I opened the door and Julia descended the stairs carrying a crate of books. Hunter was right behind her, carrying two crates, one atop the other. “Everything is already checked back into the system,” Julia said.

“Nice,” I said, climbing up into the bookmobile. That meant the only tasks left were to reshelve the materials. Some went into the bookmobile’s rotating stock; others went into the main library’s stock. We’d kept the two groups separate to track differences in reading habits, and though doing so was extra work, the resulting data was fascinating. Our bookmobile readers tended to check out more biographies than the brick-and-mortar library patrons, and the brick-and-mortar people tended to check out more do-it-yourself books. And the seasonal variations—

“Mrr.”

“Hey, buddy.” I leaned over the console and unlatched the strap that kept Eddie’s carrier in place. “How was your first full bookmobile day without me?”

“Mrr!”

“Don’t believe a word of it,” Julia said. “Say, did you know that Hunter can carry three crates of books?”

“I did not, but that’s good to know. Of course, we don’t want to injure him.”

“Of course not.” She grinned and I made a mental note to talk to Hunter about appropriate carrying techniques and making sure he knew his limitations.

I picked up the cat carrier and Julia did the tidying-up chores. “It was a good day,” she said. “And it was nice to see Sylvia Mattock out and about. I was wondering if she’d be staying north with Pug gone.”

“Has she decided that already?” I asked, surprised. “It’s only been, what, a little over three weeks since . . . since it happened.” I carried Eddie down the stairs as levelly as possible and, outside, waited for Julia to exit.

“Oh, I don’t know that she’s decided long term, but she’s taking a leave of absence from work to think things through.”

That sounded like a good idea, especially since the weather was getting nicer by the day.

“But,” Julia said, shutting the door, “you should have heard her complaining about her neighbor. Sounded almost Shakespearean. You know, vile worms, kindless villains, smiling rogues, and ill-roasted eggs.”

I ignored her blatant hint for Guess the Play, a game I would never, ever win. “Hang on. What neighbor? And what did he do?”

“John somebody.”

“Pinnock?”

She shrugged. “Don’t remember. What I do remember is that he’s cranking his stereo at three in the morning, playing marches by John Philip Sousa loud enough to make Sylvia threaten to call the sheriff’s office.”

“Has she?” I asked.

“Not yet, but one more time and she will.” Julia laughed. “Sousa marches in the middle of the night. Bet law enforcement has never been called out for that one. Weird, isn’t it?”