“Thanks.” Anya sniffed down a sob. “It’s been hard.”
Collier put his arm around his sister. “We wanted to thank you for all you did that day.”
I murmured something about doing what anyone would have done.
“I don’t think so,” Collier said. “Most people would have maybe called nine-one-one, but you tried CPR and kept trying, and . . .” He swallowed. “Anyway, we wanted to say thank you. In person.”
Anya nodded. “Dad says thanks from him, too.”
Responding with, “You’re welcome,” didn’t seem appropriate, so I simply nodded. Then I took a closer look at the twins. Both were, of course, far taller than me, with dark-haired Collier close to the six-foot mark and Anya a few inches less. They were both college seniors, Anya at Central Michigan University and Collier at Northern Michigan. The first year I’d worked in Chilson, I’d had the fun of helping them complete high school term papers, and I’d enjoyed hearing Rowan tell me about their college acceptances and exploits.
I’d seen Collier over Christmas, and he’d still been bursting with happiness over the fact that his girlfriend had said yes to his Thanksgiving marriage proposal. Now his face was pale, his expression bleak, and Anya didn’t look much better.
I longed for words that would make things easier, but I knew no such words existed. Time was the only thing that could soften their pain, and that would likely be a long time coming. Still, I wanted to say something. I opened my mouth to do what people do, which was to offer any kind of help they needed, but Anya started first.
“You’ve helped others,” she said softly.
Collier edged closer. “Leese Lacombe. Over Christmas we heard you helped her find out who killed her dad.”
“And Dana Coburn,” Anya added. “Dana’s parents are summer customers, you know how we run errands for people? Dana told us about your research into the DeKeyser family and how that helped you figure out who killed that lady.”
Dana was a twelve-year-old who possessed more brains than three Minnies put together. Leese Lacombe was a good friend and an attorney specializing in elder law. I made a mental note to respectfully ask both of them to keep their mouths shut about my past involvements in murder as it wasn’t a reputation I aspired to. And since I could see where this conversation was going, I jumped in ahead of their request.
“The sheriff’s office,” I said, “is working very hard on your mom’s investigation. What I did those other times was more a matter of circumstance.” I echoed what I’d been told before by numerous people. “Let the police do their job. They’re professionals and they know what they’re doing.”
“But—”
I shook my head. “Your hearts are in the right place, but there’s nothing I can do that the sheriff’s office isn’t doing already.” Plus they actually knew what they were doing, but I didn’t say that out loud.
“At least think about it?” Anya begged.
I glanced at Collier, who was staring at the floor, his face vacant of . . . anything. It was an expression I recognized, that of too much pain. Too much sorrow.
“Sure,” I said, “maybe I could think about it.” Collier lifted his head and a small spark of life flitted across his eyes. I gave them both another hug. “I’ll let you know, okay?” And then, coward that I was, I hurried out before either twin could say another word.
• • •
“Mrr.”
I looked at my cat. “Are you aware that you bear a striking resemblance to a vulture?”
Eddie blinked, but didn’t say a word. He was sitting up straight in a new spot—the top of the low bookcase that was jammed full of jigsaw puzzles and board games—and peering down at me in a manner that was a bit unnerving.
“Cat got your tongue?” I asked. This was an old joke between us, and just like all the other times I’d said it, I laughed and he didn’t. “Oh, come on,” I said, “it’s funny.”
A double yellow-eyed gaze drilled a hole in my head.
“Really? Not even a giggle?”
His shoulders heaved as he sighed a little kitty sigh. Back in my pre-Eddie days, I’d had no idea that cats could sigh, sneeze, yawn, or snore. “Thanks to you, my horizons have expanded immensely,” I said, getting up off the couch. “And to show my appreciation, I’m going to give you a big snuggle.”
I swept him off the bookcase and gave him a gentle squeeze. Most times, Eddie enjoyed a good hug. This was not one of those times. He squirmed out of my grasp and made a Herculean lunge back to the shelf. I watched his wake of cat hair tumble in the air and make its way to the floor.
“Nice,” I said. “Do you realize I need to clean up all of that unwanted fur?” Preferably before Aunt Frances got home from her night class. “How does it feel to have someone tidying up after you at every turn?”
“Mrr!”
“I’m right here, pal. No need to yell.”
“MRR!”
I winced, hoping my eardrums healed quickly. “Now what did I do wrong? Not enough treats? No, wait, it’s too cold outside? Or is there too much snow? Maybe there’s not enough snow? I know—you’ve suddenly decided you like Otto’s adorable little gray cat and want me to take you over there to play with her?”
Eddie glared and jumped to the floor. Before reaching the floor, however, he landed on a board game that was a bit too big to fit all the way into the bookcase. This created a spectacular crash of board games and jigsaw puzzles and decks of cards. Dice, cards, puzzle pieces, and poker chips scattered and rolled across the living room floor.
“Someday,” I said, “this will be funny.”
“Mrr.”
It didn’t sound like an apology, and the set of his tail as he trotted up the stairs didn’t look embarrassed.
Cats.
Sighing, I crouched down and swept together a deck of cards older than I was and started counting to make sure I had all of them. I sorted the cards into suits, counting the hearts, diamonds, clubs, spades, and suddenly there it was.
The ace of spades. What some called the death card.
Fingering the card’s corner, I thought about death. About Rowan. About the right thing to do. About the kind of person I wanted to be. About how easy it would be not to do anything.
I slid the deck of cards into its box and stood. My cell phone was on the coffee table, and I reached for it before I changed my mind.
Tomorrow, I texted Anya and Collier. I’ll start doing what I can to find your mom’s killer.
Chapter 4
The next morning, instead of dawdling over breakfast with my aunt, I sucked down a bowl of cold cereal, hurried into boots, coat, hat, and mittens, and scuffed through three inches of new snow to the sheriff’s office.
The deputy on front desk duty slid open the glass window. “Hey, Minnie. How you doing?”
“Morning, Carl,” I said, stomping my feet on the mat and brushing snow off my sleeves. “Never been this good. And yourself?”
“Wouldn’t a better question be how is the sheriff doing?”
I grinned, but only on the inside. “You make an excellent point.” A few months of dating a deputy had given me a partial glimpse into the inner workings of the office and how much the staff felt intimidated by the boss. Personally, I’d always found Sheriff Kit Richardson to be smart, funny, and approachable, but then I’d seen her in a ratty bathrobe while cuddling a purring Eddie.
As I shoved my mittens in my coat pockets, I asked, “What did you do to get stuck up front?”
He grimaced. “Wrenched my shoulder a couple of weeks ago. I’m on light duty until the doctor says I’m fit for active. What can I do for you?”