Lending a Paw: A Bookmobile Cat Mystery (Bookmobile Cat Mysteries)

by Cass, Laurie

  • • •

  That day had been almost two months ago. I’d taken the cat to the town’s veterinarian until the boat was ready, and the vet confirmed that the cat was a male, that he weighed thirteen pounds, had ear mites, needed to be wormed, was roughly two years old, and hadn’t been reported as missing.

  I’d run the obligatory ad in the paper and talked to the local animal shelter, but no one came to claim my little buddy. His name had been the inspiration of a bemused coworker. “Sounds like an Eddie kind of a cat,” Josh had said after I’d told the story.

  “What kind is that?” Holly, another coworker, had asked.

  “Just . . . Eddie.” Josh had shrugged. “You know what guys named Eddie are like.”

  And just like that, my cat had a name, because I knew exactly what Josh meant. Guys named Eddie spoke their minds, didn’t waste time when they knew what they wanted, and were deeply loyal. They were the classic average good guys. At least that’s what the Eddies I’d known were like, and the name fit my new friend as if it were tattooed on his furry forehead.

  I looked at him now. He was squirreled into the covers of my bed, and he still looked like an Eddie. And he still looked like he wanted me to stay home and nap with him all morning.

  “Can’t do it. It’s the big day, remember?”

  He half opened his eyes. “Mrr.”

  It was an invitation that had, more than once, tempted me to whack the snooze button on the alarm clock. Not this time. I ignored him and headed to the shower. Half an hour later I was dried, clothed, breakfasted, and had done my best to make the bed around the sleeping Eddie.

  I also kept a promise I’d made to my mother and left a note on a whiteboard I’d tacked up in the kitchen about where I was going and when I was going to return. Mom worried—a lot—and my vow to always leave a note of my whereabouts comforted her. How leaving a note for myself would help anything, I didn’t know, but she said it made her sleep easier.

  So I scrawled a note and gathered up my backpack, but halfway out the door, I screeched to a halt. I’d forgotten to pack a lunch.

  The panic of potential lateness seized me. I ran back inside, opened the tiny microwave that was now called the Eddie Safe, as it was one of the few places safe from the bread-loving Eddie, and pulled two pieces of bread from a loaf. In thirty seconds I’d slapped together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and shoved it into a plastic bag. I found an apple in the back of the small refrigerator, grabbed a half-empty bag of tortilla chips, filled a plastic bottle with water, and dropped it all into my backpack.

  “See you tonight, Eddie!” I ran out of the house and walked across the boat’s deck, unlatched the railing door, hopped onto the marina’s dock, and started trotting up the hill to the library.

  Never once had I been late for work. Never. I always arrived on time for appointments and I’d developed such a reputation for arriving at the stated hour to parties that my friends routinely sent me invitations with a different starting time. Now, with so much riding on what happened today, there I was, skimming the edge of lateness.

  I hurried up the hill and away from the marina, practically running through the narrow side streets. The library, a handsome L-shaped brick building, sat on the far side of downtown. To my left, I knew the majestic Lake Michigan would be an inviting horizon of blue, and behind me the adjacent Janay Lake would be glittering in the sunshine, but I didn’t have time for my normal backward glances of appreciation.

  “Morning, Minnie.” The owner of the bakery was putting out his sidewalk sign. OPEN. FREE SMELLS. “Say, did you know—”

  “Talk to you later, Tom, okay?” I waved as I went past. “Running late today.”

  After three blocks of antique stores, art galleries, clothing boutiques, and the occasional bookstore, fudge shop, and coffee shop, I reached the library. But instead of using my keys to let myself in the side door as per usual, I went around back. Then around the back of the back, past the employee parking and past the bins for cardboard recycling and trash. There, on the far side of the auxiliary parking lot, which was used only when famous authors came to speak, was the thing that was going to make or break my career.

  The bookmobile.

  Though it was inside a brand-new garage, I could almost see its wavy blue-painted graphics in the bright morning sun, its bright white letters emblazoned across its sides: CHILSON DISTRICT LIBRARY BOOKMOBILE. All fresh and spanking clean and waiting for me to . . . to what?

