Pouncing on Murder (34 page)

“What about for the day Adam was almost run over?”

“Then, too.”

Kristen nodded. “Good. Just wanted to make sure that Duvall can’t wriggle out of this by having his attorney point the finger at anyone else. If they can’t recover the audio from your phone, the prosecuting attorney might have a problem.”

She had a good point, but the motive and the opportunity were so clear to me that I didn’t see that happening. Even Felix Stanton had been ruled out as a suspect by Detective Inwood’s Saturday investigations. It turned out that Felix had been meeting with potential investors
the afternoon Henry died, and had been downstate trolling for new clients when Adam came so close to being hit by that car.

I held out my hand and hauled Kristen to her feet. “Remember Neva Chatham?”

“The lady with the gun? Sure.”

“Turns out that the entire county except you and me knows that Neva’s shotgun has been a squirrel’s acorn cache since the Reagan administration.”

My morning phone call with Ash had also revealed that little tidbit of information. And I’d learned, through Sabrina that morning at the Round Table, why Rachel Carter, the mother of the little boy who’d defended Neva, had never called back. There had been a family wedding in Hawaii, and they’d turned the event into a long vacation. “Lucky buggers,” Sabrina had said, topping off my coffee. “The warmest place any of my relatives live is Escanaba. I’m the one who moved south.”

Though I still didn’t think it was a good idea for anyone to be waving around any sort of a firearm at harmless strangers—Neva might get herself into real trouble someday—now that I’d spent time in her kitchen, I could also see why there was a sort of tacit understanding in the community about her.

The one unknown still hanging out there was whether Duvall had tried to push those bricks onto Adam’s head. Ash said that Duvall had sworn he’d had nothing to do with it, but they were looking into it. Not that it mattered, prisonwise. Duvall would stand trial for Henry’s murder and the attempted murder of Adam and me, and would undoubtedly be imprisoned for the rest of his life.

My own personal unknown, a possible huge hike to my boat slip rental fee, was also still hanging out there, but I wasn’t going to worry about that. It was too nice a day.

“Hey, know what?” I asked. We were walking along the waterfront now, and I pointed at a gorgeous wooden boat tied up to the city dock. “Aunt Frances is going to teach a boat restoration class this fall at the college.”

“How nice,” Kristen said.

I grinned. My friend, although she’d lived next to water most of her life, couldn’t stand being out on it. “And you know what boat they’re going to restore?”

“Haven’t the foggiest . . . Hang on.” She stopped and stared at me. “Don’t tell me.”

“Yep. They’re going to restore Neva’s boat as a class project. Won’t cost her a dime.”

Kristen gave a long whistle. “How’d you manage that?”

I smiled a little smugly. “Librarian magic.” Well, that and a lot of fast talking. I’d called Neva ahead of time and invited her to the book fair to meet Trock. He was interested in local farmers, I told her, which was true, and while it hadn’t been easy to get Neva and my aunt in the same spot at the same time, I’d managed to do so with Holly’s help, and once I’d steered the conversation in the direction of boat restoration, everything fell into place.

Kristen and I, still talking, arrived at Josh’s small ranch house. The yard was trim and neat, with low shrubs softening the foundation. Pale blue siding with white trim gave the house a friendly look, and the brass of the
light fixtures that flanked the front door winked bright in the sunshine.

“I suppose,” Kristen said, “that Holly is going to be here.”

“Yes, and you’re going to behave, just like you promised.” For some reason I’d never quite grasped, Holly and Kristen, who had known each other since they were in kindergarten, couldn’t be in the same room without sparks flying.

My best friend squinched up her face. “Did I really promise?”

“Absolutely,” I said, and we went up to the front door and knocked.

The door opened to a smiling Josh. “Hey, Minnie. Hi, Kristen. Come on in.” Behind him, there were a number of people milling about, drinks and plates of food in hand. Some of the people I didn’t know, but I saw Kelsey, Donna, and a number of other library staff.

We stepped up and in, and I blinked at the color the living room walls were painted. “Isn’t that—”

A female shriek from the recent arrival behind us made everyone in the room wince. “Josh Hadden!” Holly yelled. “You are such a jerk!”

Josh laughed. “Gotcha!”

