by Laurie Cass
And there was the big question of who killed Dale Lacombe? Did I need to consider Carmen as a suspect, or would Ash and Detective Inwood be taking care of that possibility? Plus, there was the guy from the car accident, if I believed that an accident-based grievance could explode into murder decades later. And what about Rob Driskell? And Daphne Raab? And the Boggses?
When I showed up at the location where I’d arranged to meet Ash, I climbed a few concrete steps, opened the door, and for the second time that day my ears were assaulted. This time, however, instead of construction noises, it was the thunderous crash of falling bowling pins that made the tiny bones in my ears work overtime.
Chilson’s bowling alley had a grand total of eight lanes, but the amount of activity going on inside made it feel like sixty. Everywhere, people were milling about, talking and shouting and laughing. It was a gregarious scene of constant movement and Ash spotted me before I saw him.
He detached himself from a group of what I belatedly realized were fellow deputies—they looked much different out of uniform—and came over. “Just started to wonder where you were.” Ash gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, you’re cold. You’re not sick, are you?”
“No, I walked, is all. The temperature is dropping. I think it’s going to freeze tonight.” An inane comment, but I still hadn’t figured out how I was going to get Ash away from his bowling team for a quiet talk and was hoping for inspiration to strike. Any moment would be good. Right that second would be even better. “Ash, we need to—”
But he was talking at the same time. “Minnie, we need to—”
We both stopped. In spite of the noise surrounding us, there was a short and uncomfortable silence. “You go first,” he said, nodding.
I glanced toward his team, where a pitcher of beer had just arrived. “What about bowling?”
“The league before us is running late,” he said over another crash of tumbling pins. “We won’t start for another twenty minutes.”
“Is there somewhere quiet?”
“In a bowling alley?” He grinned and for a moment I lost my focus completely. Ash Wolverson was the best-looking man I’d ever dated. He was smart. He was fun. He was active. He was interesting. Why on earth didn’t I love him?
“Come on.” Ash escorted me through the open doorway that led to an adjacent restaurant. He took us to a small table in the back corner, where he held out a chair for me and, once I was in it, slid the chair forward just the right amount.
“Would you like anything?” He sat across from me. “Food? Drink?”
Their largest glass of wine, I almost asked, but instead said, “No, thanks.” And since I still didn’t have the right words to start this conversation, I put my hands on the table and stared at them. Small hands with short fingers. Fingernails that needed trimming. Cuticles in need of maintenance. Some hangnails, too, and—
No. I had to say something. And I had to say it now. Still focused on my hands, I opened my mouth and the words started to spill out. “Ash, I’m so sorry, but—”
My voice combined with his, and I was pretty sure he said, “Minnie, I’m really sorry, but—”
I lifted my head to stare at Ash and found that he was staring at me. My mouth was hanging open the slightest bit, as was his, and I was starting to suspect that I didn’t have to be too worried about breaking his heart.
“The last few months,” I said, testing the waters, “have been a lot of fun.”
“Absolutely.” He nodded vigorously. “I can’t think of a time when I’ve had such a good time with a girlfriend.”
“But for some reason, there are no sparks when we kiss.”
“No sizzle,” he agreed. “I don’t understand it.”
I started to smile. “Me either. You’re smart, you’re good looking, you’re funny, and we have so much in common. Why isn’t this working out?”
“No idea. It doesn’t make any sense. You’re cute, and intelligent, and you’re always ready to try new things. I don’t understand why we’re not a match made in heaven.”
“Well.” I sighed. “At least we tried.”
He looked at me. “Want to try kissing again?”
“Not really.” And I didn’t. Not that I’d ever kissed my brother full on the lips, but if I ever had, I would have expected it to feel like it felt when I kissed Ash. “If there hasn’t been any sizzle up until this point, why would it start now?”
“Good point.”
We sat there a moment, each silently pondering the vagaries of romance.
“Okay,” he said finally. “I guess that’s it.”
“I guess so.”
As we both got to our feet, he snapped his fingers. “Say, are you up for a fat tire bike ride tomorrow? There’s a new route I want to try.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “Meet at the Round Table first for breakfast? Say nine?”
“It’s a plan.”
After mutual nods, he went back to his bowling and I headed out to the fresh air, ending the easiest breakup ever.
• • •
The next evening there was a party of three for dessert in Kristen’s small office. Even with the normal two of us, there wasn’t a lot of extra room. With Leese added to the mix, it had taken clever rearrangements by Harvey, Kristen’s devoted sous chef, to provide enough space so that we could all eat the last crème brûlée of the season without bumping elbows.
I held my spoon above the ramekin, poising it to plunge through the crusty sugar and into the delectable custard underneath. “To another successful year.”
The last consonant wasn’t out of my mouth when I realized that my casual toast could have hurt Leese’s feelings horribly. With suspicion about the identity of her dad’s killer still hovering like an unwanted and socially inept guest, her year was not likely to be successful. And unless the killer was found and put in jail, her new law firm might not last another twelve months.
But Leese, smiling, was also holding up her spoon. “To Kristen and the Three Seasons.”
