Booking the Crook Read online

  “Who’s up front?” I asked, frowning.

  “Gareth stopped by,” Holly said. “He’s holding down the fort for a few minutes.”

  My eyebrows went up. “Our maintenance guy is at the front desk?”

  “No one’s in the building except us.” Josh folded his arms across his chest. “We need to know what’s going on with Graydon.”

  Our boss was downstate for a couple of days, getting some training on the library’s software, a system he hadn’t been familiar with. I thought it was a good sign that he was willing to suffer through a two-day session when he could have claimed executive privilege and said he didn’t need to learn the system’s details. “What, you afraid he’s going to know more than you do about the system when he gets back?”

  Josh gave me a look. “Funny.”

  I’d thought so. I grinned and said, “You guys need to be a little more specific. What’s going on with Graydon in what way? Seems to me it’s going pretty well. He’s not making any drastic changes right off the bat, and he’s taking the time to learn about the culture of Chilson and the library. And he likes malt vinegar on his French fries.”

  “That’s what we’re talking about,” Kelsey said. “The lunch. What was that all about?”

  I suddenly felt the need for coffee. “Let’s adjourn to the break room. We shouldn’t leave Gareth out there by himself. At least from the break room we can keep an eye on the lobby.”

  By the time we relocated down the hall, I’d collected my thoughts and figured out what to say. Sort of. “I’ve never had a boss ask me out to lunch,” I said. “That he feels the need to get to know us on a personal basis seems like a good thing.”

  “What ‘us,’” Holly went on, “is involved with him taking just you to lunch?”

  Clearly I hadn’t thought this all the way through.

  “There’s potential for a lot of change,” Donna said. “And we’re not hearing anything about how things might fall out.”

  “Exactly.” Kelsey nodded. “New boss, new board president, who knows what they might decide behind our backs.”

  “Graydon seems okay,” Josh said, “but he’s going to do whatever the board tells him. He doesn’t have enough history here to stick up for any of us, or any of our programs.”

  The front door opened and shut, and in spite of the vestibule that was intended to trap the coldest of the cold air, a chill whooshed in, whirled around the lobby, and slid into the break room.

  Donna murmured, “I’ll go,” and she headed up front to take over for Gareth, who, though he was a very capable and intelligent man, didn’t know the Dewey decimal system from the metric system.

  “We need you to tell us what’s going on,” Josh said. “If the board is looking to cut jobs, or hours, or programs, or whatever.”

  Holly gripped her upper arms. “We’re completely in the dark. It’s bad enough that Graydon is poking around everywhere, but now Trent is, too. Otis never did that. He came in, ran the meetings, came out, borrowed a book on World War II, and didn’t come back until the next month. Trent’s been in here almost every day!”

  “Otis didn’t have to spend time in the library,” I said. “He’s lived in Chilson all his life. He didn’t have to learn about the library programs because he was here when they started. He didn’t have to meet the library staff because he was on the board when each of us was hired. Trent is trying to be a good board president. He’s trying to learn as much as he can as fast as he can, and we should be grateful he’s taking the time.”

  Kelsey sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Josh said. “It’s just so different, that’s all.”

  Holly sniffed. “Trent has an agenda. He’s up to something, I can just feel it.”

  I knew I had to say something, but I couldn’t say that it would be okay, because I had the same feeling about Trent that Holly had. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Late that afternoon, my cell phone started buzzing with my best friend’s ringtone.

  “Hey, Kristen,” I said. “What’s up?”

  She snorted. “Nothing’s wrong, except this cold is insane. Why on earth does anyone live up here in the winter?”

  My mouth moved up and down but nothing came out.

  “Hey,” Kristen said. “Are you still there? Hellooo!”

  “You don’t need to shout. I’m right here.”

  “Well, in a couple of hours, I will be, too, so if you don’t want me to freeze my heinie off, I would appreciate you finding me something warm to wear.”

  I felt my brow furrowing. “Where are you?”

  “Detroit.”

  “Michigan?” I asked.

  “Great chef in the sky, of course Michigan! What other Detroit is there? Don’t you remember? This is the weekend we agreed that I’d make a trip up to finalize wedding stuff. We talked about this.”

  Kristen was actually coming home? “I figured you’d cancel and we’d do it all on Skype.”

  “Would I do something like that?” Before I could answer, she said, “Okay, yes, I would, because I canceled a Christmas visit a couple of years ago. But this is different.”

  “Four years ago, when you closed down Three Seasons and fled for Key West, you vowed you wouldn’t set foot above the Mason-Dixon Line ever again between Halloween and Ides of April.”

  “Yeah, and I need to shift that October date. We got six inches of snow before I left last fall.”

  “Yet you’re coming home in January.”

  “Exception proves the rule,” she said. “And believe me, it won’t happen again. Are you going to bring me something to wear, or not?”

  I smiled a slightly evil smile. “See you in two hours.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Kristen sauntered into the airport lobby, towing her purse and small suitcase with one hand and carrying a sign that said, WILL WORK FOR WARM CLOTHES, in the other.

