He groaned. “I have lots of that waiting for me tomorrow morning. I don’t suppose you happened to hear anything that will prove Elias is guilty or that someone else is. All I have at the moment is people giving me the runaround or, in the case of Mr. Kent, avoiding my questions all together.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Aside from learning that Charles has an alibi—which you already knew—the only other thing I discovered is that Ray and Kassie knew each other when they were kids.” His expression didn’t change. “And you knew that, too.”
He nodded. “What I don’t know is where the lorazepam Kassie had in her system came from.”
“You’re positive she didn’t have a prescription and she didn’t have any pills with her things or in her apartment?”
“I’m positive. And before you ask, Elias doesn’t have a prescription for that or any other similar drug. I might as well tell you. I figure either he or Ruby will.”
He looked tired all of a sudden. “I’m guessing no one else in the cast or crew does, either.”
“That wouldn’t be a bad guess,” Marcus said. He stood up, grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet. “I’m sorry. I need to get going. I have to see how Micah is and I need to check in at the station for a minute.” Eddie had kept an eye on Marcus’s cat. She’d probably come away from the weekend more than a little spoiled.
Marcus glanced around the kitchen. “Any chance I left a memory stick behind the last time I was here?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t seen one.”
He exhaled loudly. “That means I must have lost it at the rink.”
“What was on it?” I asked.
“The tentative summer workout schedule for the girls’ hockey team. At least Brady has a copy. I can get it from him.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help.” I stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
“That helps,” he said with a smile. He left with three more kisses and a promise we’d have lunch or supper or something in the next couple of days.
Owen wandered in from the living room. He didn’t have his Funky Frog, but he did have the blissful expression that told me he’d been chewing it. He made his way a little unsteadily to his water dish and noisily had a drink.
My phone rang and Owen started. A little water splashed on his paw. He made a cranky face.
It was Keith King calling. He was one of the newest additions to the library board and he ran a storage business up on the highway. “Hey, Kathleen,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you at home.”
“That’s not a problem,” I said. “What can I do for you?” Owen had started to gingerly lick the water off his paw.
“I’m cleaning out a unit for nonpayment and I came across a box of what are clearly library books. Some are from our library but some of them aren’t. What do I do with them?”
One of my pet peeves—no surprise—was people not returning their books. I would happily waive the fine just to get a book back on our shelves. To me, keeping a book was almost as bad as defacing one, and no, not all of the culprits were children using a piece of gum as a bookmark.
“Are you going to be there for a while?” I asked.
“Based on the contents of this storage space at least a couple of hours.”
“I’ll come get them. I can track down where the other books belong.”
“That would be great,” Keith said.
“I’ll see you soon,” I said.
I looked over at Owen, who looked back at me, although his golden eyes seemed a little unfocused. “I have to drive out to Keith’s to get a box of books. Why don’t we skip the whole you-sneak-into-the-truck-and-I-catch-you thing and you just come along for the ride?”
He seemed to consider my offer for a moment and then he headed for the door walking more or less in a straight line. I stepped into my shoes, grabbed my purse and my keys and followed.
There was no sign of Hercules in the porch or the backyard. “Do you know where your brother is?” I asked Owen. I didn’t get an answer. Then I remembered that Everett should be home from his latest business trip and I had a pretty good idea where Hercules was.
There was more traffic than I had expected on the way out to Keith’s business. The box of books that was waiting for me when I got there was a lot bigger than I expected as well. “We should be able to figure out where the other libraries are and get their books back to them,” I said to Keith.
“Thanks,” he said. “I would hate to see them end up at the recycling center or worse.”
I smiled. “Not on my watch.” I lifted a flap and peeked inside the carton. There had to be at least a dozen hardcover books inside.
“I was talking to Lita a couple of days ago and she mentioned the library is going to need some new computers,” Keith said as he carried the box out to my truck.
I nodded. “She came in when I was trying to fix one of the monitors.”
“You know how to repair a computer? I’m impressed.”
“Only if you consider whacking the side with my hand to be repairing.”
Keith laughed. “I think we took the same repair class.” His expression became serious again. “Look, Kathleen, I know there are some manufacturers that provide public access computers at cost to places like libraries and schools. I’ll see what I can find out before the next library board meeting.”
“That could help a lot,” I said. “Thank you.”
He put the box in the truck, setting it on floor of the passenger side, and we said good night. Owen leaned down and tried to poke his head inside the cardboard carton, sneezing twice in succession.
“Get out of there,” I said, lifting him away from the box. “That box has been in a storage unit for who knows how long. It’s full of dust and probably a spider or two.”
Owen shook his head and moved a little closer to me.
I fastened my seatbelt and started the truck. Traffic was backed up and stopped in front of the business’s driveway. I craned my neck to look down the street. I caught sight of a huge RV, as big as a bus, waiting to make a left turn. Owen meowed impatiently.
I reached over and put my hand on his head. “Relax,” I said. “It’s just a little backed-up traffic. Thing’s will get moving again in a minute.”
That didn’t seem to satisfy him. He stood on his hind feet and put his paws on the dashboard, eyeing the vehicles that were blocking the street in front of us.
“Glaring at the other drivers isn’t going to make things move any faster,” I said.
Owen ignored me. He seemed fixated on a small red car that was three vehicles past the entrance to Keith’s storage business. He looked at me and then looked back at the road again. “Merow,” he said. When I didn’t immediately lean forward to see what had caught his attention he meowed again, louder and more insistently.
I hooked my thumb around my seatbelt and pulled it a little looser so I could shift sideways just a bit and get a better view of the red car. There was only one person inside, a man. All I could see was part of the back of his head, but something about him was familiar. As I continued to stare, the driver turned and glanced at something on the seat beside him.
It was Richard Kent. No, it couldn’t be, I told myself. It was someone who looked like Richard. I just thought I was seeing him because I had just been talking about the man. Then I noticed the driver’s right arm, propped on top of the steering wheel. He was wearing a black watch. A distinctive black watch. I was willing to bet it had a black rubber strap and a sapphire crystal.
“That is Richard,” I said to Owen.
He gave me a look that could best be described as, “Well, duh!” and then he sat down again and began to wash his face.
I leaned back against the seat. The traffic was starting to move. “What’s he doing up here?” I asked. The cat didn’t seem to know.
I had my turn signal on to make a left turn, down the hill toward home. I looked at the red car moving away down the street. “This is crazy,” I said, more to myself than to Owen.