“Ah, shucks,” my best friend said. “You guys are going to make me blush.”
I snorted in disbelief. The three of us tinked our spoons together and then the delightful sound of crackling sugar filled the air.
“When was the last time you were embarrassed about anything?” I asked as I worked to spoon up the perfect first bite, one that included caramelized sugar, custard, and at least part of a raspberry. Where Kristen had found local raspberries in mid-October, I did not know, but some questions were best left unasked. “You didn’t turn a hair during the filming last summer.”
In July, Trock Farrand and his son, the always impeccably clad Scruffy Gronkowski, had filmed an episode of Trock’s Troubles at Kristen’s restaurant. The show had aired a week after Labor Day and the ensuing rise in business had boosted profits not only for the Three Seasons, but also for much of downtown.
“Embarrassment is a waste of time.” Kristen waved her spoon. “You would do well to remember that, little one.”
“And you would do well to recall who showed you how to change the ring tones on your cell phone.”
Leese laughed. “I said it before and I’ll say it again. You two act more like sisters than friends.”
“Sisters in spirit.” Kristen leaned over and slung one of her long arms around my shoulders to give me a quick hug. “Friends forever.”
I grinned. “That forever part is easier since she lives in Key West five months out of the year.”
A laughing Kristen lightly thumped the side of my head. “Someday you’re going to come with me and see why. Here it’s sleet and snow and cold and boots. There, it’s sunshine and sandals.”
“There, it’s big bugs,” I said. “And snakes. Year round.”
“Not if you stick to the city, where people belong.” She eyed me and I sensed what was coming. I’d te
xted her about the end of the Minnie-Ash relationship last night and a discussion was inevitable. “So,” she said. “It’s over with the extraordinarily handsome Ash Wolverson? And yes, I told Rafe, just like you asked. Not sure why you didn’t do it yourself, though.”
Leese gave me a startled look. “Hang on. When did this happen?”
“Last night,” I said. “And yes, we’re no longer dating. We’re still friends, though.”
“Has that ever really worked?” Leese asked.
“Not in the entire history of the world.” Kristen’s spoon scraped the bottom of her ramekin. “I’m not sure why this one thinks this particular situation is going to be different.”
“Because friends was all we ever really were,” I said. “Just like . . .”
Kristen squinted. “Like what?”
Like Rafe and me, I’d almost said, but lately I wasn’t sure what was going on between us. He’d said he missed me, which was more sentiment than I’d ever heard from him. And I missed him. Well, sort of. Okay, I did. But that didn’t mean . . . well, what did it mean?
I put the question aside to think about later, because I was finally clueing in that something about Kristen was off. She hadn’t quite met my gaze since I’d arrived and she’d started eating without uttering a single criticism of the food, which I wasn’t sure she’d ever done in her life.
I pointed my spoon at her. “What’s up?”
She turned a wide-eyed gaze on me. “The price of bacon, if the last invoice from my supplier is any indication.”
Sitting up straight, I pulled out both stops; the Librarian Look and the Librarian Voice. “Kristen Jurek, there is something you’re not telling me and I demand you tell me right this minute, because if you leave for Key West without spilling your guts, you’ll regret it forever.”
The silence lengthened and thickened. I continued to stare at Kristen. She continued to eat her dessert. Leese looked from one of us to the other and didn’t say a word.
Kristen scraped up a last spoonful of custard, swallowed it down, and tidied both the spoon and the ramekin. “I would have sent you a text, but I wanted to see your face when I told you. Then you break up with Ash, so now it’s all a little awkward, and—”
That’s when I knew. Shrieking with happiness, I flung myself at Kristen and wrapped my arms around her.
“Hey, now,” Leese said with concern. “Minnie, leave the poor woman alone. Whatever’s wrong, physical violence isn’t the answer.”
I burst out laughing. “This is a hug, not an attack. Do you know what’s going on?”
“Clearly not,” she said.
“The tall skinny blonde in the room got engaged last night.” I gave Kristen one last crushing squeeze and let go. “Didn’t you?”
My friend sighed ostentatiously, but her face was all smiles. “He flew in yesterday and did the one-knee thing with the biggest bouquet of roses I’ve seen in my life. I figured if he was willing to get dirt on his pants and spend money on flowers that were going to look like crap in three days, it wasn’t a joke anymore.”
Mild pandemonium ensued for a few minutes. At the end of it, Kristen said Scruffy had flown back to New York that morning with her request for an engagement ring—an emerald flanked by two smaller diamonds—and would be returning in another week with the ring and to help her close up the restaurant and pack for Key West.
Kristen called Harvey for a bottle of champagne. After the excitement faded and we sat back down, Leese’s earlier comment about sisters finally rattled around in my brain enough to remind me of something. “How’s your brother doing? Is he back to work?”
Leese, who’d returned to scraping up the last of her dessert, sighed and put her laden spoon down. “Brad is still acting as scapegoat for the brewery.”
