Laurie Cass - Bookmobile Cat 02 - Tailing a Tabby

Chapter 4

Early the next morning, I woke to the unmistakable noise of a cat doing something that he shouldn’t.

“Eddie, whatever you’re up to, stop it.”

He, of course, ignored me and went on making odd noises out in the kitchen area.

Growling to myself about cats and mornings and alarm clocks, I rolled out of bed, and padded down the short hallway and up the three steps in my bare feet and jammies. At the top of the stairs, I stood over him, hands on my hips. “Although it’s more what you’re down to, isn’t it?”

He looked up at me with an expression that could only be saying, “Who, me?”

“Yes, you.” I kicked at the newspaper he’d pulled off the top of the recyclables pile and dragged to the middle of the floor. “What is it with you and paper products? Paper towels, newspapers. And last month it was stuff out of the printer. What are you going to attack next week?” I almost said toilet paper but kept my suggestion to myself and crouched down to gather up his minor mess.

“I suppose I should be grateful you hadn’t started shredding this stuff. Having to pick up tiny pieces of newsprint first thing in the morning would be truly annoying.” I tried to arrange the papers in a neat pile by shoving them around. Didn’t get very far.

Eddie appeared to be finding my efforts interesting to the point that he was stretching out with his front paw to tap the paper. “Oh, quit. This isn’t a cat toy, okay?” I looked at the date. “This is yesterday’s paper and…” My voice faded away as I caught sight of an article I hadn’t noticed the night before.

“Check this out, Eddie. A boat exploded out on Lake Michigan.”

My furry friend edged closer, his paw still extended. I moved the paper up out of his reach. His easy reach, anyway. “The boat’s owner was blown clear and picked up by a nearby boat. Marine experts are investigating the cause.”

The short paragraph hadn’t told me—the owner of a boat—nearly enough. Had the guy been hurt? Had the boat sunk? What had caused the explosion? Every good boat owner knew that you had to air an inboard engine before you started it in case noxious gases had collected in the engine well, but that boat had been out on the lake. Of course, maybe he’d—

Eddie’s white paw darted under the bottom of the newspaper and pulled. The print ripped cleanly from south to north. I jumped to my feet.

“Cut that out! This is not, I repeat not, a cat toy.”

Eddie gave me a sour look, obviously thinking that if I balled up a sheet and tossed it down to the bedroom, it would be.

“No,” I said. “This is headed for the outside recycle bin. We live on a houseboat, a small one, and organized tidiness is key.” I gathered up the paper, an empty glass jar, and the flattened can that last night had held chicken broth. “Tidiness, from here on out,” I said, slipping into the sandals I’d kicked off near the door.

“Mrr,” Eddie said.

I opened the door and pointed at him with a librarian’s index finger. “Tidiness,” I told him, and shut the door before he could get in the last word.

• • •

That was a bookmobile day, which was happily free of any unpleasant incidents or medical emergencies, and the next day was a library day that was crowded from open to close with a multitude of patrons needing assistance, a children’s author reading, a Friends of the Library meeting, and a delivery of brand-new books.

I slept like a rock that night. The next morning, my morning off from the library, I pulled on dress pants and a dressy T-shirt and drove up to the Charlevoix Hospital.

When I explained to the receptionist that I’d been the one to bring Mr. McCade in, she said he’d been asking about me and let me straight through.

“Hello?” I knocked on the doorframe of Russell McCade’s hospital room. In my hand were flowers from Oleson’s, a local grocery store. “Mr. McCade? Mrs. McCade?”

The man sitting up in the hospital bed and the woman in the chair next to him looked up at me. I remembered the woman’s just-shy-of-heavyset build and shoulder-length graying brown hair, but it was the first time I’d had a chance to really look at Russell McCade.

Despite the stroke-induced sagging of his left side, I could see that he had those craggy features that many women found attractive: bushy eyebrows, wide forehead and mouth, and a cleft chin. Sitting, he had a small belly, but that might disappear if he stood and sucked in. His hair was similar to his wife’s, half brown and half gray, and though their features didn’t look that similar, they gave off a sense of fitting together like a right hand in a left.

“Yes?” Mrs. McCade looked at me with a polite, yet distant smile. “May I help you?”

