“Sounds good,” I said. And it did. But more than celebrating, I wanted to talk about paying my housing share. I’d tried to broach the subject over and over, and he’d always waved me off, saying that we’d talk about it when my student loans were paid off. He’d paid his off ages ago, thanks to a higher salary and better college summer jobs, and invested all his money in the house.

The movie was almost over by the time his phone stopped pinging with incoming text messages, and I was mostly asleep, anyway. The next morning he was out the door for an early meeting before I was out of the shower, and I talked to Eddie about the Money Issue as I put him in his carrier, then drove him up the hill to the library and into the bookmobile’s parking lot.

In spite of all my explanations, Eddie didn’t have any solutions—or even suggestions—for me.

“Really?” I asked as I lugged the carrier across the parking lot. “Not a single word? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Just fine. Honest.”

I looked up to see my boss smiling at me from the bottom step of the bookmobile.

“Morning,” I said. “What brings you out so early?”

“Wasn’t sleeping, so I thought I might as well do something useful.” He shrugged. “And I haven’t been over to the bookmobile for a few weeks, so when I saw you, I thought I’d walk over.”

“Mrr!”

“When I saw you and Eddie,” Graydon corrected himself. “Sorry, Mr. Hamilton. It won’t happen again.”

“Mrr,” Eddie said quietly.

I rolled my eyes and Graydon laughed. A little.

Peering at him, I said, “Sure you’re okay? You look . . . tired.” What he actually looked like was preoccupied and unfocused. It was an unusual look on him and so was easy to recognize.

“Jet lag,” he said. “I’m getting too old to fly one day and come to work the next.”

“You sure that’s it?” I asked uncertainly.

“All hale and hearty.” He stood straight and saluted me and Eddie. “Carry on, Captain Hamilton. First Mate Hamilton.”

I laughed and wished him a good morning. But as I watched him walk across the parking lot, I wasn’t sure he would be having one. Maybe he had some family issues going on, and that’s why he’d seemed preoccupied. Or, perhaps more likely, he was more troubled about the board’s odd questions about his job performance than he’d let on.

“Rats,” I muttered.

Because I knew what I should do, which was talk to the one person who might know what the board was thinking. I needed to talk to the president of the Friends of the Library.

I needed to talk to Denise Slade.

*   *   *