Borrowed Crime: A Bookmobile Cat Mystery (4 page)

I told them about his comment about the greater good.

“Seriously?” Holly looked at me over the top of her coffee mug. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“Well.” I shrugged. “He’s right.”

Josh snorted. “Quit being so nice, Minnie. The only thing he’s right about is . . .” With a dramatic flourish, he put his hand to his forehead and fake concentrated. “Huh. Nothing that I can think of.”

“A year ago, I did tell him I’d find operations money,” I reminded my friends. “Only Stan Larabee died and that ended that.” Now, I could see that it had been a mistake to put all my bookmobile funding eggs into a basket labeled
STAN
, and then a second basket labeled
GRANT THAT WIL
L SOLVE YOUR FINANCI
AL PROBLEMS FOR AT L
EAST A YEAR
, but there wasn’t much I could do about it at this point other than to keep searching for new grant possibilities.

I averted my mind from my two lost sources of funding. “Anyway,” I said, “we can’t take money out of the library’s regular budget to fund the bookmobile. That wouldn’t be right.”

“What’s not right,” Holly said, “is that Stephen isn’t supporting the best thing that’s happened to this library in years.”

I grinned. “You mean besides the millage that paid for the renovation of this gorgeous building?”

Holly waved away the multimillion-dollar project. “That’s different. That’s typical Chilson show-off stuff.
We have to have a library that’s better than everybody else’s. So of course that millage passed the first time around; we couldn’t let Petoskey have a nicer library than we do.”

I stopped chewing and stared at her. Never once in the three and a half years I’d lived full-time in Chilson had I thought of our wonderful library that way.

“And anyway,” Josh said, “no matter how cool this building is, the bookmobile is way cooler.”

“It is?” I asked.

“Well, sure.” Holly swallowed the last of her cookie. “You’ve shown us the figures. The number of books borrowed is a lot higher for bookmobile patrons than for the people who come here. That’s got to be boosting the overall circulation numbers for the library, right?”

It was, but not as much as she might think.

“Plus,” Josh added, “it’s famous.”

I shook my head to bring my thoughts out of the spreadsheet daze they’d fallen into. “What is?”

My friends exchanged a puzzled glance. “The bookmobile,” Josh said patiently. “Everybody knows about it.”

“They . . . do?”

“Well, yeah,” Holly said. “It’s famous all over the place.”

“You’re like a mobile billboard.” Josh held up an imaginary sign and chugged around the room with it. “No other library in this part of the state has a bookmobile at all, let alone one as cool as ours.”

Ours
, he’d said. And Holly had nodded. A warm happiness flooded through me. For months, the bookmobile had been, in Stephen’s words, “Minnie’s little project,” but it had already become part of the greater library family.

“The bookmobile,” I said, “isn’t exactly what I’m
worried about.” I looked around. Saw no one but the three of us, but motioned them to move in, just in case. “I think he knows about”—I lowered my voice to a whisper—“Eddie.”

Josh and Holly both sat up straight.

“How could he?” Holly asked.

Josh shook his head. “No way. What makes you think that?”

“Nothing for certain,” I said, “but you’ve heard that little laugh he makes sometimes?”

“Yeah.” Josh grinned crookedly. “He sounds just like a cat would if it laughed right before it jumped on a mouse.”

It was an apt description, but I could have done without the feline reference. “When I said it’ll work out and he said he hoped so, he looked right at me. I mean
right
at me.” Using my index and middle fingers, I pointed at my own eyes.

“Whoa.” Josh sat back. “Stephen never looks straight at you. Through you, maybe, but never at you.”

Holly laughed. “I think maybe I’d turn to stone if he did. Stephen as Medusa.”

“So, something’s up, right?” I asked. “I’m not imagining things?”

“Not a chance,” Holly said. “The fact that he laughed and looked you straight in the eye? Two signs that something weird is going on.”

Josh smirked. “Or the end of the world is coming.”

“There’s not much we can do about that,” Holly said briskly, “but we can help Minnie find out if Stephen knows about Eddie.”

