by Laurie Cass
I crossed my arms. With the sun long gone, the air had turned chilly.
Cade shifted his grip on the cane. “I said I hadn’t seen you in a few days and she was extremely puzzled, said the two of you had had a nice chat just this evening. ‘A chat about what?’ I asked. Her face turned a lovely shade of scarlet, so I knew I’d been the topic.” His mouth twisted up in a sardonic smile. “And there’s only one thing she could have said that would make you turn away from me.”
I looked straight at him. Opened my mouth. Shut it again, because I didn’t know what to say. This man was not a killer. How could he be? The doctor said he lacked the strength to kill Carissa. Then again, if Cade had convinced Heather to lie for him…
He shifted again. “I did not ask her to lie for me.”
If he could convince Heather to lie, would that make him an expert liar himself? It seemed to follow, but my experience with consummate liars was limited to a college freshman roommate. And a former boyfriend, but I’d vowed never to think about him again.
“I can see you don’t believe me.” Sighing, Cade leaned against one of the dock pilings. “I’m going to describe exactly what happened that night. When I’m done, you can make your decision.”
I nodded for him to go ahead.
“That night was clear, if you’ll remember. I’d gone to bed about nine, just before sunset, but I couldn’t get to sleep and got up just before eleven to watch the moon as it dropped into the tree line. The way that new moon was looking at me, it felt as if it was trying to tell me something, and I thought maybe a series, each showing a slightly different moon phase from a different location. Blacks and purples and deep blues with an underlying tone of…” He wandered off inside his head but came back after a minute.
“That’s when I went out,” he said. “You’ve seen the courtyard just outside my room. There’s an access door just down the hall. I went outside, sat on a highly uncomfortable bench, and planned a series of paintings.”
Even in the dim light cast by the marina’s lights, it was easy to detect his wry expression as he looked at his weak hand. I mentally edited his sentence and ended it with “And planned a series of paintings I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to complete.”
“So Heather did see you at the time of the murder,” I said.
“Yes.” He shifted again. “I wasn’t in bed, that’s all.”
“So…” I didn’t understand. “Why did she lie about any of it? What difference does it make if you were in bed or in the courtyard?”
Cade’s face quirked up in an uneven smile. “You, obviously, have not spent much time in these types of facilities. Heather had looked into my room, noted that I was outside, and charted on the computer that I was in bed, sleeping. If it had come out that she’d falsified data, she would have been in serious trouble.”
I still didn’t understand, and said so. “But why did she chart that you were in bed? Why didn’t she say where you were?”
He sighed. “Because she’d given me the access code to unlock the courtyard door the day before. She shouldn’t have, but she did because I’d asked.”
Now, finally, I understood. She’d done him a favor, knowing she was flouting the rules, and if she was found out, she’d be… well, who knew what. Reprimanded? Suspended? Fired? None of it was good.
“You believe me?” Cade asked.
I wanted to say yes, and almost did, but held back. “I’ll have to check with Heather.”
He glanced at his watch. “I assumed as much. In three minutes she’ll be on break and will be able to take a phone call.”
I went in to fetch my cell phone. When I came back out, I saw him straighten up smartly. “Oh, come inside,” I said irritably. “Now, what’s her phone number?”
Five minutes later, I’d been reassured by Heather’s explanation, which was basically the same as Cade’s, only told from the opposite point of view. Thirty seconds after that, I was heating water to brew some warming tea for the both of us.
“Hello there, young fellow.”
I turned and saw Cade sitting down to the dining table and stroking Eddie’s fur. “Oh, uh…” I abandoned the tea preparations and zoomed forward to scurry the papers out of Cade’s view. “Let me get those out of your way.” As I piled them tidily, the microwave dinged. “Tea time,” I said brightly, and made two small strides to the cupboard. “Two mugs and then—”
“Mrrorrww!”
I whipped around and saw Eddie sliding down the pile of papers, sending himself and the papers onto the floor. “Oh, Eddie…”
“Not to worry.” Cade leaned down to pick up the sheets, piece after piece of paper upon which I’d scribbled ideas for getting Carissa’s killer to reveal himself. I’d started with the idea of putting some sort of ad in the local paper and moved up to my last idea of spreading the word that I’d found proof of the killer’s identity. That last idea was the one Cade held in his hand.
Frowning, he looked up at me. “Is this what I think it is?”
I reached to yank the papers away from him, but he held them out of my reach. “You’re setting a trap for the killer, aren’t you?” he asked.
My own frown was just as fierce as his. “None of your business.”
“I beg to disagree,” he said. “It’s because of me that you got involved in this business at all. And this?” He waved the papers. “This is far beyond the pale of what you should be doing.”
“It’s a little late for that,” I said, and then I realized I hadn’t told Cade about the note in the candy jar. After I did, he immediately started going all fatherlike on me, saying that he was forbidding me to put myself in any more danger. I ignored him and he eventually got tired of talking. “So,” I said, “all we need to do is identify the killer,” I said. “If he shows up, I’ll take a picture, show it to the police, and let them take it from there.”
But Cade was shaking his head. “It’s too dangerous. This man has killed once; what will stop him from doing it again?”
