“Oh, don’t look like that.” She smiled. “It was almost twenty years ago. If I was going to pitch him off a tall building, I would have done it then and there.”
Relief blew through me. “Not that you’re holding a grudge,” I said.
“What would make you say that?” She laughed. “Speaking of the past, there’s something we want to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” I was delighted at the use of the “we” pronoun. My aunt had been alone for so long that I hadn’t thought she would ever find a life companion. Or even look for one. “I know I’m too old, but I’m probably still short enough to be the flower girl at your wedding.”
Aunt Frances ignored my gestures of tossing rose petals from a basket. “It’s about the boardinghouse,” she said.
“More specifically,” Otto said, “it’s about the future of the boardinghouse.”
“Oh.” I clutched my menu, making its edges curl around. “It’s your decision, not mine.”
“Duh,” my aunt said. “But I still want your opinion. You have a stake in this, too.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll find somewhere else to live during the winter. I’m sure it won’t be hard to find some summer people giddy to have someone to rent their place in the off-season.” And now that I’d come up with the idea, I was pretty sure it was a solid one.
“Good to know you won’t be homeless,” Aunt Frances said, “but that’s not what I meant. What I want to know is, do you want the boardinghouse to continue?”
My throat was suddenly so tight it was hard to talk. “Please tell me you’re not asking me to run the place in the summers,” I squeaked out.
It wasn’t just the thought of arranging breakfasts and dinners for the six boarders and myself all summer long, which was bad enough. It was also the thought of continuing my aunt’s unspoken matchmaking projects. I still wasn’t sure if I approved of the endeavor, but there was no denying that my aunt’s careful perusal of applications and her subsequent selections had resulted in many permanent partnerships.
“Not what I asked,” Aunt Frances said. “No offense, but you’d be horrible at it.”
I put on a fake hurt expression. “Didn’t you always tell me I could do anything I wanted?”
“And you can. But it also makes sense to play to your strengths, which are library inclined, not boardinghouse related. Back to my question. Do you want the boardinghouse to continue after I marry Otto and move into his house?”
Though her voice was matter-of-fact, I could tell she was deeply serious. So I thought about it. I thought about the front porch swing and the fireplace. I thought about the dining room that looked over the tree-filled backyard and the bathroom with the claw-foot tub. I heard the slap of the wooden screen door and the mealtime laughter that filled the dining room.
With a blink, I came out of my memories. “Yes,” I said. “I want the boardinghouse to continue. I don’t want the tradition to end.”
“Okay, then.” Aunt Frances nodded.
And that seemed to be that.
• • •
I spent the afternoon at the reference desk. My first customer was an elderly gentleman who wanted some help researching an ancestor who may or may not have homesteaded on property in Tonedagana County. After I sent him to the county building, the next person to ask for assistance was a seven-year-old girl who wanted to know how long it would take her to become a doctor.
Her thin shoulders sagged a little when she’d learned the harsh truth, but her chin had a determined look by the time she walked away. I watched her go, patting myself on the back once again for choosing the best job in the world, when I felt a presence at my elbow.
“Minnie, do you have a minute?” the presence said.
I turned. It was Brad Lacombe. “Sure. What can I do for you?”
“Leese said you were helping her and Mom go through Dad’s papers.”
“Sort of.” Absentmindedly, I rubbed the backs of my knuckles. My skin still felt dry from shuffling all those folders. “Mostly I just happened to be there when your mom showed up with the boxes.”
He shook his head. “Yeah. I wanted to apologize for that. There’s no reason for you to get caught up in our mess.”
“I didn’t mind.” In retrospect, the entire exercise had been interesting. I’d learned a lot more than I’d ever expected to about lawsuits and court documents, plus I’d had the entertainment of listening to the bickering between Leese and her stepmother. There had been tension, certainly, but there had also been a strong current of respect and a feeling of . . . well, of family.
Brad gave a snorting laugh that was eerily reminiscent of Leese. “Either you’re nuts or you’re lying.”
I smiled. “Since I’m a horrible liar, I must be nuts.”
He instantly colored a dark red. “Oh, geez, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, laughing. “I’ve been called worse things. And besides, you might be right.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I’m an idiot. My girlfriend says if I spent half the time thinking ahead than I do apologizing for not thinking, that I’d have time to read War and Peace.”
His girlfriend sounded like a smart woman. I was about to say so, when another thought caught at me. According to Kristen, Brad had worked for his dad for years. If anyone would know about employee issues, it was him.
Then again, Kristen had mentioned a huge argument between Brad and his father. She’d said it was five years ago, but the fight could have been the result of an issue that had been festering for a long time and maybe the fight hadn’t resolved whatever the problem was and Brad was still carrying a lot of anger toward his father and maybe that anger had gotten out of hand and . . .
I looked at Brad’s open countenance. Spinning out possible scenarios was easy. Proving they had any basis in fact was something else altogether.
“What do you think happened to your dad?” I asked.
“Who killed him, you mean?” His face went tight. “Who killed him and tried to get my sister blamed for it? Who’s trying to ruin her new business?”
His sister, I noted. Not his stepsister. And he seemed as angry about the damage to Leese as about the death of his father. Though I didn’t want to cast aspersions on the dead, I’d heard enough stories about Dale to think Brad wouldn’t take offense. “I hear your dad wasn’t the easiest employer to get along with. Do you think maybe someone he’d fired could have done it?”
Surprisingly, Brad grinned. “If the cops are looking at disgruntled employees, I’m probably the best candidate. The whole town knows about that huge fight we had.”
“Even I’ve heard about it,” I said, semiapologetically, “and it happened before I moved here.”
“Sounds about right. That fight had been a long time coming. I never wanted to be in the construction business. When you’re a kid you do what your dad tells you, and the whole time I was growing up, he kept saying I was going to work for him when I got old enough. So that’s what I did.”
“You didn’t like construction?”
“It was okay,” he said, shrugging. “But it was just a job. And working with my dad sucked. Having me taking over the business was his plan, not mine. I had to quit to get him to see it.”
Light dawned. “That’s what your argument was about.”
“I’d been telling him for days that I was hooking up with some guys who were starting a craft brewery. I kept saying what a great opportunity it was, going on and on about their business plan and projected growth and how important it was to be a part of the company from the beginning.”
“He didn’t catch on,” I said.
“I should have known better.” Brad grimaced. “Dad was never the kind of guy to take a hint. He probably knew what I wanted to do, he just wanted to make me say it straight out.” He half smiled. “Eventually I did. At the top of my lungs. On a Saturday. In the summer. While we were doing an emergency repair job for the Round Table.”