Cat With A Clue

Chapter 20

The next morning, I got to the library early and dove deep into the pile of work on my desk. I kept my head down, ignored the footsteps passing my open doorway, and, in general, did all that I could to keep busy and not think about what was happening upstairs in the boardroom.

It didn’t work, of course, but I made a valiant effort.

Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. I needed to hear a human voice and, almost as much, I needed caffeine. I grabbed my coffee mug and headed for the break room, which seemed to be packed full of noisy library employees.

I looked around, counting heads and trying to remember how many people I’d scheduled to work that morning. I’d been preoccupied lately, but surely I hadn’t put this many people on the calendar. Had I? “Please tell me that someone is at the front desk.”

Holly gave me a stern glance. “How can you think about things like that when the Big Decision is about to come down?”

“Kelsey’s out there,” Donna said, coming by with a full pot of coffee.

“Did you switch with someone?” I asked. “I’m sure I didn’t put you on the schedule today.”

Donna grinned. “What makes you think I’m on the clock?”

“I’m not working, either,” said another part-time clerk a little tentatively. “Um, that’s okay, isn’t it? To come in if I’m not scheduled to work.”

Josh held up his mug for a refill. “Like Minnie would be one to talk about that. She’s here seventy hours a week, and she’s salaried.”

“She’s dedicated,” Gareth said as he winked at me.

“Or she’s stupid,” Josh muttered.

“Or both,” Donna said, laughing. “Anyone want more coffee?”

“How long do you think they’re going to be?” Holly said, pointing at the ceiling.

Trying to guess the length of a board meeting was a pointless exercise. “No idea.” A large number of speculative glances were being sent in my direction, so I said, “Anyone want to hear about Saturday night?”

On a normal Monday morning, the first thing we would have done was exchange any significant weekend stories, but this Monday was far from normal.

“That’s right,” Gareth said. “I heard you were in the hospital with a gunshot wound to the gut.” He studied me. “You must be a fast healer.”

“What!” Donna turned around so fast I was afraid the coffee in the pot she was holding would swirl out. “Minnie, are you okay? What happened?”

So I explained everything, starting with the passing of Talia DeKeyser, the murder of Andrea Vennard, the break-ins, and Pam Fazio’s injury. When I told them that a copy of Chastain’s Wildflowers had been sitting on the DeKeysers’ sideboard for decades, a collective gasp went through the room, and I finished up with the arrest of Paul Utley and the uncovering of the near-pristine Wildflowers.

“What about the gun?” Josh demanded. He looked angry and, oddly, protective. “Did that Utley hurt you? That’s got to put him in jail even longer.”

“No gun,” I said mildly, and decided not to talk about the weapon that had been involved. The sharp blade of that knife would haunt my dreams for many nights, and I didn’t want to talk about it any more than I had to.

“How’s Eddie?” Donna asked. Back in the pre-Julia days, Donna had gone out on the bookmobile a few times and had taken a liking to the fuzzy little guy. “Is he okay?”

“He was fine when I left him this morning,” I said. “That is, if being curled up on the middle of my pillow and purring at sixty decibels is an indication of being fine.”

The rest of them started pelting me with more questions about the events of Saturday night, some that I could answer (Where’s Wildflowers now?) and some that I couldn’t (How long will Utley be in prison?), and it was when the questions were dwindling to speculation about the ownership of Chastain’s book that a polite voice asked, “Minnie, do you have a minute?”

All other sounds in the room stilled. I turned to the library board’s vice-president. “Of course,” I said, and followed him upstairs to hear who the board had selected as the new director for the Chilson District Library.

* * *

My aunt Frances handed me a plate of chocolate-chip cookies.

We were sitting on the creaky metal glider that had been on the screened porch of the boardinghouse for longer than I’d been alive. Birds sang in the trees, leaves rustled in spite of there being no detectible breeze, and the evening sun lit everything with an almost magical golden glow.

I sighed, not feeling any magic inside of me, and took a cookie, which probably wouldn’t help, but why risk it?

“What do you think the new director is going to be like?” my aunt asked.

“Jennifer Walker?” I studied the cookie, formulating my approach. The last bite had to have more than one chocolate chip, but so did the first bite. “Remember when Eddie threw up on a candidate’s Italian shoes?”

“Oh, dear.”

I glanced at Aunt Frances. “You’re laughing. How could you? My new boss already hates me, and she most certainly hates Eddie. She’s going to ban him from the bookmobile, she’s going to get rid of the bookmobile, and then she’s going to fire me.” Savagely, I bit into the cookie.

“I’m laughing because it’s funny,” my loving aunt said, now laughing out loud. “The only time Eddie is in the library and what does he do? Urp all over the shoes of your next boss.”

“Well,” I said, half smiling. “Maybe it’s a little funny.”

“See?” My aunt bumped me with her elbow. “It’ll all work out—you know it will.”

Once again, she was right, and I pushed away my concerns. Because things would work out, one way or another, and worrying about it wouldn’t help. So I decided to stop thinking about it. Jennifer would start at the library the second week of August, and that’s when we’d find out what she’d be like. Why ruin the next few weeks worrying?

I told this to Aunt Frances, who smiled. “Just so you know,” she said, “I think you made the right decision about not applying for the director’s spot. You’re young and you’re enjoying what you’re doing. When it’s time to make a move, you’ll know.”

“Really?”

