“Sally came by,” Trish said when she joined me after having spent an hour at the hospitality desk. “She’d like you to stop by her office at three.”

  “Okay, thanks, Trish.”

  Something was up, something I wasn’t going to like. Sally knew that unless it was a late day for me, I usually took lunch from twelve to one. Which was why she’d stopped by my office when I wasn’t there.

  At three o’clock I walked across the reading room to Sally’s office. When I was first offered the position I now held, Sally had been less than pleased. She thought I was going to be a dud. After all, I was hired on Uncle Bosco’s recommendation, and she was used to seeing me dressed like Girl Goth all those months I’d worked in the library doing little more than shelving books. But I was qualified for the job and eager to do well, so her cold attitude thawed when she saw how I handled my responsibilities. In fact, I could safely say we had become friends.

  But she was still my boss and sometimes had me do things I wasn’t thrilled about.

  Now Sally was pleasant enough as she asked me to sit across from her desk. I took one of the two empty seats.

  “Hi, Carrie. I’m really excited about tomorrow evening’s ceremony.”

  “Me too.”

  “I want to make sure everything’s in order. Have you heard back from everyone we’ve invited?”

  “Yes. They’ll be here by a quarter to seven.”

  “Wonderful! Max checked the lighting and the electronic system. Everything’s in working order.”

  We discussed a few more details regarding the evening’s program, and I began to relax. Sally asked me how Uncle Bosco was doing. I said he was doing well, then told her that Dylan was on his way to Chicago to go through his uncle’s possessions. I drew a deep breath, figuring our meeting was about to end, when someone knocked on the office door.

  “Come in,” Sally called out.

  Marion Marshall, the children’s librarian, entered. Marion and I were friends, so I couldn’t understand the apprehension in her eyes when she glanced at me.

  “Hi.” I stood. “I was just leaving.”

  “I’d like you to stay, Carrie. Marion has something to discuss with you. With both of us,” Sally added quickly.

  Marion slid into the chair next to me. “I was thinking—and Sally agrees it’s a good idea—that we should hold some programs for the kids …” She cleared her throat. “In the new auditorium.”

  “Oh” was all I managed to get out. “But the new Children’s Room is so large. There’s even a stage.”

  “Yes, it’s wonderful for when Gayle and I read to a large group, but I was thinking we could have something really special …”

  “Like a musical,” I suggested.

  Marion pressed her lips together. “Gayle and I were thinking the kids would really love to see a circus.”

  “A circus!” The thought of elephants and tigers traipsing across the auditorium’s brand new wooden floor made my stomach twinge.

  Marion let out a tinkle of a laugh. “Not one with lions and trapeze artists, of course, but there’s a circus that’s traveling around—the Whittingham Show—that features acts with cats and dogs and a few horses.”

  “Ah,” I said.

  Her expression turned resolute as she continued. “Carrie, the auditorium is for all patrons of the library, and that includes the children. We’ve never made use of the meeting room because it wasn’t child friendly, but the new stadium-seating auditorium is great for all kinds of programs. For people of all ages.”

  I blinked, certain I’d misunderstood what Marion had in mind. “Are you saying you want to hold children’s programs in the new auditorium starting with a show full of animals?”

  She clapped her hands with glee. “Exactly! The kids will love it. I bet the event will be a sellout!”

  Chapter Two

  I didn’t normally think of myself as the possessive type, and the new auditorium wasn’t mine, so to speak, but there had been problems during the construction phase and I’d fought to keep it stadium seating and the originally planned number of seats. The meeting room downstairs had always been the realm of Adult Services, so I naturally assumed the new auditorium would be used solely for adult activities and presentations. And now Marion wanted to bring in animals to perform on the stage.

  “I thought it was a wonderful idea,” Sally said, “but of course we wanted to run it by you since you’ll be scheduling most of the events presented in the auditorium.”

  “I called the Whittingham Show to see when they’re available. They gave me a list of dates when they’re free in the immediate future.” Marion handed me a sheet of paper. “I thought a Saturday afternoon would be best. Please let me know if the auditorium is available for any of the dates I’ve noted.”

