“What about the gun?” Josh demanded. He looked angry and, oddly, protective. “Did that Utley hurt you? That’s got to put him in jail even longer.”
“No gun,” I said mildly, and decided not to talk about the weapon that had been involved. The sharp blade of that knife would haunt my dreams for many nights, and I didn’t want to talk about it any more than I had to.
“How’s Eddie?” Donna asked. Back in the pre-Julia days, Donna had gone out on the bookmobile a few times and had taken a liking to the fuzzy little guy. “Is he okay?”
“He was fine when I left him this morning,” I said. “That is, if being curled up on the middle of my pillow and purring at sixty decibels is an indication of being fine.”
The rest of them started pelting me with more questions about the events of Saturday night, some that I could answer (Where’s Wildflowers now?) and some that I couldn’t (How long will Utley be in prison?), and it was when the questions were dwindling to speculation about the ownership of Chastain’s book that a polite voice asked, “Minnie, do you have a minute?”
All other sounds in the room stilled. I turned to the library board’s vice-president. “Of course,” I said, and followed him upstairs to hear who the board had selected as the new director for the Chilson District Library.
* * *
My aunt Frances handed me a plate of chocolate-chip cookies.
We were sitting on the creaky metal glider that had been on the screened porch of the boardinghouse for longer than I’d been alive. Birds sang in the trees, leaves rustled in spite of there being no detectible breeze, and the evening sun lit everything with an almost magical golden glow.
I sighed, not feeling any magic inside of me, and took a cookie, which probably wouldn’t help, but why risk it?
“What do you think the new director is going to be like?” my aunt asked.
“Jennifer Walker?” I studied the cookie, formulating my approach. The last bite had to have more than one chocolate chip, but so did the first bite. “Remember when Eddie threw up on a candidate’s Italian shoes?”
“Oh, dear.”
I glanced at Aunt Frances. “You’re laughing. How could you? My new boss already hates me, and she most certainly hates Eddie. She’s going to ban him from the bookmobile, she’s going to get rid of the bookmobile, and then she’s going to fire me.” Savagely, I bit into the cookie.
“I’m laughing because it’s funny,” my loving aunt said, now laughing out loud. “The only time Eddie is in the library and what does he do? Urp all over the shoes of your next boss.”
“Well,” I said, half smiling. “Maybe it’s a little funny.”
“See?” My aunt bumped me with her elbow. “It’ll all work out—you know it will.”
Once again, she was right, and I pushed away my concerns. Because things would work out, one way or another, and worrying about it wouldn’t help. So I decided to stop thinking about it. Jennifer would start at the library the second week of August, and that’s when we’d find out what she’d be like. Why ruin the next few weeks worrying?
I told this to Aunt Frances, who smiled. “Just so you know,” she said, “I think you made the right decision about not applying for the director’s spot. You’re young and you’re enjoying what you’re doing. When it’s time to make a move, you’ll know.”
“Really?”
Her smile deepened. “Absolutely. It may be difficult in many ways, especially if the decision will create ripple effects for others, but, in the end, you have to think about what’s best for yourself. It’s no good making life choices based on what other people think.”
I looked at her carefully. “We’re talking about something else now, aren’t we?”
“Minnie,” she said, laughing, “you are not the most observant of nieces today.” She held up her left hand, and only then did I notice that it was glittering with the light of a thousand suns.
I gaped at the gorgeous ring, which was encrusted with light blue jewels that matched the color of her eyes. “Otto asked you to marry him?”
“He asked me over a month ago,” she said. “It took me this long to decide.”
Which explained her odd behavior the past few weeks. Hah!
“Well, it’s about time,” I said, grinning hugely, and reached over to give her a hug. Halfway through, a thought bolted into my brain and I pulled back. “Aunt Frances, what about the boardinghouse? Is Otto going to move here? Or . . .”
“Things will work out,” my aunt said, patting my arm. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
And, since Aunt Frances was the best aunt in the whole wide world and was one of the wisest people I’d ever met, I believed her.
* * *
“What do you think?” I asked.
Eddie, whom I’d just told about the engagement, picked up his head and blinked at me.
“Never mind,” I said, giving him a long pet. “You had a long night two days ago and must be way behind on your rest. Go back to sleep.”
He sighed and settled in deeper on my legs.
We were sitting on the front deck of the houseboat, watching the sun slip down behind the horizon. Or at least I was, since Eddie’s eyes were closed. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, and the clarity of the air and water was so beautiful it almost hurt.
I watched the colors above me ease from medium blue to dark blue to indigo. As I watched the slow changes, I thought about all that had happened in the past weeks, and came to the conclusion that if people only spent more time watching the sun go down and the stars come out, that there would be less suffering in the world.
The marina lights were just bright enough for me to see the black-and-white tabby cat on my lap. “What do you think?” I asked, my hand on his warm back. “Am I being profound tonight, or what?”
He opened and shut his mouth in a silent “Mrr” just as my cell phone trilled.
To answer or not to answer? That was the question. An even better question, though, would have been why had I brought the cell out here in the first place? I turned it over. Detective Inwood? Why was he calling so late?
I snatched up the phone, suddenly worried about Ash. “Detective. What’s the matter?”
There was a pause. “Why would you think anything is wrong?”
Which could only mean that Ash was safe and sound. “Because it’s ten thirty at night.”
“It is?” He sounded surprised. “I apologize. I was working late, catching up on things, and didn’t realize what time it was. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”
I had a sudden sympathy for the man. He’d been gone for a couple of days and his desk must have been piled high with work. “Or you could just tell me now. Then you can cross something off your list.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate that. What I wanted to tell you is that all parties involved in the ownership of Chastain’s book have agreed on a temporary holding location.”
“Oh? That’s good.” Although why Inwood needed to tell me about it, I wasn’t sure.
“Yes,” he said. “The location is the rare-books collection of the Chilson District Library.”
“It . . . What?”
“You do have a rare-books collection, yes?”
“Well, sure, but . . .”
“And you have proper security for that collection?” When I didn’t answer straightaway, he prompted, “Or you can get some in a reasonable time frame?”
“Yes,” I said, visualizing various budgets. When I mentally located a line item for contingency expenses that had a four-figure balance, I said, “Yes,” again, this time more firmly. “Absolutely yes.”
“Excellent,” Inwood said, and I was pretty sure I heard the stroke of a pencil crossing out an item on a list. “Let me know when you have things in place, and I’ll have the book delivered.”