Booking the Crook Read online

  “You did,” I said, “but I was thinking maybe January is a slow time at the lab and they could get it through faster than a week.”

  “Still the funny one, aren’t you,” Ash said as he came into the room. “None of the labs in the state have slow seasons. All they have are busy and really busy times.”

  “The poor things,” I murmured, meaning it. How stressful it must be to always be pushing your staff to the limit.

  “Job security.” Ash pulled out the chair next to Hal and sat. “Sorry I’m late, I was finishing up a report.”

  “That’s what I like best in a detective-in-training,” Hal said, nodding. “Finishing my work.”

  I smiled and didn’t say a word, but I was thinking how far the relationship between Detective Hal Inwood and myself had advanced. Not all that long ago he’d barely tolerated my presence and had clearly considered my suggestions an interference. Now he seemed as if he could be almost likable.

  “Now, Ms. Hamilton,” Hal said, focusing on me. “You said you have information to share. Please go right ahead. I’d like to get home at some point tonight.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Neil Bennethum has already told you some of this, but I have some thoughts, too.”

  I told them about Rowan’s argument with Land, and how Neil was so sure that Land had killed Rowan. The two law enforcement officers across the table had both opened their respective notepads and clicked on their pens, but no notes were taken during my little speech.

  “You know all this,” I said.

  “Looking into it.” Hal glanced at his watch. “At this point we’re still gathering information.”

  Well, almost likable. “Right. How silly of me to think I might tell you something useful.”

  Hal sighed. “Ms. Hamilton, please. It’s been a long day. What else do you have?”

  I told myself to cut the detective a little slack. He was getting up there in age, and he was serving the people of Tonedagana County for a wage that didn’t anywhere near make up for the hassles he had to endure.

  “Assuming,” I said, “that the sugar packet was a vehicle for the poison, there are at least two people who use that particular type of sugar. Stewart Funston, who I saw with the same kind of packet just yesterday, and Hugh Novak. He’s on the waiting list at the place that makes the stuff to get a box as soon as they make any new.”

  Hal’s and Ash’s pens scribbled away as I talked. When I stopped, Hal asked, “And their connections to the victim?”

  He was taking me seriously—hooray! “Stewart is Rowan’s cousin. A first cousin. And though I’m not sure of the details, Hugh couldn’t stand Rowan. They were on opposite sides of the political spectrum, and he never missed an opportunity to disagree with her publicly.” That’s what Neil had implied. I’d confirmed it with Donna, and she was one of my most trusted local sources.

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” Ash said. “If people killed each other because of politics, we’d have a lot more murders at Thanksgiving.”

  But people did kill each other over politics, and the look Hal gave Ash was one of fatigued reproach. “Thank you, Ms. Hamilton. We’ll take this information into account as the investigation moves forward.”

  It was a statement of dismissal, but I wasn’t ready to move an inch. “And what have you found out? Don’t say you can’t discuss an active investigation. Surely you can tell me who you’ve talked to at the bank. If you don’t tell me, I’ll go the bank and any teller will let me know.”

  Hal gave Ash a nod. “Okay,” Ash said. “Technically, this information is public knowledge, but we’d prefer you keep it to yourself.” When I murmured agreement, he went on. “We talked to Sunny Scoles.”

  I frowned. “Isn’t she the owner of that new restaurant halfway between here and Charlevoix?” I couldn’t remember the name.

  “That’s the one. She opened up there because it was what she could afford, but it was affordable because it’s not a great location. Apparently she’s doing okay, but wants to buy a food truck to expand.”

  “Rowan turned her down?”

  Hal stirred. “We can’t give out that information.”

  I squinted at the men across the table. “But you talked to her so—”

  “Can neither confirm nor deny.”

  I turned back to Ash. “Sunny Scoles. Anyone else?”

  “The last person we talked to was Baxter Tousely.”

  “Baxter . . .” The name sounded familiar. Then my mental lightbulb clicked on. “You mean Bax?”

  Ash nodded. “That’s what everyone calls him.”