Rats. They didn’t recognize me. Not a huge surprise, but how exactly do you introduce yourself in a case like this without embarrassing everyone involved? “Um…” I proffered the flowers. “I brought these for—”

She let out a half squeal, half shout. “It’s Minnie!” She leapt to her feet and ran to me. The momentum of her hug sent me staggering a step backward. “Oh, my dear, I’m so glad you stopped by, so very glad.” She squeezed me hard enough that my eyes popped a little. “Cade, this is your bookmobile angel.” She grabbed my hand and tugged me to the bedside.

“There is nothing that I can possibly do,” Mr. McCade said, the words slow and slurred but clear enough, “to repay you for what you did. Barb and I are in your debt forever.”

I wanted to squirm. Did, just a little. “Anybody would have done the same thing.”

“What most people would have done,” he said, “is call nine-one-one and keep driving. You went far and above the call of kindness. Thank you, my dear. Thank you very much.”

He reached out for my hand and patted it. I could feel a slight heat on my cheeks and knew I was blushing. “You’re welcome,” I said. “Glad I was there at the right time.”

His wife relieved me of my small burden (“Let me take care of those flowers”) and put it on the windowsill while she extracted a promise from me to call them Barb and Cade. “Minnie, can you stay for a few minutes?” she asked. “Please do.”

“For a little while,” I said. “But I can’t stay too long. I have to work this afternoon.”

“Is that why you don’t have your furry friend with you?” She smiled. “What fun to have a bookmobile cat.”

“Is this afternoon another bookmobile trip?” Cade asked.

I pulled up a chair and perched on its edge, explaining my split roles of assistant library director and bookmobile driver. Halfway through the explanation I stumbled a little, because I suddenly realized why I was taking such a fast liking to this man I barely knew. He looked like and had a personality similar to my first-ever boss, the library director in Dearborn, the town where I’d grown up. Mr. Herrington had given me a summer job and he’d even kept me on part-time my senior year of high school.

Then I stumbled over my words a little more, because Mr. Herrington had passed away when my parents and I were in Florida over Christmas break, visiting my older brother. Mr. Herrington had died of a sudden heart attack in the library, during the hours I would have been there working, and I’d never quite forgiven myself for not being there to help him.

I blinked a time or two and stumbled back to my current narrative. If either McCade had noticed my falterings, they were both too polite to say so.

“Well,” Barb said, “I’m glad the Chilson Library has a bookmobile. If it didn’t, Cade here might not be making such a fast recovery.”

“Long way to go.” Cade looked down at his left side. “Pity I’m left-handed.”

“You’re… left-handed?” My mouth went dry. “But…”

“Don’t worry about his painting,” Barb said. “He’s such a nut to paint that he’ll learn how to do it right-handed if he has to.”

Cade lifted his right hand and flexed it. “Learning new techniques is what keeps me young. Well, that and learning how to use Facebook.”

Barb snorted. “Waste of time,” she said. “I know, I know, your agent thinks it’s giving you a better connection to your legions of fans, but it’s so artificial. How can typing two sentences to a stranger mean anything?”

“Better to use social media than have to tour,” her husband said. “Pick your poison, my dear.”

“Scotch,” she said promptly. “On the rocks.”

“Gin and tonic for me.” He chuckled. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we, Mrs. McCade?”

She held his hand, the hand closest to her, his left hand, his weak hand, and kissed it. “Indeed we are, Mr. McCade.”

Cade’s eyes faded shut. “Indeed.”

The moment was rich with love and comfort and security. With all my heart, I hoped that my marriage would be as strong as this one. When I got married, that is. Not that I was thinking about weddings or anything.

“Minnie,” Barb said, watching her husband. “Is that your full name?”

“Nope.” I didn’t say anything else, and she chuckled.

“When I get out of here,” Cade said, opening his eyes, “when I’m better, Barb and I are going to treat you to a night on the town. Dinner, drinks, dessert.” A smile curved up one side of his face. “All the best D’s possible. Dancing, if you want it.”

I grinned. “Disco?”

“Done.”

“Do-si-do?”

“Indubitably.”

Barb looked at him askance. “That’s not a D word.”