Holly pointed at the walls. “This is the exact color I told you about, isn’t it? Not a taupe, not an olive, not a brown, but something that’s part of them all.”

“Yep,” he said.

She craned her neck around to see. “And your dining area. That’s the same dark red I was talking about.”

“And the kitchen is the sage green you picked out,”
he said, grinning. “I even painted the bathroom that pink you liked so much.”

“You did not!” Holly said.

He shrugged. “It’s just paint. I figured if I hated it, I’d do it over again in beige. Didn’t turn out so bad.”

Holly gave him a hug. “You,” she said, “are the biggest jerk I know.”

“But seriously good-looking,” he said, combing back his hair with his fingers. “You got to admit that part, at least.”

They started in on their siblinglike bickering, and Kristen and I eased away. “Food’s in the kitchen,” Donna said. “And you have to take a look at the bathroom. The color is gorgeous. I don’t know how he had the guts to do that.”

In the kitchen, ladling meatballs from a slow cooker onto a paper plate, was Mitchell Koyne.

“Hey, Mitchell,” I said. “How are you doing?”

He looked at me, looked left and right, then looked back at me. It was a classic deer-in-the-headlights expression, but I had no idea why it was on Mitchell’s face.

“Uh, hi, Minnie,” he said. “Hey, Kristen.”

An attractive woman came into the room and put her arm possessively around Mitchell’s waist. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Bianca.”

Kristen blinked. I blinked. Then we recovered from the shock of seeing a seemingly sensible woman voluntarily attach herself to Mitchell and introduced ourselves. Once Bianca learned about Kristen’s restaurant, the two immediately went deep into a discussion of arcane food preparation.

I spooned potato salad and meatballs onto a paper plate and was trying to decide which pasta salad to choose when Mitchell sidled over to me.

“You okay?” he whispered.

But, really, why did I have to choose at all? I dolloped both kinds onto my plate. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked.

“Well, you know.” He nodded toward Bianca.

I had no clue, actually. “She seems very nice,” I ventured.

“The best,” Mitchell said, a sappy grin on his face. “I just, you know, hope your feelings aren’t hurt. I mean, I know you kind of have sort of a thing for me.”

I’d just put a forkful of salad in my mouth, but I almost spit it out. “A thing?” I gasped, trying not to choke.

“Well, yeah.” Mitchell shrugged. “That’s why I haven’t told you I was dating Bianca. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

I summoned the deep reserves of strength I was rarely forced to draw upon, and didn’t laugh. “Thank you for your concern,” I said as seriously as I could manage. “But I’ll be fine.”

Mitchell peered down at me. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

•   •   •

An hour later, Kristen and I were walking to the marina, and I was telling her the story. “Are you serious?” she asked.

“Yep,” I said. “Remember he asked me out last summer? I’m guessing whatever I told him got misinterpreted.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Kristen said, grinning.
“And he said he didn’t want to hurt your feelings?” Her laugh was loud and long. “Classic Mitchell. Creating problems where there aren’t any around for miles.”

“He was trying to be nice,” I protested.

“And you’re defending him,” she said, still laughing. “No wonder he thinks you have a thing for him.”

“Someone has to look out for people like Mitchell,” I said. “Wouldn’t the world would be a poorer place if we didn’t have Mitchell stories to tell?”

“True enough.” We had rounded the corner to the marina just as Kristen started to tell a story from high school about Mitchell and the physics teacher and a box of dry ice when she stopped short. “Isn’t that your boss?”

“Can’t be,” I said. “He doesn’t . . .” Then I looked in the direction where she was looking. “Uh-oh.”

“Minerva,” Stephen said, walking toward us briskly. “I must say I expected a phone call from you today.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t think why. “My phone fell in the water last night.”

“I see.” He glanced at Kristen, who took the hint.

“There’s a deck chair over there that has my name on it,” she said, and left me alone with Stephen.

“Your phone isn’t the only thing that went into the water, I hear.” Stephen gave me a once-over. “But I can see that you came out without injury.”

“Yes.”

Our conversation, such as it was, languished.

“The book fair went well,” he said.