  With a sudden and unwelcome rush, anxiety and dread darkened the shiny morning. Doubts assailed me from every direction. There was no way I’d be able to—

  “Stop that.” I took a firmer grip on the straps of my backpack. Hearing the words out loud made me feel better, and since there wasn’t a soul around to hear, I kept going. “I haven’t been carsick in years. I’ve taught myself how to read maps and bought a GPS, and since the bookmobile was my idea, I’m the one to run it. I can do this. And I’ll do it right.”

  The night before, I’d slid the driver’s daily checklist into my backpack. In ten minutes I was scheduled to be driving out of the parking lot and to my first stop on the opposite side of the county. It was time to hurry.

  I unlocked the garage, climbed into the driver’s seat, tossed my backpack onto the passenger’s seat, started the engine, and backed the bookmobile out into the sun. Though the library director had grudgingly agreed to have a garage built for the bookmobile, it wasn’t any bigger than it had to be. Doing the pretrip check outside would be much easier. I turned off the engine, pulled the hood release, and went outside. “Water level, oil level,” I muttered, checking off the list as I went. “Good, and good.” I hurried back inside and started the engine. Gauges, all good. No weird engine noises. Very good.

  Back outside to check tire pressure, back in and back out to check the lights and turn signals. Back inside to check a dozen other things. Fellow drivers had assured me that it would get to be habit within a matter of days, that soon I wouldn’t need the checklist. I almost, but not quite, believed this.

  I ticked off the last item (“loose books secured”), shut the door, and slid into the driver’s seat.

  The bookmobile’s dashboard clock stared at me accusingly. “Yes, I’m a minute late,” I told it as I buckled myself in. “If you don’t tell Stephen, I’ll give you a good vacuuming tonight.”

  I could have sworn I heard a sniff.

  First day as the bookmobile driver and I was already hearing things. Outstanding.

  As I put my hand on the gearshift, a rush of excitement prickled my skin. It was actually happening. The bookmobile was real, and I was driving it. I was going to bring books back to the small towns who’d had their branch libraries closed. I was going to bring books to schools and senior centers and people who were homebound. This outreach program was going to make a difference. I was going to make a difference.

  A happy grin spread wide across my face. It was a beautiful morning, the finest in months, maybe the finest ever, and this day was going to be one of the best ever and—

  “Mrr.”

  Chapter 2

  I blinked. Had I heard what I thought I’d heard? No. Absolutely not. Insanity was far preferable. “Eddie?” I asked tentatively.

  He sat up, yawning, revealing himself from where he’d been lying behind the backpack I’d tossed onto the passenger’s seat.

  “Eddie, what on earth are you doing here?” I was almost shouting. “How did you . . . ?” Then I remembered. I’d left the houseboat door open when I’d run back inside to make my lunch. And I remembered that Tom had been looking behind me when he’d tried to say hello. And that I’d left the bookmobile door open while I’d run through the preflight check, giving Eddie plenty of time to sneak aboard.

  “You are a horrible cat,” I told him. “What am I supposed to do with you? I don’t have time to take you home.”

  The dashboard clock ticked forward. Now it was two minutes past eight.

  Eddie and
I glared at each other. At least I glared. He looked bored.

  I glanced at the bookmobile’s interior. Custom shelves and cabinets contained everything a miniature library could want. Two desktops, one front and one back, held laptop computers for checking out books. There was a wheelchair lift behind swinging bookshelves. A carpeted step that ran along the base of the shelves for stepping and sitting. An adorably cute refrigerator and even tinier microwave behind a fabric corkboard. Electric heaters. Roof-mounted air conditioners. Pop-up skylights for cross-ventilation. All that, but no room anywhere for an extraneous cat.

  Three minutes past eight.

  I scowled at Eddie. “You haven’t left me much choice. But you’d better be good today.”

  He closed one eye and slowly opened it again. Though I’d been a cat caretaker less than two months, I knew what that wink meant. It meant he was a cat and he’d do whatever he pleased, when he pleased, and if I didn’t like it, that was just too bad.