  “Okay.”

  “ASAP, please, so we can firm things up and get started promoting the event.”

  I looked at Sally. “How much will this cost? Who’s paying for it?”

  Sally waved her hand, as if to brush away my pesky questions. “Marion and I worked all that out. If we charge six dollars for kids twelve and under, ten for everyone over twelve, and then—if we still have seats available—open it to kids outside the district, we’re sure to come out ahead.”

  “I see,” I said, a bit dazed to discover that everything had already been decided. A done deal arranged behind my back. “I’ll go over these dates and get back to you.”

  “Thanks, Carrie,” they sang out in unison as I left Sally’s office.

  I called Angela to give her the news as soon as I was alone in my office.

  “Don’t worry about the dogs and cats messing up the floor,” she said when I finished my tirade. “I’m sure they’re trained.”

  “What about the horses?” I demanded.

  “They have diapers for horses, believe it or not.”

  I drew in a breath. “I had no idea.”

  Angela laughed. “Admit it, Carrie—you simply don’t want to share the auditorium with other departments.”

  “The truth is, I never thought I’d have to.”

  “I bet Marion won’t want to use it that often.”

  “What if she suddenly decides to have a show for kids every month?”

  “So? Saturday mornings would be a good time for a kiddie show. You won’t be needing the auditorium then, I imagine.”

  “I suppose not,” I said begrudgingly.

  “There! Now go pick a date for Marion.”

  I did that, including the option of the first Saturday morning in February. I emailed the news to Marion, pointing out that the circus gave performances on Saturday mornings and the auditorium was available that morning. She wrote back to thank me and say she appreciated my mentioning the morning possibility. Feeling better, I contacted a few potential presenters and made something of a dent in the seemingly never-ending paperwork.

  Susan came to work at four, looking elegantly boho in a tan suede tunic over a white turtleneck sweater, with black leggings and knee-high boots. She was beaming when she announced, “I was just over at Gallery on the Green. Ron and Martha are putting one of my big oil paintings in the window!”

  “How wonderful!” I got up to hug her. “You deserve it. Your artwork is outstanding!”

  “That’s what Martha said. She told me she has big plans for me.”

  “I suppose that means we’ll be losing you,” I said, then quickly added, “but you have to do what’s best for your career.”

  Susan put her hand on my arm and met my gaze. “My career takes second place to my home, which is right here working with you in the library.”

  * * *

  At five o’clock I went to search for Smoky Joe and found him in the reading room, comfortably curled up on the lap of Betsy Lipton, one of our oldest patrons, as she leafed through a magazine.

  “Here’s your mommy,” Betsy said. Smoky Joe leaped to his feet and followed me back to my office.

  I put him inside his carrier, slipped on my jacket, and said goodbye to Susan, who was deep in her artwork for the next newsletter. I called Dylan as I drove home.

  “I got more done than I expected,” he said, sounding pleased. “I closed Alec’s bank account and forwarded the money to mine. Then I went to his apartment. The super took me to the basement storage room, where he’d stowed Alec’s possessions. He said he was sorry to hear Alec had been murdered; nevertheless, I had to pay a hefty fee for all the time he’d kept his things. I’ll go through everything tomorrow, maybe keep a few items, and arrange to dispose of the rest.”

  “Great,” I said. “Then all you’ll have to do is pick up the painting and come home.”

  “I’m driving over to Jack Winslow’s tomorrow in the late afternoon. He invited me to an early dinner. Unless something unexpected comes up, I’ll be flying home Saturday morning. I’ve got a ten thirty flight.”

  “I can’t wait to see you,” I said.

  “Me too, babe. I miss you.”

  * * *

  When I got home, I changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, fed Smoky Joe, and read my slew of personal emails. Then I set out for the hospital. It was close to six o’clock when I got to the CCU. Julia Singleton, my cousin by marriage, was in the waiting room with nine-year-old Mark and five-year-old Tacey.