I’d kept Eddie’s presence a secret even from Holly and Josh for months. Back in August, though, when it had become crystal clear that Eddie was a part of the
bookmobile whether or not I wanted him to be, I’d made them raise their right hands, put their left hands on an ancient green
Readers’ Guide to Periodical Literature
that I’d hauled out of the library basement, and swear to keep the Eddie Secret.

“Okay,” Josh said, popping open his second soda can. “I’m in. But how are we going to figure this out? I mean, anyone could have said something on Facebook.”

Holly laughed. “There’s no way Stephen does Facebook. He says social media is a waste of time.”

Which was true. We’d all heard Stephen pontificate on the time-wasting properties of the Internet in general and social media in particular. It had gotten to the point where we could recognize the signs of a pending lecture and slide away with some excuse before he really got going.

Josh shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t use it, not if he could see some advantage.”

Which was also true.

“Well, I don’t think Stephen has any idea about Eddie,” Holly said.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Josh tipped his head back and studied her through narrowed eyes. “How sure are you?”

“Sure enough to bet a double batch of my peanut butter fudge.”

“You’re on.” Josh held out his hand.

“Not so fast, buster,” she said, pulling back. “What do I get if I’m right? You’re about the worst cook in the world, next to Minnie.”

“Hey!” I protested, but neither one of them paid any attention to me.

“Gift certificate to Cookie Tom’s?” Josh asked.

Holly rolled her eyes. “Like I need more baked goods.”

“Gift certificate to Shomin’s, then.”

Shomin’s was a new deli in town, and the library staff members were enthusiastic supporters.

Holly put out her hand, then jerked it back. “Gift certificate big enough to buy two lunches.”

Josh pursed his lips, but we all knew it was a done deal. Holly’s peanut butter fudge was arguably better than her cookies. “Two lunches,” he agreed.

This was all well and good, but I had a question. “So, how are you going to do this without making Stephen suspicious?”

“Easy,” Josh said. “I was going to update some software on his computer on a Saturday, but I’ll come up with some reason to do it on a weekday. I can just rattle off some IT words, and he won’t know the difference. I mean, it’s not like he’s going to leave his office when I do the updates. I could kind of ask him about the bookmobile, maybe act like I think it’s a bad idea, and see what he says.”

“Now you’re talking.” Holly raised her hand for a high five, and we slapped all the way around. “First off, I’ll see if I can find him on Facebook. Then I can check LinkedIn, Pinterest, and Twitter. I’ll even look at Google Plus, Tumblr, and Instagram. If he’s not on any of those, he probably isn’t doing social media at all. And where else would he hear about Eddie? It’s not like he goes anywhere but here.”

“You two are awesome,” I said.

“Ah, it’s nothing.” Josh upended his soda can and slugged down half the contents. “We’d do this for any assistant library director who got the library a bookmobile and had her cat stow away on it.”

“It’ll be fun,” Holly said. “Sleuthing around, trying to find out what’s really going on with Stephen—it’ll be a kick. We should have started doing this years ago.” She grinned.

I looked at them. My coworkers, my companions, my friends. I didn’t know what I’d do without them. “There’s one thing, though.”

“What’s that?” Josh asked.

I hesitated. They’d think I was silly and a worrywart, but it had to be said. “Be careful, okay? Just . . . be careful.”

T
hursday and Friday passed without any major incidents, assuming you didn’t call the Thursday delivery of six boxes for the Cheboygan Area Public Library to our library and the delivery of our books to Cheboygan a major incident.

Stephen had summoned me after taking one look at the stack of boxes. “Minnie. Take care of this.” He’d spun around and left me standing there.

I’d squinted at his retreating figure, shrugged, and called Cheboygan’s library director. That noon, we’d met at a restaurant near the halfway point between our two fair cities, had a nice lunch, shared some library stories, and left with the appropriate boxes.

Aunt Frances had enjoyed the story immensely, and even Eddie had seemed amused.