  I dropped the gearshift into drive and put my foot on the accelerator. The Chilson District Library Bookmobile began its maiden voyage. Me, three thousand books, one hundred DVDs, a dozen jigsaw puzzles, two laptop computers—and one Eddie.

  • • •

  For forty-five minutes, as I drove to the east side of the county, I ignored the lake-filled and hilly countryside in favor of imagining what was going to happen to me when my boss found out I’d brought a cat along on the bookmobile. The most likely scenario was that Stephen would fire me for . . . for feline interference.

  I mentioned this to Eddie, who was sleeping on the passenger seat, rounded into a big Eddie-ball. If his snores were any indication of his concern, he didn’t seem to think it likely. I’d never known cats could snore, let alone snore as loud as Eddie. The first time his raspy breaths woke me up, I’d been sure there was an intruder in my bedroom, breathing hard through his face-covering ski mask. But, no. It was just Eddie.

  “What happens, wise guy,” I asked him now, “if I get demoted? What if I have to take a pay cut? What if I have to work longer hours?”

  Eddie opened his eyes briefly.

  “Sure, I already work weekends and lots of evenings, but that’s because . . . because there are things to do.”

  Eddie started snoring again. It was easy to see why. There was no way his nasal passages could be happy in that position. How any creature could find it comfortable to be half upside down and half right side up with his face smushed into the side of my backpack, I had no idea, but what did I know about being a cat?

  Then again, maybe I could learn a lot from cats. Eddie didn’t seem to worry about anything and I hadn’t come across anything that disturbed his sleep. There was a definite lesson here somewhere, but if it required a diet of cat food, I wasn’t sure I wanted to sign up for the course.

  Eddie’s snores faded to a dull roar. Four minutes to nine and we were still miles from where I was supposed to be meeting Suzanne Slade, the library volunteer who’d gone all giddy at the chance of riding along with the bookmobile. “Oh, it’ll be such fun!” Her white-blond curls had bobbed as she’d clapped. “Going on the first voyage. What a treat!”

  I’d pushed aside my concerns of spending hours with that much perkiness in what was essentially a very small room, and we’d made arrangements to meet Friday morning in a church parking lot. Suzanne would get a ride back with a friend who worked in Chilson. “It’ll work out wonderfully,” she’d said.

  I hoped Suzanne wasn’t allergic to cats. For that matter, I hoped that no one who was going to board the bookmobile was allergic to cats. Or afraid of cats. Or mean to cats.

  The GPS unit I’d bought came to life and said my destination was one quarter mile away. I could see the white steepled church, and I could also see an empty parking lot.

  I steered into the large gravel space, which was big enough that it eliminated the need to back up the bookmobile. We were a little late. Could Suzanne have grown tired of waiting and gone home? I tapped the steering wheel, slid open the side window for some fresh air, and watched the clock tick away two more minutes.

  “You know,” I told Eddie, who, judging from the way his ears were rotating, was at least partially awake, “I should check my phone and see if she’s left a message. Excuse me, okay?” Gently, I rearranged parts of his black-and-white fuzziness—which started purring—and reached into the backpack for my cell phone. I’d been commanded by Stephen not to use it while driving upon pain of death (or words to that effect) and hadn’t even turned it on that morning.

  Just then a sedan sped into the parking lot and came to a sliding stop right in front of the bookmobile. Suzanne flung open the driver’s door, jumped out, and came over to my open window.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late.” She sounded weepy and distraught. “Minnie, I hate letting you down like this, I’m so sorry.”

  “Well, we’re only a few minutes late.”

  “No, no,” she cried. “It’s my mother. Downstate. A tree fell on her house. I have to go help sort things out—there’s no one else. I’m so sorry—she called just half an hour ago and I had to pack and I’m so sorry to abandon you like this.”

  I hurried outside and came around to Suzanne. “We’ll be fine,” I said, giving her a big hug. “Don’t worry about it. Your mom is what’s important right now.”

  She sniffed and gave me a weak smile. “You’ll manage?”

  “Sure. Will you?”

  “I’ll be okay.” She rubbed at her eyes. “I may look a mess, but I have a long drive to pull myself together.”

