Part 9 (1/2)

”Thank you,” I said. ”But I have to check in at the library. How is Everett?” I asked, trying not to grin.

Rebecca and Everett had been a couple when they were very young, but had broken up and gone on with their lives. They'd gotten back together during the summer, with a little indirect help from the cats and me. I liked them both and I felt a bit like a fairy G.o.dmother invested in the romance. And sometimes they acted like a couple of love-struck teenagers, so it was easy to get caught up in what looked like a happily-ever-after.

”Everett's fine,” she said, but she couldn't help smiling that huge smile she got when she said his name.

I couldn't hold back my own grin. ”Glad to hear it.” I waggled my eyebrows at her.

She shook her finger in a mock reprimand. ”Don't start getting ideas. We're taking it nice and slow.”

I was actually happy they could take it slowly. Rebecca had needed surgery to remove a small growth back in the fall. Luckily it had turned out not to be serious.

The downstairs door opened and Everett Henderson himself started up the stairs. He looked like the actor, Sean Connery, strong and charming with just a touch of ruthlessness. Rebecca's cheeks flushed pink at the sight of him.

I leaned over and spoke softly in her ear. ”Rebecca, if I had a man in my life who made me blush the way you do when you see Everett, I wouldn't take it nice and slow. I'd wrap him in duct tape, stick him on a sled and take him home.”

She looked at me, shocked. ”Kathleen!” she said, shaking her head.

I tried to look innocent as Everett joined us. ”h.e.l.lo, Kathleen,” he said.

I smiled. ”h.e.l.lo, Everett.”

”Thank you for the information on the library renovations,” he continued. ”Lita said you sent it over. She'll call you Monday about a meeting.”

I nodded.

He looked at Rebecca. ”Ready to go?” he asked, reaching for her hand.

”I am,” she said.

”Kathleen, do you need a ride?” Everett asked, turning back to me.

”No, thank you,” I said.

They started down the stairs. Rebecca paused on the second step to look back at me. ”Give the cats a scratch for me,” she said. ”I miss them coming across the backyard to say h.e.l.lo.”

”I will.” I reached for my boots.

”Oh, and Kathleen, I don't need to use duct tape.” She winked and disappeared down the steps.

I laughed, pulling on my coat and hat and winding the scarf my sister, Sara, had made for me around my neck.

Mary, wearing a blue sweater with a snowflake design, was at the front desk when I got to the library. She hadn't minded working a split s.h.i.+ft. She smiled as I came in through the doors.

”How's your evening?” I asked.

”Surprisingly busy. A gaggle of twelve-year-olds came in to do research for a school history project. Their teacher said they had to use an actual book for the research instead of the Internet.” She chuckled and shook her head, her gray curls bouncing. ”I introduced them to the mysteries of the online catalogs and then just for fun told them that when I was their age the card catalog was actually on cards.”

”And they looked at you like you were a dinosaur.”

”One of them actually used the words 'olden days.' ” She gave me a wry smile. ”But two of them went home with books that weren't on the research list. They just wanted to read.”

”I love to hear that,” I said.

Mary had the knack for making the library seem like a treasure trove of adventure. She'd tell the story of how she began her compet.i.tive kickboxing career by borrowing a book on the subject by mistake. She'd been looking for craft books on making boxes and hadn't been wearing her reading gla.s.ses.

”Would you like me to stay?” I offered.

”No.” She waved away the idea. ”Kate is here. We have it under control. But before I forget . . .” She looked around the checkout desk. ”Ah, there it is.” She picked up a piece of blue paper. ”Detective Gordon called to remind you about Wisteria Hill in the morning.”

”Thanks,” I said. ”I hadn't forgotten.”

”How are the cats?” she asked.

Over time, Roma had managed to catch and neuter all the feral cats out at Wisteria Hill, but they were too wild to ever be anyone's pets. A collection of volunteers made sure they had food and water and care when they needed it.

Everett never talked about the abandoned estate. He had to know what was going on, but he didn't say a word about it, and, strangely, neither did anyone else.

”The cats are doing well. Harry's managed to keep the driveway clear and they all seem to be healthy.”

Mary gave me a sheepish smile. ”Detective Gordon also said to remind you to wear your snow pants.”

”Snow pants, parka, wool hat, scarf, insulated mittens, and Sorels. And two pair of socks and long underwear,” I recited, ticking them off on my fingers.

She nodded approvingly. ”This is not your first rodeo.”

”Or my first trip to Wisteria Hill in the winter,” I said. Even though I wasn't born and raised in Minnesota, I did know how to dress for winter, though apparently Marcus Gordon didn't think I did.

Mary's expression grew serious. ”Kathleen, have you seen Ruby? I heard she found Agatha.”

”She was at cla.s.s,” I said, picking clumps of snow off my mittens. ”She's all right for the most part. Sad.”

She shook her head. ”Doesn't seem fair that Agatha would just get home and then . . .” She didn't finish the sentence.

A s.h.i.+ver slid up the back of my neck, like a finger slowly creeping across my skin. Agatha's death had left me unsettled, and I didn't even know her.

”And there are already rumors going,” Mary continued, making a neat stack of the book-request printouts by her left elbow. She liked to get things organized almost as much as she liked kickboxing.

”What kind of rumors?”

She made a face and smoothed her gray hair with one hand. ”Most common one is that Agatha had a secret fortune.”

”I doubt it,” I said. ”You don't generally get rich being a teacher.” I flashed to Eric giving Agatha the bag of take-out food and cup of coffee. ”How do these rumors get started?”

”Probably people with too much time on their hands,” Mary said tartly. ”My grandma always told us kids, 'If you don't have anything to do, go get the pail and scrub brush and I'll find you something to do.' ”

”A drop-dead practical woman, from the sound of it,” I said.