Borrowed Crime: A Bookmobile Cat Mystery by Laurie Cass Read Free Book Online Page A

door.
    Outside, a man in jeans, work boots, and a brown Carhartt jacket stood with his back to the bookmobile. He was doing what I often did in the mornings, drinking in the view of the downtown Chilson rooftops and Janay Lake. Even on this snowy day, with a sky still morning gray, it was a sight worth taking in, and I was already liking the guy, whoever he was.
    “Hi,” I said. “Can I help you?”
    He turned. He had a salt-and-pepper beard, weathered skin, and a cheerful expression. “Morning. I’m Roger Slade. My wife sent me over.”
    “Your . . . wife?”
    “Denise.”
    This was making no sense whatsoever. “She sent you?”
    He nodded. “Didn’t she call? She said she was going to.”
    “Haven’t heard it ring.” And I knew for a fact that my cell was charged up and raring to go. I always made sure of that on bookmobile days.
    “Oh. Well.” He shrugged. “She meant to, but youknow how she gets. Anyway, she can’t make it today on the bookmobile.”
    “She what?” My eyes thinned to mere slits. I’d known this was going to happen. Just known it. Denise was capable but not dependable, no matter how many promises she made. Why had I ever thought this time would be different?
    “But she sent me,” Roger said. “She said it’ll work out fine.”
    Oh, she did, did she?
I opened my mouth . . . but then shut it. I would deal with Denise later. Right now there was a bookmobile run to embark upon and a new volunteer to train.
    I smiled at Roger. “Come on in.”
    *   *   *
    Ten minutes later we were on our way. I’d introduced Roger to Eddie and Eddie to Roger, given him a quick tour of the bookmobile, handed him the necessary paperwork, given him a fact sheet on the Dewey decimal system, and asked him whether he’d brought food.
    He shook his head. “Denise didn’t say anything about it and I didn’t think to ask.”
    I stopped in the middle of buckling up my seat belt. “Do you want to stop to pick up something on the way out of town?”
    “I’ll be okay,” he said. “I’m used to not having lunch.”
    It was then that I was struck with the realization that I knew absolutely nothing about the man I was going to be traveling with for the next eight hours. “So,” I said, dropping the transmission into gear, “what do you do when you’re not riding with the bookmobile?”
    “Lately or normally?” he asked.
    I was starting to like this guy. I grinned. “Both.”
    “Normally I work construction for a company in Petoskey.” He gave a name that rang a vague bell in the back of my brain. “We specialize in old structures. Bridges, barns—whatever. Do projects all over the state. Did your library here,” he said, nodding at the brick building.
    No wonder the name of his company had sounded familiar. I’d moved to Chilson on the happy end of the school-turned-library renovation. While I’d helped plan the move from the old building to the new, my only dealing with the construction project itself was to marvel at the finished product.
    “So, you’re off for the winter?” I asked.
    “Off until the doctor gives me the thumbs-up.” He pointed at his midsection. “Had hernia surgery three weeks ago and I need the doc’s sign-off before I can swing a sledgehammer again.”
    Wonderful. Not only had Denise bailed on her bookmobile promise, but she’d sent me a walking wounded for a replacement. I braked to a stop, right in the middle of the empty road. “If you’re recovering from surgery, I’m afraid I—”
    “Minnie, I’m fine.” He looked at me with serious gray eyes. “I wouldn’t put you or the library in any jeopardy. After two weeks, I was fine to lift things up to ten pounds, so as long as you don’t make me tote any big boxes of books, there won’t be any problems.”
    I studied him, thinking hard.
    What did I know about this man? Next to nothing. The fact that I’d already mentally moved him into the friend category meant zip where the bookmobile and the