  “Is he about twenty-two?” If I recalled correctly, Bax had been in the same high school class as the Bennethum twins. He hadn’t been a fixture in the library, but I remembered Anya and Collier mentioning his name in a way that had made me assume he was one of their friends.

  Hal flicked me a glance. “How many men named Baxter do you know, Ms. Hamilton?”

  And back to the not-quite-likable side. “Bax is still in Chilson?” If he’d been a friend of Collier and Anya, I would have thought he’d gone off to college.

  “Working for the city,” Ash said. “Public works department. But his dream is to have a post-production video service. It can be a good business, I guess, putting together short movie-like bits for everything from big companies to nonprofits to weddings, but to do it right, you need some expensive equipment up front.”

  “And Rowan turned him down for the loan.”

  Ash smiled. “What I can tell you is that he’s still working for the city and hasn’t been in the best of moods the last few weeks.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?” I asked.

  “No.” Hal stood. “And I’m not sure I’m comfortable with how much we’ve told you already. Good night, Ms. Hamilton. Deputy Wolverson, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walked out, leaving me with Ash.

  I sat back. “Is he getting enough sleep? Eating properly? I worry about the man, especially now that I know his wife is out of town.”

  “You’re one to talk about eating right.” Ash stuffed his notebook into his uniform’s shirt pocket. “When was the last time you ate any vegetables?” I opened my mouth, but shut it when he added, “And French fries don’t count.”

  “We’re talking about Hal,” I said, “not me. Besides, older people are more fragile than people our age. He should be taking care of himself.”

  “Do you want to tell him that?”

  The answer, of course, was, “Not a chance.” But since I didn’t want to say so to Ash, I went back to the main topic of conversation. “About these two.” Sunny, the restauranteur. Bax, the wannabe filmmaker. “Do you really think one of them killed Rowan?”

  Ash glanced in the direction Hal had gone. Hesitated. “We’re exploring all—”

  “Never mind,” I said, sighing. Clearly, Ash now belonged heart and soul to the sheriff’s office. It made sense, it was appropriate, and I understood, but it was going to make life a little harder for me.

  Chapter 7

  The next day was Saturday, a half bookmobile day, and the morning was filled with mostly happy people and an exceptionally sleepy Eddie.

  “Where is the bookmobile kitty?” one small book-holding homeschooled urchin asked. “I wanted to pet him.”

  I smiled at the youngster and, after getting the nod from her dad, brought her up front. “Eddie is asleep,” I said, gesturing to the cat carrier. “But next time we’re here, I think he’ll be wide awake and ready for you.”

  “But I want to pet him now.” The urchin’s lower lip started to tremble. “Why is he sleepy?”

  The correct answer was that he’d been up half the night in the downstairs bathroom, shredding facial tissues and toilet paper and batting around the miniature rubber duckies that lived on the edge of the claw foot tub. Happily, Aunt Frances and
I had both slept through the episode, and this morning it had been easy enough to avert my eyes to the mess and mutter that I’d clean it up when I got home.

  But I didn’t want to spread the word that Eddie could be a Bad Cat, so I said, “He was up late, watching the sky. He likes to see the stars, so when the clouds cleared off last night, he got up to see the Big Dipper.” I tried to remember the names of any other constellations I was absolutely sure we saw this time of year. “He really likes the Big Dipper,” I said, then pointed outside. “And isn’t it nice to have some blue sky?”

  The youngster ignored my distracting gesture. Instead, she leaned over and petted the cat carrier. “Sleep tight, Bookmobile Kitty. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” She gave the carrier one last pat, and marched back to her father with a satisfied look on her face.

  It was adorable, and for the millionth time I thought how lucky I was to have this job.

  The happy feeling stayed with me the rest of the day, despite the thick clouds that hid the sky by noon and despite Eddie’s snoring, which Julia found immensely amusing. “I had no idea cats could snore. It’s the cutest thing.”

