Borrowed Crime

Chapter 19

“Minnie?” 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.”

No way was I going to sit while he was still on his feet. If I was going to get fired, I’d take it standing tall. All sixty inches of me, which always sounded taller than five feet.

“I have a number of things to discuss.” Stephen tilted his head. “Four, to be exact. Number one.” He held out the index finger of one hand. “Due to our phone conversation on Saturday, I called an emergency meeting of the library board. We met yesterday morning, and, as you might be able to imagine, we had a number of issues on the agenda.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I can imagine.”

“With such a decided resolution to the dangers threatening the bookmobile, the board reached a quick consensus regarding the vehicle’s future.” He paused and turned slightly. Not enough to make eye contact with me, but that was nothing new. “The bookmobile itself has a future, correct?” he asked. “With regard to its physical condition?”

I told him what Darren had said, and he went back to staring out the window.

“The board has no issues,” he said, “with the continuance of the bookmobile program. Ms. Shelburt has dropped her lawsuit against the library.”

“That’s great.” Happiness and relief rushed through me. “But I still need to find funding for it.”

Stephen shook his head, and my propped-up spirits started falling again. He sighed. “Minerva, don’t you read your e-mail?”

My chin went up. “Of course I do. It’s the first thing I do every workday, and the last thing I do before I leave at night.”

“But you don’t check your e-mail on your days off.”

He made it a statement, and my chin went up even farther. “No,” I said firmly. “I do not. I’m salaried. I work at least sixty hours a week, and when I leave this building, I’m done working until I come back to the building. I resent the implication that I’m not working hard enough, and if that’s what you—”

Stephen turned to face me and I stopped midstream, because he was . . . well, he was smiling. “Minnie, you amuse me.”

“I . . . do?”

“If you’d read your e-mail, you would have learned that the auction of Russell McCade’s artwork, the proceeds of which are coming to the library, fetched an astronomical price. One of the highest prices ever for one of his works.”

“Highest?”

Stephen nodded and was still smiling when he told me the number. Which was when I did sit down. Cade’s broken phone call and his excitement suddenly made sense. When he’d talked about a “thousand dollars” that was just the tail end of the six-figure amount that was going to the library.

Only . . . what else had he said? I looked at my boss, not wanting to know but having to ask. “Is there a problem with the donation? Cade called Friday, but the connection was bad, and I could have sworn he said something about ‘not the library.’”

Stephen went back to the window. “Apparently Mr. McCade has used his powers of persuasion to convince the family to donate the proceeds not to the library, but to”—he paused—“the bookmobile. That’s the second item I wanted to discuss.”

Though I was already sitting down, I wanted to sit down again.

“The library world,” Stephen went on, “is buzzing with the news. I’m surprised you haven’t received phone calls about this.”

Not yet, but I had received seventy-three e-mails.

“The Chilson District Library,” he said to the window, “is becoming a library of note, and I have to say that you, Minnie, are primarily responsible.” He gestured toward his desk. “I’ve received a letter of support for the bookmobile from an Andrew Burrows, a kindergarten teacher at Moulson Elementary, I believe. It is signed by sixty-two people.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“The library board and I have received numerous such comments. Each of the letters, phone calls, and e-mails we’ve received speak of you and the bookmobile in great and glowing terms.”

Stephen was passing on compliments? Who was this man, and what had he done with my boss?

“This leads me to the third item.” He folded his arms and rubbed his chin. “You may not be aware, and as a matter of fact, I quite hope you’re not, but I’ve been grooming you to be the next library director.”

I squeaked, but Stephen kept rolling.

“Not for five years and ten months, of course, which is when I anticipate that my retirement savings will reach my target amount, but it’s never too early to start training your successor, not if you want your institution to be properly run after you’re gone.”

Properly? I almost snorted.

“The reason,” he said, “that I’ve been so hard on you the past year was to test you, to see if you have the right stuff. The library board will, of course, make the final decision, but at this point I can say with certainty that the job is yours.”

He’d been testing me? The nights I’d worked late, the hair I’d pulled out, the off-hours research I’d done, all in the name of meeting one of Stephen’s challenges—all that had been a test?

My chin went up again, but slowly it came down. Maybe testing me had been a good way to determine my suitability. There were worse ways. Probably.

“I can see that you’re surprised,” Stephen said, which was when I realized he’d been watching my facial expressions in the window’s reflection. “There’s no need for you to make a decision at this juncture, but after all you’ve done for this library, I thought it reasonable to inform you of my plans.”

“Thank you,” I murmured. “This is a lot to think about.”

“I understand.” Stephen pulled out his chair. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

As if. I thanked him again and started to stand.

“Oh, and Minnie. The fourth thing?”

“Yes?”

He smiled faintly. “Your cat. I know all about him.”

“My cat?” I froze, half-up and half-down.

“Eddie, I believe his name is.” Stephen straightened his computer monitor. “I’ve known he was on the bookmobile from the first week.” He chuckled. “Did you really think I didn’t know what was going on?”

“Oh. I . . . uh . . .”

“Minerva.” Stephen sighed. “If you’re ever going to sit behind this desk, you really need to learn to speak more coherently. Please work on that.”

“Yes, sir.” I stood and, on extremely wobbly legs, I made my way back downstairs, where my friends were waiting for me.