She nodded and in short order she was sitting in the spot Kristen had vacated, trying to get her hands all the way around a tall stack of corned beef on rye.

“Not working today?” I asked.

“Thanks to the scheduling gods,” she said, “I have three days off in a row. And what am I doing with my time? Running errands for my husband and children, who are old enough to take care of themselves. Why do I do this?”

I laughed. “Every woman in the history of womankind has asked themselves that question, I think.”

“Speaking of questions,” Heather said, using one of the small pile of napkins she’d brought to the table to wipe her mouth. “Max was asking if I’d seen you . . . and from that look on your face, I’m guessing something’s wrong. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Not really,” I said, stricken. “It’s just I completely forgot to do something.”

Heather looked at me over the top of her sandwich. “Doesn’t sound like you.”

“You need to get to know me better. I’ve been known to pull out my phone to look up my own phone number.”

“Everybody does that,” Heather said, which I didn’t believe, but it was nice of her to say so. “What is it Max wants you to do? Please don’t tell me it has to do with single-malt Scotch, because that interferes with his medications something fierce.”

“No, nothing to do with whiskey. Or any alcohol.” I hesitated, then remembered that she knew all about Max’s request. “It’s about those friends of his. I sort of promised I’d look into all that.”

Heather shook her head. “He’s just upset about their deaths.”

“Sure, but . . .” I sighed. “But it’s Max, so I’ll do it.”

Heather laughed. “You’re so not alone. I’m embarrassed to tell you what that man has talked me into dressing up as on Halloween. So embarrassed that I’m not going to tell you. You’ll have to come see.”

My imagination flashed. Little Bo Peep? Wonder Woman? Glinda the Good Witch? Smiling, I asked about the next books the residents had chosen for reading aloud.

“They’re trying to decide between The Full Cupboard of Life and Rebecca.”

“Go with the Alexander McCall Smith,” I said confidently. “Rebecca is an amazing book, but it creeped me out for weeks after I read it. Besides, happy endings are better than sad ones. And speaking of sad endings, I really have to go. See you soon, okay?”

I deposited my wrappings in the waste can and headed outside. But instead of turning left and heading back up to the library, I turned right.

*   *   *