Pouncing on Murder (27 page)

“That’s not good for a wooden boat, is it?”

“True words.” She nodded. “Granddad lived till he was ninety-three, and Dad didn’t want to start on the boat right after he died, if you see what I mean, and then Dad got sick.” She petted Eddie absently. “Then it was Mom’s boat and then it was mine, and I don’t have the know-how to fix it up or the money to pay someone else to do it for me.”

Eddie started purring and she kept petting. “But I can’t let it go,” she said. “Not that boat. Not now, not ever.” Her voice was soft, but determined, and I believed every word.

Neva gave Eddie one last pet. “I should get a cat,” she murmured. “Been too long.”

“Mrr,” Eddie said.

The three of us chatted a little while longer, and then Eddie and I returned to the bookmobile.

I wanted to like Neva, wanted to very much. Okay, I
did like her. But I still wondered about her temper. It could obviously run high, and if Henry had stoked it high enough, could she have been angry enough to kill him if she thought he was after her father’s boat?

“What do you think, pal?” I asked.

But for once, Eddie didn’t have a single thing to say.

•   •   •

“Sorry about bugging you,” I said, recording my third voice mail for Bob, Gordon’s cousin, “but I’m still trying to find out the weekend in April that Cole Duvall was up here.” I paused, then said, “It’s very important, and I need to find out as soon as possible.”

I tried to think of something to say that might get him to call back quickly but couldn’t come up with anything other than shrieking at him like a harridan. And though that might move him to action, it likely wouldn’t be the action I wanted, so I just said thanks and hung up my cell phone.

“Are we taking bets?” Julia leaned forward to unlatch Eddie’s door. “Fly and be free, little one.”

“Bets on what?” I tossed the phone onto the console and flipped the driver’s seat around in preparation for the bookmobile stop.

“Whether your plaintive bleat will encourage Bob to call you back.”

I debated getting out the five-dollar bill that I always had in my wallet for bets with Rafe, but decided to let it stay there. “No bet. We wouldn’t be able to get a definitive answer.”

Julia smiled one of her stage smiles, the sultry
temptress version. “Do you really think so?” she asked in a low, husky voice.

“It’s not me you have to convince,” I said, laughing.

“Good morning, ladies,” a voice said.

We turned around and saw a man coming up the stairs. “Good morning,” Julia said.

I would have said the same thing, but I was busy being puzzled. Though I was pretty sure I’d never seen this middle-aged man before, something about him seemed very familiar.

“Minnie?” he asked, looking from one of us to the other.

I held up my hand. “That would be me. And you are?”

“Bob,” he said. “Gordon’s my cousin.”

Light dawned with a sudden, illuminating flash. “You’re Bob!” Which was a stupid thing to say, but it wasn’t the first time I’d said something stupid to a stranger and I was sure it wasn’t going to be the last. “I’ve been calling you.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ve seen your bookmobile out here before, so I figured I’d just stop and talk to you instead of calling.”

That would have made perfect sense to another man, I was sure. “So you pinned down the date Cole was here in April?”

“Hey, there’s that cat I heard about. Here, kitty, kitty.” Bob crouched down and rubbed his fingertips. Eddie, the ham, came trotting over. “You’re a friendly little cuss, aren’t you?” He chucked Eddie under the chin. “Got a good purr machine there.”

Eddie bumped his head against Bob’s knee hard
enough that the resulting crack echoed around the bookmobile.

“When was Cole Duvall here?” I asked a little louder.

“What’s that?” Bob looked up. “Oh, right. Duvall came north that first weekend in April.”

He went on about what he’d done for Cole, how he’d had to haul in logs for the fireplace, how he’d scraped ice off the driveway, and how he’d even been asked to go for groceries.

I tried to listen politely, but all I could think was one thing.

Cole Duvall had been here the weekend Henry died.

Chapter 18

I
woke up the next morning, which was Friday morning, which was also the day before the book fair, knowing that my day was going to be packed full of things that had to get done. It was unlikely I’d have time to stop for lunch, so I slapped together my typical bookmobile lunch of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a little baggie of potato chips.

Eddie, lying on the back of the dining booth, watched this preparation with great interest.

