“Sure,” he said. “I remember. And it had been weird, the way Bax came in, no joke or anything, then left without saying a word. Turns out it was no big deal.”
“Oh?” I asked, tipping my head, silently imploring him to go on.
“Yeah. Bax stopped by last week for something else and explained. He’d been feeling like crap with the flu or something, and on top of that, he’d been up at three to start plowing. He was practically sleepwalking, sounded like. And when he was in the back here, he got a phone call from his boss saying he’d found the part they needed in the city’s shop, and that he, that’s Bax, should get his butt down to the job site five minutes ago or he, that’s Bax again, would be busted back to low man on the totem pole.”
“That’s bad?”
Jared smiled. “Means you’re the first to go down into a manhole or a trench to fix whatever needs fixing. Means you’re the one who gets cold, wet, and dirty first and longest.”
“That would get old after a while,” I said, now understanding the city’s pecking order a little better. And I now understood that Bax’s odd behavior on the day Rowan died had nothing to do with Rowan. But there was one question remaining: Why had Leese seen Bax driving past the Bennethums’ house?
• • •
“Hi, can I help you?”
The young woman in the toy store looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as my father might have said. Her long blond hair was tucked behind her ears, her smile was wide, and her name tag read TAYLOR.
In my backpack was the list Mitchell had e-mailed me of the significant dates in the Bianca-Mitchell relationship. I’d stopped by to go over it with him. “Is Mitchell around?”
Taylor shook her head. “He’s off today. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Thanks, but I’m just looking around to get ideas for . . . for my nieces’ and nephews’ birthdays. They aren’t anytime soon,” I added quickly. “I just want to be, um, prepared.”
It was my day for awkward statements, but just as Jared hadn’t seemed to notice, neither did Taylor.
“That’s a great idea,” she said, nodding. “I wish more people would do that. This gives you time to learn what’s available, what’s in your price range, what the kids really want, and”—she grinned—“what the parents want you to get.”
“It’s complicated, isn’t it?” I asked the question a bit slowly, because I was beginning to see that giving a great gift truly was. Mitchell had been a big help to me with the last cycle of young relative gifts, and odds were good that he’d trained Taylor to use that same approach.
“All part of the fun.” Taylor smiled.
I thanked her and said I’d flag her down if I needed anything.
“Perfect,” she said cheerfully. “Just give me a yell.” She walked behind the counter and started tapping away on the checkout computer’s keyboard.
My phone, which until now had been blessedly quiet, beeped with an incoming text. It was from Anya. Collier just failed a big test. Any chance of finding Mom’s killer soon?
I read the message over and over again until I heard Taylor’s footsteps approaching.
“Find any good ideas?” she asked.
“Not fast enough,” I muttered.
“Sorry?” Taylor’s face was open and questioning.
“This is a great store,” I said, mustering up a smile as I shoved the phone back into my coat pocket. The girl was trying to help and I needed to be nicer to her. “How long have you been working here? I stop in fairly often, that’s all, and I’m surprised we haven’t met before now.”
“I started right after Thanksgiving. But my schedule is all jumbled because I’m taking classes at the college and working at Fat Boys. Mitchell works it out for me, though.”
“Mitchell’s a good boss?” A question that, a year ago, I would have bet all the money in the world I’d never, ever ask.
“The best,” she said, with small earnest nods. “Not that I’ve had that many jobs, but he’s really nice and really patient with me. I mean, like you said, this stuff is complicated and it takes a while to figure things out.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” I asked.
And maybe that was my problem. Maybe I’d been thinking too simply about Rowan’s death. Maybe instead of my usual method of trying to break things down into bits to make it easier to get at the truth, maybe the truth was that it was complicated, that it couldn’t be broken down because it all hung together in one big tangled lump.
Still thinking, I sketched a vague wave at Taylor and headed back out into the cold.
• • •
The next day I was still troubled about Anya’s text message. Since I’d fallen asleep early, I hadn’t been able to talk to either Rafe (at a middle school basketball game) or Aunt Frances (evening woodworking class), so I told Julia about it on the way out to the first bookmobile stop, the township farthest south and east in the county.
“Did you text her back?” Julia asked.
“As soon as I got out on the street.” I tried to remember the exact message, but since I tended to have the memory of a plush blanket, I had to paraphrase. “I told her we were all working hard to help and that I hoped to give her good news soon.”
“Bet that wasn’t much comfort.”
Her words were like a physical blow. Don’t cry, I told myself. Do not cry. After a deep and raggy breath, I said, “I’m sure it wasn’t.”
“Hey, you’re not blaming yourself, are you?” Julia asked. “Oh, bugger, you are. I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean any of this is your fault. You’re doing all you can, and the sheriff’s office is doing all they can. But even still, Anya and Collier and Neil are suffering. And they will continue to grieve, even when the murderer is slapped into prison, because no matter what, Rowan will be dead and nothing anyone does will bring her back.”
Which, of course, was the one thing they all wanted and the one thing that wouldn’t happen. Then a quiet whisper wandered through my brain—did Neil want Rowan back? He hadn’t returned any of my calls, which seemed like something a grief-stricken husband would do straightaway.
Then again, there were probably good reasons for his silence. I couldn’t come up with any, but there had to be at least one out there.
The first stop of the day was one of my favorites, primarily because of Lawrence Zonne. The octogenarian Mr. Zonne had lived in Tonedagana County most of his life, retired early to Florida with his wife, then moved back to be closer to children and grandchildren after his wife passed away. He was smart, funny, and had a memory far better than mine had ever been. Plus, he and Eddie were great pals.
“Good morning, bookmobile ladies!” Mr. Zonne said as he bounded up the steps. He pulled off a colorful knit hat and his thick white hair sprung out in all directions. “How are you this fine morning? And Mr. Edward, you are looking very handsome.”
“Mrr.”
“Likewise, likewise.” He patted the top of Eddie’s head, then after pulling off his gloves, he rubbed his hands together. I couldn’t tell if it was to warm them or if he was making a gesture of anticipation, but it could well have been both.
“What do you have for me today?” he asked. “I’m in the mood for medieval adventure and derring-do.”
Julia pondered the question. “Wars and battles?”
“I’d prefer more of the white knight rescuing the young maiden who is perfectly capable of saving herself, but allows herself to be rescued in order to maintain the illusion of male ego and thereby assists with the propagation of the human species.” He brandished an imaginary sword and slashed at an imaginary foe.
“Mrr!” Eddie batted at Mr. Zonne’s left foot.
“Are you for me or against?” Mr. Zonne thundered. “One ‘Mrr’ if you’re a friend, two if you’re an enemy!”
I laughed as Eddie chose that particular moment to lick one of his back feet. “Sounds like you should be writing romances, not reading them. Sure you don’t want a second career?”