Pouncing On Murder

Chapter 22

Sunday afternoon, Kristen thundered out a laundry list of unnecessary orders to her staff, gave them a good long glare, and ended with “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Don’t burn the place to the ground when I’m gone, okay?”

Each and every one of the white-coated staff members rolled their eyes, right in front of their boss. “We’ll be fine,” the head chef said as she stirred something in a huge pot. “Go have some fun before you forget how.”

Kristen sniffed loudly, turned to me, winked, and together we headed into the sunshine, destination: the party at Josh’s house.

“Ash Wolverson, huh?” she asked as we walked along. Her elbow caught me in the middle of my upper arm. “He’s pretty hot. What are you going to do on your date?”

“Go to a different town,” I said promptly. “Or maybe Canada. It’s not far, really, and it’s a nice drive across the bridge.”

I’d been joking, but it wasn’t a bad idea. No one would know either of us in Canada, which held great appeal, because I’d had many a romantic meal hijacked by friends who’d wanted to stop and chat. And then there’d been the memorable occasion when I took a date to Kristen’s restaurant and she played waitress for us.

“With Trock in town for the book fair,” I said, “why isn’t Scruffy hanging around you like a lost puppy dog?”

“They’re behind on the TV show,” she said. “Flew back to New York this morning. I barely saw him at all.”

“But he’ll be back for the summer, right?” Kristen and Scruffy made a wonderful couple. I didn’t like to think of them apart for too long a stretch.

“Memorial weekend,” she said, happiness clear in her voice. “Then on through to Labor Day.”

I sent an elbow her way, which smacked into the top of her hip. “Should be a good summer, then.”

“Only if you finish telling me what happened to you last night.”

“How much did I tell you?”

It had been Kristen who’d picked me up from the hospital, where I’d been delivered, so to speak. Ash had driven my car to the houseboat, and after the emergency room doctor said my body temperature was at a safe level, I used the hospital’s phone to summon my best friend. My cell phone was in the hands of Detective Inwood, who would be taking it to their computer forensics guy, who would do his best to recover my audio recordings of Duvall’s threats to me and his acknowledgment of what he’d done to Henry and Adam.

Kristen had been full of questions last night, but I’d fallen asleep within two blocks and had barely woken when she gently pulled me out of her car, walked me to my houseboat, and dribbled me into bed.

“For clarity’s sake,” Kristen said now, “let’s say you didn’t tell me anything.”

This was sensible, because whatever I’d told her last night couldn’t have been very coherent. “Well,” I said, “it all started when Cole Duvall called me after the book fair and said that he had Eddie.”

Kristen made a T with her hands for a time-out. “Sidebar. How is Mr. Ed?”

“He’s fine. Kit Richardson brought him home this morning. I think he likes her better than he likes me.”

“Hang on,” Kristen said. “You’re talking about the sheriff?”

“Well, yeah. Is there any other Kit Richardson in Chilson?”

She shivered. “You let her take Eddie? You sure she didn’t eat him and bring a substitute in his place?”

“What? No, of course not. What’s the matter with you? She’s perfectly nice.”

“I doubt that word has ever been associated with Sheriff Richardson,” Kristen muttered, then looked around to see if anyone had heard her.

“You’re an idiot,” I said.

“And you’re what, smart?” She made a rude noise. “Going off to meet a guy you suspected of murdering Henry Gill and trying to run over Adam Deering isn’t what I’d call stellar brainwork.”

“It wasn’t as bad as you make it sound,” I said. “Matter of fact, I—”

“Say,” Kristen interrupted. “Isn’t that your aunt? And Otto?”

I clutched at her arm. “Don’t tell her anything about last night. I’ll talk to her later.”

But Aunt Frances was headed straight in my direction. “Minerva Joy Hamilton,” she called, “I need to talk to you.”

“Okay,” Kristen said, grinning. “I won’t tell her a thing.”

“What were you thinking?” my aunt scolded as she enveloped me in a huge hug, smushing my face against her shoulder. “Going off like that without a word to anyone, walking straight into danger . . . For heaven’s sake, I thought you knew better!”

“I do,” I said in a muffled way.

“What? Speak up, child.” She held me away from her. “You don’t look the worse for wear, but what on earth possessed you to do something so stupid?”

I knew an eye roll would get me another scolding, so I kept it internal. I also wanted to know how she’d known about last night—I certainly hadn’t told her—but Chilson was a small town and I should have called her earlier to let her know I was okay.

“Can we sit down?” I asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, I ushered all three of them to a nearby bench and sat them all down in a row, Otto in the middle. I stood in front of the trio and started my lecture.

“No interruptions, please,” I said, clasping my hands behind my back and rocking back a little on my heels. They agreed and I started to enjoy myself. “Last night, I got home late because of the book fair. Soon afterward, I got a phone call from Cole Duvall, saying he had Eddie and that I had to be at the Duvall’s cottage in an hour to get him back.”