“No, but it feels like one. Say it out loud and you’ll see.”

So there we were, saying the word “indubitably” over and over again and getting a serious case of the giggles. Since it was a hospital, we tried to keep the noise down, but that made my stomach start to cramp. “Don’t,” I panted, “it hurts. Don’t.”

“D word,” Barb managed to get out, and we were off again.

A male voice intruded. “As I thought. It’s Minnie Hamilton, out and about and making trouble.”

“Tucker!” I jumped to my feet and went to him for a quick hug. Not a big one, because he was in doctor mode, but even a little one felt good.

Barb looked from me to Tucker and back. “Our bookmobile angel and our emergency room doctor hero are an item?” She clapped her hands. “Oh, how perfect this is. How absolutely perfect!”

“Stop her,” Cade said, “or she’ll be making calls for your wedding caterer.”

“We’ve only been dating a few weeks,” I said, my face once again going warm.

“Good weeks, though, right?” Tucker kissed the top of my head. “Good to see you’re doing well, Mr. McCade.”

“Thank you again, Dr. Kleinow,” Barb said. “Thank you so very much.”

He smiled. “Just doing my job, ma’am.” He nodded a good-bye, gave me a quick hug, and left.

“I should get going, too.” I stood. “I’m glad you’re doing so well, Cade.”

Barb stood, too. “I’ll walk you out, Minnie.” She leaned forward. “Go to sleep, my sweet. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Mmm.” Cade’s eyes were already closed. By the time Barb and I reached the door, he was snoring.

Out in the carpeted hallway, Barb stopped. “Minnie…” But whatever words she wanted to say got lost somewhere and she just stood there, looking at me with eyes full of emotion.

My throat clogged up a little. “You don’t need to say anything, okay? I’m glad I was there to help. Truly.”

“You’re a lovely girl.” Barb laid her hand on my cheek for a brief moment. “Your parents must be very proud.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but hey, maybe she was right.

“I’ll call you,” she said. “We’ll set a date for a nice lunch. I should have called before, but I’ve been a little…” She looked back down the hall.

“Busy,” I supplied. “Don’t worry about it. My cell number’s on my card. Call whenever you want.”

“Thank you, Minnie.” She gave me a hard hug. “So very much.”

I watched her walk back down the hall to her husband’s room, sniffled a little, and felt a sudden urge to talk to my aunt Frances.

• • •

“Minnie, my sweet. How are you?”

Even though I wasn’t feeling bad, not really, hearing my aunt’s voice made me feel better. She had a knack for making people feel not just better, but happier. And beyond that, more comfortable with themselves and who they could be.

It was a mild push from Aunt Frances that had gotten my friend Kristen thinking about opening a restaurant, and it was an Aunt Frances suggestion that motivated a neighbor of hers to make the move from composing music for friends and family to selling it over the Internet and eventually to making a mint writing movie sound tracks.

I glanced through my office doorway. No one in sight. “Just wondering about breakfast on Saturday. And how things are, you know, going.” Because Aunt Frances ran more than a summer boardinghouse and she did more than amateur career coaching; she was a secret matchmaker.

My aunt sighed. It was an uncharacteristic sound from my permanently cheerful relative. “There are what you might call issues.”

Every spring Aunt Frances took careful stock of the boardinghouse applicants for the upcoming summer. Though she didn’t have a Web site or even a Facebook page, she did have years upon years of happy boarders who referred friends and family and near strangers. The stack of letters and e-mails from people asking to stay was thicker than the phone book for the entire county.

Aunt Frances studied each letter carefully, and if a candidate looked at all probable, an intense series of letters and phone calls followed. To explain the unusual setup at the boardinghouse, Aunt Frances would say, and go on to explain that the summer’s fee included a daily breakfast, with one catch. On Saturday, a boarder cooked for everyone else. The daunting task of cooking for the six boarders, Aunt Frances, and often her librarian niece had made more than one applicant back away.

The cooking of breakfast, however, was a requirement Aunt Frances would never change. Because the real reason she took so much time studying the applicants was that the entire summer was a secret matchmaking setup, pairing boarder with boarder.

