Midsummer Night's Mischief by Jennifer D. Hesse Page A

angles,” I said. “Come to think of it, though, I’m a little surprised they haven’t been here to see you yet.”
    T.C. stroked his mustache and slowly shook his head. “I’ve been here all day. Haven’t seen any cops, that’s for sure.”
    I frowned. Weren’t the cops trying to find the Folio? You’d think the book dealer who had valued the thing would be top on their list of people to question.
    T.C. must have read my thoughts. “On Saturday I was at my in-laws in K-Town, trying to install a new dishwasher most of the day, or so it seemed like. But we went out to an early bird dinner. Good pie. But I really should have passed on that second helping.” He patted his belly and broke out into another trill of laughter.
    I smiled at T.C. and thanked him for his time.
    Back on the bus, I stared out the window and pictured Eleanor’s last days. In less than a week, she had discovered a historically significant family heirloom, carted her thrilling find around town, changed her will, and made plans for showcasing the treasure. Had the excitement been too much for her? Was that what had led to her heart attack?
    Or, as Sharon intimated, had someone killed Eleanor to get the book? It was a troubling idea, but I supposed it was possible. Still, if that were the case, why not take it right away, instead of waiting until the visitation? Unless the killer had been interrupted and hadn’t had time to look for it . . .
    Ugh . If there had been any indication of foul play, surely the police would have noticed. I shook away these unpleasant thoughts and wondered what to do next. I couldn’t bear to go back to the office. I pulled out my cell phone, checked the time, and sent a text.
    Â 
    Meet me @ the Loose in 10?
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    Maybe Farrah could get away for an afternoon break. Two seconds later, she replied.
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    Be there in 15.
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    Awesome. I couldn’t wait to unload some of this burden onto my best bud. Gazing out the window again, I suddenly caught my breath. Was that Wes wandering into an adjacent alley? Quickly, I pulled the cord and hurried to the front of the bus. When it pulled over at the next stop, half a block from the alley, I hopped off and ran back to the place where I’d seen Wes. I was sure it was him. He even had on the same T-shirt he’d worn the night I met him.
    But there was no sign of him now. I walked the length of the alley, which ran between the backside of the public library to the east and the Cozy Café and Brickman’s Shoe Store to the west. At the end of the alley was a road that ran along the length of a half-empty private parking lot used by the utility company. I looked both ways and didn’t see anyone in the road. Turning back, I studied the back doors of the library, the café, and the shoe store. None of them were open to the public, but I felt sure Wes must have gone into one of them.
    After making a quick decision, I sent another message to Farrah.
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    Make it the Cozy Café instead.
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    Then I walked around the corner and entered the café through the front door. By this time it was mid-afternoon and the lunch rush was well over. My stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten since 7:00 a.m., so I grabbed a booth by the window and ordered right away. I got the black bean burger, no cheese, and sweet potato fries. After placing my order, I moseyed on back to the ladies’ room to wash up and peek in the window to the kitchen. I could see a couple of cooks and a busboy bustling about, but there was no sign of Wes.
    Farrah came in just as I got back to the table. “I already ordered. Sorry,” I said. “I was starving.”
    â€œYou okay?” she said, taking the seat opposite me. Then, to the waitress, she said, “I’ll just have an iced tea. Thanks.”
    I leaned forward, propped my elbows on the table, and began rubbing my forehead. “I’ve had better days,” I