  “Cousin Carrie!” Tacey exclaimed, rushing into my arms.

  After swinging her around, I hugged her mother and her brother. “Randy’s inside with Aunt Harriet,” Julia explained. “The charge nurse on duty is being strict about the two-person rule.”

  “How is Uncle Bosco?”

  “Doing well,” Julia said.

  Julia and I chatted while Mark returned to his iPad and Tacey sang a little song to herself. I was very fond of my newly discovered relatives and happy to have them in my life. A few minutes later, Randy exited the CCU and embraced me in a bear hug. “Little Cousin Carrie! It’s so good to see you!”

  “Cousin Carrie isn’t little,” Tacey said.

  “Really? I think of her as little since she’s two years younger than me.”

  We all laughed. When I was Tacey’s age, Randy had teased me until I cried. Since then I’d grown to realize that teasing was his way of showing affection.

  I waved goodbye to my cousins and went inside the CCU. Uncle Bosco was sitting up in bed, chatting with Aunt Harriet.

  “Hello, Carrie,” he greeted me. “Aren’t I lucky to have so many visitors?”

  I moved closer to his bed and squeezed his hand. His color was much improved since yesterday, and his voice was stronger.

  “I’m so sorry to be missing tomorrow night’s shindig,” he said.

  “We’ll miss you, but everyone at the library sends their love and get-well wishes.”

  Uncle Bosco gestured to my aunt. “I’m so glad you convinced her to attend.”

  “I’m bringing her there and driving her home,” I said.

  My uncle smiled, pleased that Aunt Harriet would be going to the ceremony, even if he had to miss it.

  “The doctor told Bosco he can move to the step-down unit tomorrow,” Aunt Harriet said. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “It sure is,” I said.

  Uncle Bosco glanced around his small cubicle to make sure no one could hear him. “I hope the food is better than what they serve here.”

  “I’m afraid it will be the same,” I said.

  “Yeah. Bland. Tasteless. I’m sure to lose weight on this starvation diet.”

  Aunt Harriet and I laughed. “Losing a few pounds wouldn’t be the worst thing,” she said.

  A nurse came in to check Uncle Bosco’s vitals, so Aunt Harriet and I decided it was a good time to go down to the cafeteria for our dinner. She chatted nonstop as we rode down in the elevator to the main floor, clearly in much better spirits than yesterday.

  “I have to bring pajamas and some casual clothing when I come tomorrow. Bosco might decide to actually get dressed. I’m told that patients sometimes prefer to wear clothes instead of staying in pajamas. I’m thinking a warm-up suit would do the trick.”

  We discussed clothing, a nice change from wondering if Uncle Bosco would ever recover from his heart attack.

  The dining room was three-quarters full. Aunt Harriet and I placed our jackets on the chairs of a small table and went to get some food. I met Aunt Harriet on the checkout line and tried to pay for her dinner, but she insisted on treating me instead. She was so determined, I let her. We headed to our table.

  Aunt Harriet was subdued but happy as, between bites, she repeated what the doctor had told her regarding Uncle Bosco’s improved condition. “I informed your uncle that things are going to be different when he comes home. No more soda, no more baked goods, no more ice cream. And he’s joining a gym.”

  “Do you think he’ll stick to all those new rules?” I asked.

  “I’ll see to it that he does,” she said, looking fierce.

  “This new regime is going to be hard on both of you,” I said. “You’re so used to baking cakes and pies for Uncle Bosco, and he loves his sweets.”

  “Does he ever.” Aunt Harriet looked dejected as she said, “I hate being the one who has to constantly tell Bosco he can’t eat this and he can’t eat that.”

  I patted her arm. “Then you’ll find a bunch of new recipes that are tasty but made with less sugar and butter. There are so many people in Uncle Bosco’s situation, there are lots of good resources out there.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to,” she agreed.

  As Aunt Harriet and I were exiting the dining room, I heard someone call my name. I turned and saw Babette Fisher sitting at a table in the far corner with two men. There was nothing to do but go and say hello.

