The rest of the afternoon passed in normal and quiet library ways. Well, except for the hour I spent at the reference desk. And even that was almost relatively quiet except for the moment when I’d helped a white-haired lady track down a copy of a book she’d loved as a child and had never been able to find.

“But . . . this is it,” she said, her voice trembling as she turned the pages of Elizabeth Goudge’s The Little White Horse. “This is the book my grandmother gave me, right after the war.”

It had taken some careful questioning, but eventually her original description of a blue book with either a horse or a dog on the cover had resulted in enough information about the book itself for me to take her to the right shelf.

The woman, a summer visitor, threw her arms around me and hugged me hard. “My neighbor said you’d help me find my book, and she was right. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

With more than a little embarrassment, I patted her arm awkwardly, said it was all part of the service offered by the Chilson District Library, and made my escape.

“What was that all about?” Kelsey asked. She was at the main desk, checking in a massive pile of returned children’s picture books. “It looked as though she wanted to take you home and adopt you.”

“Just another satisfied patron,” I said, trying to flatten my ruffled hair, which was always a losing battle. Speaking of losing battles, there was one last effort I wanted to make. “Have you heard anything about what happened between Ash and Chelsea? Neither one is saying a word. You’d think they signed confidentiality agreements.”

She shook her head. “And here I thought they were going to be the next ones getting married, right after you and Rafe. So sad.”

The whole thing was puzzling. They’d fit together like peanut butter and jelly. Laughed at the same things. Cared about the same things. Did the same things, as long as you discounted Ash’s bowling and Chelsea’s hobby of flea market flipping. How could it have gone so wrong? And they’d both looked so sad, apart.

“One more,” I said to myself. I’d give the Ash and Chelsea Reconciliation one last try, because their relationship had been so solid it was worth the effort, and then I’d leave them alone. After all, if Rafe had given up on me where would I be? Sad and lonely or with the wrong guy. Where would anyone be without a healthy dose of stick-to-itivness? And where would Ryan be if I didn’t prove his innocence by helping to find Pug’s killer?

But first, I had to talk to Chelsea. After thinking a bit, I pulled out my phone and started texting.