Friday morning arrived with a forecast that could excite only small children and die-hard skiers.

“Snow,” Kelsey said, frowning at the front-desk computer screen and shaking her head so hard that her short blond hair flew around her head. “It’s only the middle of November. They should not be predicting eight inches of snow for tonight. That’s just wrong.”

Kelsey was a part-time clerk and my most recent hire. Well, sort of. She’d worked at the library years before, but had left when she’d had her first child. The kids were older now, and Kelsey didn’t mind leaving them with her mother a couple of times a week. One of our part-timers had relocated to Arizona in July, so it had all worked out.

“What about you?” Kelsey asked. “Have you driven anything like the bookmobile in winter?”

I smiled. “It’ll be fine. The heavier the vehicle, the easier it’ll go through the snow. Besides, the roads should be plowed by the time we get out.”

Her eyebrows went up. “On that route? You’re kidding, right?”

For the first time, I had a moment of pure panic. What was I thinking? Surely driving an incredibly expensive vehicle out on snow-covered and slippery roads was misguided at best, and dangerous at worst. I was going to put the bookmobile, Eddie, and Denise in danger, and for what? To say that the bookmobile always made its appointed rounds? For the sake of my pride?

Then my common sense asserted itself.
You’re not stupid,
it told me.
If the weather is truly horrible, you won’t go out.

“No need to make that decision now,” I said. “We’ll see what happens overnight. If it looks bad in the morning, I’ll call the sheriff’s office for a report on the road conditions.”

Kelsey shook her head. “You’re a braver woman than I am, driving that big bookmobile beast all over the county. There’s not even cell-phone reception in a lot of places, you know.”

Beast?
I puffed up a little at hearing my beautiful
bookmobile called a beast. The only beastly thing about the bookmobile was Eddie, and he slept a lot of the time. Maybe hiring Kelsey hadn’t been such a wise decision.

“Hey,” she said, snapping her fingers. “I keep meaning to tell you. A friend of mine lives over in Peebles—you know, one of those little towns where Stephen shut down their library a couple of years ago? Anyway, you have a bookmobile stop there, and my friend says that getting the bookmobile is the best thing that’s happened to that town since the grocery store reopened. Pretty cool, right?”

Then again, Kelsey wasn’t so bad.

I had dreams that night of freezing rain and howling winds, and woke up to the smell of bacon cooking.

My shower was fast, and I hurried down to the kitchen just in time to see Aunt Frances filling two plates with eggs and bacon and hash browns.

“Wow,” I said, bumping Eddie to the floor and sitting in my chair. “What’s the occasion?”

Aunt Frances nodded to the wide kitchen window. “Thought you could use a hearty breakfast before going out in that.”

I half stood so I could see outside. Nothing but white and more white. “Huh,” I said, sitting back down. “That’s, um, a lot of snow.”

“More than six inches,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s eat.”

While downing crisp bacon glazed with maple syrup, my aunt regaled me with tales of winters long, long ago. “And then there was the blizzard of 1978,” she said almost wistfully. “Remember?”

I didn’t, since that had been two years before I was born, but I nodded anyway, figuring it counted if I
remembered seeing the pictures Mom had stuck into the photo album.

Our plates were soon empty. I thanked Aunt Frances for the wonderful breakfast, and as soon as the table was clear, I fetched my cell phone and dialed the sheriff’s office.

“Deputy Wolverson,” said a male voice. “How may I help you?”

“Oh, uh.” I hadn’t expected someone I knew to answer the phone, let alone a man who was about my age, with a muscular build, short brown hair, and a squarish jaw.
Hot
was what Holly called him, and I supposed she was right. “Hi. This is Minnie Hamilton. From the library. I didn’t expect you to be answering the phones.”

“Hey, Minnie,” he said. “I don’t usually, but I’m covering for someone this morning. What can I do you for?”

The old-fashioned phrase made me smile. “Today is a bookmobile day, and I was wondering about the road conditions.”