  Babette was an art teacher at the local high school. She was close to fifty, and most people would consider her pretty, given her rosy complexion and wispy blond hair. Her loose-fitting tie-dyed ensembles always struck me more as costumes than clothing. But then Babette took pride in being an artiste. She was on the town council where I was serving out Jeannette Rivers’s term for the coming year.

  “Carrie, I suppose you’re here visiting your uncle,” she said when I reached her table. “I heard he suffered a heart attack.”

  “Yes. You know my aunt Harriet Singleton.”

  There was an exchange of introductions and greetings all around. I knew one of the men at the table. Victor Zalinka and I exchanged warm smiles. He was a strikingly handsome man in his late-fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a charming accent from a Slavic country—I didn’t know which one. Victor owned an import–export business. I had to assume it was doing very well since he was one of the donors being honored the following evening. Victor was devoted to the arts. For our first art show in December, he had offered to fill our new gallery with artwork from his own collection.

  “And this is Leroy Gumm.” Babette beamed at the tall, lanky man slouching in the chair beside her. He wore jeans and a gray sweatshirt that had paint stains on it. His dark brown beard was unkempt, and a rubber band held his shoulder-length hair back in a ponytail. He appeared to be ten years younger than Babette.

  “Nice to meet you, Carrie, Harriet.” Leroy waved at us with an economy of motion, then stretched his arm across the back of Babette’s chair as if to announce “I’m with her.”

  Got it. Babette’s latest. And I didn’t need the sleuthing talents of Sherlock Holmes to figure out he was a painter who wanted the world to know he was a painter. Otherwise, he would have changed out of his work clothes to come to the hospital.

  Babette and Victor knew Uncle Bosco and asked how he was doing. Aunt Harriet was more than happy to share her good news.

  “What are you all doing here?” I asked when she finished.

  “Leroy’s mother is here for minor surgery. He wanted company, so I tagged along,” Babette said.

  My opinion of her latest boyfriend sank even lower. Why did someone need company to visit his own mother?

  “And I stopped by the hospital to speak to one of the administrators,” Victor explained. “Our conversation ran longer than expected, so I decided to have my dinner here, knowing from past experience that the food is quite good.”

  I smiled at Victor as Babette explained, “And we just ran into one another.” I had heard that Victor’s wife, to whom he’d been very devoted, had died two years earlier, and he wanted to contribute money toward a new wing in her honor.

  We exchanged pleasantries for another minute or two before I excused myself, saying, “Nice meeting you, Leroy. Babette and Victor, I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  When Aunt Harriet and I were in the hall heading for the elevator, she said, “What on earth is that woman thinking, hanging out with the likes of him?”

  I chuckled. “I couldn’t tell you. Babette is an interesting person. She has a good head for business, which might surprise you given the persona she likes to present. But first and foremost, she considers herself a representative of the arts.”

  “Miss Fisher should really consider her own safety,” Aunt Harriet said.

  I stopped to stare at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “That fellow she’s so mad about is a murderer. He killed his best friend.”

  Chapter Three

  Uncle Bosco was falling asleep when Aunt Harriet and I returned to his room. She whispered that she wanted to stay a while longer and urged me to go home. I hugged her goodbye.

  “See you tomorrow evening,” I said, as I was planning to drive her to the commemoration in honor of the library’s new addition. My aunt and uncle lived across the Green from the library, in one of the few buildings that had remained a private residence.

  Aunt Harriet put her hand to her cheek. “Why didn’t I think of it before? It’s silly for you to go home, then turn right around and drive back into town. Bring whatever you plan to wear with you in the morning, and come for dinner after work.”

  “Thank you,” I said, kissing her cheek. “And much appreciated.”

  I drove home, much relieved by the improvement in Uncle Bosco’s health and my aunt’s positive frame of mind. I shuddered to think how either of them would manage to move on after the death of the other. But I reminded myself that they were in their mid-seventies. And while both of them might live for many more years, sadly one of them would be the first to go.