“It did.” Was this why he’d expected a call from me today? He’d made an appearance at the fair, and at that point he’d seemed agreeable to getting the final numbers
for attendance on Monday, but maybe he’d woken up this morning and found that he couldn’t wait. “If you’re looking for the final numbers,” I said, “I won’t have them until tomorrow.”

“Hmm?” He was looking at Janay Lake. “No, no, tomorrow is fine.”

Then why was he here? I had things to do, friends to chat with, and cats to pet. I shifted from one foot to the other, trying to figure out what was going on and failing completely.

“Minerva,” he said suddenly. “I am leaving Chilson.”

“You . . . what?” This didn’t make sense. Last winter he’d told me he would be retiring in about six years and that he’d been grooming me to take his place as director of the library. “But—”

“My plans have changed,” he said. “I’ve been offered a job in Georgia, close to family, and it’s an opportunity that seems tailor-made for me.”

I realized that I knew very little about Stephen’s personal life other than vague knowledge of a sister. I supposed he must have had parents, and there was a rumor that he had children, but some things are harder to imagine than others and I hadn’t yet expended the energy it would take to envision Stephen diapering a baby.

“When?” I finally asked. “Are you leaving, I mean.”

“They would like me to start the first of June.” He kept his gaze on the lake. “I just notified the library board, and they will be starting the search for a new director next week.”

“Oh,” I said.

“I have also told them that they couldn’t do better
than to select you.” He paused. “There are a number of board members, however, who think there is an obligation to do a wider search.”

No surprise there. Besides, they were probably right. “Thank you, Stephen.”

“No need for thanks. The board has made no decision.” He nodded toward the lake, started to walk away, but stopped and half turned toward me. “Good luck, Minnie,” he said.

I blinked. Then, when I still didn’t know what to do, I blinked again at his retreating back. “Well,” I said out loud.

“What was all that about?” Kristen called from the marina’s patio.

I held up my index finger, indicating I’d be right back, and went to the houseboat. “Hey, Eddie, are you awake?” When I’d left, he’d been curled up on the bed and snoring louder than I’d thought it possible for a cat to snore. “Eddie, where—ow!”

My cat looked up at me innocently, as if he hadn’t just whacked my chin with the top of his hard head.

I picked him up and gave him a good snuggle. “Want to go sit outside with Aunt Kristen?”

“Mrr,” he said, straight into my face. Cat food breath wafted over me, but I didn’t feel like complaining, not after last night.

“So,” I told him, “Stephen thinks I should become the new library director. Which sounds good in a lot of ways.” One of which was money. I’d make not quite double what I was making as assistant director. And I’d be able to expand the children’s programming, and I’d be
able to do more outreach, and all sorts of other things that Stephen had resisted doing. “But what would I do about the bookmobile?” Because there was no way I’d have time to drive the bookmobile if I was director. “I love driving us around and—”

Eddie put his paw across my lips.

“You’re right,” I murmured as I rearranged him into a shoulder snuggle. “I’ll think about it later. It’ll all work out, won’t it?”

“Mrr,” he said, and started purring.

Sometimes the advice of a cat is the best advice of all.

Read on for a sneak peek of Minnie and Eddie’s next adventure,

CAT WITH A CLUE

Available August 2016 from Obsidian!

I
n my almost thirty-four years of living, I’d discovered that there were remarkably few things I absolutely had to do.

Yes, I had to feed and clothe and house myself, but besides those basics, there wasn’t much that couldn’t be put off for the sake of sitting for a few minutes in the morning sunshine, especially when said morning sunshine was smiling down on my very own houseboat, which was resting comfortably on the sparkling waters of a lovely blue lake alongside Chilson, a picturesque town in northwest lower Michigan that happened to be my favorite place in the whole world.

I lay flopped in my lounge chair, eyes closed and soaking up the sun, content with pretty much everything and everyone. Life was good and there wasn’t much that could improve it other than making this particular moment last even longer. Peace and quiet reigned throughout my little land. There were things to do, but they could
wait. Nothing I had to do that day was so important that it couldn’t be put off for a few more minutes and—

“Mrr!”

Of course, my idea of what defined important didn’t always match my cat’s.

I opened my eyes and looked at Eddie, my black-and-white tabby, who was approximately three years old and who had placed his nose two inches from my face.