Wrong Side of the Paw

Chapter 19

Sunday I spent doing four things: sleeping in, having long discussions with a variety of different law enforcement personnel, having dinner and dessert with Kristen, and looking online for a new coat to replace the one that I’d ruined the day before by having the foresight to use it to stop the fire instead of my face or my hair.

That had been sheer luck, actually, because I certainly hadn’t planned my trajectory to the floor, but a white-faced Ash had said in a shaky voice that I’d probably done some fast calculations in my head without realizing it. I’d smiled, patted my former boyfriend on the arm, and let him keep his illusions.

Detective Inwood didn’t say much the entire time I was in the sheriff’s office, but when he was done taking notes, he stood and gave me a long look, which bore a strong resemblance to the way my dad used to look at me when I’d stayed up too late reading Dickens.

I braced myself, but all he did was sigh. Which was what my dad had usually ended up doing, too. “Did you notice?” I asked.

His eyebrows went up as he slid his notebook into his jacket pocket. “A little more specific, please.”

Pointing at the table, I said, “I sat on this side.” All the times I’d sat in the interview room I’d sat in the same spot. And since I’d spent a lot of time waiting for the detective to show up on previous occasions, I’d also spent a fair amount of time being bored, and had stared at the water stain in the ceiling tiles, eventually turning it into a dragon shape. I’d once mentioned this to Inwood and he’d commented that I should sit on the other side of the table and take another look.

I pointed at the ceiling. “You were right; it’s not a dragon. It’s a cat.”

Inwood looked at me. “A cat.”

“Well, sure.” I kept pointing. “There’s the tail, the ears, and the chin. What else could it be?”

Detective Inwood shook his head, sighed, and left the room.

Sheriff Richardson, who’d been sitting in on the last few minutes of my interview with the detective, said, “I have no idea what you two are talking about. It’s obviously a loggerhead shrike.”

I wasn’t sure if she was joking or if she was dead serious, so I smiled briefly and asked what she thought the chances were of Simon Faber being incarcerated in a psychiatric facility instead of the prison’s general population.

“He’ll be evaluated by two doctors,” she said. “If he’s declared to be NGRI, the next step is to look for an open bed.”

I worked out the acronym in my head; Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity. “Do you think he’ll be declared insane?” I persisted.

The sheriff looked at me with a flat stare. “Minnie, I have no idea. Please don’t ask me to predict the future. My crystal ball has been on back order for years.” Then she sighed and said, “But if you’d like, I’ll follow his case and let you know what happens.”

“Yes, please,” I said meekly. And true to her word, she did keep me apprised of Faber’s trek through the justice system. It took some time, but he was eventually sent to a secure facility downstate that would be his home for the rest of his life.

Monday, I’d scheduled myself to work from noon until the library closed at eight. Mid-morning, I drove my car to a place Ash had recommended for detailing—which was Guy Code for a good, thorough cleaning—and walked the rest of the way to the library, pleased that they’d promised to find a way to get the stench of gasoline out of the car.

I swung my arms as I walked, happy that the sidewalks were already clear of snow. I was also pleased to see teensy breaks in the clouds that, even as I watched, grew wider and wider, showing the blue sky above.

I was near to smiling when I walked in the front door. Dale Lacombe’s killer would kill no more, Leese, Brad, and Mia would be exonerated of all offenses, and winter was just around the corner. Life was good, except for the fact that I was going to die alone because the love of my life didn’t know I existed (in a romantic sense), but I’d find a way to soldier on. With Eddie at my side, the bookmobile and I would range over new horizons, bringing books and knowledge to all. We’d sing songs of courage and bravery, and every syllable Eddie sang would sound the same: “Mrr.”

“What are you so happy about?” Holly asked. She was standing in the doorway to the break room, holding a mug of coffee in one hand and a plate of chocolate chip cookies in the other.

Since I couldn’t very well tell her the truth, I said vaguely, “It’s getting nice outside.”

“Here.” Holly handed me the mug and said, “You have a lot to tell us and you’re going to need food before you get to the end.”

I plucked one cookie off the plate. “How much of the story would you like?”

