But even as I mentally played with the concept of a murdering Violet, I was ashamed of myself. Bad Minnie, to think someone I didn’t get along with could more easily be a murderer than someone I liked. And an even worse Minnie to want to think of someone who rejected every book I recommended as a killer.
“I’m a horrible person,” I said, glancing over at Eddie.
But Eddie wasn’t there. He was back at the houseboat, probably still on the dashboard. And Kate was hanging out with one of our nearest marina neighbors, Louisa Axford. Louisa and her husband, Ted, were in their early sixties and spent a large chunk of most summers in Chilson on their boat.
Though we hadn’t seen much of them the previous year due to the birth of a grandchild, this summer the Axfords had convinced their daughter and son-in-law that they wouldn’t let the toddler drown and had brought the child north for her first Chilson summer. Kate, in what I’m pretty sure was an effort to avoid spending time with me, had volunteered to help entertain the youngster, and seemed to be happy learning the ins and outs of caring for a tiny human.
“Better her than me,” I murmured to the absent Eddie. Cleaning litter boxes was as much caretaking as I wanted to deal with at this point in my life. What I wanted to do most right now was find a connection between Rex Stuhler and Nicole Price, something that would prove to Detective I’m-so-smart-and-you-aren’t that they should be looking for one killer and not two.
“There has to be a link,” I said, mentally inking Violet onto the list of suspects and vowing to learn more about her later.
During lunch, I’d availed myself of the opportunities provided by the good taxpayers and commissioners of Tonedagana County and used their online Geographic Information System to find the location of the cabin owned by Nicole Price’s family. Luckily, she’d once mentioned her maiden name—Rodriguez—and joked that she’d married Dominic because his last name was short and sweet. “Just like him,” she’d said.
I swallowed down tears at the memory, and concentrated on traffic. Which was a total of one pickup truck at that point, but you never knew when someone might drop their cell phone and swerve. This focus kept me from dropping into heaving sobs, and I thanked every vehicle on the road between there and the gas station/convenience store that was my final destination.
It was one of those classic Up North places, clean but worn at the edges, all the coolers full of beer and soda, all the shelves only one product deep. It was also halfway between Rex and Nicole’s houses and stood an excellent chance of being a point of contact for the two of them.
The kid behind the counter made brief eye contact and said something that, if I’d been required to spell the word, would have been “Uhnh,” but which I decided to interpret as a sprightly, “Good evening, how can I help you?”
“Hi,” I said, smiling and ready to trot out the story I’d concocted on the drive. “My name is Minnie. I drive the bookmobile.”
The kid just looked at me. My smile got a bit fixed, but I kept going.
“Anyway, I’m sure you know that two of your customers recently died. They were also bookmobile patrons, and I was wondering if anyone was putting together a fund for flowers, or a contribution.”
But he was shaking his head. “I just started working here. This is, like, my second day. I don’t know anyone that’s dead.”
Not a situation I’d anticipated. “Well, who’s the person who worked here the longest? And when would she or he be working next?”
“Dunno. Like I said, I just started here.” He shrugged. Then, when I kept looking at him expectantly, he sighed. “Guess I could leave a note.”
“That would be great,” I said, beaming. “Thanks so much.”
“Yeah. Sure. Uh, have a good night.”
I drove away, pleased with myself, but when I reached the Chilson city limits, I realized something. The kid hadn’t actually reached out a hand to find a pen and paper. Sighing, I guessed the odds that he’d write anything down as unlikely at best. I parked the car and headed to the houseboat, where I could see that Eddie was indeed still on the dashboard.
“It’s hard to find good help,” I told him through the window.
“Mrr,” he said. “Mrr.”
I went inside, dropped my small purse on the counter, wrote At the house on the whiteboard, and headed up to spend the rest of the evening with Rafe. As I hurried down the dock and onto the sidewalk, I heard something I hadn’t ever heard before—giggling noises coming from my niece.
“Huh,” I said, slowing down to walk on my tiptoes, which was the only way I could see over the edge of the Axfords’ boat and onto the deck. Yep, there was Kate and the kid, playing what I vaguely remembered as patty cake.
The sight made me happy and sad at the same time. Happy Kate was enjoying herself, but sad that she never seemed that happy around me.
“What am I doing wrong?” I asked Rafe.
My beloved was in the downstairs half bath, standing on a ladder with his back to me and his attention fully on the ceiling. He had a small hand-held light in his hand and was peering at the trim he’d recently installed. “You want a list?” he asked.
I should have been ready for that response. It was the same one I’d given the other day when Rafe had watched Eddie bounce from one piece of furniture to another for no apparent reason and asked, “What is wrong with that cat?”
So, yes, I should have been prepared, but somehow I wasn’t, and felt as if I’d been slapped. Down in the base of my throat I could feel tears forming and I whirled around. I had to get away, find a dark quiet spot where I could—
Rafe, who magically managed to get down the ladder, across the room, and to the door before I did, put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Minnie, please talk to me. What’s wrong?”
My hand was on the doorknob. I stood there for a moment, swallowing down silent sobs. When I thought I could speak without my voice quavering, I said, “Honestly? Nothing.” Though this was technically true, it was also completely wrong. I sighed. “But really . . . everything. It’s all messed up, from top to bottom.”
To Rafe’s great credit, he didn’t make fun of me for my mixed messages.
“Come here,” he said, and pulled me close. “First off, we’ll do this hugging thing. And if that doesn’t help—though I feel sure a quality hug will knock the edge off—we’ll move to the next step.”
“What’s that?” I asked, my voice muffled against the front of his paint-spattered T-shirt, a shirt commemorating the 1998 Chilson High School regional champion football team.
“All in good time, my little pretty. All in good time.”
Rafe was competent at many things and highly skilled at even more, but he did horrible imitations, and his rendition of the Wicked Witch of the West was downright awful—nasal and screechy.
I giggled, which was no doubt his intention. “That was horrible,” I said, pulling away.
He pulled me back. “Not done yet,” he murmured at the top of my head.
It was a long and calm moment, standing there. I felt the beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin, and the stirring of my hair as his breath rustled my curls. “Thank you,” I whispered, holding him as tight as I could.
“All part of the service.” He leaned down to kiss me. “Do you want to talk?”
“You know what? I can think of something else I’d rather do,” I said, tipping my head back for a longer, deeper kiss.
* * *
“What’s the matter with you?” Julia asked.
I was in the middle of a huge yawn, and before I could finish it and reply, she added, “I’ve been counting, and that’s the three thousand and forty-second time you’ve yawned this morning and it’s only ten. Are you getting sick?”