  “You wouldn’t think so if it kept you awake at three in the morning.” I was pretty sure that Eddie’s day-long sleep was going to result in another active night, but how did you keep a cat awake during the day when he wanted to sleep? There was no victory for me here. As per usual, the cat won.

  It wasn’t until I was stowing Eddie in my car and we were about to head home that I remembered my promise to Rafe.

  “Rats,” I said out loud. “Big fat rats.”

  “Mrr?” Eddie was lying on his side. He rotated his head so his face was upside down and blinked at me. “Mrr?” he asked again.

  I buckled his carrier in. “There’s this one short errand. Do you want me to take you home first, or are you okay in the carrier for a little longer?”

  Hearing nothing, I leaned down to look. My cat was, once again, sleeping.

  “Carrier it is.” I shut the passenger door and got in on my side. “But I’m sure it won’t take long. I mean, how long can choosing cabinet hardware possibly take?”

  Ten minutes later, I was finding out. “No wonder Rafe wanted me to do this,” I said, stunned by the thickness of the catalog.

  Jared laughed. “Niswander said you’d say that.”

  I knew his name was Jared, because his crisp name tag said so, and that he was the store owner because that’s who Rafe had told me to talk to. The owner of the used bookstore in town was also named Jared, but they were not, in fact, the same person, although they were roughly the same age, which was also mine.

  I’d assumed the owner of a hardware store would be approaching geezer age, or would at least have lots of gray hair. Instead, he had nary a gray hair in sight, and the moment I set foot in the door, he’d come up to me and said, “You must be Minnie. I’ve been expecting you.”

  After blinking at the oddness of his greeting, I’d grasped what was going on—Rafe had stopped by earlier and prepped the poor guy. I laughed. “Did Rafe also mention what I’m supposed to be doing?”

  He had, which was why I was sitting in Jared’s office, paging through a catalog thick and heavy enough to require weighing in for a commercial flight. It was a nice office, bright with fluorescent lights and cheery with framed posters of abstract art. Through the open office door, I could see out into the store, a pleasant enough space of utilitarian metal shelving filled with items whose uses were a complete mystery to me.

  “You see how the different designs are arranged, right?” Jared asked. “By finish and style?”

  “Um.” I returned my attention to the catalog. “Sure. It’s just . . . there are so many.” It was overwhelming and reminded me of the sensory overload I felt in a shopping mall. It made me tired and tended me toward crankiness.

  “What kind of cabinets is Rafe building? Knowing that will help you choose a style.”

  Jared’s patience seemed extensive, but my own was far more limited. “I don’t know,” I said, sitting back. “Maple, is all I remember.”

  “Three panel? Single panel? Beadboard?”

  I looked at the man. “Do you seriously think I have any idea what you’re talking about?”

  He grinned. “Don’t want to assume you don’t.”

  “Excellent attitude,” I said approvingly, “but in spite of my exposure to woodworkers and woodworking for most of my life, very little has stuck in my brain.” This wasn’t strictly true, but it was close enough. “What I do know is that Rafe is using a light stain and—” I’d been using my hands to talk and knocked a pile of folders to the floor.

  “Sorry about that.” I jumped out of the chair and kneeled down.

  “No worries,” Jared said, rolling his chair around and leaning forward to help. “Just a stack of customer account files I was going through, studying buying habits.”

  I hadn’t thought about purchasing habits for hardware, but I supposed every business had trends. “You have a lot of customer accounts?”

  “Wish I had more.” Jared piled the folders into a tidy heap. “A few people have them, and a few businesses. The city is our best customer by far, but . . .” His voice drifted off.

  “But what?” I asked, because his face looked troubled. “Are they starting to buy stuff from Amazon?”

  Jared shook his head. “No. At least I don’t think so. It’s just that Bax Tousely—you know him? No? Friendly guy, always comes in with some horrible joke he can’t wait to tell. He was in first thing a couple of weeks ago and didn’t say a word. No joke, no nothing. And he left all of a sudden, without buying a thing. It was weird and I haven’t seen him since. I hope nothing’s wrong.”

  I felt a prickle at the back of my neck. “Do you remember what day that was?”

