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 everyone 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.”
“Yeah?” Mitchell perked up. “What should I do now?” He could have been a human version of a puppy, albeit a very large one.
“If it was me,” I said, “I’d just talk to her.”
“Sometimes I think about doing that.” Mitchell stared at his mug, a chipped version of the one he’d given me. “But then I wonder what if I got this all wrong? I don’t want to be like my buddy at that Tigers game.”
I suddenly got a hint of what it might be like to be a guy—or at least a guy like Mitchell—and I got an inkling of how the possibility of humiliation could shape life decisions.
“Well,” I said, “hang in there. I’ll try to think of something.”
I finished my coffee and headed back into the weather, not at all sure I’d be able to help Mitchell solve his problem.
• • •
That noon, bowing to the needs of my coworkers—plus their vow that if I went out in the snow to get the food, they wouldn’t ever again complain about having to listen to me review the library safety policies, something we did every other month (not that I believed the vow, but it was nice of them to recognize how much whining they did)—I ventured downtown to the Round Table.
Sabrina was at the register when I came in. “How is it you stay so skinny?” she asked, thumping her hip with an elbow. “Me, I’m squishy and soft and I’m doing my darnedest to lose weight.”
“Sorry,” I said apologetically. “I figure it’ll catch up with me in a few years.”
“Huh.” Sabrina pointed with the top of her head. “How about that one? Is it going to get him, too?”
I turned. Ash had just come inside and was still stomping the snow off his boots. “Depends,” I said. “If he convinces someone to marry him, I bet he puts on thirty pounds the first year. If he stays single?” I shrugged.
Ash came up beside me. “Sabrina, you’re looking as lovely as ever.” She glowered at him and whirled away. “What? What did I say?”
“It’s not you,” I said. “Trust me.”
“Okay.” He glanced around. It being January, ten minutes before noon, there was no one else in the restaurant other than the elderly men at the round table in the back of the room. Today there were only three of them, but at times there could be eight, grousing about the state of the world and what should be done to fix it.
As a general rule, I smiled at them politely and stayed as far away as possible. Rafe, on the other hand, said it was his goal in life to be invited to sit at the round table. Sometimes I believed him and sometimes I didn’t. I squinted, trying to envision Rafe next to Bob Dawkins, who I could hear, from thirty feet away, complaining about the crappy way the road commission plowed the county roads, and how much better they did it in Charlevoix County.
“Speaking of trusting you,” Ash said, “we’re moving on those names and . . .”
His voice trailed off.
“And what?” I asked, then realized he was looking out the front window, studying a hatless young man dressed in the dark red coat worn by city workers. The guy had been clearing a fire hydrant, but had stuffed his shovel in a snowbank to help a woman maneuver her double stroller—laden with an infant and a toddler—across the snowy mess that was currently the street. “Who’s that?”
“Bax Tousely,” Ash said.
My attention focused. He had hair as curly as mine and almost as dark. He also had a wide smile and was grinning down at the kids. He didn’t seem likely as a killer, but who did?
Ash and I watched for a moment, then when the stroller was safely across the street and Bax had gone back to shoveling, I asked, “You’re moving on those names? Which ones?”
He got a faraway look. “Well, since I can’t give out information about an ongoing investigation, all I can give you is—”
“Ash Wolverson,” I said severely, putting my chin up, “you give me everything or I’ll tell your mother on you.”