Kristen, Aunt Frances, and Otto all nodded. This part they already knew.

“I’m going to be completely truthful here,” I said. “I panicked. Freaked out, actually. I didn’t know what to do and I was scared.”

“Why didn’t—” Aunt Frances started, but Kristen shushed her to silence.

“Thank you,” I said. “I called Deputy Ash Wolverson”—this was for Otto’s benefit, because my aunt and Kristen were well aware of what Ash did for a living—“but had to leave a voice mail message.” Last night’s fear came back full and strong. I shook it away and went on.

“I knew it would take more than half an hour to drive to Duvall’s place and I’d already used up almost fifteen minutes of the hour by calling Ash and making sure Duvall wasn’t playing some cruel joke and that Eddie wasn’t still on the houseboat somewhere. So I got in the car.”

Kristen started to say something but stopped when both Aunt Frances and Otto glared at her.

“Halfway there,” I went on, “I pulled over. I had a few extra minutes, so I used them to think.”

And I had, after I’d pounded the steering wheel in frustration until my fists hurt. I’d jumped out of the car and paced up and down the side of the lonely road, trying to assemble a plan.

I told my audience how I’d called the sheriff’s office and coerced Dispatch into transferring me to Detective Inwood, who, I later found out, had been at home about to bite into a freshly grilled steak. I made a mental note to send him and his wife a gift certificate to Kristen’s restaurant and continued my tale.

“The detective told me he’d spent the day making a case against Duvall and said he’d call Sheriff Richardson as soon as he got off the phone with me, and to go home, that they’d take care of everything.”

Otto stirred. “But—”

Two female elbows, one from each side, jabbed him into silence.

I smiled at him. “But there was no way I was going to wait, not while Duvall had Eddie. When I told Inwood that, he told me to . . .” I paused, not wanting to repeat the detective’s exact words. It was Sunday, after all, and besides, my aunt didn’t approve of cursing at any time. “Let’s just say my subsequent actions weren’t sanctioned by the sheriff’s office.”

Kristen snorted, Aunt Frances sighed, and Otto chuckled.

Ignoring them all, I continued. “The detective told me they’d be there as soon as they could, and instructed me to wait until there was a police presence before approaching Duvall.” I looked away for a moment, remembering and reliving. “But I couldn’t do that,” I said quietly. “He’d said an hour. I couldn’t risk it, not when he had Eddie.”

My aunt sighed again, but this time I could tell it was a sigh of understanding. She’d lived with Eddie all last winter and she loved him, too. Kristen cast a glance at the heavens and slouched down on the bench. She understood. Otto gave me a soft smile and a nod.

I told them about going down to the dock, about finding Eddie, about my short dip in the water to avoid being clonked over the head with a blunt object, and the appearance of the police to save the day.

“So,” I finished, “it was a risk, but I knew help was on the way. And it all turned out okay, so there’s no reason to tell Mom, is there?”

This last was to my aunt. Who, as my mother’s sister-in-law, knew all about my mom’s tendency to drama and overprotectiveness.

Aunt Frances gave me a keen look. “I hear you’re dating Ash these days.”

I closed my eyes briefly. How did she know these things? “We haven’t been on a single date yet. Next weekend will be our first.”

She hmmphed and stood. “Maybe he’ll do a better job of keeping you safe and sound than that doctor did.”

Otto laughed and got up. He leaned over and whispered, “I think you’re doing a fine job of that all by yourself, Minnie. Keep up the good work.”

The two of them made their good-byes and walked off, hand in hand.

Smiling, I watched them go, then turned back to Kristen, who remained on the bench as if she meant to stay there for months. “What?” I asked. “We’re going to be late.”

“Details,” she said, holding out her hands, palm up, and making “come here” motions with her long fingers. “There are more details to come and I’m not moving until I hear them all.”

Though I’d glossed over my near death from hypothermia in the story I’d just related to my aunt and Otto, since Kristen was the one who’d picked me up from the hospital, she was aware of those particular circumstances. “What details?”

“That Seth, for one. I thought you’d thought he was a murder suspect. Say, did I ever tell you that I finally saw Tony Wartella?”

I shook my head.

“Oh. Well, I did. He and his wife came in the other day. I asked if he had a relative named Seth, and he said he did, a cousin of some sort. But Tony also said that since his dad had passed away, and that was years ago, he’d never once seen him.”

I thanked her, but it hadn’t mattered, not since Irene realized she’d mistaken a law enforcer for a lawbreaker. And I’d also heard, via Ash that morning, that Detective Inwood had tracked down Seth via his probation officer and made the appropriate inquires. “They checked,” I said. “Turns out Seth had a solid alibi for the day Henry was killed.”

“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.