We had a busy stop late in the day, which was our favorite kind of stop. Kids looking for books, teenagers looking for books, adults looking for books. It did my heart good to see the bus so crowded, and when I heard footsteps creak up the stairs, I turned, ready with a welcoming smile.
“Hello,” I said, then stopped. “Hey, Brett.” The man, tallish and thinnish, with sandy brown hair, looked at me oddly and I realized it wasn’t Greg Plassey’s friend at all. It was just someone who resembled him.
“Sorry.” I gestured an apology. “I thought you were someone else.”
“I get that a lot. Guess I have one of those faces,” he said, shrugging. “I was wondering—can I get a library card here or do I have to go into Chilson?”
Happy day! Was there any job better than this? I reached for the forms and a pen. “All you have to do is fill this out. I’ll give you a temporary card now and send you a permanent one tomorrow.”
He put the paper down on the computer desk, scribbled in his name and address, and handed it back. “That’s it?” he asked.
“Easier than buying groceries,” I said. “If you want, you can go select any books you’d like, and by the time you’re done, I’ll have you entered in the system and…”
In the act of turning away, he paused when I did. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“Your name.” I stared at the form.
“Oh. Yeah, sorry about my handwriting. It’s Randall,” he said. “With two L’s. Last name is Moffit, two F’s, one T.”
I looked at the form. Looked at him. “You have a cousin named Faye.”
“Sure. She’s the one who told me I should try the bookmobile.”
“You dated Carissa Radle.”
He shifted. “Yeah. Hate that she died, but we’d been over for a couple of years. I’m dating a dental hygienist these days.” He smiled, showing bright white teeth.
I pointed him in the direction of the thrillers and watched, thinking, as he browsed through the Stuart Woodses and James Pattersons.
Randall Moffit and Brett Karringer looked enough alike to be brothers. Randall had dated Carissa. And I remembered Jari saying that Carissa had said she needed to break out of her lean build and sandy brown hair boyfriend rut. Jari had said the Weasel lived downstate. Brett lived downstate. Could Brett be the Weasel? Could Brett be the killer? Could Greg’s golfing accident have been a murder attempt?
The questions tumbled around in my brain. I needed to find Greg. For the first time ever, I was in a hurry for the bookmobile day to be done.
At long last, the forty-five-minute stop was over. Thessie and I started shooing people in the direction of the door while Eddie surveyed our efforts from his new perch on the dashboard. Finally only Randall was left. As I slid his checked-out books over to him, he handed me a slip of paper. “My guess for the contest,” he said, gesturing at the candy jar, whose lid was now firmly taped shut with clear packaging tape.
I glanced at it and my mouth fell open. “This is exactly right. How on earth did you do that?”
“Felt right, I guess. Sometimes you just gotta go with your gut, you know?” He tromped out into the afternoon sunshine without another word.
But I wasn’t paying attention to his lack of social niceties. Sometimes you just gotta go with your gut, he’d said. And what had my gut been trying to tell me?
“Mrr,” said Eddie, who moved to the passenger’s headrest.
I patted his head absentmindedly. What was my gut saying? I really didn’t know. I wasn’t even sure it was saying anything at all.
• • •
When I got home, I let Eddie out of his carrier, made sure his food and water dish were at the required levels, then headed out again.
The screen door to the marina’s office banged shut behind me. Chris looked up from the boat parts he had strewn across the countertop. “Hey, Minster. What’s up?”
“I’m looking for Greg. Is he around?”
“Oh, man.” Chris put down the greasy whatever it was. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Greg’s in the Charlevoix Hospital. Just this afternoon, he fell off his roof. Almost got killed, I guess. Broken legs, broken arm, and who knows what happened to his insides… Minnie, hey, Minnie!”
But I was already out the door and halfway to my car.
• • •
“He said what?” Greg snorted out a laugh. “You got to be kidding.”
I smiled. “Well, you know Chris. There’s no story he hears that he can’t make better by adding a few exaggerations.”
“A few?” Greg gestured at his arms and legs. “No broken bones, and no internal injuries. There isn’t much he got right.”
“Except,” Tucker said, “the almost-got-killed part. Because it was a close call, Mr. Plassey.”
“I’m fine.” Greg moved to sit up but winced and flopped back down. “Well, almost fine.”
Tucker looked at him over the top of a clipboard. “You dislocated a shoulder, damaged a number of ribs, and sprained an ankle. I wouldn’t call that fine.”
“Hey, I been worse.” Greg winked at me.
By the time I’d reached the Charlevoix Hospital, Tucker had talked Greg into staying at the hospital overnight and the three of us were a cozy group in Greg’s newly assigned hospital room.
“What happened, anyway?” I asked. “Chris said you fell off your roof.”
“At least he got that part right.” Greg grinned. “I was up there looking at the flashing around the chimney. There’s a leak up there somewhere. I been using that wooden ladder of my dad’s for years and never thought to check it. My own stupid fault, you know? I leave it out back of the garage—no surprise it fell to bits.”
“Did you ever think that someone tampered with it?” My voice sounded loud in the small room.
Greg stared at me, then started laughing. “Oh, right. Who’s going to do that? Because I have so many enemies.”
Tucker was also looking at me. He opened his mouth but then shut it.
His eyes were so blue I thought I might be looking into pieces of the sky. His smile was so warm I thought I might kiss it. And I suddenly thought that I might be falling in love with him.
“Hello?” Greg said. “Are you two still here?”
Tucker murmured that he’d be back later, gave us nods, and went off to do busy doctor things. I tore my gaze away from Tucker and turned my attention back to the man in the bed.
“How long have you known Brett Karringer?”
“My buddy Brett?” Greg frowned. “Why?”
Excellent question. Unfortunately I didn’t have a good answer prepared. “He looks a lot like someone I met the other day. I was wondering if they were related somehow.”
“Oh. Well, I only met him a couple months ago. He lives downstate, but he seems okay. A little intense, if you know what I mean, but okay.”
“Has he ever dated anyone up here?”
“No idea.”
Internally, I cursed the male gender for their stereotypical tendency not to talk about anything of importance. What I needed was a connection from Brett to Carissa, and I didn’t have one. Even a vague one would be good, but I had nothing.
“Say,” Greg said. “You want to watch the ball game for an inning or two?”
About as much as I wanted to watch grass grow, but I studied the lines of pain and weariness on his face, smiled, and said, “Sure.”
• • •
When I got home, I explained Greg’s accident to Eddie.
“So, what do you think?” I asked. “Accidental or intentional?”
Eddie, who was sitting on the back of the dining bench, rotated around so that his back faced me.
“Hey, don’t be like that. I’m sorry that you had to spend the evening inside, but you know I have to figure this out. The police still think Cade did it and—”