“There’s no better way to get a person’s measure than to see him or her working in the kitchen,” she’d said to me privately. And she had a gift for pairing up her boarders. In all the years she’d been running the boardinghouse, which had been ever since her husband died so young that I barely remembered him, she’d never once missed. Until now.

She sighed again. “It’s a downright mess.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

There was a pause. “Not really.” Then she spoke in a lighter tone. “It’ll work out. I’m sure of it.”

Because this year, early on, her carefully selected summer pairs had mismatched completely. The lovely twenty-six-year-old Deena and the fifty-year-old Quincy had taken to each other with a liking that seemed far more than friendship. This had pushed fifty-three-year-old Paulette, Quincy’s theoretical match, into the companionship of sixty-five-year-old Leo, which left twenty-three-year-old Harris, Deena’s supposed match, to spend a lot of time with Zofia, a grandmother who wore clothes of many colors and a baker’s dozen of rings. But Zofia had been matched with Leo. It was a problem and my matchmaking aunt was ready to pull out her hair.

“Well,” I said, “there’s always breakfast to look forward to. And that’s one of the reasons I called. Tucker and I both have the day off and I was wondering if it would be okay to bring him.”

“Oh, honey.” Aunt Frances laughed. “Of all the Saturdays to bring your young man to breakfast, you pick this one.”

“What’s up?”

“Harris,” she said succinctly. “He’s been making a mess of the kitchen all week, working on a culinary creation of his own.”

“Not good?”

“Horrible. I can’t count the number of eggs he’s gone through, and I have to tell you, the smell of burning maple syrup isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy.”

“You don’t have an enemy in the world.”

“I’ll have a houseful if I don’t have a backup plan for breakfast this Saturday. Do you have any ideas where I could hide a few boxes of cereal?”

I suggested the trunk of her car, thanked her for the warning about breakfast, and went back to work.

• • •

Saturday morning, the first Saturday I’d had off in weeks, started off with a dawn so bright and shiny that the world felt brand-new.

I’d taken my aunt’s warnings to heart and had asked Tucker to come by the houseboat later that morning, but I found some courage, took a deep breath, and headed up to the boardinghouse.

“Good morning, favorite niece,” Aunt Frances greeted me on the front porch. She had a mug of steaming coffee in her hand. “Would you like a cup? It’ll be the best thing about breakfast.”

Since I was her only niece, I didn’t let the favorite comment go to my head. “Is it going to be that bad?”

She sipped her coffee. “You be the judge. But you know the rules.”

“No making fun of the food and always compliment the cook.”

She smiled. “A credit to the family, that’s what you are.”

I glanced at the front door. “So, how are things going in there? Apart from the breakfast, I mean.”

Her smile fell away. “Horrible. Simply horrible.”

It disturbed me to see my normally cheerful aunt look so morose. “I’ll be the judge of that,” I said, and opened the wooden screen door for her. We passed through the spacious living room, oak floorboards creaking, past the end tables and coffee tables built from driftwood, past the maps thumbtacked to the walls and the fieldstone fireplace, and entered the dining room.

I exchanged morning greetings with five of the six boarders, and within five minutes, I understood what my aunt had meant. The young, funny, intelligent, beautiful Deena was pouring coffee for the middle-aged and balding Quincy. She added sugar and a little cream, stirred it, then handed it to him and watched anxiously until he sipped it and nodded. Her resulting smile was bright and happy and I didn’t dare look at Aunt Frances.

My favorite boarder of the summer, Zofia, stood at the window, smiling at the view of the bird- and tree-filled backyard. Zofia had a tendency to wear flowing skirts and dangling earrings, clothing to match her Gypsy-sounding name. She hadn’t been able to wear that type of thing when her husband was ladder-climbing for a major car manufacturer, but after his death she’d spread her wings.

The white-haired Leo was sitting at the table with Paulette at his side. Paulette, tawny-haired and comfortably plump, had been matched with Quincy, but she’d shown no interest in him whatsoever once the dapper Leo appeared on the scene.

My aunt’s plan had been to match Zofia with Leo, but Zofia seemed to be comfortable with her single status and hadn’t shown a hint of interest in the man.

Unless something changed fast, this was going to be Aunt Frances’s first matchmaking failure ever. Well, not a complete failure, because four of the six boarders would be matched up, even if not according to plan, but that would leave two of them alone, and that would just about kill Aunt Frances.