Her smile deepened. “Absolutely. It may be difficult in many ways, especially if the decision will create ripple effects for others, but, in the end, you have to think about what’s best for yourself. It’s no good making life choices based on what other people think.”

I looked at her carefully. “We’re talking about something else now, aren’t we?”

“Minnie,” she said, laughing, “you are not the most observant of nieces today.” She held up her left hand, and only then did I notice that it was glittering with the light of a thousand suns.

I gaped at the gorgeous ring, which was encrusted with light blue jewels that matched the color of her eyes. “Otto asked you to marry him?”

“He asked me over a month ago,” she said. “It took me this long to decide.”

Which explained her odd behavior the past few weeks. Hah!

“Well, it’s about time,” I said, grinning hugely, and reached over to give her a hug. Halfway through, a thought bolted into my brain and I pulled back. “Aunt Frances, what about the boardinghouse? Is Otto going to move here? Or . . .”

“Things will work out,” my aunt said, patting my arm. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

And, since Aunt Frances was the best aunt in the whole wide world and was one of the wisest people I’d ever met, I believed her.

* * *

“What do you think?” I asked.

Eddie, whom I’d just told about the engagement, picked up his head and blinked at me.

“Never mind,” I said, giving him a long pet. “You had a long night two days ago and must be way behind on your rest. Go back to sleep.”

He sighed and settled in deeper on my legs.

We were sitting on the front deck of the houseboat, watching the sun slip down behind the horizon. Or at least I was, since Eddie’s eyes were closed. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, and the clarity of the air and water was so beautiful it almost hurt.

I watched the colors above me ease from medium blue to dark blue to indigo. As I watched the slow changes, I thought about all that had happened in the past weeks, and came to the conclusion that if people only spent more time watching the sun go down and the stars come out, that there would be less suffering in the world.

The marina lights were just bright enough for me to see the black-and-white tabby cat on my lap. “What do you think?” I asked, my hand on his warm back. “Am I being profound tonight, or what?”

He opened and shut his mouth in a silent “Mrr” just as my cell phone trilled.

To answer or not to answer? That was the question. An even better question, though, would have been why had I brought the cell out here in the first place? I turned it over. Detective Inwood? Why was he calling so late?

I snatched up the phone, suddenly worried about Ash. “Detective. What’s the matter?”

There was a pause. “Why would you think anything is wrong?”

Which could only mean that Ash was safe and sound. “Because it’s ten thirty at night.”

“It is?” He sounded surprised. “I apologize. I was working late, catching up on things, and didn’t realize what time it was. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

I had a sudden sympathy for the man. He’d been gone for a couple of days and his desk must have been piled high with work. “Or you could just tell me now. Then you can cross something off your list.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate that. What I wanted to tell you is that all parties involved in the ownership of Chastain’s book have agreed on a temporary holding location.”

“Oh? That’s good.” Although why Inwood needed to tell me about it, I wasn’t sure.

“Yes,” he said. “The location is the rare-books collection of the Chilson District Library.”

“It . . . What?”

“You do have a rare-books collection, yes?”

“Well, sure, but . . .”

“And you have proper security for that collection?” When I didn’t answer straightaway, he prompted, “Or you can get some in a reasonable time frame?”

“Yes,” I said, visualizing various budgets. When I mentally located a line item for contingency expenses that had a four-figure balance, I said, “Yes,” again, this time more firmly. “Absolutely yes.”

“Excellent,” Inwood said, and I was pretty sure I heard the stroke of a pencil crossing out an item on a list. “Let me know when you have things in place, and I’ll have the book delivered.”

A copy of Wildflowers? In my library? There couldn’t possibly be anything I could do that would impress the new director more. Aunt Frances was right: Everything was going to work out. My heart began to sing.

“Nicely done, by the way, Ms. Hamilton,” the detective said.

The song came to an abrupt halt. Had he really said what I thought he’d said? “Sorry?”

“Saturday night. You found yourself in a difficult and dangerous situation and were alert enough to do what needed to be done.”

“Oh. Um, thanks.” He didn’t hang up, so I said, “Most people think I was nuts for rushing a guy with a knife.”

“Most people.” He chuckled. “You are not most people, Ms. Hamilton.” His chuckle turned into an outright laugh, and he ended the call, still laughing.

“‘Nuts’ wasn’t the first term that came to my mind,” came a voice out of the dark. “‘Brave’ was the first. Then ‘stupid.’ Then came ‘nuts.’”

I turned off the phone. “Hey, Eric.” Over our Sunday-morning newspapers, I’d told my neighbor about the events of the night before. “How long have you been sitting out there?”

“Long enough to hear you ask your cat about being profound. Were you?”

“Doubt it.”

“Tell me anyway.”

So I shrugged and did, telling him how sunsets and stars might lead us to a better world.

After a long moment, he said into the evening’s darkness, “You know what, Minnie? You’re probably right. I can’t believe your cat didn’t say so.”

Smiling, I gathered Eddie up into my arms. “See you tomorrow, Eric.”

“Night, Minnie.”

I carried Eddie inside and set him gently on the bed. I brushed my teeth and changed into jammies, and, finally, slid between the sheets, trying to disturb my sleeping cat as little as possible. “Night, pal,” I whispered, and kissed him on the top of his head. “Sleep tight. Tomorrow’s a bookmobile day.”

“Mrr.”

And I would have sworn that he was smiling.