  We hugged, then stepped back and took stock of each other. “You look great,” I said. And she did. Tan and fit and rested, she looked far better than she had last fall, when she’d been tired and worn and pale. She always looked like that at the end of the restaurant season, and I worried for her health every year.

  “You look like you’ve been in a cave for three months,” Kristen said.

  “Lowering my risk of skin cancer, day by day.”

  She looked at my empty hands. “No luck with finding something in my size? Hang on, that’s your evil smile,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “What did you do?”

  I pointed to a massive tote bag I’d parked on a nearby bench. “All for you.”

  An hour later, I was sitting next to Kristen and telling the airport story to Leese Lacombe, a mutual friend. “And then,” I said, “she proceeded to put on every stitch of it.”

  Leese, who was almost as tall as Kristen’s six feet, but had unruly brown hair and a broad build, laughed uproariously. Kristen and Leese had played on opposing high school softball teams, and I’d gotten to know Leese through the bookmobile. The three of us together were a force to be reckoned with, and I was pretty sure that if we decided to put our time and energy into the effort, we could solve one of the biggest problems ever: how to get rid of a song that’s stuck in your head.

  “All of it?” Leese asked, still laughing.

  We were in one of Chilson’s drinking establishments, one of the two open all year. It was early evening, and we were by far the noisiest group in the place. Of course, other than Pete, the bartender, and two men of indeterminate age who were sitting at opposite ends of the bar, we were the only humans in the place.

  It would liven up later, after the dinner hour, but since it was January, the term “liven up” was relative. During the height of the summer season, you
could wait half an hour for a seat, which to me had never seemed worth it for a place with floors that had a tendency to be slightly sticky, but then I lived here. It was different for summer folks. Worn-down establishments where you were on vacation were charming; at home they were places in need of a good cleaning and a coat of paint.

  “All of it,” I said, and showed her the picture I’d taken with my phone. There was Kristen, wearing the brown Carhartt overalls I’d borrowed from Rafe, the long maroon parka I’d borrowed from Aunt Frances, a bright pink wool hat and a pair of gray mittens I’d found in the hall closet, and a pair of circa 1980 Moon Boots I’d found at a local consignment shop, with orange and navy blue striping that went with absolutely nothing. They were perfect.

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve never looked better,” Kristen said. “Send it to my future husband, will you? He should know what awaits.”

  Smirking, I texted the photo to Scruffy. “Where is he these days?”

  “This week it’s New Mexico,” she said. “He and Trock are out there filming an episode about foods influenced by the region’s indigenous peoples.”

  Leese tipped her mug of beer in Kristen’s direction. “Sounds like the show might be getting some influence from the producer’s bride-to-be.”

  She was probably right, but I’d never thought about it. Rafe influenced me and I him, so it only followed that every other couple in the world, including Scruffy and Kristen, might have that same dynamic. I’d just never dreamed, when I’d walked onto the Trock’s Troubles set a year and a half ago when Trock had been filming at his Chilson summer home, that one result would be that Kristen could wind up shifting the show’s direction.

  “It’s a weird, weird world,” I murmured.

  Kristen eyed me. “Is that the start of a joke?”

  “No, but it could be.” I squinted at the ceiling. “It’s a weird world. How weird? Three women walked into a bar: a restauranteur, an attorney, and a librarian. They—”

  “Did you hear about our latest murder?” Leese asked Kristen, cutting into my joke. I feigned hurt, but since I hadn’t known where the story was going, I got over my fake emotional pain quickly.

  Kristen nodded. “Rowan Bennethum? Minnie told me.”

  “Did she tell you she’s helping the sheriff’s office?”

  My best friend’s gaze swung around. “Oh, really?” she asked, her voice laden with something that didn’t bode well for Minnie. “And what trouble is she going to get herself into this time?”

  Leese glanced at me, sending a visual apology.

  “None that I know of,” I said. “All I’m doing is—”

  “Don’t want to hear about it.” Kristen put her hands over her ears. “Especially if I’m not around to put the pieces back together. Even if I beg, you’re not going to walk away from this, are you?”

  “Well, no.” I sat up straight and glared right back at her. “Anya and Collier asked me to help. They’re just kids and they need to know what happened to their mother. If I can do anything to help them, I’m going to do it, and everyone else should, too.”

  Kristen stared at me a moment longer, then picked up her beer mug and swallowed the last of it. Her silence was acknowledgment that I was right, that she understood I was right, but that she didn’t like what was going on and wasn’t going to make any pretense that she did.

  Which was all fine and I was glad we’d reached this point so soon in the weekend and didn’t have to dance around it for another day or two.

  “So what are the detectives saying?” Leese asked. Her father, though she’d had little contact with him for years, had been murdered just a few months earlier and she was familiar with the process. “Anything they’re releasing yet?”

  “No.” I hesitated, trying to remember precisely what they’d said about the names of the possible suspects. Could I talk about them? Should I? “There are a few names that have come up,” I said.

  Leese leaned forward, and even Kristen looked interested. “Can you say who they are?” Leese asked. “I don’t live far from the Bennethums. I can keep an eye out, if you want.”