  I watched as she sped away and hoped she’d be all right. Another volunteer was scheduled to start next week, but still . . .

  “Mrr!”

  I whipped around. Eddie was poking his face out from where I’d opened the window. No, not just his face. A white foot was sneaking out, then the elbow. . . .

  “Eddie!” I marched over to the window and stood on my tiptoes to push—in a nice way, of course—his various parts back inside. “Now stay there.”

  By the time I got in the bookmobile, he was half out the window again. I grabbed him by the midsection, pulled him inside, and shut the window. “What’s with you, anyway?” I rubbed his fuzzy head and sat down with him on my lap. “I thought you were going to be a good cat today. And no purring. You know how that makes me forgive you anything.”

  He purred and snuggled his head into my armpit. I rubbed his ears. “You truly are a horrible cat.” I picked him up, feet dangling, and deposited him onto the passenger seat. “If you stay at this level of horrible, we’ll be fine. But if you—”

  My phone rang. I looked at the screen. “It’s Stephen,” I told Eddie. “Think I should answer?”

  Eddie had no opinion, so I took the call.

  “Good morning, Minnie. How is it going so far?”

  “Oh, not bad.” Certainly things could be worse. I could have run out of gas. Or hit a deer. Or made a wrong turn that ended two miles later in a dead end with no way to turn around the thirty-one-foot bookmobile.

  “I would have hoped that by now you’d be on the way to your first stop, but since you’re answering the phone, I know the bookmobile is stationary.”

  “Just ready to leave this minute.”

  “And you have a volunteer with you?”

  “Volunteer? Well, about that . . .”

  “Minnie, you can’t be out there by yourself,” he said. “The library board was quite insistent that you not be alone on the bookmobile.”

  “I know.” I knew all about the board’s concerns, issues ranging from insurance costs to liability to maintenance responsibilities. I’d done the research on running a bookmobile; I’d found grant money to pay for the first year of operations; I’d even convinced one of the richest men in town to contribute money for the purchase of this grand vehicle.

  Through it all, Stephen had been looking over my shoulder, quick to point out the smallest flaw in my plans. And through it all, I’d known perfectly well that a s
izable minority of the library board supported each of his criticisms. If this maiden voyage went wrong in any way, the minority could become a majority and that didn’t bear thinking about.

  “Tell me you aren’t alone on the bookmobile,” Stephen said.

  I looked at Eddie. “I’m not.”

  “Then why . . . ? Never mind. You’ll tell me when you come in.” He hung up and I turned off the phone. There wouldn’t be decent coverage in most of the places I was going, anyway.

  “Mrr.” Eddie had draped himself over my backpack, his two front legs spread wide.

  “Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I said. “I would have figured a way out of the two-on-the-vehicle thing if you hadn’t been here.”

  “Mrr.”

  “Would too.”

  “Mrr.”

  Cats. They always had to have the last word.

  • • •

  The morning sun sent shafts of sunlight between the maple leaves and onto the two-lane road. Driving through the dappled light, I kept my eyes moving, looking for wildlife, checking the mirrors to make sure I was staying in the middle of the lane, eyeing the dashboard gauges, trying to remember everything I’d been taught about driving the bookmobile.

  Twenty minutes later I saw a cluster of homes around a small school. The school’s library budget had been slashed to the bone a few years ago. For a while they’d borrowed new books from a nearby branch of the Chilson District Library, but budget cuts had closed that down tight. It was the closing of that much-loved library that had spurred me to assemble an ad hoc committee, its purpose a feasibility study of a Chilson bookmobile. Which had ended up to be a committee of me, but everything had turned out just fine.

  Mostly.

  I flicked the turn signal and looked at Eddie. Though I couldn’t tell for certain over the road noise, I was pretty sure he was snoring again. “First stop, coming up,” I said loudly.

  Slightly left we went, Eddie, the bookmobile, and me. Then a slow, wide sweeping right turn into the weed-infested gravel parking lot, a gentle braking to a soft stop, and we were there. The inaugural stop of the Chilson District Library Bookmobile had begun.