“Hey, that’s great that you called to check,” he said. “Not many people think to ask. Where are you headed?”

I gave him the road names and heard the click of a few computer keys. “You should be fine,” he said. “Those are primary roads, so they’ll be clear by nine o’clock.”

I thanked him and hung up. Aunt Frances was at the sink, doing the dishes against my objections. “We’re on,” I said, and looked around for Eddie. He was nowhere to be seen. “Hey, Eddie,” I called. “Ready for a bookmobile ride?”

Though he hadn’t been in the kitchen half a second earlier, there he suddenly was, sitting in the middle of the floor as if he’d been there the entire time.

“Mrr,” he said.

*   *   *

Half an hour later, the bookmobile was out of the garage, warming up while I made sure all was ready for the day’s adventure.

I’d run through the outside checklist and was halfway through the inside list when there was a knock on the door. This was strange, because people rarely knocked at the door at stops, let alone while the bookmobile was sitting in the library’s back parking lot, but maybe the handle had frozen shut with the snow and Denise couldn’t get it unlatched.

Mentally shrugging, I went to open the door.

Outside, a man in jeans, work boots, and a brown Carhartt jacket stood with his back to the bookmobile. He was doing what I often did in the mornings, drinking in the view of the downtown Chilson rooftops and Janay Lake. Even on this snowy day, with a sky still morning gray, it was a sight worth taking in, and I was already liking the guy, whoever he was.

“Hi,” I said. “Can I help you?”

He turned. He had a salt-and-pepper beard, weathered skin, and a cheerful expression. “Morning. I’m Roger Slade. My wife sent me over.”

“Your . . . wife?”

“Denise.”

This was making no sense whatsoever. “She sent you?”

He nodded. “Didn’t she call? She said she was going to.”

“Haven’t heard it ring.” And I knew for a fact that my cell was charged up and raring to go. I always made sure of that on bookmobile days.

“Oh. Well.” He shrugged. “She meant to, but you
know how she gets. Anyway, she can’t make it today on the bookmobile.”

“She what?” My eyes thinned to mere slits. I’d known this was going to happen. Just known it. Denise was capable but not dependable, no matter how many promises she made. Why had I ever thought this time would be different?

“But she sent me,” Roger said. “She said it’ll work out fine.”

Oh, she did, did she?
I opened my mouth . . . but then shut it. I would deal with Denise later. Right now there was a bookmobile run to embark upon and a new volunteer to train.

I smiled at Roger. “Come on in.”

*   *   *

Ten minutes later we were on our way. I’d introduced Roger to Eddie and Eddie to Roger, given him a quick tour of the bookmobile, handed him the necessary paperwork, given him a fact sheet on the Dewey decimal system, and asked him whether he’d brought food.

He shook his head. “Denise didn’t say anything about it and I didn’t think to ask.”

I stopped in the middle of buckling up my seat belt. “Do you want to stop to pick up something on the way out of town?”

“I’ll be okay,” he said. “I’m used to not having lunch.”

It was then that I was struck with the realization that I knew absolutely nothing about the man I was going to be traveling with for the next eight hours. “So,” I said, dropping the transmission into gear, “what do you do when you’re not riding with the bookmobile?”

“Lately or normally?” he asked.

I was starting to like this guy. I grinned. “Both.”

“Normally I work construction for a company in Petoskey.” He gave a name that rang a vague bell in the back of my brain. “We specialize in old structures. Bridges, barns—whatever. Do projects all over the state. Did your library here,” he said, nodding at the brick building.

No wonder the name of his company had sounded familiar. I’d moved to Chilson on the happy end of the school-turned-library renovation. While I’d helped plan the move from the old building to the new, my only dealing with the construction project itself was to marvel at the finished product.

“So, you’re off for the winter?” I asked.

“Off until the doctor gives me the thumbs-up.” He pointed at his midsection. “Had hernia surgery three weeks ago and I need the doc’s sign-off before I can swing a sledgehammer again.”

