Will gave my shoulder what I hoped was one last pat. “Timing is everything, right? We were on our way out after seeing a neighbor and heard your name. Can’t be that many Minnies around here. Especially ones this short.” He laughed. “You’re a mini Minnie! Get it?”

Smiling as much as I could at a joke I’d heard ten thousand times, I said, “Happy to hear everything worked out.”

Max watched the pair as they walked away. “Minnie, my dear one, do you recall their last name?”

I tried but couldn’t get there. “Started with an A, I think. Maybe an H? I remember thinking it sounded like a Greek name.”

“Hallenius?”

“Sounds right. Do you know them? Why didn’t you say?”

“Because that stubborn old coot they were talking about was a friend of mine.”

“Oh, Max. I’m so sorry.”

His thin shoulders went up and down. “Well, he was old. And he really was a cranky bugger. I didn’t connect the dots right away, because Fred always called his son Willy. And I never knew the wife’s name. He called her ‘That Woman Who Ruined My Son’s Life.’”

“Sounds like a great guy.” Heather rolled her eyes and walked over to finish setting up the room for Reading Hour. “Forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, how was it that you and a man like that were friends?”

“Worked together,” Max said. “Not a speck of charm in him. Never had anything good to say about anyone. The kind of person who left half a cup of coffee in the pot so he wouldn’t have to make new.”

But even though he was doing nothing but bad-mouth Fred Hallenius, there was an expression on his face that gave me the feeling he was more upset about Fred’s death than he was letting on.

Gently, I put my hand on his shoulder and again said, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re a good girl, Minnie.” He patted my hand. “Get to my age and there’s not many of us left. You know what the moral of the story is?”

“What’s that?”

“Make young friends,” he said, winking at me. “Now, back to chapter fourteen, yes?”

*   *   *

Rain had been falling intermittently all day long, and it seemed to be falling the heaviest whenever I needed to venture out into it. I stood in the shelter of Lakeview’s big entrance awning and peered through the deluge at my car, which was in the far corner of the parking lot. An hour and a half ago, I’d intentionally parked there because I’d been virtuously leaving the closer spots for folks who might not be as hale and hearty as myself. But the parking lot was mostly empty and the gesture I’d proudly added to my mental list of good deeds now looked stupidly unnecessary.