I summarized what I knew of his story. He was from the Livonia area. Moved north a few years ago after a weekend trip with some friends, made ends meet through a series of short-term and part-time jobs. Lived out in Bowyer Township on the first floor of an old farmhouse.

“Hmm.” My aunt put her elbows on the table and cupped her chin with the palms of her hands. “Do you know any of the places he worked?”

Other than Nub’s Nob, where he’d worked as a ski lift operator, I did not.

“That’s not very helpful,” she said. “If you figure out any others, text me. If I know any of them, I’ll do some digging.”

I thanked her and looked at my phone for the time. A few more minutes, then I had to get going. “Have you heard from Celeste lately?”

Aunt Frances glanced in the direction of the boardinghouse. Which she couldn’t see, because she didn’t have X-ray vision to allow her to see through walls. The boardinghouse, where she’d lived for decades, was directly across the street. It had been empty since October, when our cousin had abandoned Chilson and made like a snowbird, off for warmer and sunnier climes.

With Celeste gone, the boardinghouse was dark and cold. To see the place empty of life was more than a bit sad. My aunt and I had spent five winters there, popping popcorn and sitting in front of the fieldstone fireplace. And now . . . no one was there.

Aunt Frances turned back to face me. “She’ll be here soon. The place will come back to life in no time.”

“Absolutely,” I said, but I didn’t sound convincing, even to myself.

My aunt half smiled. “Life goes on, Minnie,” she said. “Nothing stays the same forever.”

“I know. And I wouldn’t want it to. It’s just . . .” My voice tailed off.

“Yes,” she agreed. “It’s just different.”

We sat there for a moment, each thinking our own thoughts. Then I thanked her for the coffee, put our mugs in the dishwasher, and headed to the library.

*   *   *

I walked into the library board’s meeting room fifteen minutes before the official meeting time to make sure the room was ready, but more than half the board was already there.

The room itself intimidated me, with its wood-paneled walls, coffered ceiling with magical hidden lighting, and an imposing conference table and chairs that looked like they’d been ordered from a furniture manufacturer that catered primarily to Fortune 100 companies.

But the women and men sitting in the high-backed leather chairs intimidated me even more. They looked perfectly at home. Like they belonged. When I sat in one of those chairs I felt like a grade school urchin who’d been hauled into the principal’s office and was waiting to learn what punishment would be handed down.

“Minnie, good to see you.”