It was a question I’d expected. I gave him Hunter’s name and cell number and Pug’s name, which was technically David. One of these days I’d get the real story of why he was called Pug. So far he’d told me three different versions, none of which I believed.

“No phone number for Mr. Mattock?” the detective asked.

There was none in our records, but there was an e-mail address, which I gave him. “Hope you find the guy who killed the security guard,” I said. “But I don’t think Ryan had anything to do with it. I really don’t.”

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Hamilton. We’ll be in touch if we have further questions.”

I returned my desk phone’s receiver to its technological nest and leaned back in my chair, spinning around to look out the window. It was still dull and dreary out there. Still March. Technically, sunset wasn’t until eight o’clock, but it had been so dark all day I was half convinced the sun had never risen at all. “You could have made more of an effort,” I told it, sighing. “Would have made a lot of difference to a lot of people.”

But the heavy cloud cover had to end soon. After all, it was the end of March. April would start the very next day. Sure, we’d get some more snow, and we wouldn’t see any serious green on the trees for weeks, but the daytime temperatures were way above freezing. The sap was running. Spring was on its way. I enjoyed winter, but there was a time and place for everything, and April was the time for this heavy cloud cover to clear off.

“Spring is coming,” I said to the window, and said it again the next morning when I walked into the break room, coffee mug in hand. Though the library wouldn’t open to the public for another fifteen minutes, I’d been at my desk for a couple of hours and was ready for more caffeine and some coworker conversation.

The three people in the room glanced up.

“You trying to convince yourself of that?” Josh Hadden, our IT guy, added a heaping spoonful of sugar to his coffee. This told me that Kelsey, one of our part-time clerks, had made the pot on the burner.

I opened the fridge, grabbed the jug of creamer, and added a healthy dollop to my mug before adding the black liquid. “Undeniable fact. Calendar says so.”

“The term ‘spring equinox’ is stupid.” He sipped his coffee, made a face, and added more sugar. “Equal day and equal night doesn’t mean the grass is going to be green next week.”

“But in the next month,” I said. “So spring is indeed coming.”