  “Just keep it quiet, please,” I said, and named the names. Sunny Scoles, of the Red House Café. Bax Tousely, the city worker wannabe postproduction video maker. Hugh Novak, insurance adjuster. Stewart Funston, Rowan’s cousin. Land Aprelle, handyman.

  Kristen, of course, zeroed in on the important thing. “How is Sunny’s restaurant doing? If I did breakfast, I’d want to be like her. She makes this amazing maple glaze with walnuts and puts it on French toast.”

  Leese, however, had an odd expression on her face. “Bax Tousely. He drives a pickup, doesn’t he? Chevy Silverado, maybe ten years old?”

  “No idea.” I was lucky if I remembered what I drove, let alone someone I’d never met. “Why?”

  “Because I’m pretty sure I saw him driving past Rowan’s house almost every day, right before she was killed.”

  Chapter 9

  I told Leese I’d pass on the information about Bax Tousely to the sheriff’s office, and added the task to my mental to-do list. The rest of the evening passed with the mild hilarity that so often accompanies any time that good friends gather together, and I stayed out far later than I normally would have on a night when I had to work the next day.

  On the plus side, there was no real reason for me to show up at the library two hours before it opened, so I didn’t even bother setting an alarm when I crawled into bed.

  Eddie, however, either hadn’t heard me or hadn’t listened when I’d told him I was going to sleep in. He woke me with a paw pat to the face and a loud “Mrr!” all of ten minutes past my usual get-out-of-bed time.

  I looked at his furry face. “When I get up early, you give me a look that could kill. But when I want to sleep in, I get this?”

  “Mrr.” He sat on my chest and stared at me. “Mrr.”

  Clearly, he wasn’t going to let me sleep, so I tossed back the covers, pulled on a bathrobe, stuffed my feet into slippers, and stumbled downstairs to the kitchen, yawning all the way.

  “Top of the morning to you!” Otto toasted me with a steaming mug of coffee. “Would you like a cup? Or would you rather have tea?”

  “Morning.” I dropped into a chair. Eddie jumped up onto the chair next to me and immediately curled up into an Eddie-size ball. Still yawning, I put my elbows on the table and my chin in my hands. “Coffee would be wonderful, thanks.” In the last couple of months I’d grown used to finding Otto in the boardinghouse at any time of the day or night. Almost, anyway. “Where’s Aunt Frances?”

  “Off to the college half an hour ago. She had prep work to do for a class.” He slid a mug of nirvana in front of me and I gratefully wrapped my hands around it. “Frances made me a delightful breakfast of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon and I stayed behind to clean up. There are some leftovers I could heat, if you’d like.”

  I consulted my stomach, and it told me to stay away. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  “Ah. Yes. You were out late with Kristen and Leese.” His smile was tinted with understanding. “How about a piece of dry toast?”

  Another consultation. This time my stomach gave a thumbs-up. “That would be wonderful. But you don’t have to wait on me.” I started to stand, but he waved me down.

  “Sit, sit. I have an ulterior motive for feeding you.”

  “Excellent.” I sipped my coffee. “Nothing better than ulterior motives with dry toast.”

  “That’s what I’ve always said.” The toaster popped up two slices of multigrain. He put them both on a plate and put it in front of me. Sitting, he said, “There’s a bit of a problem with the wedding.”

  I froze, a piece of toast halfway to my mouth. “Don’t tell me you want to back out.”

  “What?” His gentle blue eyes flew open. “Of course not. I said a problem with the wedding, not the marr
iage.”

  “Oh. Right.” I relaxed. “Sorry. It’s just . . . well, never mind.” The night before, after Leese had abandoned us, Kristen confessed she’d been getting wedding jitters. We’d talked it through, and though I was pretty sure she was nervous about the menu and not the man she’d chosen to marry, since I’d never been married myself, how would I know for sure? “What’s the problem?” I asked.

  Otto slumped, his shoulders sagging. This was troubling, because he rarely had anything but perfect posture. Whatever he was about to tell me was going to be bad. I pushed toast and coffee aside. “Tell me,” I said. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

  He shook his head. “Remember the hotel in Bermuda? The one Frances had her heart set on for our wedding?”

  The use of past tense made me clutch. My aunt and Otto had studied dozens of websites and written numerous e-mails before choosing this particular hotel. “‘Had’?” I repeated cautiously. “What do you mean?”

  “They had a fire.” He sighed. “An electrical fire that damaged the building extensively. They called me yesterday morning and I spent most of the day looking for another location on that date and within our budget. There’s nothing available.” His shoulders heaved as he sighed again. “Absolutely nothing.”

  Out in the dining room, the clock on the buffet ticked and tocked. “You haven’t told her, have you?” I asked.

  “Tonight. She’s going to be . . . disappointed. I just wanted you to be prepared.”

  Prepared for what, exactly? Still, his heart was in the right place. “Thanks for telling me. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

  He nodded glumly. “Thanks, Minnie. I appreciate that.”

  I wolfed down the rest of my toast, put our dishes in the dishwasher, touched his shoulder, and went back upstairs to shower and start the wintry day.

  * * *

  • • •

  Julia gasped. “The hotel burned down?”