Then again, I could do smart things and stupid things, too, so maybe he was thinking the same thing about me.

The thought amused me, so I was smiling when I entered the offices of the city of Chilson.

“Good morning.” The woman returning my smile was fiftyish, with smooth shoulder-length black hair. “What can I do for you?”

I’d meant to prepare a good story on the walk over, but my musing about Eddie’s brain had occupied me fully. I had nothing, so I did the only thing I could think of and defaulted to the truth.

“I’m Minnie Hamilton. I drive the bookmobile, and—”

“Oh!” The woman jumped to her feet. “You’re the one who tried to save Brown!” She hurried around her desk to give me a big hug. “Thank you so much. It must have been hard, but we’re all so glad you were there to . . . to do what you did. Let me get Isaac in here. He worked with Brown forever. I’m sure he’ll want to thank you, too. Hang on.”

And so, two minutes later, I was talking to the exact man I’d been hoping to find, which only reinforced my bad habit of inadequate preparation.

Isaac was in his mid-fifties, and the word “round” was the best descriptor possible. Round body, round face; even his voice managed to be round. He towered over me, and thankfully he wasn’t of the hugging inclination. Instead, he offered a meaty hand and shook with gentle firmness.

“So good to meet you, Minnie. My wife spends a lot of time at the library and she speaks well of you.”

“Oh? What’s your last name?”

“Finter.”

I beamed. “Susan is your wife? She’s great. Tell her I said hello.”

“Will do. Now, I want to thank you for what you did for Brown. And don’t say you did nothing, because that would minimize our feelings and you don’t want to do that, do you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Cathy here”—I nodded at the pleasant black-haired woman, pleased that I’d noticed the name plate on her desk—“said you worked with him for a long time?”

“Almost thirty years.” Isaac nodded. “He was maintenance, I’m in planning, but doesn’t that matter when you both work in the same place for so long.” He paused. “You heard that Brown was murdered?”

“I was told a couple of days ago.”

“It’s horrible.” Cathy shook her head. “It was hard enough when we were thinking he’d had a heart attack, but murder is just . . . awful.”

“I’m sure the sheriff’s office will talk to you soon,” I said. “Asking if any city residents complained about him.”