The boy dropped to his knees and slapped his head against the furry body. “He’s noisy!” he exclaimed.
You have no idea, I thought. “That’s because he likes you,” I said.
“Emily, Emily!” The boy jumped to his feet. “The bookmobile kitty likes me!”
There was a small stampede of children, headed by the apparent ringleader, Emily, and it was coming straight toward Eddie and me. Eddie had already tolerated much that day: a slam-hard-on-the-brakes stop to avoid hitting a deer, a shrieking baby at the first stop, a complete lack of treats because I’d forgotten to refill the canister, and this was apparently the tipping point.
He took one look at the oncoming horde and launched himself out of my lap.
“Ah . . .” I gritted my teeth at the pain and made a mental note to clip his back claws that night. And to file them round.
“Where did the kitty go?” Emily said plaintively. “I want to hear the bookmobile kitty go purr, purr, purr.”
I smiled at her and the rest of her cohorts. “He just needs a minute to himself. When he’s ready, I’ll bring him back and each of you can pet him, one at a time.”
Emily, with her lower lip stuck out in an adorable sort of way, gave the topic serious thought. “I guess that’s okay.”
With the group subdued, at least for now, I showed them the picture books and pulled out a copy of Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel. I handed it to the day care lady. “Always a crowd pleaser,” I said.
She laughed and sat herself on the step. “Who wants to listen to a story?”
The kids crowded around and I headed to the front of the bookmobile to check on Mr. Ed’s whereabouts.
“Hey,” I said quietly. “Eddie. Where are you?”
His black-and-white head popped up from underneath the driver’s seat.
“They’re not coming after you,” I told him. “Come on out. I promise I won’t let them— Hey, what are—”
Eddie jumped up to the seat, clambered over the steering wheel in a completely graceless manner that no self-respecting cat would be caught dead doing, landed on the dashboard, and shoved his face up against the windshield.
“Wonderful,” I muttered. My arms weren’t quite long enough to clean the glass, so now I’d be looking at Eddie nose prints until I could get someone else to do the washing. “Come down, will you? There’s nothing out there except a straight mile of road, a bunch of trees, and maybe a squirrel or two. You might want to play with the squirrels, but I’m sure they don’t want to play with you, so turn around and come join the party, okay?”
My monologue was doing nothing to distract Eddie from his inspection of the windshield. “Mrrrr,” he said.
“Mrr to you, too.” I sat in the driver’s seat and reached forward, but Eddie was having nothing to do with me. Without visibly moving, he edged six inches away and said, “Mrrrr!”
“Right. You said that before. Now, if you’d just—”
“Mrr!”
I winced. “Quit howling,” I whispered. “You’re going to scare the kids and I know you don’t want to do that, so—”
“Mrrr!”
Just as Eddie’s howls pierced my eardrums, a battered pickup truck rattled past. On the side was a magnetic sign that read BOB’S BUSINESS; WE DO THE CHORES YOUR HUSBAND WILL NEVER GET AROUND TO.
I smirked at the sign and, since Eddie was studying the truck intently, used the opportunity to lean forward and snatch him off the dashboard. I gave him a good snuggle and in seconds he was purring. “Now, what was that all about?” I asked. “Didn’t you like the noise that truck made?” Because it had been loud. “I bet that’s what was bothering you, wasn’t it?”
Eddie made an annoyed kind of chirp and squirmed off my lap. As he marched down the aisle toward Mike Mulligan, a new thought popped into my brain.
Did Henry’s neighbor, Cole Duvall, have a guy who did chores for him? Because I couldn’t think of anyone better to talk to about Duvall than his caretaker. A caretaker would have opinions about Duvall’s character, would know when Duvall had been north, and would know his habits and hobbies. And maybe, just maybe, the caretaker would be able to give me that magic piece of information that would make the entire puzzle fit together.
I tucked the idea in the back of my head for later follow-up and went to join the story.
• • •
The evening was close to warm, and after a dinner of grilled cheese and salad—no, Mom, I don’t eat out every night—I went to sit in the front deck’s sunshine and make some phone calls. Half an hour later, not even the brilliant sun sparkling off the water was making me feel any better.
I tossed my cell onto the table and looked over at Eddie, who was lounging on the chaise like a lion overlooking his pride.
“If you were a true friend,” I said, “you’d be a little more help. I mean, don’t tell me you don’t know any bestselling authors who would jump at an opportunity to visit a small town in northern lower Michigan.”
Eddie rolled onto his side, one front leg stretched out long, the other curled up against his chest. I had no idea what that meant in cat language, but no matter what he was saying, it wasn’t helpful.
“Not even one name?” I asked. “It doesn’t have to be a New York Times bestselling author. Any old kind of bestselling author will do. People magazine. USA Today. Detroit News. The Traverse Record-Eagle. Anything.”
Eddie yawned, showing small, pointed teeth. Then he sat up, blinked once, and began studying a duck flotilla that was looking for dinner handouts.
“Again,” I said, “that isn’t much help.”
“Mrr.”
“If you were that sorry, you’d find some way to lend me a hand.”
My cat stood, jumped into the air, and landed on my chaise. He butted my sweatpants-clad shin with the top of his head, then flopped next to me and began to purr.
I petted his fur smooth. “You are okay,” I said, “no matter what Aunt Frances says.” Of course, my aunt loved Eddie dearly, but Eddie didn’t need to know that, not for sure. I let the peace of a cat comfort me for a few minutes, then picked up the phone again.
And, after another half an hour and another dozen phone calls, I struck out a second time.
“Can you believe that?” I asked. “No one knows if the Duvalls have a caretaker.” Not my aunt, not Kristen, not Rafe, not Holly, and not any of the other people I’d called. The Duvalls were newcomers, sure, but usually word got around about who was taking care of whose cottage.
It had been an evening of frustrations, and a need to get up and move around stirred in me. I’d have gone out for a run, but I hadn’t bought new running shoes in a couple of years and everyone knew you shouldn’t start a running program on old shoes. I might have taken my bike out for a ride, but I knew for a fact that the tires were flat and I had a feeling my hand pump was still at my aunt’s house. And there was no way I was going for a swim—the water in Janay Lake wouldn’t reach even sixty degrees for weeks.
“I could go for a walk,” I said, petting Eddie. “There’s more than an hour until it gets dark. Want to come along?”
His reverberating snore was answer enough.
• • •
It was past dark when I returned. My walk had taken me past the boardinghouse, where I’d stopped in to talk to Aunt Frances, past the Three Seasons, where I’d popped in to say hello to Kristen and her crew, and I’d paused to shake my head at Rafe, who was on his roof brushing Black Jack onto his chimney’s flashing.
“Do you realize,” I called up to him, “that it’s too dark to see what you’re doing?”
“Minnie, is that you? You know I can’t hear when it’s dark out.”
“I said, I hope I don’t have to take you to the hospital for falling off the ladder when you can’t see the rungs for climbing down.”