There were so many possible innocuous reasons that I’d practically forgotten about the incident by the time we rolled into the library’s parking lot and started unloading.

Holly Terpening, one of the library clerks and my good friend, showed up at the back door to help us lug the loaded crates into the room where we sorted the bookmobile books.

“Did you hear?” she asked, pushing her straight brown hair behind her ears, then taking the first crate from me.

“We hear lots of things out on the bookmobile,” I said. “The sigh of the wind, the songs of birds, the lapping of waves.”

“No, about that Ryan Anderson. He shows up on this bookmobile run, doesn’t he? Did you see him today?”

“Sort of.” I frowned. “What’s the matter?”

Hunter stood at my shoulder. “Is he okay?”

“The police are looking for him,” Holly said.

A shiver of unease went up the back of my neck. “What? Why?”

“There was a bank robbery. Downstate. They’re saying he stole like two hundred thousand dollars. But what’s worse,” she said to our shocked faces, “is they think he killed a security guard.”

Chapter 2

There was no way Ryan would have robbed a bank, let alone killed someone. They were looking for the wrong guy. That’s what I told Holly and that’s what I told the downstate detective who’d tracked me down and left a voice mail. Eddie was in his carrier, waiting for me in the car, so I hoped the call didn’t take long.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’m making note of your opinions regarding Mr. Anderson. Now, you’ve already said you saw him briefly this afternoon. Please tell me what time, as precisely as possible.”

The man talked just like every other detective I’d ever met, which was a total of two local sheriff’s office detectives. Two and a half if you counted detective-in-training Ash Wolverson. Ash hadn’t completely succumbed to the short declarative sentence structure of his supervisor, but it was probably only a matter of time. I knew for a fact that Detective Hal Inwood talked that way on and off the job and retired detective Devereaux probably did, too. It was in Ash’s future; I just hoped his girlfriend, Chelsea Stille, would be able to deal with it.

I told the downstate detective the location and time I’d seen Ryan and described what he’d done, which was nothing, really. I also rattled off to the detective all the very reasonable explanations I’d come up with for Ryan’s actions. The detective made murmuring noises that indicated he was listening to me, but I did not hear any keyboard clicks or pencil scratchings that meant he was taking notes. I decided he must be using a pen, which would be silent.

The detective asked, “Was there anyone else on the bookmobile who saw Mr. Anderson’s movements?”