Read Online Pouncing on Murder by Laurie Cass - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Laurie Cass
Tags: Mystery
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because I’d hoped for a temporary distraction . . . and there it was.
Mitchell Koyne, whom I’d recently seen dozens of miles away, was standing at the front desk. I could detect no outward sign that a woman was involved in his life; he looked the way he always did. Hands in his pockets, his baseball hat on backward, and stubble on his face. How he managed to have a constant eighth-inch of beard I didn’t know and would never ask.
“Hi, Mitchell,” I said.
“Hey, Min.” He grinned. “What’s cooking?”
I turned my empty coffee mug upside down. “Not a thing.”
Mitchell’s laugh was loud and deep. It was hard not to smile when Mitchell laughed, and I glanced around. Yep, every single person I could see was smiling, from Donna, a part-time desk clerk, to the ancient Mr. Goodwin, down to Reva Shomin’s youngest, who was just learning to walk.
“So, what,” I asked, “were you doing out at Bub’s Gas this morning?”
His laughter ended and his smile faded. It was as if his face had stopped. “I . . . uh . . .”
“Come on.” I winked. “I know it was you. That hat? That height? I was coming back from Alpena and stopped for something to eat.” And there were still popcorn kernels stuck between my teeth. “What were you doing way out there?”
“Um.” He stared at me blankly, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “Look at the time. I gotta go. Talk to you later, Minnie, okay?” He slouched off and was out the front door before my mouth could open.
“Wow.” Donna was leaning on the counter, watching Mitchell. “I didn’t know he could move that fast.”
Not once, in all the years I’d known Mitchell, had I ever seen him pay attention to the time. I wasn’t even sure his watch actually worked.
“You saw him out at Bub’s?” Donna asked. “What the heck was he doing out there? I wouldn’t have thought Mitchell even knew how to get out of Tonedagana County.” She laughed.
I smiled vaguely and wandered back to the breakroom. I still needed coffee and I still needed a book fair flyer. But now I was also wondering why Mitchell was being so weird.
Mitchell was a constant in our library life, a fixture almost as permanent as the fireplace in the reading room. I didn’t like it that he was acting so differently. I didn’t like it at all.
Chapter 5
T he next day was a bookmobile day, and because of some social arrangements of Julia’s that were too complicated for me to I understand, near the end of the day I dropped her off in the retail area of a small town. She gave Eddie an air kiss good-bye and waved at me, and after I closed the door behind her, we headed off to make a few drop-offs to the homebound folks.
The afternoon had grown thick with fog and I drove slowly along the narrow, hilly, twisting roads, watching carefully for deer, cars, and any pedestrians silly enough to go for a walk late on a dank, thick April day.
Mrs. Koski was all smiles when I handed her a bag of history books about late nineteenth-century Asia, and Mr. Blake gave me a nod of approval when I gave him a hefty pile of Nicholas Sparks and Janet Evanovich.
“You’re not judging, are you?” I asked Eddie when I slid back into the driver’s seat. “Because you have that look on your face.”
The look he had was more of sleep than judgment, but it amused me to pretend that he had opinions about these things. “Reading across gender lines is a good thing,” I told him. “Species lines, too. Tell you what, next book I check out for you will be The Poky Little Puppy. ”
I glanced over and saw that his eyes had opened.
“Okay, you’re right,” I acknowledged. “You’re past that reading level. How about Old Yeller ? Because watching the movie doesn’t count.”
He didn’t seem any more interested in that offering.
“Yeah, too depressing,” I said. “How about . . . hey, I got it. The Chet and Bernie books. You know, by Spencer Quinn? Chet’s a dog and Bernie’s a private
Mitchell Koyne, whom I’d recently seen dozens of miles away, was standing at the front desk. I could detect no outward sign that a woman was involved in his life; he looked the way he always did. Hands in his pockets, his baseball hat on backward, and stubble on his face. How he managed to have a constant eighth-inch of beard I didn’t know and would never ask.
“Hi, Mitchell,” I said.
“Hey, Min.” He grinned. “What’s cooking?”
I turned my empty coffee mug upside down. “Not a thing.”
Mitchell’s laugh was loud and deep. It was hard not to smile when Mitchell laughed, and I glanced around. Yep, every single person I could see was smiling, from Donna, a part-time desk clerk, to the ancient Mr. Goodwin, down to Reva Shomin’s youngest, who was just learning to walk.
“So, what,” I asked, “were you doing out at Bub’s Gas this morning?”
His laughter ended and his smile faded. It was as if his face had stopped. “I . . . uh . . .”
“Come on.” I winked. “I know it was you. That hat? That height? I was coming back from Alpena and stopped for something to eat.” And there were still popcorn kernels stuck between my teeth. “What were you doing way out there?”
“Um.” He stared at me blankly, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “Look at the time. I gotta go. Talk to you later, Minnie, okay?” He slouched off and was out the front door before my mouth could open.
“Wow.” Donna was leaning on the counter, watching Mitchell. “I didn’t know he could move that fast.”
Not once, in all the years I’d known Mitchell, had I ever seen him pay attention to the time. I wasn’t even sure his watch actually worked.
“You saw him out at Bub’s?” Donna asked. “What the heck was he doing out there? I wouldn’t have thought Mitchell even knew how to get out of Tonedagana County.” She laughed.
I smiled vaguely and wandered back to the breakroom. I still needed coffee and I still needed a book fair flyer. But now I was also wondering why Mitchell was being so weird.
Mitchell was a constant in our library life, a fixture almost as permanent as the fireplace in the reading room. I didn’t like it that he was acting so differently. I didn’t like it at all.
Chapter 5
T he next day was a bookmobile day, and because of some social arrangements of Julia’s that were too complicated for me to I understand, near the end of the day I dropped her off in the retail area of a small town. She gave Eddie an air kiss good-bye and waved at me, and after I closed the door behind her, we headed off to make a few drop-offs to the homebound folks.
The afternoon had grown thick with fog and I drove slowly along the narrow, hilly, twisting roads, watching carefully for deer, cars, and any pedestrians silly enough to go for a walk late on a dank, thick April day.
Mrs. Koski was all smiles when I handed her a bag of history books about late nineteenth-century Asia, and Mr. Blake gave me a nod of approval when I gave him a hefty pile of Nicholas Sparks and Janet Evanovich.
“You’re not judging, are you?” I asked Eddie when I slid back into the driver’s seat. “Because you have that look on your face.”
The look he had was more of sleep than judgment, but it amused me to pretend that he had opinions about these things. “Reading across gender lines is a good thing,” I told him. “Species lines, too. Tell you what, next book I check out for you will be The Poky Little Puppy. ”
I glanced over and saw that his eyes had opened.
“Okay, you’re right,” I acknowledged. “You’re past that reading level. How about Old Yeller ? Because watching the movie doesn’t count.”
He didn’t seem any more interested in that offering.
“Yeah, too depressing,” I said. “How about . . . hey, I got it. The Chet and Bernie books. You know, by Spencer Quinn? Chet’s a dog and Bernie’s a private
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