Donna murmured, “I’ll go,” and she headed up front to take over for Gareth, who, though he was a very capable and intelligent man, didn’t know the Dewey decimal system from the metric system.
“We need you to tell us what’s going on,” Josh said. “If the board is looking to cut jobs, or hours, or programs, or whatever.”
Holly gripped her upper arms. “We’re completely in the dark. It’s bad enough that Graydon is poking around everywhere, but now Trent is, too. Otis never did that. He came in, ran the meetings, came out, borrowed a book on World War II, and didn’t come back until the next month. Trent’s been in here almost every day!”
“Otis didn’t have to spend time in the library,” I said. “He’s lived in Chilson all his life. He didn’t have to learn about the library programs because he was here when they started. He didn’t have to meet the library staff because he was on the board when each of us was hired. Trent is trying to be a good board president. He’s trying to learn as much as he can as fast as he can, and we should be grateful he’s taking the time.”
Kelsey sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Josh said. “It’s just so different, that’s all.”
Holly sniffed. “Trent has an agenda. He’s up to something, I can just feel it.”
I knew I had to say something, but I couldn’t say that it would be okay, because I had the same feeling about Trent that Holly had. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
• • •
Late that afternoon, my cell phone started buzzing with my best friend’s ringtone.
“Hey, Kristen,” I said. “What’s up?”
She snorted. “Nothing’s wrong, except this cold is insane. Why on earth does anyone live up here in the winter?”
My mouth moved up and down but nothing came out.
“Hey,” Kristen said. “Are you still there? Hellooo!”
“You don’t need to shout. I’m right here.”
“Well, in a couple of hours, I will be, too, so if you don’t want me to freeze my heinie off, I would appreciate you finding me something warm to wear.”
I felt my brow furrowing. “Where are you?”
“Detroit.”
“Michigan?” I asked.
“Great chef in the sky, of course Michigan! What other Detroit is there? Don’t you remember? This is the weekend we agreed that I’d make a trip up to finalize wedding stuff. We talked about this.”
Kristen was actually coming home? “I figured you’d cancel and we’d do it all on Skype.”
“Would I do something like that?” Before I could answer, she said, “Okay, yes, I would, because I canceled a Christmas visit a couple of years ago. But this is different.”
“Four years ago, when you closed down Three Seasons and fled for Key West, you vowed you wouldn’t set foot above the Mason-Dixon Line ever again between Halloween and Ides of April.”
“Yeah, and I need to shift that October date. We got six inches of snow before I left last fall.”
“Yet you’re coming home in January.”
“Exception proves the rule,” she said. “And believe me, it won’t happen again. Are you going to bring me something to wear, or not?”
I smiled a slightly evil smile. “See you in two hours.”
• • •
Kristen sauntered into the airport lobby, towing her purse and small suitcase with one hand and carrying a sign that said, WILL WORK FOR WARM CLOTHES, in the other.
We hugged, then stepped back and took stock of each other. “You look great,” I said. And she did. Tan and fit and rested, she looked far better than she had last fall, when she’d been tired and worn and pale. She always looked like that at the end of the restaurant season, and I worried for her health every year.
“You look like you’ve been in a cave for three months,” Kristen said.
“Lowering my risk of skin cancer, day by day.”
She looked at my empty hands. “No luck with finding something in my size? Hang on, that’s your evil smile,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “What did you do?”
I pointed to a massive tote bag I’d parked on a nearby bench. “All for you.”
An hour later, I was sitting next to Kristen and telling the airport story to Leese Lacombe, a mutual friend. “And then,” I said, “she proceeded to put on every stitch of it.”
Leese, who was almost as tall as Kristen’s six feet, but had unruly brown hair and a broad build, laughed uproariously. Kristen and Leese had played on opposing high school softball teams, and I’d gotten to know Leese through the bookmobile. The three of us together were a force to be reckoned with, and I was pretty sure that if we decided to put our time and energy into the effort, we could solve one of the biggest problems ever: how to get rid of a song that’s stuck in your head.
“All of it?” Leese asked, still laughing.
We were in one of Chilson’s drinking establishments, one of the two open all year. It was early evening, and we were by far the noisiest group in the place. Of course, other than Pete, the bartender, and two men of indeterminate age who were sitting at opposite ends of the bar, we were the only humans in the place.
It would liven up later, after the dinner hour, but since it was January, the term “liven up” was relative. During the height of the summer season, you could wait half an hour for a seat, which to me had never seemed worth it for a place with floors that had a tendency to be slightly sticky, but then I lived here. It was different for summer folks. Worn-down establishments where you were on vacation were charming; at home they were places in need of a good cleaning and a coat of paint.
“All of it,” I said, and showed her the picture I’d taken with my phone. There was Kristen, wearing the brown Carhartt overalls I’d borrowed from Rafe, the long maroon parka I’d borrowed from Aunt Frances, a bright pink wool hat and a pair of gray mittens I’d found in the hall closet, and a pair of circa 1980 Moon Boots I’d found at a local consignment shop, with orange and navy blue striping that went with absolutely nothing. They were perfect.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve never looked better,” Kristen said. “Send it to my future husband, will you? He should know what awaits.”
Smirking, I texted the photo to Scruffy. “Where is he these days?”
“This week it’s New Mexico,” she said. “He and Trock are out there filming an episode about foods influenced by the region’s indigenous peoples.”
Leese tipped her mug of beer in Kristen’s direction. “Sounds like the show might be getting some influence from the producer’s bride-to-be.”
She was probably right, but I’d never thought about it. Rafe influenced me and I him, so it only followed that every other couple in the world, including Scruffy and Kristen, might have that same dynamic. I’d just never dreamed, when I’d walked onto the Trock’s Troubles set a year and a half ago when Trock had been filming at his Chilson summer home, that one result would be that Kristen could wind up shifting the show’s direction.
“It’s a weird, weird world,” I murmured.
Kristen eyed me. “Is that the start of a joke?”
“No, but it could be.” I squinted at the ceiling. “It’s a weird world. How weird? Three women walked into a bar: a restauranteur, an attorney, and a librarian. They—”
“Did you hear about our latest murder?” Leese asked Kristen, cutting into my joke. I feigned hurt, but since I hadn’t known where the story was going, I got over my fake emotional pain quickly.
Kristen nodded. “Rowan Bennethum? Minnie told me.”
“Did she tell you she’s helping the sheriff’s office?”
My best friend’s gaze swung around. “Oh, really?” she asked, her voice laden with something that didn’t bode well for Minnie. “And what trouble is she going to get herself into this time?”