Kristen and I exchanged a glance at her bitter tone, but before either one of us responded, Leese said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Brad says he understands perfectly why he can’t come back to work.” She half smiled. “He said if he was in charge, he’d do the exact same thing. That the reputation of a producer of a food product has to be above reproach.”
I didn’t quite put beer on the same level as bread or milk, but I was sure many people would disagree with me. It was Rafe’s opinion that humankind had shifted from hunting and gathering to an agricultural lifestyle for the sake of brewing beer. After some research, I’d come to the reluctant conclusion that he might actually be right. And clearly the making of craft beer was becoming an important part of the economy in this part of Michigan. It was possible that the damage of one brewery’s good name could reflect on all of them.
“But what about Brad’s reputation?” Kristen asked. “If they can’t figure out what happened, will he be able to work as a brew master?”
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Leese said fiercely.
“Well, duh.” Kristen rolled her eyes. “I’m just looking at the worst possible scenario.”
“She has a tendency to do that,” I told Leese. “It’s nothing personal.”
Leese nodded. “Okay, but he didn’t do anything wrong,” and this time we could hear the anxiety coating every word.
It was obvious that she was worried about her brother, but I thought there was a lot more to worry about. What about Leese’s own reputation? What would she do if her name wasn’t cleared of any and all connection to her father’s murder? Was Brad being unfairly scapegoated because of the murder? How many Lacombes were going to suffer because of Dale’s death?
Chapter 14
“Mrr.”
I zipped shut my backpack and gave my cat a pat. “Sorry, but you’re not going with me today.”
Eddie laid his ears back and halted the purr action.
“You won’t like it,” I told him. “Trust me. I’m going to drive downstate, talk to some strangers, and drive back. Probably seven hours of driving for an hour of talking.”
“Mrr.”
“Yeah, doesn’t seem worth it, does it? But it’s Monday and I have the day off. It’s a good day for a road trip. I’ve checked out a nonfiction audio book from the library so I get to listen and learn for hours and hours.”
Eddie rolled to put his back to me and curled into a tight ball.
“Love you too, pal.” I kissed the top of his head, picked up my backpack, and was on the road a few minutes later.
Shadow Divers, by Robert Kurson, kept me awake, interested, and occupied my brain so fully that I hardly thought about Rafe as I drove south on US 131 to Grand Rapids. At that point I hopped briefly onto I-96, then down East Beltline to where I turned off to find the address that my former boyfriend Ash had (sort of) helped me find.
When we’d paused to take a break on our bike ride the previous morning, I’d asked about the best way to locate someone who lived in an unknown city in Michigan. If I was going to help Leese and her siblings, I figured the first step was to talk to some of the people I’d put on my mental suspect list. In broad daylight, of course, and as much in public as I could manage. I was still shying away from Carmen as the killer, and I needed to work out the name of the guy from the car accident, so I’d decided to focus on Dale’s lawsuit cases and learn what I could about the cranky building inspector.
Ash had laughed. “Someone who isn’t in law enforcement, you mean?”
Since he was perfectly aware that was what I meant, I ignored his question. “If you were looking to talk to a couple named, say, Gail and Ray Boggs—that’s Boggs with two g’s—and you were pretty sure they lived downstate somewhere, and they’d moved within the last few months and weren’t showing up on any of the Internet searches you’d tried, what would be the best way to find them?”
“You’ve asked the neighbors?”
“That’s how I know the Boggses are still in Michigan. But the neighbor didn’t know where.”
“Hmm.”
Ash pulled out his cell phone, tapped out a text, and tucked the phone into his jacket. “Ready?” he asked, putting one foot on a bike pedal.
One of my character flaws I was working to correct was a lack of patience, so I nodded and we went back to riding. And lo and behold, when we were coasting back into Chilson, Ash’s phone dinged with a return text, and my newfound—and most likely temporary—patience was rewarded.
“Okay,” he said, reading the small screen. “If I was looking for Gail and Ray Boggs with two g’s, I’d check the phone listings for greater Grand Rapids.”
Excellent. The only problem was, greater Grand Rapids included probably twenty-five different municipalities. Probably double that, if you were including the Holland–Grand Haven–Muskegon area. “Great,” I said. “That would help a lot, if I wanted to find any Boggses with two g’s.” We made the last turn and came to a stop in front of the boardinghouse. “But if someone wanted to find the Bogg people in a reasonable amount of time, should that someone look in Kent County?”
“Absolutely.”
“Should that person look in the south half of the county?”
He squinted at the air, then said, “Yes.”
“West of US 131?”
“No.”
It took a few more pointed questions, but I narrowed the location down to East Grand Rapids, a city whose residents were, on the average, in a higher tax bracket than the rest of us. As a moderately paid librarian living in Chilson, however, I was used to everyone making more money than I did, so I drove through the well-tended streets of the town without feeling too much envy or awe.
Thanks to Ash’s hints and a small credit card fee, I’d been able to use the online database of the Kent County Register of Deeds to find an address for the Boggses. “There is no hope of privacy in this world,” I’d told Eddie as I added the address to my phone, but either he didn’t care or thought the statement was so true it wasn’t worth discussing, because he’d continued snoring.