Kristen blinked. I blinked. Then we recovered from the shock of seeing a seemingly sensible woman voluntarily attach herself to Mitchell and introduced ourselves. Once Bianca learned about Kristen’s restaurant, the two immediately went deep into a discussion of arcane food preparation.
I spooned potato salad and meatballs onto a paper plate and was trying to decide which pasta salad to choose when Mitchell sidled over to me.
“You okay?” he whispered.
But, really, why did I have to choose at all? I dolloped both kinds onto my plate. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked.
“Well, you know.” He nodded toward Bianca.
I had no clue, actually. “She seems very nice,” I ventured.
“The best,” Mitchell said, a sappy grin on his face. “I just, you know, hope your feelings aren’t hurt. I mean, I know you kind of have sort of a thing for me.”
I’d just put a forkful of salad in my mouth, but I almost spit it out. “A thing?” I gasped, trying not to choke.
“Well, yeah.” Mitchell shrugged. “That’s why I haven’t told you I was dating Bianca. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
I summoned the deep reserves of strength I was rarely forced to draw upon, and didn’t laugh. “Thank you for your concern,” I said as seriously as I could manage. “But I’ll be fine.”
Mitchell peered down at me. “You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
• • •
An hour later, Kristen and I were walking to the marina, and I was telling her the story. “Are you serious?” she asked.
“Yep,” I said. “Remember he asked me out last summer? I’m guessing whatever I told him got misinterpreted.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Kristen said, grinning. “And he said he didn’t want to hurt your feelings?” Her laugh was loud and long. “Classic Mitchell. Creating problems where there aren’t any around for miles.”
“He was trying to be nice,” I protested.
“And you’re defending him,” she said, still laughing. “No wonder he thinks you have a thing for him.”
“Someone has to look out for people like Mitchell,” I said. “Wouldn’t the world would be a poorer place if we didn’t have Mitchell stories to tell?”
“True enough.” We had rounded the corner to the marina just as Kristen started to tell a story from high school about Mitchell and the physics teacher and a box of dry ice when she stopped short. “Isn’t that your boss?”
“Can’t be,” I said. “He doesn’t . . .” Then I looked in the direction where she was looking. “Uh-oh.”
“Minerva,” Stephen said, walking toward us briskly. “I must say I expected a phone call from you today.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t think why. “My phone fell in the water last night.”
“I see.” He glanced at Kristen, who took the hint.
“There’s a deck chair over there that has my name on it,” she said, and left me alone with Stephen.
“Your phone isn’t the only thing that went into the water, I hear.” Stephen gave me a once-over. “But I can see that you came out without injury.”
“Yes.”
Our conversation, such as it was, languished.
“The book fair went well,” he said.
“It did.” Was this why he’d expected a call from me today? He’d made an appearance at the fair, and at that point he’d seemed agreeable to getting the final numbers for attendance on Monday, but maybe he’d woken up this morning and found that he couldn’t wait. “If you’re looking for the final numbers,” I said, “I won’t have them until tomorrow.”
“Hmm?” He was looking at Janay Lake. “No, no, tomorrow is fine.”
Then why was he here? I had things to do, friends to chat with, and cats to pet. I shifted from one foot to the other, trying to figure out what was going on and failing completely.
“Minerva,” he said suddenly. “I am leaving Chilson.”
“You . . . what?” This didn’t make sense. Last winter he’d told me he would be retiring in about six years and that he’d been grooming me to take his place as director of the library. “But—”
“My plans have changed,” he said. “I’ve been offered a job in Georgia, close to family, and it’s an opportunity that seems tailor-made for me.”
I realized that I knew very little about Stephen’s personal life other than vague knowledge of a sister. I supposed he must have had parents, and there was a rumor that he had children, but some things are harder to imagine than others and I hadn’t yet expended the energy it would take to envision Stephen diapering a baby.
“When?” I finally asked. “Are you leaving, I mean.”
“They would like me to start the first of June.” He kept his gaze on the lake. “I just notified the library board, and they will be starting the search for a new director next week.”
“Oh,” I said.
“I have also told them that they couldn’t do better than to select you.” He paused. “There are a number of board members, however, who think there is an obligation to do a wider search.”
No surprise there. Besides, they were probably right. “Thank you, Stephen.”
“No need for thanks. The board has made no decision.” He nodded toward the lake, started to walk away, but stopped and half turned toward me. “Good luck, Minnie,” he said.
I blinked. Then, when I still didn’t know what to do, I blinked again at his retreating back. “Well,” I said out loud.
“What was all that about?” Kristen called from the marina’s patio.
I held up my index finger, indicating I’d be right back, and went to the houseboat. “Hey, Eddie, are you awake?” When I’d left, he’d been curled up on the bed and snoring louder than I’d thought it possible for a cat to snore. “Eddie, where—ow!”
My cat looked up at me innocently, as if he hadn’t just whacked my chin with the top of his hard head.
I picked him up and gave him a good snuggle. “Want to go sit outside with Aunt Kristen?”
“Mrr,” he said, straight into my face. Cat food breath wafted over me, but I didn’t feel like complaining, not after last night.
“So,” I told him, “Stephen thinks I should become the new library director. Which sounds good in a lot of ways.” One of which was money. I’d make not quite double what I was making as assistant director. And I’d be able to expand the children’s programming, and I’d be able to do more outreach, and all sorts of other things that Stephen had resisted doing. “But what would I do about the bookmobile?” Because there was no way I’d have time to drive the bookmobile if I was director. “I love driving us around and—”
Eddie put his paw across my lips.
“You’re right,” I murmured as I rearranged him into a shoulder snuggle. “I’ll think about it later. It’ll all work out, won’t it?”
“Mrr,” he said, and started purring.
Sometimes the advice of a cat is the best advice of all.
Read on for a sneak peek of Minnie and Eddie’s next adventure,
CAT WITH A CLUE
Available August 2016 from Obsidian!
In my almost thirty-four years of living, I’d discovered that there were remarkably few things I absolutely had to do.
Yes, I had to feed and clothe and house myself, but besides those basics, there wasn’t much that couldn’t be put off for the sake of sitting for a few minutes in the morning sunshine, especially when said morning sunshine was smiling down on my very own houseboat, which was resting comfortably on the sparkling waters of a lovely blue lake alongside Chilson, a picturesque town in northwest lower Michigan that happened to be my favorite place in the whole world.
I lay flopped in my lounge chair, eyes closed and soaking up the sun, content with pretty much everything and everyone. Life was good and there wasn’t much that could improve it other than making this particular moment last even longer. Peace and quiet reigned throughout my little land. There were things to do, but they could wait. Nothing I had to do that day was so important that it couldn’t be put off for a few more minutes and—