.

“If he does,” Josh said, “can I have your office?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Holly scolded him. “Stephen would never fire Minnie. She’s too important.”

Unfortunately, I was old enough to know that everyone was expendable. “Only the library board can fire me,” I said. But I hoped now that everything was out in the open, they wouldn’t. After all, with Allison in jail, Tammy’s lawsuit couldn’t be valid. Then again, what did I know about the law? Reading Scott Turow’s books wasn’t exactly the equivalent of a law degree.

“Oh . . .” Donna said. We all turned to look at her. The sound she’d made had been almost one of pain.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

She wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Yesterday morning,” she said, picking invisible lint off her sweater, “I drove past the library on the way to church. There were a bunch of cars in the parking lot, and I couldn’t figure it out until I saw Otis Rahn come into church a little late.”

The room spun in a fast, whirling circle, and I put my hand on the wall to steady myself.

“The board met on a Sunday morning?” Kelsey whispered.

As one unit, they all turned to look at me, but I
didn’t look at them. Didn’t want to see their pity, or hear their worry or anything at all except normal library complaints about recalcitrant software and mistakenly shelved books. “I’d better get going,” I murmured, and headed upstairs in Stephen’s wake.

When I entered his office, Stephen was standing at one of the windows, looking out across the snow-whitened rooftops of downtown Chilson.

“Ah, Minerva,” he said without turning around. “Please sit down.”