Wonderful. Not only had Denise bailed on her bookmobile promise, but she’d sent me a walking wounded for a replacement. I braked to a stop, right in the middle of the empty road. “If you’re recovering from surgery, I’m afraid I—”

“Minnie, I’m fine.” He looked at me with serious gray eyes. “I wouldn’t put you or the library in any jeopardy. After two weeks, I was fine to lift things up to ten pounds, so as long as you don’t make me tote any big boxes of books, there won’t be any problems.”

I studied him, thinking hard.

What did I know about this man? Next to nothing. The fact that I’d already mentally moved him into the friend category meant zip where the bookmobile and the library were concerned. I had to do what was best for the library and not be swayed by a kernel of friendship.

Then again, what were the risks if I brought him along?

“It was laparoscopic surgery,” he said, “and it was three weeks ago. All I can’t do is lift heavy things, which is why I’m here instead of out hunting.”

That was right: It was the first day of deer season. I tried to remember what people said about snow for hunting, whether that made it easier or harder, but since I wasn’t a hunter, I didn’t try very hard.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “Let me make a phone call. There’s this doctor I know.” I dug into my backpack for my phone and called Tucker. Having an emergency-room doctor boyfriend was coming in handy. “Hey,” I said. “Got a quick question for you.”

“You’re not canceling our date tonight, are you?” he asked.

“Not a chance.” It had been weeks since our schedules had synced to where we could have a weekend night together. “My question is a general one, about hernia surgery.”

“Don’t do it,” he said promptly.

I laughed. “Not in my future, as far as I know. But I’m wondering about recovery time.”

He started asking all sorts of questions. What kind of hernia surgery, had there been a mesh installed, who was the surgeon, how healthy was the patient, and on and on.

Okay, maybe having a doctor for a boyfriend wasn’t so handy. I waited until he paused for breath, then asked, “If the guy is around fifty, fairly fit, and had laparoscopic surgery three weeks ago, do you think it’s okay for him to work at a desk job?”

“Well, what I’ll tell you,” Tucker said, “is most guys
are back at work inside of a week if they don’t have to do any lifting.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Excellent. Thanks.”

Tucker went on about possible complications, said he couldn’t make any real recommendations without seeing the guy, that every case was different, and to get a solid answer the guy should consult with his surgeon.

“Sure,” I said. “I understand. Thanks.” I tucked the phone away. “Well, it sounds like you’re good to go.”

“‘Fairly fit’?” Roger quoted me, lifting one eyebrow.

I grinned and checked the vehicle’s mirrors. The road was still empty, so I took my foot off the brake. “Well, I don’t know your best mile time, do I?”

“Last summer I ran a half marathon in under two hours.”

I tried to do the math. Gave up fast. Anyone who could run 13.1 miles at all had to be a lot healthier than I was. One of these days I’d start eating better and get into working out. This spring, maybe. Winter was no time to start an exercise program.

We spent the ride out to the south central part of the county working through the pros and cons of over- and underestimating people and came to no conclusions. We talked about the library’s renovation project on the way to the second stop, wherein I learned that my office had previously been part of a fifth-grade classroom, and talked a lot about the weather on the way to the third stop.

This was because although I’d already lived through three northern Michigan winters, I’d spent most of those months in town or on highways that had priority for snow clearance. I had never quite realized how varied the snowfall amounts could be in different parts of Tonedagana County.

“Oh, sure,” Roger said, nodding. “Over by Chilson, that’s what we call the banana belt.”

“Bananas?”

“It’s a joke. But over there we got—what?—six, maybe eight inches? Which is a lot of stuff to shovel, sure, but look at that.” He gestured at the snow-laden trees. “That’s ten to twelve inches, easy.”

As Deputy Wolverson had predicted, the roads had been cleared nicely and the driving was fine, but there was indeed a lot of snow. Cedar branches were weighed down with great clumps of the stuff, the few houses were thickly blanketed with white, and the only bare ground to be seen was the roadway in front of us.

“Why?” I asked.