Finally Eddie gave a wide yawn and said, “Mrrr.”
“Oh, hey.” Hannah snapped her fingers. “That’s another thing I wanted to ask. . . . Um, are you okay?”
I patted myself on the chest, playing at pretending the sharp gasp I’d let out had been something else entirely. “Fine, thanks. What’s the question?”
“Him.” She pointed at Eddie and I thought my heart was going to freeze. “Is he a silver tabby?”
It took me two tries, three, to say, “That’s what the vet said.”
“Cool.” She squatted down in front of Eddie. “He’s a good-looking cat. Bobby and me, we’re breeding boxers, but we’re thinking about doing cats, too.” She squinted up at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
My muffled laughter smoothed out into a wide smile. “Eddie was a stray, and he’s been neutered.”
“Oh.” She made a face. “That’s too bad.”
The honking of a truck startled all three of us. We looked through the bookmobile’s windshield to see my second set of rescuers pile out of the biggest tow truck I’d ever seen.
“Well, guess I’ll get out of your way,” Hannah said.
I have her a quick hug. “Thanks again. I’m glad it was you who stopped.”
She hugged back. “Me, too.” Halfway down the steps she turned. “Hey, you wanted to ask a question, too. What was it?”
“You know, I really don’t remember.” I smiled and hugged Eddie to my chest, holding him tight.
• • •
I was averting my eyes from the sight of the front end of the bookmobile being hoisted onto the tow truck when a sheriff’s cruiser pulled up.
The deputy who climbed out looked familiar and I realized it was Deputy Wolverson, the officer who had dripped rainwater all over the bookmobile the day I’d found Stan.
“Ms. Hamilton,” he said, nodding. “Sorry it took so long for me to get here, but I was on another call. What’s the problem?”
“Thirty aught six, I’d guess,” the head mechanic said. He kicked at the shredded tire they’d removed. When I’d ordered the bookmobile, I’d also ordered a spare rim and tire and had it stored in their garage. Ordering two in case someone attacked the bookmobile had never occurred to me.
Wolverson lowered himself into an easy crouch and studied the remains. “Got it a good one, didn’t he?” He glanced up at me. “You okay?”
“Mad, mostly.”
He smiled. “Healthy reaction. Good for you.” Standing, he walked to the front end and looked at the ruined tire that was still attached. “No damage other than the tires, looks like. Some fine driving on your part, Ms. Hamilton.” He took a small notebook out of his shirt pocket. “How far apart were the shots, timewise?”
We did the question and answer routine for a few minutes. I pointed to where I’d seen the rifle-toting quad rider drive off, and the deputy made extensive notes. When he was done, he lifted his gaze to the distant line of hills. “You know that Larabee’s farmhouse is that way, just two or three miles, right?”
I nodded. Steep and rough miles, but nothing for a quad.
“Maybe there’s no connection between your bookmobile’s tires being shot out and his murder,” he said, “but maybe there is. I’ll take some pictures and do what I can out here, but I’m going to pass this on to the detectives in charge of the Larabee case.”
I’d guessed as much and had actually hoped for it, because at this exact moment Holly was working at the library. Had been, all afternoon. If there was any silver lining to this episode, it was that now Holly would be dropped to the bottom of their suspect list.
• • •
After Eddie and I got home, courtesy of the tow truck’s narrow backseat, I made the dreaded phone call. “Stephen? Sorry to bother you at home. It’s Minnie. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
At the end of my recitation of the afternoon’s events, Stephen grunted and asked, “The bookmobile will be out of commission for how long?”
“Just a few days, they told us.”
“Us?” Stephen’s voice was sharp. “You had a volunteer on the bookmobile when some maniac with a rifle was shooting at you?”
“No, no,” I assured him. “I dropped Thessie off long before that. By us I meant me and the bookmobile and three thousand books.” I laughed as if I hadn’t a care in the world. Stephen didn’t laugh with me. I tried not to take that as a bad omen, since Stephen had never been prone to breaking into uncontrollable laughter, or any kind of laughter for that matter, but a sick sensation started gnawing at the back of my brain. Stephen hated the bookmobile. He would use any excuse to take it away.