“Breakfast!” Harris called. “Morning, Minnie. Could you ring the bell?”

“Sure.” I went out to the screened porch that lay adjacent to the dining room, and pulled on the rope that went from the porch to the top end of a bell. Years ago, the bell had been taken from an old train engine and installed in the branches of a maple tree for this very purpose. The bell dinged once, twice, and three times, summoning one and all to the breakfast table. Everyone was there already, but ringing the bell was a tradition that dared not be broken.

We sat down to toast, orange juice, and a breakfast casserole made of… well, I wasn’t quite sure what. Eggs, certainly. Bacon? Green peppers? And was that… it couldn’t be pineapple, could it? A few silent minutes went by while eight people chewed, seven of whom were searching for something complimentary to say. Harris, who had recently graduated from college, and who had been matched with Deena, didn’t seem to care about his romantic loss. What he seemed most concerned about was our reaction to the food.

“Harris, dear,” Zofia said, “the coffee is outstanding this morning.”

“Absolutely.” Leo held up his mug. “Never better, young man.”

Aunt Frances cleared her throat. “It takes ingenuity to create your own recipe, young man. You’ve shown great courage.”

“You bet,” Deena said quickly. “I would never have dreamed of making up something. Not ever.”

“Interesting combinations,” I said. “I’ll have to tell Kristen.”

“Just think,” Paulette added, “maybe Kristen will name a new entrée after you.”

Quincy said, “And they’re still filming that cooking show up here, aren’t they? Maybe you could get on that.”

Harris laughed and visibly relaxed. “Oh, come on, it’s not that good. Not Trock’s Troubles good.”

We all protested. I hoped Harris wouldn’t catch on to the fact that it was a token effort.

With the compliments done, Aunt Frances moved on to the next item on her agenda. “Quincy,” she said heartily. “Did you see the creation Paulette made the other day? She’s a knitting magician, don’t you think?”

It was obvious that Quincy cared far less about Paulette’s needleworking skills than he did about staring into Deena’s eyes. “Sure,” he said vaguely, most of his attention still on Deena. “Nice work, Paulette. Real nice socks you made.”

Paulette stared at him. “They were mittens.”

But Quincy had already turned back to Deena.

Aunt Frances sent me a despairing look. “So, Zofia,” she said, reaching for a piece of toast. “Did you hear that Leo ran ten miles yesterday? Nice to see people our age take such an interest in fitness, don’t you think?”

Zofia slathered butter on her own piece of toast, then added a large dollop of orange marmalade. “Hard on the joints, running is. Don’t want knee replacement surgery myself.”

I watched Aunt Frances bite her lower lip. Something had to be done, and done fast.

“Say,” I said. “Did I tell you what Eddie did the other day?”

Everyone, Aunt Frances included, turned to me, smiles already forming on their faces. They were all familiar with Eddie stories and I’d been told—in a friendly way—not to show up to breakfast if I didn’t have a new one.

I launched into his most recent escapade, one that involved a marina neighbor’s eighty-pound black Labrador retriever, a bit of bread fallen from who knew where, and a short cat vs. dog tussle over said bread. Soon everyone was laughing and I breathed a small internal sigh of relief that Aunt Frances was joining in.

Eddie to the rescue. The world was indeed a mysterious place.

• • •

“Good morning, Minnie.” My left-hand neighbor, Louisa, pulled her long white hair into a ponytail and tied it with a scarf. “The weather forecasters have been at it again, did you see? Wish I could have had a job that let me make so many mistakes.”

“Last I checked,” I said, looking at the blue sky, “they were saying mostly sunny and mid-seventies.”

“You poor dear,” she said sympathetically. “On your Saturday off, no less. Now they’re saying seventy percent chance of rain and high sixties.” She turned and pointed to the west.

I looked where her index finger was aiming. A solid line of clouds was low on the horizon and inching our way. “Maybe it’ll blow apart.” But the line was dark and thick and heavy. I tried another possibility. “Or maybe it’ll stay out on Lake Michigan. That happens, sometimes.”

