More important than my preferences, however, were Eddie’s, and Eddie definitely wouldn’t like it. Plus, the whole place was filled with cat toys. Painting tarps would turn into cat caves. Electrical cords for the power tools would be chewed. Wood trim that was cut, finished, and ready to install would be tested for clawing capacity. And it didn’t do to think what he might do with sandpaper.
I’d shuddered. “Tomorrow,” I’d told Rafe. “I’ll work hard tomorrow, I promise.”
Rafe had wished me good luck with my convenience store mission, and I’d spent much of the journey crossing my fingers and toes that the trip would be productive. Not that I had to be right and Rafe wrong, but I certainly wouldn’t mind it.
I entered the store and looked around for my little friend.
“Good morning.”
The guy behind the counter spoke in a friendly manner, and even had a smile on his face. He had the same long hair and same skinny build as my friend, but was a few years older and miles different in demeanor. This was a guy who might actually engage in a conversation.
“Morning,” I said, smiling back. After introducing myself, and learning that his name was Mason, I said, “I stopped by a few days ago and talked to a young man about leaving a note. I’m looking for the person who has worked here the longest.”
“A note?” He frowned. “I haven’t seen any note. Who told you—” He stopped, sighing. “Was it a guy who kind of looked like me, only younger?” I nodded, and he said, “My cousin. I told my uncle I’d . . .” His expression segued into something that wasn’t exactly a smile. “Well, never mind. I’m the one who has worked here the longest. What can I do for you?”
I blinked. The longest? Mason might have been thirty years old, but couldn’t be much older than that.
He laughed. “I grew up just down that road and started working here when I was maybe thirteen, shoveling the sidewalk for two dollars cash, no questions asked. A couple of years ago, the owner wanted to retire. I was working downstate, but when I saw this place listed, I started working the numbers.”
It was a familiar story. Lots of young people who grew up in the region left for downstate jobs after high school or college, and after a few years many of them started looking for ways to move back. “And we all lived happily ever after?” I asked, smiling. It had worked for Kristen.
“Hoping so,” Mason said. “We’ll see what my accountant says at the end of this year. But what was it you wanted?”
I repeated what I’d told his cousin, that two people who didn’t live that far away had died unexpectedly, that they were loyal bookmobile patrons, that I figured they were customers of his, too, and that I was wondering if anyone was putting together a fund for flowers or a donation.
Mason was shaking his head. “I was out of town for a few days for a family wedding and I’m still catching up. Who died?”
“Rex Stuhler, who owned a pest control company with his wife, and a summer resident, Nicole Price. Did you know them?”
Mason looked at his hands. At the counter. At the rolls of scratcher lottery tickets. “I guess. Sort of.”
Until now, Mason had been a friendly and talkative guy. Now, suddenly, after mentioning Rex and Nicole, he was acting like his cousin. Hmm. “Did they come in here often?” I asked. “If I remember right, Rex’s house is only a mile or two south of here, and Nicole’s family cabin is just a few miles over—”
“I didn’t know them,” Mason snapped. “Okay? And I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work.” He hurried to the end of the counter, opened a door that revealed a tiny office, and entered, shutting the door behind him.
“That was weird,” I said out loud.
And also very suspicious. Which meant I was right and Rafe was wrong about this trip being a waste of time.
But though I did feel a fractional ounce of happiness about that little fun fact, most of me felt sad. For Rex. And Fawn and Nicole and Dominic, and all the other people who were touched by murder. Then again, even if Fawn had an alibi the night her husband had been killed, it was still possible that she’d been involved. And could she and Dom really have been having an affair?
I sighed, cast one last look at the firmly closed door, and left.
* * *
“Minnie, is that you?”
Since I’d answered my desk phone as “This is Minnie, how may I help you?” the question seemed unnecessary, but since I was pretty sure the caller was Max Compton, I decided to give him some slack.
“Max, is that you?”
He chuckled. “Bright as a shiny new penny, that’s what you are.”
“Pennies can be shiny and old at the same time,” I said. “And that’s what you are.”
“Is this the first meeting of Chilson’s Mutual Admiration Society?”
I laughed. “Let’s call it a pre-meeting meeting. What can I do for you, Max?”
“It’s my—” He moaned. “It’s my heart,” he said, gasping.
“That’s too bad.” I patted my desk for the pen I knew was underneath one of the piles of paper. “I could call nine-one-one if you’d like. Or should I get Heather on the phone?” Ah, there it was. I unearthed the pen and clicked it open so I could start the draft agenda for the next staff meeting. Graydon usually did this, but he’d asked me to do it this time around.
“Not sure I can make it that long,” he wheezed.
“That’s too bad. Is there anything I can do to help you in your last moments on this earth?”
“I might . . .” He coughed. “I might make it a little longer if you brought me a large print copy of The Runaway Jury. You know, that John Grisham book? It might be the only thing that gets me through this week.”
Which was why, an hour and a half later, when I should have been going over to the house to start sanding the study’s baseboard, I was instead walking into Lakeview Medical Care Facility with Max’s book in my hand. He was waiting for me, rolling his wheelchair forward three inches, back three inches, forward, back.
“You made it!” he almost shouted, beaming.
I handed over the book. “And you seem to have made a miraculous recovery.”
“Eh?” He peered up at me and gave a fake cough. “Oh, yes. Much better.”
“Why are you coughing? I thought it was your heart this time.”
“All connected,” Max said vaguely, turning to the first chapter, and I lost any chance at conversation with him.
“You do realize that the next bookmobile librarian won’t be nearly as accommodating when it comes to personal deliveries, don’t you?”
“The next one?” He sat up straight. “Minerva Hamilton, what are you saying? You’re not leaving Chilson, are you?”
“Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.”
He let out a huge breath. “Don’t do that to an old man. I’m not sure my heart can take it.”
“You told me last winter that your heart was as healthy as a fit seventy-year-old.”
“Things can change,” he said, going back to the book. “You never know.”
Which was true enough, but I didn’t want to think of Lakeview without Max, so I shoved the reminder of his advanced age into the back of my brain, murmured a good-bye, and turned to leave. But before I took a single step toward the entrance, I pivoted and headed down an interior hallway. A few rooms down I saw the CNA I knew best.
“Hey, Minnie,” Heather said. “What are you doing here on a Saturday?”
I inched closer. “Don’t tell anyone, but Max has me wrapped around his pinkie. I made a delivery just for him.”
Heather laughed. “Sounds like Max.”
“Say, would Lowell Kokotovich happen to be working today? I met him at the reading hour the other day and wanted to talk to him about something.”