Donna Beene, another part-time clerk, laughed, tossing back her short and thick gray hair. Seventy-some and way fitter than a fiddle, Donna worked at the library to earn cash for trips to exotic locales so she could participate in feats of athletic endurance. Running marathons, mostly, but also bicycling, kayaking, and I thought I’d heard her mention snowshoeing. “So in Minnie logic,” Donna said, “spring is always coming. Even when it is spring. Because there’s always next year.”

It made perfect sense to me. “Exactly.”

My coworkers, however, ignored this positive life outlook in favor of grilling me about Ryan Anderson.

The night before, I’d told Rafe about Ryan’s abrupt departure from the bookmobile, and that the police were looking for him. Rafe, a Chilson native and principal of the middle school, knew more about the investigation than I did. It was the last day of the school’s spring break, and though he’d spent a lot of time working on the house, he’d also spent time hanging out with his friends, doing whatever it was that guys did.

“The bank that was robbed,” he’d said, “is next to the second-oldest pizza place in the state.”

I’d looked at him over the top of my vegetarian sub sandwich. “How do you know this stuff?”

He’d given me a fake-stern look. “Keeping my finger on the pulse of the community is my job.” Then he’d grinned, his teeth flashing white against skin that looked permanently tanned thanks to distant Native American ancestors. My heart went mushy and our talk turned to other things.

Now, faced with three curious coworkers, I realized an opportunity might be presenting itself. “Do any of you know Ryan?” Josh and Kelsey and I were roughly the same age, and what Donna didn’t know about Chilson natives wasn’t worth knowing. Not that Ryan was from here, but maybe one of them had run into him at the brewpub. “Hunter knows him a little from playing darts at Hoppe’s.”

But all three were shaking their heads. Josh said, “Sorry. Don’t think I’ve ever met him.”

“Could you ask around? I’m sure he didn’t do anything wrong, and that detective from downstate seemed ready to put cuffs on him.”

Donna gave me a look. “Minnie, dear, I know you want to believe that all library patrons, and especially your bookmobile people, are good, kindhearted folks who wouldn’t walk across the street against a red light, but don’t you think the police know what they’re doing?”