“It’s not a bookmobile day,” I told him, trying to stuff the plastic bag of potato chips to that perfect limit: full enough so the chips didn’t slide around, but not so full as to have the chips break from internal pressure. “I’m going to the library and you’re staying here.”

“Mrr.”

I shrugged. “Okay, don’t believe me. But you’re not going anywhere. Not today and not tomorrow, either.”

“Mrr.”

“I’ve told you why,” I said. “Tomorrow’s not a bookmobile day because it’s the book fair.”

“Mrr.”

“No, you can’t go to the book fair. It’s not for cats
and”—I tried to head off any pending argument—“while I know that any place a cat wants to be is a proper place for cats, please trust me when I say that you won’t enjoy a book fair. Too much noise, too many people, too many feet that might accidentally step on your tail. It’s not a good place for Eddies.”

“Mrr.”

This kind of conversation could go on all day, so I shoved my lunch into my backpack and kissed the top of Eddie’s head. “See you later, pal. Be good.”

“Mrr.”

•   •   •

The morning zoomed by. Then lunchtime went roaring past and I remembered to eat my sandwich and chips only when the emptiness in my middle told me it was past time to fill ’er up or bear the consequences.

Since I tended to get either light-headed or cranky when I was really hungry, and sadly, sometimes both, I wolfed down my lunch between the last few phone calls I needed to make.

All went well until I called Pam Fazio. “Hey, Pam, it’s Minnie. Do you—”

“Pickle!”

“Bread and butter or dill?” I asked.

She laughed. “Don’t deserve either. I was going to bring up those cookbooks, but I haven’t had a minute to get away. You wouldn’t believe how busy we’ve been.”

Pam, upon hearing that the famed Trock Farrand was appearing at the book fair, had not only volunteered to redo the book fair flyer for use in every e-publication I
could come up with, but she’d also volunteered to lend the library a number of antique cookbooks for a tie-in display.

“Tell you what,” I said, thinking fast. I’d walked to work, but Pam’s store was only a few blocks away. It wouldn’t be too much of a chore to take the library’s handcart for a short jaunt. “If you can get them in a box in the next half hour, I’ll come and take them away.”

“You will? That would be wonderful!”

“I should have done this in the first place,” I said. “You’re the one doing us the favor.”

“Silly Minnie!” She laughed. “See you in half an hour. And thank you!”

I didn’t understand why she was thanking me, but shrugged and went back to the phone calls.

In slightly less than half an hour, I was trundling down the sidewalk, trying to determine whether it was easier to push or to pull the ancient handcart, when I looked up and saw a sign I’d walked past hundreds of times before but had never had any reason to bring into my frame of reference.

Northern Development.

Hmm. I tucked the handcart next to the office’s window box and went in the front door.

An extremely blond young woman was sitting behind a desk. “Hi,” she said.

She couldn’t have been thirty—might not have been twenty-five—and from what I could see of her above the desk, she was taking to heart the idea of dressing for the job you’d like to have. Assuming that she wanted to be a real estate developer, that is. Her blazer was trim and
tailored, her hair was neat and tidy, the only jewelry she wore was a simple gold chain, and I didn’t see a single tattoo.

“I’m Janine, Felix’s new assistant,” she said, smiling. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi.” I smiled in return but didn’t give my name. “I have some friends who inherited some property and they’re not quite sure what they’re going to do with it.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but surely Henry’s sons hadn’t planned out everything. “I was walking past, so I thought I’d ask a few questions about development.”

“You’ve come to the right place.” She nodded. “Have a seat and ask away.”

I sat on the edge of one of the two chairs in front of her desk. “I suppose timing is the first thing. How long does it take to develop a property?”

Janine nodded again. “Great question. The only thing is, it depends.” Her expression was one of sympathy and understanding. If she kept on in real estate, she was bound to make a fortune. “Depends on the property, on what you want to do with it, on the existing infrastructure, on the market, and on dozens of other things.”

“Let’s use a for instance, then,” I said. “Are you familiar with Henry Gill’s property?”

Her smile dipped a little. “Actually yes, I am. Why do you ask?”