Louisa studied the incoming weather, an educated gaze born from years of Great Lakes boating. She pursed her lips, deepening the small vertical lines around her mouth, and shook her head. “Not today. It’s going to start raining around eleven and it’s not going to quit for hours.”

“Little Miss Sunshine, you are not,” I said wryly. “Tucker and I were going to go out on Janay Lake today.” So much for the picnic I was going to make. So much for the route I’d laid out, and so much for the bottle of wine Kristen had recommended.

“Hmm.” Louisa put her hand to her forehead and frowned mightily. “You and that fine-looking young doctor? My, my. What could two young, single people possibly do on a rainy day?”

I tried not to laugh. “How do you know I’m that kind of girl?”

“If the circumstances are right, we’re all that kind of girl.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Have a nice day, dear.”

This time I did laugh.

• • •

While I waited for Tucker to show up, I came up with numerous alternative plans for the day that ranged from sitting around the boat and hoping Louisa was wrong about the weather to driving to Traverse City and trying every brewpub in town, to driving back and forth across the Mackinac Bridge hoping to watch a thousand-foot freighter cruise underneath us.

I stood at the boat’s cockpit, trying not to frown at the incoming weather. “We’re not going to let a little rain stop us from having fun,” I said out loud. “We’re just not.”

Eddie, who was lying on the back of the dining area’s bench seat, opened one eye, then closed it again just as Tucker came to the door.

“Knock, knock,” he said through the screen.

“Hey there.” I felt a happy smile on my face and saw an answering one on his. “Come on in. Welcome to my humble abode.”

He stepped inside, and while the houseboat had always seemed just the right size for me, it suddenly seemed far too small with the addition of a five-foot-ten, broad-shouldered man.

“This is really great.” He looked out the front window and ran his hand along the cockpit’s dashboard. “When you get tired of people, you just untie your house and go for a boat ride.”

It was a common reaction for first-time visitors. I decided not to tell him about the utilitarian technicalities involved in detaching. Let the boy keep his illusions.

“And this galley.” He grinned at the miniature kitchen. “What more do you need?”

“Mrr.”

Tucker spun around. Eddie was now standing up on the back of the seat and stretching his head high. The furry face and the human face weren’t exactly eye to eye, but it was pretty close.

“Ah.” Tucker lifted a hesitant hand. “This must be Eddie.” He looked at me. “Is it okay if I pet him?”

“As long as you don’t mind getting cat hair all over you.”

Tucker looked at his clothes. Dark red polo shirt over khaki shorts. “It’ll come off, won’t it?”

Eventually. “You didn’t have cats growing up, did you?”

He shook his head and gave Eddie a tentative rub. Eddie immediately pushed against the pat, putting his weight into it, which was enough force that Tucker’s weight was shifted. He took half a step backward. “Cat’s got some strength, doesn’t he?”

“You should smell his breath.”

Tucker eyed Eddie. “Um…”

I laughed. “Joking. His breath isn’t that bad.” Most of the time. I watched Eddie watching Tucker. My little pal was being as tentative with my boyfriend as my boyfriend was being with my cat. For a brief second I considered telling Tucker that Eddie liked being talked to, but I ran the conversation through my head and gave it a pass.

“So,” I said, “what do you want to—”

Ka-bam!

A clap of thunder buffeted the air, so intense it was almost too loud to be heard. On its heels came a sizzle of lightning that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

“Mrr,” Eddie said.

I wasn’t sure if he was protesting the storm or the way Tucker was petting him. “So,” I tried again. “What do you want to—”

Rain fell from the sky in large, loud drops. I looked at my watch. Louisa had been all of ten minutes off.

I glanced out through the front window, out to the driving rain. If this rain kept up, neither driving down to Traverse City nor going up to the Mackinac Bridge would be very sensible, or very relaxing.

“So,” I said, hoping I wasn’t starting an infinite loop. “What do you want to—”

Tucker help up his index finger and bent his head to his shoulder. “Ah… ah… choo!” He rubbed his face, still holding up his index finger, and sneezed two more deep sneezes.

“Are you getting sick?” I asked.

“I work in a hospital. You wouldn’t believe what walks in the door.”

It was hard not to edge away. “Oh.”

