Lending a Paw(49)

“The library board . . .” He slid his index fingers under his glasses to rub his eyes. When he opened them again, he spied my mug. “Is that coffee?” He held out his hand peremptorily.

I held the mug out to him. “Stephen, are you okay? You look beyond tired.”

He knocked back half the contents of the mug, paused, then drank the other half. “I’m fine.”

Riiiight. And I was the Queen of the Library. But if he didn’t want to discuss whatever it was that was bothering him, I wasn’t going to badger him to talk. Not today, anyway. Tomorrow was a different matter.

“The library board,” he said, “has been in contact with the executors of Stan Larabee’s estate. His relatives have indicated that they’ll be contesting the will.”

Just as Rafe had said. For once the word on the street had been right. “They won’t be able to break it, will they?”

“Extremely doubtful. But the issue could tie up dispensation of the will for as long as his family wishes to pay lawyers.”

“I heard he had a lot of sisters.”

“Six,” Stephen said.

I’d often wondered what it would be like to have a sister or two. I’d never once wondered what it would be like to have six.

“The library board is concerned,” he went on. “If the news gets bandied about that the library is losing Larabee’s bequest, they fear we’ll lose other sources of money, and you know how much this library depends on donations.”

“But that’s nuts,” I blurted out. “No one except you and the board knew the library was getting money from Stan’s will until a week ago. And, anyway, why would any potential donor care?”

“The library board is concerned,” Stephen repeated. “It’s our job to allay their concerns. With that in mind, we need to consider alternative sources for donations. As I recall, you are meeting with Caroline Grice this evening. The gallery will be closed, yes? Good. Sound her out for becoming a library supporter. A onetime ‘no’ isn’t necessarily a permanent no. You have a certain expertise at noting people’s reactions and emotions. Notice hers and exploit them.”

“I . . . what?”

“The library is depending on you,” Stephen said.

“It . . . is?”

“We need to head off any financial troubles before they start. Now is the time, and you’re in the right place at the right time. It’s up to you, Minnie.” He upended the coffee cup, swilling down the last drops. “I’ll expect a complete report first thing tomorrow morning.”

And off he went, taking my favorite mug with him.

• • •

“Minnie? Hey, Minnie!”

I slowed, then stopped in the front lobby, as Holly hurried to my side. The day had passed quickly, and now late-afternoon sun spilled over both of us, blinding me and putting Holly into dark silhouette.

“Sorry, sorry to bother you,” she said, her words running over the top of one another. “I wanted to catch you since I won’t be in tomorrow. Do you have a second?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Remember, a little while ago, I was downstairs and you said . . . you said that you’d try to help prove I didn’t kill Stan Larabee . . . and I was wondering, you know, if you really meant it?”

“I promised,” I said, stepping close to her and lowering my voice. “So, yes, I meant it.”

“Right.” She smiled, relief washing over her face. “So, um, have you found out anything?”

What I’d discovered was that many residents of Chilson were getting far too much enjoyment speculating about murder, that rumors did, in fact, travel faster than the speed of light, that the new doctor in Charlevoix was appearing in my dreams, and that it was going to take hours and hours to clean the Eddie hair out of the bookmobile.

I started to say something to that effect. Luckily, I took a good look at Holly before I opened my mouth.

Her brown hair, normally shiny and smooth, had a straggly look. Her face looked almost gaunt and her hands didn’t know what to do with themselves. They were in her pockets, cupped around her elbows, around her upper arms, back to her pockets.

She was worried and scared and she was relying on me. But what could I tell her? Rumors? No way was I going to repeat those stupid stories. Yet what else was there to say?

“There’s a chance,” I said, “that I’ll learn something soon.”

“Really?” Hope shone in her eyes.

No, not really, and I was already sorry I’d said so. “Just a chance,” I said. Firmly. “It’s not as if I have any experience doing this. All I can do is listen and—”