“All of it,” Josh said, poking his head out of the break room. “And hurry. I’m supposed to talk to Jennifer’s software guy in ten minutes.”

The new software. I’d forgotten. My perky mood deflated a bit, but I pumped it back up by taking a bite of Holly’s cookie.

Both of them had been well aware of Dale Lacombe’s murder, so I moved quickly to how I’d considered a number of suspects and had eventually keyed in on Simon Faber. I skipped over the tied-up-and-almost-burned-to-a-crisp part, and finished off with us turning left out of Leese’s driveway instead of right.

Josh rolled his eyes. Talking through a cookie, he said, “I can’t believe you did that. I mean I can, because it’s just like you to try and help a guy who was trying to kill you, but why didn’t you just call nine-one-one and be done with it?”

I flashed back to something Detective Inwood had told me a few months ago. “You are not most people.” I was still trying to figure out if that had been a compliment or not.

“Was he hurt?” Holly asked. “Or maybe he fell in the snow. With that walker, it couldn’t have been easy to get through.”

I shook my head. “He’d made it to the car, but he slid into a ditch, and couldn’t get himself out.”

After we’d made sure he wasn’t injured, Leese stood guard next to his car door, her baseball bat raised and ready if he tried to make any sort of move to escape. The bat had been what she’d stayed back in the house to find because, as she said later, “I’m never going to be caught without a weapon ever again.”

I’d directed the emergency vehicles, and Faber had been taken away not long afterward. Leese had gone to stay with Mia until her house could be made safe, and I’d gone back to the boardinghouse and finally enjoyed the bath I’d meant to take days earlier.

Josh stared at me, disbelieving. “She had that bat and didn’t even take a crack at the car?”

“He wasn’t going anywhere,” I said mildly, and changed the subject. It had been an unpleasant few minutes, standing there and waiting for the emergency vehicles to arrive. Faber had gone from violent vocal outbursts to fits of sobbing to speech that sounded completely rational. Then the cycle would start all over again.

I shook the memory away and nodded at the man walking toward us. He was wearing a suit coat and tie and clearly did not belong. “Looks like your sales rep is here.”

“Can’t wait,” Josh muttered.

“Isn’t Jennifer supposed to be part of this?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Haven’t seen her all morning,” he said, and went to meet the sales guy.

“I haven’t seen her, either,” Holly said. “Maybe she’s sick?”

Tsking at her, I said, “It’s unkind to sound so hopeful.”

Holly had the grace to look ashamed. “It’s not that I really want her to be sick. It’s just . . . you know.”

I smiled. “See you later. It’s time to check my e-mails.”

And that was why I was the first one to know what had happened to Jennifer. The subject line of her e-mail was odd. “‘Open Letter to the Chilson District Library Board,’” I read out loud. “That’s weird.”

“Dear Board Members,” she’d written. “Thank you so much for the opportunity the last few months to be director of the Chilson District Library. However, it is clear that this climate and I are not compatible. Please consider this my resignation letter, effective immediately. I apologize for the short notice, but I cannot possibly stay here any longer. Your assistant director is more than qualified to step in as interim director or to be permanently elevated to director. She did, as I recall, make attempts to warn me about the snow, but I did not understand that eight inches could possibly fall in October! Human beings were not made to survive in this kind of situation. Yours sincerely, Jennifer Walker.”

I read the e-mail through once. Then twice. Then a third time.

Reeling, I sat back. Which was when I noticed the subsequent e-mails from the library board members, calling for an emergency meeting at ten thirty, and would Minnie please attend. I glanced at the corner of the computer screen and saw that it was one minute past ten thirty.

I bolted out of my chair and ran upstairs.

• • •

“So what did they say?” Kelsey asked. “Are you the new director?”

Four of us were crammed into my office. I’d been told by the board to talk to every staff member as soon as I could and was doing my best to comply.

“Not a chance,” Donna said. “She didn’t want the job last summer. She’s not going to want it now.”

The board had offered me the position, but Donna was right. I still didn’t want to be director. Not yet anyway. “They’re going to ask their second choice,” I said. “Graydon Cain.”

Josh scrunched up his face. “What kind of people name their kid Graydon? He’s bound to be an uptight suit.”

