I braced myself, but all he did was sigh. Which was what my dad had usually ended up doing, too. “Did you notice?” I asked.
His eyebrows went up as he slid his notebook into his jacket pocket. “A little more specific, please.”
Pointing at the table, I said, “I sat on this side.” All the times I’d sat in the interview room I’d sat in the same spot. And since I’d spent a lot of time waiting for the detective to show up on previous occasions, I’d also spent a fair amount of time being bored, and had stared at the water stain in the ceiling tiles, eventually turning it into a dragon shape. I’d once mentioned this to Inwood and he’d commented that I should sit on the other side of the table and take another look.
I pointed at the ceiling. “You were right; it’s not a dragon. It’s a cat.”
Inwood looked at me. “A cat.”
“Well, sure.” I kept pointing. “There’s the tail, the ears, and the chin. What else could it be?”
Detective Inwood shook his head, sighed, and left the room.
Sheriff Richardson, who’d been sitting in on the last few minutes of my interview with the detective, said, “I have no idea what you two are talking about. It’s obviously a loggerhead shrike.”
I wasn’t sure if she was joking or if she was dead serious, so I smiled briefly and asked what she thought the chances were of Simon Faber being incarcerated in a psychiatric facility instead of the prison’s general population.
“He’ll be evaluated by two doctors,” she said. “If he’s declared to be NGRI, the next step is to look for an open bed.”
I worked out the acronym in my head; Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity. “Do you think he’ll be declared insane?” I persisted.
The sheriff looked at me with a flat stare. “Minnie, I have no idea. Please don’t ask me to predict the future. My crystal ball has been on back order for years.” Then she sighed and said, “But if you’d like, I’ll follow his case and let you know what happens.”
“Yes, please,” I said meekly. And true to her word, she did keep me apprised of Faber’s trek through the justice system. It took some time, but he was eventually sent to a secure facility downstate that would be his home for the rest of his life.
Monday, I’d scheduled myself to work from noon until the library closed at eight. Mid-morning, I drove my car to a place Ash had recommended for detailing—which was Guy Code for a good, thorough cleaning—and walked the rest of the way to the library, pleased that they’d promised to find a way to get the stench of gasoline out of the car.
I swung my arms as I walked, happy that the sidewalks were already clear of snow. I was also pleased to see teensy breaks in the clouds that, even as I watched, grew wider and wider, showing the blue sky above.
I was near to smiling when I walked in the front door. Dale Lacombe’s killer would kill no more, Leese, Brad, and Mia would be exonerated of all offenses, and winter was just around the corner. Life was good, except for the fact that I was going to die alone because the love of my life didn’t know I existed (in a romantic sense), but I’d find a way to soldier on. With Eddie at my side, the bookmobile and I would range over new horizons, bringing books and knowledge to all. We’d sing songs of courage and bravery, and every syllable Eddie sang would sound the same: “Mrr.”
“What are you so happy about?” Holly asked. She was standing in the doorway to the break room, holding a mug of coffee in one hand and a plate of chocolate chip cookies in the other.
Since I couldn’t very well tell her the truth, I said vaguely, “It’s getting nice outside.”
“Here.” Holly handed me the mug and said, “You have a lot to tell us and you’re going to need food before you get to the end.”
I plucked one cookie off the plate. “How much of the story would you like?”
“All of it,” Josh said, poking his head out of the break room. “And hurry. I’m supposed to talk to Jennifer’s software guy in ten minutes.”
The new software. I’d forgotten. My perky mood deflated a bit, but I pumped it back up by taking a bite of Holly’s cookie.
Both of them had been well aware of Dale Lacombe’s murder, so I moved quickly to how I’d considered a number of suspects and had eventually keyed in on Simon Faber. I skipped over the tied-up-and-almost-burned-to-a-crisp part, and finished off with us turning left out of Leese’s driveway instead of right.
Josh rolled his eyes. Talking through a cookie, he said, “I can’t believe you did that. I mean I can, because it’s just like you to try and help a guy who was trying to kill you, but why didn’t you just call nine-one-one and be done with it?”
I flashed back to something Detective Inwood had told me a few months ago. “You are not most people.” I was still trying to figure out if that had been a compliment or not.
“Was he hurt?” Holly asked. “Or maybe he fell in the snow. With that walker, it couldn’t have been easy to get through.”
I shook my head. “He’d made it to the car, but he slid into a ditch, and couldn’t get himself out.”
After we’d made sure he wasn’t injured, Leese stood guard next to his car door, her baseball bat raised and ready if he tried to make any sort of move to escape. The bat had been what she’d stayed back in the house to find because, as she said later, “I’m never going to be caught without a weapon ever again.”
I’d directed the emergency vehicles, and Faber had been taken away not long afterward. Leese had gone to stay with Mia until her house could be made safe, and I’d gone back to the boardinghouse and finally enjoyed the bath I’d meant to take days earlier.
Josh stared at me, disbelieving. “She had that bat and didn’t even take a crack at the car?”
“He wasn’t going anywhere,” I said mildly, and changed the subject. It had been an unpleasant few minutes, standing there and waiting for the emergency vehicles to arrive. Faber had gone from violent vocal outbursts to fits of sobbing to speech that sounded completely rational. Then the cycle would start all over again.
I shook the memory away and nodded at the man walking toward us. He was wearing a suit coat and tie and clearly did not belong. “Looks like your sales rep is here.”
“Can’t wait,” Josh muttered.
“Isn’t Jennifer supposed to be part of this?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Haven’t seen her all morning,” he said, and went to meet the sales guy.
“I haven’t seen her, either,” Holly said. “Maybe she’s sick?”
Tsking at her, I said, “It’s unkind to sound so hopeful.”
Holly had the grace to look ashamed. “It’s not that I really want her to be sick. It’s just . . . you know.”
I smiled. “See you later. It’s time to check my e-mails.”
And that was why I was the first one to know what had happened to Jennifer. The subject line of her e-mail was odd. “‘Open Letter to the Chilson District Library Board,’” I read out loud. “That’s weird.”
“Dear Board Members,” she’d written. “Thank you so much for the opportunity the last few months to be director of the Chilson District Library. However, it is clear that this climate and I are not compatible. Please consider this my resignation letter, effective immediately. I apologize for the short notice, but I cannot possibly stay here any longer. Your assistant director is more than qualified to step in as interim director or to be permanently elevated to director. She did, as I recall, make attempts to warn me about the snow, but I did not understand that eight inches could possibly fall in October! Human beings were not made to survive in this kind of situation. Yours sincerely, Jennifer Walker.”
I read the e-mail through once. Then twice. Then a third time.
Reeling, I sat back. Which was when I noticed the subsequent e-mails from the library board members, calling for an emergency meeting at ten thirty, and would Minnie please attend. I glanced at the corner of the computer screen and saw that it was one minute past ten thirty.