  “Sure. It was a Monday. Almost two weeks ago. I remember because it was the first anniversary of when I bought this place. I gave the day’s first customer a gift certificate and Bax was the second guy in the door.”

  And it was also the day Rowan had died.

  Had Bax gone to the hardware store, ostensibly looking for a piece of hardware, but instead driven to Rowan’s house and killed her? It was possible; surely it was possible. But why?

  Jared was looking at me. “I have a suggestion. You’ve looked at too many possibilities. Why don’t you look at some magazines, or watch some home improvement shows. See if any cabinet hardware catches your eye. When you have a couple that you like, come on back.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I said vaguely, put on my coat, and headed out to the car, where Eddie was waiting for me.

  * * *

  • • •

  Monday morning was very January-like: snowy, cold, and blustery. For a short second I thought about driving to the library, but knew that was a slippery slope to start sliding down. “Get it?” I asked Eddie. “You know, because it’s the middle of winter and pretty much everything everywhere is slippery anyway?”

  Eddie, who was roosting on the back of the couch, opened one eye, then closed it again.

  “Huh.” I kissed the top of his head. “Since you don’t appreciate my very funny jokes, I’m going to take them to the library for the day.”

  “Mrr.”

  “I’m going to assume that was shorthand for have a nice walk, do good work, come home to me safe and sound, and I’ll miss you like crazy the entire time you’re gone.”

  My cat’s response was a whistling snore.

  Smiling, I headed outside. And as I knew would happen, my reluctance to venture out disappeared by the time I reached the bottom of the porch steps. Yes it was snowy, yes it was cold, and yes the northwest winds were blasting my face. But the cold was invigorating and the very fact that I was outside made me feel brave and intrepid. There I was, mushing myself through the mean streets of Chilson, intent on ensuring that ever
yone had access to the wealth of knowledge and wisdom that resided inside the library walls. Valiant Minnie! Strong Minnie! Dedicated . . .

  I winced as a particularly strong wind gust blew snow down the back of my neck.

  Bleah. Snow down my neck was almost as bad as snow up my sleeves. Both chilled me, giving me shivers that seemed to last for hours.

  I looked up from the study I’d been making of the sidewalk. Ah. I was downtown. And even though it was long before any retail stores typically opened, I could see Mitchell inside, dusting the toys on the top shelf. I stopped and knocked on the front door.

  He turned and saw me. “Come on in,” he said, his words barely making it through the glass. “The door’s unlocked.”

  Silly me. I opened the door and hurried inside, accompanied by a rush of snow and cold.

  “Surprised you walked today. It’s ten below out there, and that’s without the windchill.” Mitchell headed toward the back. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” I said through chattering teeth. Ten below? Seriously? I hadn’t looked at the thermometer that morning, something I was suddenly quite sure I would never forget to do again. “Thanks,” I said as Mitchell handed me a plain white mug of steaming goodness. I buried my face in the heat, letting its warmth thaw my nose and cheeks. “This is exactly what I needed. You’re the best.”

  Mitchell shuffled. “Well, I remember you like coffee, that’s all.”

  I took a sip and ignored the faint blush that was coloring Mitchell’s cheeks. Once upon a time, he’d asked me out on a date and I’d let him down so gently that he’d managed to get the very mistaken impression that I’d been pining for him but couldn’t walk away from an existing relationship without doing serious harm to another man’s soul.

  Since there was no earthly reason to discuss any of that, I said, “You asked me about Bianca, so I’ve been doing some investigating.”

  Mitchell stiffened. “You’re not talking to her, are you? She’s smart, she’ll figure out what’s going on and—”

  “Don’t worry,” I interrupted soothingly. “Not that kind of investigating. I’ve been reading journal articles and relationship books”—Okay, technically what I’d done was glance over the abstracts and conclusions, but that’s where all the good stuff was, so I didn’t feel I was misleading him, not really—“and from what I know of you and Bianca’s relationship, what you have going on is positive, healthy, and sustainable.”