“Worse than Jennifer?” I asked.

His face scrunched even tighter. “We didn’t think Jennifer could be worse than Stephen, but she was.”

Though that had nothing to do with how Graydon Cain might run the library, I knew what he meant. But since there was nothing I could do about it, I decided not to worry. We’d deal with our new library director when he arrived. Why ruin the next few weeks with fussing over something we couldn’t change?

“By the way,” I said, “this morning I also found out the library board isn’t really interested in that new software Jennifer was pushing.”

“Wait. What?” Josh’s face unscrunched.

I beamed. “She’d presented a proposal to the board to sell some of our rare books to fund the purchase, but the board told me they weren’t in favor.” The board president had said he’d told Jennifer the board would listen seriously to everything she brought them and she must have made assumptions from that polite policy.

“Yeah?” Josh grinned and started bouncing on his toes like a six-year-old. “That’s cool. That’s real cool.”

“I’ll say.” Kelsey blew out a huge sigh. “If I’d had to learn how to run one more system, my head might have exploded.”

Donna’s face was a mirror of my own. “The world is righting itself,” she said. “It’s about time.”

Out in the hallway, I heard a familiar shuffle of large feet. I looked pointedly out my open doorway, and my coworkers turned in time to see Mitchell Koyne walking past, his head bent down to read the book he had in his hands.

A sense of peace settled over me, because Donna was correct—the world was indeed righting itself.

• • •

Even though I’d slept late two mornings in a row, Saturday’s dramatic events caught up with me by the afternoon. Fatigue tugged at my eyes and I lost count of the times I yawned. Just before five o’clock, Holly, Donna, and Kelsey came into my office and stood in front of me in a solid row.

“Go away,” Holly said.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

Donna gave Holly an elbow in the side. “What we’re saying is we think you should leave. Go home. We can cover the library until eight. You had a rough weekend, and now that you’re going to be interim director again for a while, you’re going to need your rest.”

“That’s right,” Kelsey said, nodding. “We can’t have you getting sick.”

Their concern made my throat tight. “I appreciate your concern, I really do, but—” My protest was cut short by a huge yawn.

“Right,” Holly said. “Ladies?”

Kelsey stepped forward and picked my backpack up off the floor. Donna took my old coat from the doorknob and Holly came around the desk, took my hands, and pulled me to my feet. “Leave,” she ordered, and gave me a quick hug.

Donna held up my coat and shook it invitingly.

“Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice,” I muttered as I slid my arms into the sleeves.

“Hello,” Holly said. “That’s the whole point. Get out and don’t come back until tomorrow.”

She was probably right. They all were. “Thanks, you guys,” I said. “You’re the best.”

“Yeah, we know.” Holly pushed me in the direction of the lobby. “Git!”

As I pushed open the library door, I was surprised to see the complete absence of snow. The day’s sunshine, accompanied by temperatures that had crept up into the mid-fifties, had melted everything. I felt a small pang for Jennifer, who would never know the beauty of northern Michigan in winter, and whispered “Good luck” in her general direction.

Instead of taking the most direct route back to the boardinghouse like a good girl, I decided to walk downtown. It was too nice outside not to take advantage of the last hour of sunlight, and Holly’s last directive had been simply to leave the library, not go home and go to bed.

The sun was casting lengthy shadows across the sidewalk, and I was enjoying the sight of my unbelievably long legs when someone called my name.

“Minnie!”

I turned and saw Leese climbing out of her SUV. Her broad face was wearing a smile that was even broader.

“You look happy,” I said, understating the obvious.

“Hah!” She took a few long strides and reached out in my direction. “Come here,” she said, wrapping her arms around me. “This is what you get for now.” She gave me a smacking kiss on the top of my head.

Squirming a little and wondering if this was how Eddie felt when I snuggled and kissed him, I said into her shoulder, “What did I do this time?”

She gave me one more rib-breaking pulse and released me. “Next time you need a favor, call me. The next ten times you need a favor, call me. Middle of the night, first thing in the morning, right after I get into my pajamas, doesn’t matter, I’ll come running.”

I squinted at her. “At some point I’m going to know what you’re talking about, right?”