I wanted to stamp my foot. Didn’t, but wanted to. Badly. “I’ll be hiding. He won’t even know I’m there.”
“It’s still…” A curious expression crossed Cade’s face. “You know, if it’s a trap you’re setting, what you need is some good bait, and better bait would be best.” Cade’s eyebrows rose. “Yes?”
Now he was doing B words. “Not playing,” I said. “And what are you talking about?”
“What if,” he asked quietly, “your bait included the person the killer had tried to frame for murder?”
Chapter 18
At sunset the next evening, Cade settled into one of my chaise longues. I took my cell and the binoculars I’d borrowed from Rafe and found a comfortable spot under a corner of a large, leafy shrub next to the marina office.
The night before, we’d put a Facebook post on Cade’s page, saying that he was going to be doing some recuperating alone on a friend’s houseboat. We knew that the killer had probably looked at Cade’s Facebook page before, so we were hoping he’d do it again. And since the killer knew I drove the bookmobile, it was likely that he also knew where I lived.
This creeped me out in a big way, but I tried not to let it show as we sketched out the right words to use. Finally we clicked POST and off it went.
Now I sat cross-legged on a swim towel and checked the batteries on my phone. Powered up and ready for a night of surveillance. “We’re on,” I whispered, and made myself as comfortable as possible while sitting on the ground half under a shrubbery.
Comfortable was good. It might be a long night.
• • •
“A pointless night,” I told Eddie when I returned at half past four. Tried to tell him, anyway, since I was doing as much yawning as talking. “Who would ever have expected the Olsons to show up on a Tuesday and have a party?”
It had turned out that Tuesday had been
Mrs. Olson’s birthday and Gunnar had surprised her with a quick trip north via chartered aircraft large enough to hold their closest friends, of which I now knew there were many.
Cade and I had stayed in place until long past the hour when all the partying people had gone to bed, but our quarry hadn’t shown. “The only danger involved was the danger of falling asleep,” I murmured sleepily.
My furry friend flicked his tail at me and jumped down. I followed him, still yawning, as he stalked through the kitchen, down the steps, past the bathroom, and into the bedroom, where he jumped up on the spare bed and started rubbing his chin against the bulletin board. I’d installed the magnetic bulletin board a few weeks ago when I discovered that my former cat-free existence had given me habits that did not suit a life with cats. Specifically, how I kept track of my household paperwork.
In the old days, I’d put all my receipts in a tidy pile in the middle of the spare bed until I got around to checking my credit card and bank statements. Now I stuck the small slips of paper to the board and hoped they didn’t attract Eddie’s attention.
“Not a cat toy,” I said, pushing at his hind end and twisting him away from the latest object of his affection. “There’s nothing about a magnetic board that should interest you.” I started pulling my sweatshirt over my head. “I mean, can’t some things be off-limits? For example, I don’t eat your cat food, so why do you—”
A small thunk set me on pause. So much for asking nicely. I yanked off the sweatshirt and inspected the Eddie damage.
“Not so bad,” I said, pulling the small calendar out from underneath the furry black-and-white body and putting it back where it belonged. “Pulling down the receipts would have made a much bigger mess. Better luck next time.” I leaned down to kiss the top of his head.
“Mrr,” he said.
“I know just what you mean,” I said, and gave him another kiss.
• • •
For the first time ever, I was glad the next day wasn’t a bookmobile day. With my level of fatigue, it was extremely possible that I could have fallen asleep at the wheel, and that wasn’t a possibility I wanted to dwell upon at all.
I made it through the morning by pouring copious amounts of coffee down my throat and decided the best way to stay awake through the early part of the afternoon was to take an informal inventory of the reading room. Check on the wear of the magazines, straighten the newspapers, all things to keep me on my feet and conscious.
As I put the copies of Time magazine into chronological order, Mitchell’s booming voice bounded across the room. “Minnie! Hey, Minnie! Guess what?”
He was grinning and more full of life and energy than I’d ever seen. I’d been ready to tell him my guess was that he’d decided to enter the world beard and mustache championship, but he looked so happy that I didn’t have the heart. “Hey, Mitchell. What’s up?”
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About what you and Holly and Josh have been saying, and I think maybe you’re right. I should get out more. It’s good to try new things, right? Keeps the old noggin going, yeah?”
He tapped the side of his head. It made a hollow sound, but that could have been my imagination. “So you know what I’m going to do?” he asked. “I’m going to open my own business. It’s going to be great, and I’m sure I’m going to be real busy real soon. I probably won’t be hanging around here as much anymore, but I’ll stop in every once in a while so you remember my name.” He laughed, flashed a dazzling smile, and bounced out.
I stared after him. Mitchell was starting a business? What could it possibly be?
“Well, well, well.” Stephen stood in the reading room’s doorway, his arms folded on his chest. “Looks like you’ve finally taken care of The Situation. Excellent work, Minnie. Nicely done.” He gave me a nod and strode off.
Excellent work? I hadn’t done a thing. And nicely done? I wasn’t so sure.
At all.
• • •
All that afternoon and through the evening I mentally tossed everything I knew about Carissa into a big pot and tried melting it together.