He smiled. “No, honestly, I feel fine. There’s probably just a lot of stuff in the air right now, with that storm coming in.”

I wasn’t sure that made a lot of sense, but hey, he was the doctor. On the other hand, wasn’t it a truism that doctors couldn’t make their own diagnoses?

“So, what do you want to do today?” he asked. “I assume boating is out.”

Yes, the signs were there. Slightly reddened eyes, slightly running nose, and a slight sag to his normally straight shoulders. Maybe it was just fatigue. He worked far too many weird hours, and that could do a number on anyone’s immune system. But the last thing I wanted to do was drag him out to expend more energy and make things worse.

On the other hand, what were we going to do all day? I kept my thoughts firmly averted from Louisa’s suggestion. We barely knew each other, after all.

Tucker hooked his finger under Eddie’s chin. “Hey, he’s purring!” He grinned. “I’m not sure I ever made a cat purr before.”

“Mrr,” Eddie said, and pushed up against Tucker’s rubbing.

An idea popped into my head. “What do you think about going to the movies?”

Both Eddie and Tucker turned to look at me. Eddie didn’t say anything, but Tucker sneezed and said, “Hot buttered popcorn, Sno-Caps, a vat of soda, and I’m happy for hours.”

“You are so not alone.”

“Any kind of movie you don’t like?”

“No horror.”

He grinned. “I don’t do movies with subtitles. Too much work.”

“I doubt the multiplex in Petoskey is showing any foreign films today.”

He held out his hand to me, palm up, inviting me to take it. “Then I say we have a plan.”

• • •

The Saturday movie marathon was a great success. We chose movies based on nothing whatsoever, picked out snacks based on what the people ahead of us bought, and after the credits rolled, we ventured out to the lobby to check the weather. If it was still raining, we went back for another round of movie and snacks. Since on that particular day it rained for twelve hours straight, we saw a lot of movies. And had a lot of snacks.

“How many movies did you watch?” Kristen had asked on Sunday afternoon. “You were really in there all day?”

And a good chunk of the night. I tallied up the films on my fingers. “There was the new Pixar movie at noon, then that romantic comedy with what’s her name around two, then a really funny vampire movie at four thirty, then that end-of-the-world movie at seven, and last was the big new thriller at nine.”

Kristen was counting along with me. “You watched five movies?”

“It was almost six. They were having a midnight showing of the first Star Wars movie, but Tucker had to be at the hospital early this morning.”

“Sounds fun,” she said halfheartedly.

For us, it had been. During the intervals between the movies, we discussed the plots and characters of the movie we’d just watched, learning a little more about each other in the process.

I was telling Kristen all about it when my cell phone rang. “Do you mind?” I asked and, when she shrugged, took the call. It was a short conversation, and when it was over, I hung up, smiling.

“Looks like I’m going to lunch tomorrow at the one restaurant in town that’s more expensive than yours,” I said.

Kristen’s eyebrows went up. “Tucker’s taking you to Seven Street? Must be true love.”

“Seven Street, yes,” I said. “But it’s not Tucker. It’s a woman.”

My best friend’s eyebrows went up even farther. “Does Tucker know about this?”

I grinned. “He’s met her.”

• • •

Barb McCade was already seated when I walked into the restaurant. I’d eaten at Seven Street once before, so I knew my typical library attire wouldn’t fit in. That morning I’d chosen a soft dress and covered it with a jacket that almost matched. Stephen had nodded at me approvingly over his coffee mug. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was a onetime deal.

“I’m so glad you could come,” Barb said. “I thought about Three Seasons, but I thought this would be more special.”

Part of our conversation at the hospital had included the facts that Three Seasons was one of the McCades’ favorite restaurants and that the owner of said restaurant was a good friend of mine.

“No apology necessary,” I told her. “Matter of fact, there might be a law about that. No apologies required for any behavior incurred during times of extreme emergency.”

She laughed. “Aren’t you a sweetheart? But as I said before, I should have called right away to thank you for all you did.”

“Oh. Well.” I shifted around in my seat, trying to find a comfortable way to accept undeserved praise. In a weird way, I felt as if I’d finally been able to help Mr. Herrington, my old boss. It didn’t make sense, but that was the way I felt and I would never share that feeling, ever. “Anyone would have done the same thing. I was just the first person to come along, that’s all.”