She laughed. “Fred Sirrine. He called me this morning, and this afternoon he hired me as his estate’s attorney. He also said he’ll recommend me to all his old fogey friends, his words, not mine.”

Fred Sirrine. The name sounded familiar, but . . . then I had it. Former neighbor to the Boggses.

“That’s great,” I said. “But I didn’t do anything. All I did was mention your name.”

“Sometimes that’s all it takes, especially for the guy who used to have the title ‘President of the Americas for Ford Motor Company.’” She gave me another crushing hug, declared everlasting appreciation for my help, and headed into the wine shop.

“Huh,” I said to no one in particular. Then I suddenly remembered that, with Jennifer gone, I’d be free to start up the outreach lecture series I’d suggested, with Leese as the first speaker. I took one step after her, but again heard my name.

“Minnie!”

I turned and this time it was Aunt Frances who was headed toward me. “Hey, there,” I said. “Did you hear? I’m interim library director again.”

“Old news.” She grinned. “I heard that at the post office ten minutes ago.” She waved a handwritten envelope. “This is the new news. Picked it up in the box just now.”

My eyes tried to read the return address, but she was fluttering it too fast, and I was afraid if I kept trying to read it I’d get motion sickness. “Are you going to tell me what it is, or am I going to have to guess?”

She beamed. “It’s from my late husband’s cousin Celeste Glendennie. I don’t think you’ve ever met her. She’s a second cousin once removed, or is it a third cousin?” Aunt Frances pursed her lips, then shrugged. “Some sort of a cousin. She’s been living in Nevada for the last thirty years and she wants to come back to Michigan.”

“That’s nice,” I said.

Aunt Frances laughed. “I’m not to the good part yet. She has agreed, sight unseen except for the pictures and video clips I’ve e-mailed her, to buy the boardinghouse and to keep it running.”

Um. “Does she know . . . I mean . . .”

My aunt laughed. “Yes, dear niece, she is fully aware of the amount of labor involved. She’s a sucker for hard work, always has been. Plus she’s more than ten years younger than I am.”

“What about . . . you know?”

Aunt Frances tipped her head and considered me. “All that college education, a career among books, and yet you still have moments when you’re about as articulate as a toddler. And far less articulate than Eddie.” She shook her head. “Celeste is well aware of the arrangements of the boardinghouse, spoken and unspoken. She has agreed to continue my matchmaking efforts for at least a year if I help her with the guest selections. After that, it’s up to her.”

I nodded approvingly. “Well done.”

“And,” Aunt Frances said, poking me in the shoulder, “she said she won’t mind a winter guest as long as said guest doesn’t mind her.”

On the surface, it sounded good, but I sensed there was more to the story. “And?” I asked, drawing out the word.

My aunt looked at the sky, looked at the sidewalk, and finally looked at me. “She has three little dogs,” she said so fast, it sounded almost like one word.

“Three.”

“I’m sure they’re well behaved,” Aunt Frances said. “I can’t imagine Celeste having any other kind of dog. She’s meticulous about housekeeping and is always concerned about doing the right thing.”

She was sounding worse and worse. “Well,” I said, putting on a smile. “I’m glad you’ve found someone in the family to take on the boardinghouse. Everything else is just details; it will all work out.”

Aunt Frances blew out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you think so.” She gave me a quick hug. “I’m off to tell Otto the good news. See you later!”

I watched her go and slowly started walking again. Everything around me seemed to be changing. The library was shifting yet another time, and who knew what direction the new director would want to take? Kristen was going to marry Scruffy, and though she protested an undying commitment to her restaurant, with Scruffy based in New York, I could easily imagine her spending more and more time there. Aunt Frances was going to marry Otto, and the boardinghouse was going to be taken over by a cousin with three dogs. Change could be good, but so much all at once was a little overwhelming.

With so much going on in my head, I was afraid I’d absentmindedly walk into the middle of the street and become a traffic hazard, so I wandered down to the waterfront.

In summer, the wide sidewalk would have been crowded with people, strollers, and dogs. On this fall evening so close to winter, even though the sun was out and the air still, the only company I had were a few seagulls and a floating flock of Canada geese settling in for the night.

