“Would be perfect.” Tabitha gave me a sharp nod. “Just what I need. If Hal doesn’t like it, well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” She smiled. “Tell me what happened that night, if it’s not too upsetting for you. Maybe one more retelling will jog something loose.”

Though it would upset me, it had to be done.

“It started with a meeting that went late . . .”

*   *   *

I apologized to Eddie when I got back to my car after the far-longer-than-expected breakfast. But all he did was blink one eye and put his head back down on the fluffy pink blanket that had been a gift from a boarder of my aunt’s.

Aboard the bookmobile, Julia eyed the bright blue paper bag Cookie had unearthed and stuffed my Sabrina-dictated meal into. “Nice lunch sack,” she said. “Don’t tell me you’ve turned over a new leaf, started doing some real-live cooking, and upgraded its transportation.”

As if. “Choose a far more likely explanation.”

Without a pause, she asked, “Who’s doing take-out in bags that color?”

I grinned and told her about my morning. “Do you know Tabitha Inwood?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure. But it sounds like I need to amend that situation sooner rather than later.”

The two would get along swimmingly, and I said so. “You know what else we need to amend?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “The US Constitution. It’s well past the time we should have an amendment to—”

Since the last thing I wanted to do was bring politics onto the bookmobile, I cut her off. “We need to amend the bookmobile’s schedule. Every time I see Graydon, he asks how many new stops I have lined up for the rest of September.”

Julia tapped Eddie’s carrier with the toes of her sneakers, which today were in an adorable crowded bookshelves pattern. “Do you have any planned?”

We were at a four-way stop. To our right, a car had arrived just before us, and I was waiting for it to move. But the driver was waving at us to go first. I smiled, waved back, Julia did the same thing, and we puttered through the intersection.

“Most people are pretty darn nice, aren’t they?” Julia said, still smiling. “Except for Graydon. I’m beginning to wonder about him. Is the man trying to work me into exhaustion?”

“You? What about me?”

She flapped her hand. “You are young. Full of vim and vigor. Working oodles of hours per week is good for someone your age. Teaches you many things about yourself.”

Later, we had the unusual experience of a bookmobile stop with no patrons. Instead of chatting with Julia, playing with Eddie, or tidying, I hunkered over my laptop, working on a spreadsheet, trying to fit more hours into the day.

“It’s possible,” I murmured. Just barely, but it was possible.

*   *   *

That evening, Rafe stared at me. “That’s not possible,” he said in disbelief.