Me: In New York? Scruffy would like that.
Kristen: Not in winter. Brr.
Me: Their winters aren’t like Chilson winters.
Kristen: Colder than Key West.
There was no point in arguing with that, so I didn’t. How Kristen and her fiancé were going to work out their geographical separation once they were married was still a big question mark, but I’d long ago put that on the list of things I wasn’t going to worry about.
Barb said, “Good to hear. I wouldn’t want my favorite chef to have a permanent injury. The world would be a lesser place without her crème brûlée. And now we really have to go. See you in April, Minnie!”
“Have a good—” But she was already gone.
I clicked the phone off, flipped it around in my hands a few times, then stood up.
Something in my conversation with Barb had tweaked my sense of urgency about finding Rowan’s killer. Yes, I could call the sheriff’s office to ask about progress, but I was tired of leaving messages that might or might not be taken seriously. Sure, Ash had appeared to be paying attention to my suggestion regarding Neil, but there was more to discuss, and if there was something I could do to push the investigation forward, to help Anya and Collier, well, I was going to do it.
I slid off my shoes and put on my boots. It was time to beard the lion in his den.
• • •
I stopped at the front desk and told Kelsey I had to run an errand, that I’d be back in half an hour, then zipped my coat and headed out. At which point I discovered that the friendly two inches of snow I’d been so fond of a couple of hours earlier had turned into a sloppy layer of mushy slush.
My boots made a squishy splash! splash! noise as I walked downtown, which amused me to no end. I was enjoying the sound and the sight of the spurting snow so much, and enjoying the fact that my earlier bad mood was gone, that I jumped when someone spoke to me.
“Having fun, Minnie?”
Tom Abinaw, or Cookie Tom, as most people called him, was standing on the sidewalk outside his bakery, shovel in hand, smiling at me.
I spent half a second hoping my face was already red with cold, which meant he wouldn’t see the slightly embarrassed flush creeping over my face. “Absolutely,” I said. “You should try it. It’s fun.” For a three-year-old, but did that really matter?
He laughed, shaking his head. “Snow and I are not good friends. Besides, baking is enough fun for me. Speaking of which, you haven’t stopped by lately.”
Tom gave me a deal on the cookies I bought for the bookmobile patrons. However, there was nowhere in the library budget for expenditures like that, and I paid for them out of my own pocket.
“Christmas,” I said, by roundabout way of explanation. “Every year I set a budget and every year I zip past it at light speed. One more cycle of credit card bills and I’ll be paid off, so expect me soon.”
“I’ll be waiting,” he said, nodding, and went back to his slush-shoveling.
Once again I wondered how a baker, a person surrounded by cookies and cakes and doughnuts, could stay as thin as Tom did. Maybe he was an ultra-long-distance runner, one of those people who regularly ran twenty or thirty or fifty miles at a time. Or maybe he was allergic to almost everything, and subsisted solely on oatmeal and carrots. But you’d think that would make him grumpy, and Tom was one of the most contented people I’d ever met in my life.
“You look happy,” Carl, the deputy at the front desk, said after sliding open the glass window. “So you can’t possibly want to talk to Hal.”
I laughed. “He can be a fun-killer, can’t he? But yes, I would like to talk to him if he’s around. Or Ash.”
“You might be in luck,” Carl said. “Or unluck, if that’s a word. I think they just came back in. Hang on.”
While I waited, I checked my phone and saw a new text from Anya.
Anya: Anything new?
Me: At the sheriff’s office right now.
Anya: Hope so Collier isn’t going to classes
Me: Tell your dad.
Anya: Tried but nothing in days
My jaw firmed. Something had to be done to help that boy. I started typing. Get Collier to a doctor. I’m—
“Ms. Hamilton? When you’re ready.” Detective Hal Inwood held the door open.
—I’m going to light a fire under someone’s you-know-what.
Smiling, I pushed the Send button and slid the phone into my coat pocket as I walked into the interview room. “Thanks for seeing me.”
“Is it too much to hope for that someday you’ll call and make an appointment?” Hal sat in one of the plastic chairs.
“Not too much, no,” I said. “But if the past is indicative of the future, it’s not going to happen anytime soon.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” he said, sighing. “Ash, have a seat.”
Ash, who had just come into the room, sat across from me. “Hey, Minnie.”
“Have you been in contact with Rowan’s family?” I asked. “Keeping them up to date with the investigation?”
There was a quick exchange of glances on the other side of the table. “When there’s something to report, Mr. Bennethum is called,” Hal said.
“Not the kids?” I heard the tone of demand in my voice and didn’t back away from it. “Not Anya and Collier?”
“Ms. Hamilton,” Hal said, “there are only so many hours in the day. Mr. Bennethum is our primary contact with the family. If he isn’t communicating with his children, they should take it up with him.”
“But they are!” I hopped my chair closer and leaned forward. “They’re trying, anyway, and he’s not responding. I’m not sure they know where he is.” I caught another silent exchange. “Do you?”
“Our information is confidential,” Hal said.
I wanted to bang my fist on the table, but could hear my mother’s voice in my head, admonishing me. Instead, I took a deep breath. “Fine,” I said. “But you should know that Collier Bennethum is probably sliding into clinical depression. His sister says he’s not going to classes and is sleeping all the time and the only thing he talks about is their mom’s killer is alive when their mom is dead. I told her to tell Neil, but she says her dad hasn’t answered a text in days.”
Hal stirred. “I’m sorry for young Mr. Bennethum, but we’re doing all we can.”
“What about the broken headlight? What about the sugar packet? Stop shaking your head,” I snapped, because my anger was now well and truly stoked. “That packet matters. Ask your wife. Ask Sheriff Richardson, if you don’t believe me.”
“Ms. Hamilton,” Hal began, but I stood up abruptly. It was a waste of my time and theirs to sit any longer.
I whirled and left the room. Somewhere behind me I heard someone call my name, but what was there to say? I nodded to Carl and walked straight out into the cold.
Chapter 16
I spent the night in fitful sleep, rolling from one side to the other in a vain attempt at finding a position that would send me into slumber. Eddie gave up on me about two in the morning and did a loud thump-thump! to the floor. When I got up, bleary eyed and still tired, I found him curled up on the big living room couch.
“And here I thought you loved me,” I told him.
“Mrr.”
“Well, sure, I was moving around a lot last night, but that doesn’t mean—”
“Mrr!” he said, then shut his eyes firmly.
Smiling, I kissed the top of his fuzzy head. “See you tonight, okay?”
He didn’t move a muscle as I pulled on boots and the rest of my winter gear, but when I paused at the front door and looked back, his eyes were open the tiniest of slits.