“Actually you were the fourth.” Her tone went a little flat.

I winced, then nodded at a passing waitress. “But Cade’s still doing well?”

“Much.” The happiness was back. “He’s been transferred out of the hospital and into Lakeview for a few weeks of rehabilitation therapy.”

“That’s wonderful!” The Lakeview Medical Care Facility in Chilson was not only a nursing home, but also a long-term and rehabilitation care provider. “So…” I hesitated. “Is he… I mean…”

Barb was willing to voice the frightening question that I was dancing around. “Is he going to recover enough to paint again? The doctors say yes, with time. Cade figures that means a month at most.” She laughed.

“Five weeks,” I said confidently, and waved at a pair of not-quite-elderly ladies on their way to be seated.

She laughed. “Minnie Hamilton, you are just what the doctor ordered. Anytime you want to stop by and see Cade at Lakeview, you go right ahead. He’s in a restricted-access room, but I’ll make sure your name is on the visitor list.”

A warmth spread through me. “If you think he’d like to see me, I’d be happy to stop by.”

“Minnie, he wants to paint you.”

Ack. “Then there’s no way I’ll stop and see him.”

She laughed again. “That’s the third time you’ve made me laugh in five minutes. I’m not sure I’ve laughed since the stroke except when you’re around. Forget Cade, stop by and see me.”

“With the bookmobile or without?” I asked, then stood to say hello to the cane-carrying Mr. Goodwin.

“Minnie,” Barb said, when I sat down. “Do you know everyone in this town?”

I smiled. “Only the ones who have a library card.”

The most elegant woman I’d ever met in my life paused at our table. “Good afternoon, Barb. And, Minnie, how are you?”

Once again, I stood. “Mrs. Grice, it’s nice to see you again.”

The very wealthy and widowed Caroline Grice smiled. “It wasn’t long ago that you were calling me Caroline. How is it that we’ve regressed so far?”

“Well, because I’m not that smart. Really I’m not.” Because if I’d had half a brain I would have guessed that Caroline, primary sponsor of Chilson’s Lakeview Art Gallery, would know the McCades.

Barb laughed. “Don’t believe a word of it, Caroline. Minnie here is one of the brightest young women I’ve met in ages.” The two women exchanged a few more pleasantries; then Caroline moved on.

“You can’t tell me,” Barb said, “that Caroline Grice has a library card.”

“Well, no.” She had recently made a nice donation to the library, though.

“Then you do know everyone in town.” When I started shaking my head, she covertly pointed to the front of the room. “How about her?”

I glanced at the hostess. “Cheryl Stone. She and her sister are trying to start a sheep farm north of town. I don’t know her sister’s name, though.”

“Still counts. And him?” She gestured to a man at the table nearest to us.

“One of the county commissioners.”

Barb solemnly held up her water glass. “To Minnie, the person to call if I ever need an introduction to anyone in town.”

I snorted out an unladylike noise and tinked my glass to hers. “To Barb, who is far too easily impressed.”

We both laughed, and I got the comfortable feeling that we were going to be friends for a long, long time.

• • •

Twice that week, I went over to Lakeview Medical Care Facility, but both times I stopped by, Cade was sleeping. Both times I wrote out a short note that said I’d stop again, and ended the note with a bad sketch of Eddie.

Then, late on Friday night, or rather, early on Saturday morning, my cell phone rang. As I’d placed it on the small dresser next to my bed, the ringtone made Eddie jump as high as I did.

I fumbled for the ON button and managed to say hello.

“Minnie? It’s Barb. I’m so sorry to wake you, but I didn’t know who else to call. You were so helpful when Cade had his stroke, and you know everyone around here and… oh, God, I’m so sorry. I must sound like an idiot. Go back to sleep and forget I ever—”

“Barb,” I said calmly. Or as calmly as I could after being jerked awake in the wee hours of the morning. “Talk to me. How can I help?”

“Oh, Minnie, you are a blessing.” She pulled in a small breath. “Do you know a good lawyer? A criminal lawyer? Because the sheriff is about to arrest Cade. For…” She stopped for another life-sustaining gasp of air. “For murder.”