Uh-oh. “My friends say the property they inherited is a lot like that one.” So similar, as a matter of fact, that you’d think they were the same. “How long do you think it might take to, well . . .” I ducked my head in faux
embarrassment. “Not to be crass, but how long do you think it might take to get money out of it.”

“Oh, I see.” Janine was back to nodding. “Well, again, it depends. If you want to turn it over fast, your friends could sell it to a developer. You might not realize the highest possible profits, but it would be cash in hand and no risk.”

My new acquaintance Janine was not only personable, but extremely bright. “Could my friends develop it themselves?”

“Sure. But it takes time and money and a lot of decision making. They’d be hiring a surveyor, a civil engineer, a contractor.” She ticked off the expensive professions on long, slender fingers. “They’d have to talk to utility companies and to attorneys and then there are the tax issues.”

“It sounds complicated,” I said faintly.

“But fun, too.” Janine grinned. “I can’t wait until Felix starts up another big project. To be a part of something like that?” Her grin became wide. “It’ll be great.”

“So Felix is looking for something big?” I asked.

“Developers are always looking for the next big thing,” she said. “Take the Gill property. After Mr. Gill died, Felix was talking to the heirs of the estate, but they’re not interested in selling. There’s always another property around the corner, though. You never know what’s going to walk in the door.”

I laughed. “Sorry I wasn’t bringing you the next big thing. But I wish you luck in finding it.” And somehow I was sure she would.

Once outside and wheeling the handcart away, I
reflected on what I’d learned, which was that Janine didn’t seem to know that Felix’s finances were precarious, and that she also didn’t appear to have any knowledge of Felix talking to Henry last fall about selling.

Then again, maybe Janine was just very good at not letting people see what she didn’t want them to see.

I continued down the street. Two doors away from Pam’s store, a dark green truck passed me, the image of a gold shield on its door, and even through the truck’s closed windows, I could see the bright red of the driver’s hair. The truck slowed. Its turn signal blinked on, and the truck made a left turn into the Round Table’s parking lot.

As I stood there, watching, a tall man stepped out from behind the wheel, stretched even taller, and walked into the diner.

I slapped my pocket for my cell phone and pulled it out. “Irene? Could you take a break and come downtown for a minute? . . . I know, but this is important.”

•   •   •

Irene and I walked into the restaurant’s lobby. “Over there,” I murmured. It was an unnecessary comment, because the dining area was empty except for an elderly couple at a table and the red-haired guy sitting in a booth by himself.

“Is that who you saw?” I asked. “The guy you thought was Seth Wartella?”

“Um . . .” She stared at him hard. “I . . . don’t know.”

“Hang on,” I said, and walked up to him. “Hi,” I said. “Tony, right? I’m Minnie Hamilton. We talked late last year, in the winter.”

He smiled, which made his ears seem to stick out even farther, and stood, forcing me to look up, his height being six foot. “Sure. You’re the bookmobile lady, right? Nice to put a face to the name.” He held out a hand and we shook. “How are things going in library land?”

We chatted for a moment, and then I said, “Nice meeting you.”

“Likewise.” He smiled and slid back into the booth, and I walked away.

Irene had her hand on the door and led me outside to the fresh air before I could say a word.

“He was the one I saw,” she said, hugging herself. “He’s wearing the same clothes in that weird green color. But he’s not Seth. This guy is way too tall. And he looks a lot more, oh, I don’t know, outdoorsy somehow.”

“That’s because he’s a conservation officer,” I said. “COs enforce hunting and fishing regulations.” They also protected the state’s natural resources, were often first responders to natural disasters and emergencies, and did general law enforcement. Which was all stuff I’d learned last winter. I might have been born and raised in suburbia, but I was learning.

“Oh.” Irene glanced back at the restaurant. “I thought he was a security guard or something.”

I smiled. “In Chilson? We don’t do security here.”

But the response to that was obvious to both of us: maybe we should.

•   •   •

After I parked the cookbooks in my office, I headed out to the lawn with Gordon to look at the tents. We were almost done when a movement at the edge of my vision
caught my eye. I turned and saw Kelsey, one of our part-time clerks, pointing in my direction.

Gordon noted that my attention had wandered from our discussion of how to flag the tent pegs and guy ropes so that people wouldn’t walk into them. “Problem?” he asked.