My aimless steps took me down to the marina, where there were only two boats left in the water. I stopped at the dock where my houseboat had been moored all summer and felt a pang of sadness for the months gone by.

It wasn’t regret I was feeling, not precisely. It was more like nostalgia for a more innocent time. Which was ridiculous, of course, because I was just as naive about many things now as I was then, but at least last summer I hadn’t—

“Minnie! Have you gone deaf, or what?”

For a moment, everything around me seemed to stop. Then I felt my heart beating, my lungs pushing air in and out, and my five senses sensing.

I turned around. Rafe Niswander was standing on his porch, hands in his pockets. “What do you want?” I asked. Because I really didn’t feel like talking to him. What I wanted was to feel sorry for myself for a little while then go home to my cat. I’d pick either a book to read or a movie to watch—maybe make popcorn—and we’d snuggle together in front of the fireplace. What I did not want to do was talk to the man I loved with all my heart.

“Get over here,” he said, motioning with his head.

I stayed where I was. “Why?”

“Because.”

“Not sure that’s reason enough,” I said. But since it was clear he was going to hound me into doing what he wanted, I started walking. “Is this going to take long?” I asked. “There are things I need to do.” None of them important, but he didn’t need to know that.

Rafe, running true to form, ignored my question and opened the front door. “I want to show you something.”

“The crown molding looks fine,” I said automatically.

“You didn’t even look.”

Against my will, I felt a smile seep onto my face. “Well, no, but I’m sure it’s fantastic.”

“Of course it is,” he said, “but that’s not what I wanted to show you. Come on back.”

He led me through the front room, through the formal dining room, and into his kitchen-like space. “I finally have a plan for this room,” he said.

“Took you long enough.”

He grinned. “You can’t rush these things.”

I loved him so much that I was afraid he would see it all over my face. Turning away, I said, “What’s the plan? Although what I’d really like to know is why you’re asking me. You know I avoid cooking if at all possible.”

Once again, he ignored my questions. “Over here is where the refrigerator is going. A double-wide thing so there’s lots of freezer space.”

A bit of his enthusiasm trickled into me. “That would be nice,” I said.

“Right. And over here, sticking with the work triangle theory of kitchen design, is where the sink will be. The electric oven goes here”—he pointed— “and the gas cooktop will go under that window.”

“Six-burner, I assume?”

“Nah. Who wants to cook that much? I kept wanting to put the sink under the window, but I think this works better.”

I looked around the space, trying to imagine the shapes. “You’re right. This way when you’re at the sink, you’re facing the dining room.” I stepped forward and mimicked washing a few imaginary dishes, which were my favorite kind. “What do you plan for cabinets?”

“Got a buddy who took down a bunch of maple he had milled. It’s stored in his barn, gathering dust. He’ll sell it to me cheap.”

I looked around the large room. “Are you going to stain or paint them?”

“Not sure yet.” He shrugged. “But it’ll take me eight months to build the things. I figure by spring I’ll have figured out what to do to them.”

“Eight months?” I tried not to sound disbelieving.

“Yep.”

“You seriously think you’re going to build a full set of kitchen cabinets in eight months?”

“What, you think I can’t do it?” He looked affronted.

“I’m sure you can. I’m just not sure you will.”

“For your information,” Rafe said loftily, “I have full confidence that this house will be completely done by the end of next summer.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been putzing around on this house for years. Why on earth would you suddenly start working hard enough to finish it within the next decade?”

“Well,” he said reasonably, “where else are you going to live next fall, with a stranger running the boardinghouse?”

“Where . . . what?” I stared at him.

“I ran into your aunt at the post office and she told me about that cousin. I mean, sure, you might want to keep staying up there in the winter, but don’t you think it’s time?”

I kept staring at him. “For what?”

Rafe sighed. “For moving here.”

My mouth hung open. Then I figured it out. “You need a roommate,” I said flatly.

“How can someone so smart be so stupid?” he asked the ceiling. Then he took a step toward me. “I’ve been renovating this house for you all along,” he said. “Why do you think I was always asking you questions about what I should do?”

“Because I was nearby?” I asked, and my voice squeaked a little.