As I should have known, all that did was make a big muddled soupy mess that gave me no answer in particular and only made my stomach start to hurt. I didn’t feel any closer to keeping Cade out of jail now than I’d been the day I vowed to help him.
The next day was a bookmobile day. Being out and about, bringing books and good cheer to the countryside, should have made me feel better, but the black cloud of fear hung on my horizon all day. On the plus side, Thessie had returned, and her chatter about her college visits kept my darkest doubts out of view.
We had a busy stop late in the day, which was our favorite kind of stop. Kids looking for books, teenagers looking for books, adults looking for books. It did my heart good to see the bus so crowded, and when I heard footsteps creak up the stairs, I turned, ready with a welcoming smile.
“Hello,” I said, then stopped. “Hey, Brett.” The man, tallish and thinnish, with sandy brown hair, looked at me oddly and I realized it wasn’t Greg Plassey’s friend at all. It was just someone who resembled him.
“Sorry.” I gestured an apology. “I thought you were someone else.”
“I get that a lot. Guess I have one of those faces,” he said, shrugging. “I was wondering—can I get a library card here or do I have to go into Chilson?”
Happy day! Was there any job better than this? I reached for the forms and a pen. “All you have to do is fill this out. I’ll give you a temporary card now and send you a permanent one tomorrow.”
He put the paper down on the computer desk, scribbled in his name and address, and handed it back. “That’s it?” he asked.
“Easier than buying groceries,” I said. “If you want, you can go select any books you’d like, and by the time you’re done, I’ll have you entered in the system and…”
In the act of turning away, he paused when I did. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“Your name.” I stared at the form.
“Oh. Yeah, sorry about my handwriting. It’s Randall,” he said. “With two L’s. Last name is Moffit, two F’s, one T.”
I looked at the form. Looked at him. “You have a cousin named Faye.”
“Sure. She’s the one who told me I should try the bookmobile.”
“You dated Carissa Radle.”
He shifted. “Yeah. Hate that she died, but we’d been over for a couple of years. I’m dating a dental hygienist these days.” He smiled, showing bright white teeth.
I pointed him in the direction of the thrillers and watched, thinking, as he browsed through the Stuart Woodses and James Pattersons.
Randall Moffit and Brett Karringer looked enough alike to be brothers. Randall had dated Carissa. And I remembered Jari saying that Carissa had said she needed to break out of her lean build and sandy brown hair boyfriend rut. Jari had said the Weasel lived downstate. Brett lived downstate. Could Brett be the Weasel? Could Brett be the killer? Could Greg’s golfing accident have been a murder attempt?
The questions tumbled around in my brain. I needed to find Greg. For the first time ever, I was in a hurry for the bookmobile day to be done.
At long last, the forty-five-minute stop was over. Thessie and I started shooing people in the direction of the door while Eddie surveyed our efforts from his new perch on the dashboard. Finally only Randall was left. As I slid his checked-out books over to him, he handed me a slip of paper. “My guess for the contest,” he said, gesturing at the candy jar, whose lid was now firmly taped shut with clear packaging tape.
I glanced at it and my mouth fell open. “This is exactly right. How on earth did you do that?”
“Felt right, I guess. Sometimes you just gotta go with your gut, you know?” He tromped out into the afternoon sunshine without another word.
But I wasn’t paying attention to his lack
of social niceties. Sometimes you just gotta go with your gut, he’d said. And what had my gut been trying to tell me?
“Mrr,” said Eddie, who moved to the passenger’s headrest.
I patted his head absentmindedly. What was my gut saying? I really didn’t know. I wasn’t even sure it was saying anything at all.
• • •
When I got home, I let Eddie out of his carrier, made sure his food and water dish were at the required levels, then headed out again.
The screen door to the marina’s office banged shut behind me. Chris looked up from the boat parts he had strewn across the countertop. “Hey, Minster. What’s up?”
“I’m looking for Greg. Is he around?”
“Oh, man.” Chris put down the greasy whatever it was. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Greg’s in the Charlevoix Hospital. Just this afternoon, he fell off his roof. Almost got killed, I guess. Broken legs, broken arm, and who knows what happened to his insides… Minnie, hey, Minnie!”
But I was already out the door and halfway to my car.
• • •
“He said what?” Greg snorted out a laugh. “You got to be kidding.”
I smiled. “Well, you know Chris. There’s no story he hears that he can’t make better by adding a few exaggerations.”
“A few?” Greg gestured at his arms and legs. “No broken bones, and no internal injuries. There isn’t much he got right.”
“Except,” Tucker said, “the almost-got-killed part. Because it was a close call, Mr. Plassey.”
“I’m fine.” Greg moved to sit up but winced and flopped back down. “Well, almost fine.”
Tucker looked at him over the top of a clipboard. “You dislocated a shoulder, damaged a number of ribs, and sprained an ankle. I wouldn’t call that fine.”
“Hey, I been worse.” Greg winked at me.
By the time I’d reached the Charlevoix Hospital, Tucker had talked Greg into staying at the hospital overnight and the three of us were a cozy group in Greg’s newly assigned hospital room.