“You’re coming,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Harrison’s definition of family was a wide one.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I promised, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
I rejoined Marcus to discover that he’d bought the jam and the pear butter and a jar of the Jam Lady’s marmalade, which was my favorite. We wandered around the market a while longer and then drove out to Marcus’s house. I curled up on the swing on his back deck. Micah, Marcus’s little ginger tabby, climbed up onto my lap, swatting me twice with her tail as she got settled. Marcus set up the ice cream maker for peach ice cream and grilled spicy sausage and corn on the barbecue. It had been pretty much the perfect weekend.
Monday morning I set out the census documents I’d told Mike about in our workroom so everything would be ready when he arrived in the afternoon. Considering their age and the fact that for a long time they’d been stuffed, forgotten, in an old filing cabinet in the library basement, the pages weren’t in awful shape. Like the rest of our old documents, they would eventually be scanned and added to our digital database.
I relocked the workroom door and went into the staff room for a cup of coffee, taking it back to my office, where I stood by the window looking out at the gazebo. It was another beautiful day. Marcus was bringing lunch later and I thought how nice it would be to eat outside. It was good to see things looking quiet out there. In the spring the gazebo had been targeted by a practical joker who had—among other things—left an inflatable pool full of Jell-O in it. Black raspberry to be specific. It had been several weeks since the last stunt and I was hoping our prankster had gotten bored and moved on. Both Mary and Harry were convinced this was just a temporary respite from Jell-O, stacks of hay bales and a full-sized Grim Reaper with a broom instead of a scythe.
“Get it? It’s the Grim Sweeper!” Susan, who had worked at the library long enough to have seen her share of stunts and pranks, had crowed with delight over that last one.
I was downstairs about an hour later, trying to fix a broken wheel on one of our book carts when Abigail called to me from the front desk.
“It’s Marcus,” she said, gesturing at the phone that I hadn’t even heard ring.
“Thanks,” I said as I got to my feet, brushing off the front of my flowered skirt. I walked over and picked up the receiver.
“Hi,” Marcus said. He blew out a breath. “I’m not going to be able to make lunch.” There was a flatness to his voice that told me he was in full police-detective mode.
“A case.”
“Yes.” He hesitated.
My stomach clutched. This was something bad.
“I’m sorry, Kathleen,” he finally said. “There’s no good way to say this. Mike Bishop is dead.”
chapter 3
No,” I whispered. I closed my eyes for a moment and swallowed against the lump in my throat, which seemed to be stopping me from getting words out. “Are you . . . are you positive?”
“Yes. I wish I wasn’t,” Marcus said, “and I’m sorry but I have to go. I should make it for supper. I mean, if you still want to cook.”
I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “I do.” And because it suddenly seemed important, I added, “Stay safe.”
“Always,” he replied.
I hung up the phone and stood there, not moving, as Marcus’s words began to sink in.
“Kathleen, what’s wrong?” Abigail asked, coming around the side of the circulation desk. A frown creased her forehead and her eyes were narrowed in concern.
“It’s, uh, it’s Mike Bishop,” I said slowly.
“What happened? Was he in some kind of accident?” She put a hand on my arm. Abigail had helped Mike with a lot of the research into his family tree. They’d gotten to be friends.
“I don’t know what happened but . . .” I let the end of the sentence trail away. I didn’t want to say the words out loud.
Abigail pressed her lips together and gave her head a little shake.
I swallowed again. It didn’t seem to do anything for that lump in the back of my throat. “He’s . . . dead.”
A tear slid down her cheek and she swiped at it with one hand. “Are you sure?” she asked, looking away. “Maybe Marcus made a mistake. Maybe it was someone else.”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t make those kind of mistakes.”
“I know,” she said softly.
Neither one of us spoke for a moment. Then Abigail looked at me. “What do they give the dentist of the year?” she asked in a shaky voice.
I frowned at her, not really understanding the question. “I . . . I don’t know.”
“A little plaque.” She laughed and then hiccupped. “Mike always had some awful dental joke to tell me when he came in and I’d always laugh because they were so bad.” She wiped away another tear. “Why did the dental assistant refuse to date the dentist?”
I shook my head.
“He was already taking out a tooth.”
I laughed then in spite of myself. “You’re right,” I said. “Those are terrible jokes.”
“And remember how he hated it when someone called him a dentist?” Abigail asked. “Mary would do it just to tease him. He’d give her that look.” She pushed her glasses down her nose and looked over the top of them at me. “And he’d say, ‘Endodontist.’ Then Mary would say something about how barbers used to do all that stuff and give you a shave and a haircut.” She blinked away tears. “Oh, Kathleen, how can it be true?” Her shoulders sagged.
I didn’t have an answer to her question. All I could do was give her a hug and blink back my own tears.
“You know Mike was genuinely excited about tracing his family tree,” she said. “He told me that his cousin had warned him that he might find nothing but criminals and con men back there. He told me that he kind of hoped he would. That would be way more interesting than a family full of straitlaced rule followers.”
“That sounds like Mike.”
She gave me a small smile. “He looked like he was having so much fun being back onstage again. You could see it.” She started to say something else and then stopped.
“What?” I asked.
“I was going to say that there’s never going to be a night like that again, and then it hit me that now that Mike is . . . gone, there really isn’t.”
“We went to Eric’s after the concert and they came in,” I said. “Mike, Johnny, Harry—all of them. I told Mike about those census documents you found. He was coming in this afternoon to take a look at them. I set everything out in the workroom. I should go put things away again.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Abigail said. “I mean, if it’s all right with you. I could use a couple of minutes by myself.”
“It’s fine with me,” I said. “Give me a minute to get Levi to keep an eye on the desk.”
She nodded. “Thanks.” She glanced over at the books she’d been sorting. “So Marcus didn’t say anything about what happened? If it was a car accident or a heart attack.”
“All he said was Mike was gone. He had to go and he didn’t give me any details.” I looked around for Levi, our summer student. “I’ll be right back,” I said.
I headed for the stacks where Levi was shelving books. The fact that Marcus hadn’t said what had happened to Mike Bishop bothered me and I hoped Abigail hadn’t noticed my discomfort at her question. He could have easily said Mike had had a heart attack or been in a car accident if either of those things had occurred. But he hadn’t and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something a lot worse had happened. I hoped I was wrong.