“Well, that didn’t hurt. But mostly I wanted to build the house of your dreams, a house you’d fall in love with . . . because then maybe you’d fall in love with me.”

He’d moved closer as he talked, and now he was so close that I felt his warmth seep into me. “I like the house,” I said so softly it was almost a whisper.

“Do you?” he asked.

“Actually, I love it.” And I did. I’d loved it from top to bottom even before Rafe bought it. A wild thought occurred to me. “Back when this place was a mess of tiny apartments, I told you it was a shame and that what it needed to be happy was an owner who would fix it up properly.”

“It was the summer before you went to college,” he said quietly, coming even closer.

“You remember that?”

“Don’t you?”

And I suddenly realized that I did. I remembered it exactly. I looked up at him, amazed, and he pushed back one of my curls. “I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you,” he said, “back when you were twelve and not much shorter than you are now.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” I whispered.

“I’ve wanted to for years, but you weren’t ready. I thought after you got rid of that doctor, it might be time, but then you go and start seeing Ash.” He smiled. “Have to say, that worried me a little.”

“No worries,” I said, smiling back with my whole heart. “Not today.” Maybe not ever.

“So you’ll try this?” he asked, so very gently that I almost cried. “See if we have a future together? Help me with cabinet colors and towels? All that?”

Instead of saying yes, I leaned into the kiss I’d been longing for. His arms circled me, and I felt as if I’d finally come home.

• • •

“So what do you think?” I asked.

It was hours later, and Eddie and I were getting ready for bed. Rafe and I had spent a fair amount of time talking, then not talking, then talking again, but since we both had to work the next day, he’d walked me back to the boardinghouse at midnight.

“Mrr,” Eddie said.

“What are you doing? You’re not going to fit, you know.”

My cat had his head underneath my dresser and was squirming his way farther in. Weird didn’t begin to describe him. “Anyway, I think you’re going to like it at Rafe’s house next fall.”

But it wouldn’t be just Rafe’s house any longer. It would be our house, and the thought made my skin tingle with anticipation. “It’s big, and it’s close to the marina, so you’ll be familiar with the territory.” The houseboat details would be worked out later.

“Hang on a minute,” I murmured. Rafe and Aunt Frances had met at the post office and she’d told him about the future of the boardinghouse. Had she known all along how he’d felt about me? Had she known how I’d felt about him? Had she played matchmaker for me?

I tossed the idea around for a bit, wondering how I felt about that likely possibility, then decided I didn’t care. Rafe and I were together and that was what counted.

“Anyway,” I said, “you’ll be happy living with Rafe. Remember him? He’s the one who puts your back foot in your ear, which you seem to enjoy.”

“Mrr,” Eddie said.

Or at least that’s what I thought he’d said. It was hard to tell, though, because he was now all the way under the dresser.

“What are you doing under there?” I asked. “You have something and I’m guessing it’s not a cat toy, or at least it wasn’t a cat toy when it was manufactured.” Eddie had a penchant for turning everything into his own possessions, and that included toothbrushes, short pieces of rope, and brooms.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something shoot out from under the dresser, skitter across the floor, and come to rest underneath the bed.

“Nice,” I said, getting down on my hands and knees and reaching. “Having cats is a great way to keep limber. Did you ever think of . . . got it.”

I sat on the bed. Eddie’s plaything had been a pencil. “So this is where it went,” I said, spinning the yellow pencil between my fingers. “I was unpacking the other day and—”

My words stopped short. This pencil was decorated with Eddie’s teeth marks. This was an Eberhard Faber pencil. This Eberhard Faber pencil was what he’d yanked out of my hand that night on the houseboat when I’d been talking to him about Dale Lacombe’s murder.

Eberhard Faber.

Simon Faber.

As I stared at the pencil, Eddie squirmed his way out from under the dresser and made one long leap onto my lap. He flopped down and started purring.

I looked at my cat. Looked at the pencil. Looked at my cat.

Could he really have been trying to tell me something? Was it possible that his cat brain had known something I hadn’t and he’d been trying to communicate with me?

“Were you?” I asked.

Eddie turned his head and looked deep into my eyes.

“Mrr.”