When the dinner dishes were done and put away in the galley’s cupboards, it was all of nine o’clock. “What do you think, pal?” I asked Eddie. “I could see what the boat rats are up to. Or I could drive out to Lake Michigan and watch the sunset.” Neither of those suggestions appeared to interest Eddie. “I could walk up to Kristen’s restaurant. I could call Mom. Or I could go up to the boardinghouse and talk to Aunt Frances.” Those were all pretty good ideas. It would probably help to talk about the day.
But somehow I didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to relive it all, didn’t want to go back there, even in my head. Tomorrow. I’d talk to them tomorrow. I’d be ready in another day. Two at the most.
Eddie sauntered past me, trotted down the three stairs, past the bathroom, jumped up on the set of drawers I’d put in front of the back door, then leapt onto the bed.
Or I could go to bed. It suddenly seemed like an excellent idea.
Ten minutes later, clad in old shorts and a tank top and teeth brushed, I slid into bed. I picked up a copy of Karin Slaughter’s latest thriller. Two pages in, I put it down in favor of the next book on my To Be Read stack: Gravity’s Rainbow. That lasted two paragraphs. Then I tried Lorraine Bartlett’s most recent cozy mystery. But even that mostly happy little world didn’t keep me from reliving the events of the day.
Sighing, I sat up and hugged my knees. Sounds of boater revelry wafted in through the open window. A flickering of lights glinted on the ceiling, lights that seemed as if they were coming from the big boat next door. Which didn’t make sense, because the Olsons never came up before July, a fact for which everyone at the marina was grateful. I was watching the lights, trying to figure out their source, but somehow I saw only the flashing red beacon of the ambulance.
Oh, Stan. Of all the people in the county, how could it have been me that had found him?
Eddie chirped and rearranged himself. I petted his fur smooth. “Whatever it was that sent you running to that farmhouse, I’m guess I’m glad.” Did cats have ultragood eyesight? Some birds did. And some dogs had super-duper smelling powers. And there was hearing. What animals were good at hearing? Maybe Eddie had a special combination of all three?
I looked at him. Nah. If Eddie’s sensory powers were anything special, I wouldn’t startle him into a four-legged leap every other time I opened the nonlatching closet door, against which he’d started taking his afternoon naps.
“Poor Stan,” I said quietly. Then, all at once grief rose up in me. Oh, Stan. I swallowed down the sobs and tried to think. What would Stan want right now? What would he want me to do?
Eddie twisted his head around and looked at me upside down. “Sorry, big guy.” I patted him gently and he closed his eyes.
“It was murder,” I said softly. “Someone killed Stan. Maybe I could . . . ?” I shook my head before finishing the sentence. I was a librarian, for crying out loud. I could classify, alphabetize, plan outreach programs, sort staff schedules, and make sense of service contracts, but putting murderers in jail was outside my job description. “That’s what the police do,” I said, stroking Eddie’s back.
He twitched, as if my touch were ticklish.
“Sorry.” I smoothed down the fur he’d ruffled up. “I told that deputy everything. It wasn’t much, but what else can I do? I can’t go poking around doing the job of the detectives. They know what they’re doing, and I’m a librarian.”
Then again, I knew Stan and they didn’t. Maybe I didn’t know much, but I knew the things he laughed over. I knew what he liked to eat for lunch and what clothes he wore. I knew that he liked buying cars and I knew that he hated buying clothes. I knew that he liked chocolate and I knew that he liked to take long drives.
Eddie picked up his head and stared straight at me.
“But still . . .” I thought out loud. “What was he doing in the other side of the county? Why was he in that particular farmhouse?”
“Mrrorrw!” Eddie jumped onto my lap, thumped my chin with the top of his head, and started purring.
“Well, finally.” I slid back down into the sheets, rolled on my side, and fell asleep with my arm around a rumbling cat. But even Eddie’s purrs couldn’t chase away my dreams, dreams that were haunted with sights I didn’t want to see and sounds I didn’t want to hear.
Chapter 5
The next day was Saturday, the day I had a standing invitation for breakfast at my aunt Frances’s house. It was also the only morning Aunt Frances didn’t cook breakfast for her summer boarders. Instead, a boarder cooked for everyone else. It was part of the deal when you stayed there, and learning of the duty had scared off more than one prospective boarder.