At the end of my narrative, Lois slurped at her tea. “Why did she move here? To Wisconsin.”

“Why not?” I turned up my palms. “This is a beautiful state. We have scenic beauty galore, the excitement of four seasons—”

“Four seasons. Right.” Lois counted on her fingers. “Fall, winter, spring, and construction season. Or”—she held up her other set of fingers—“winter and three months of poor sledding.”

I ignored her. “We have opportunities in every market sector and we have a great educational system.”

Lois scrunched her face. “Great? Have they taught our youth anything about sled dogs?” She swung around and faced Paoze. “Well, have they?”

Oh, dear.

“Sled dogs?” he asked.

Lois smiled and I could almost hear her thinking, Gotcha!

“Sled dogs are what settled the West,” she said.

He looked at her. “It was the covered wagon and the plow and the oxen. I do not believe in sledding dogs.”

“What?” She opened her eyes wide. “Here I am trying to teach you the stuff they don’t write in history books and you’re saying I’m making it all up?”

Paoze shot me a glance, but I held up my hands and backed away. I’d long since declared myself a noncombatant after a game had started.

“What is the history?” His mouth was firm, set in the “you can’t fool me” stance that Lois took as a direct challenge. “I know of no sled dogs in Kansas. Sled dogs are in Alaska.”

Lois nodded sagely, making her dangling earrings rattle. Today’s ensemble, in contrast to the hunter’s orange of yesterday, was a long brown skirt over brown boots and a tawny-colored sweater. She’d tied her hair back with a white silk scarf and added earrings made of tiny little cowbells.

The clothes I understood—she was showing her solidarity with the deer currently under siege by thousands of hunters—but I didn’t understand the cowbell earrings. She’d told me they represented the deer’s hope for survival. I’d said I wasn’t sure deer had that complex a psychology, and she’d given me the old milk for my tea.

“Yes, indeedy,” she said. “Sled dogs are in Alaska. But they’re also raised throughout the upper Midwest. Not down here, we’re too far south, but up there.” She waved a hand northish. “And back in the day, there were sled dogs everywhere.”

“How then and not today?” Paoze asked suspiciously.

Lois rolled her eyes, all attitude and melodrama. “Haven’t you heard of global warming? There used to be enough snow around here to run sled dogs. We used to have long enough winters to ship supplies from Boston to Denver via sled dog. Kind of like the Pony Express, only different, see?”

Paoze was starting to nod. “Would not horses and big sleds have been a good choice?”

Scenting victory, Lois shook her head vigorously. “Horse hooves get too packed with snow on the long trips. Dog feet were better.”

I was half convinced myself.

“The biggest problem,” she went on, “was the food. When they’re working, dogs eat a lot, and to feed the animals the drivers had to hunt. It took them too far out of their way and they lost so much time that the drivers’ association decided to make a new breed of dogs. It started with breeding a sled dog with a wolf, but then some scientist got the brilliant idea to cross a sled dog with a camel. What a great idea!” Her eyes sparkled. “A camel crossed with a husky. They called it a huskel, and that, my friend, is how the West was settled.”

“Huskel.” Paoze crossed his arms. “I do not believe you.”

“Well, it was only a little camel, and . . .” But Paoze was walking away. “Bugger,” she said. “I had him, did you see it? Why didn’t I stop?”

“No telling stories to Yvonne. At least not until spring.”

Lois sighed. “I suppose we do want her to stay. Anyway, how did she end up here? Wait. She’s had a yearning for fresh cheese curds and this is her chance to make the dream come true.”

I loved cheese curds, those small bits of cheese that, when fresh, squeaked against your teeth. Without too much effort I could eat half a pound at a sitting. Unfortunately I would gain two pounds, which seemed to defy a basic law of thermodynamics—matter cannot be created nor destroyed—but I didn’t feel up to the explanation my brother would give if I asked. “I doubt anyone would move for cheese curds.”

“Kringles?”

Another Wisconsin treat. Kringles looked like a plate-sized race track made of pastry. They were topped with thin icing and came in a variety of fillings: cherry, pecan, cream cheese. All were the stuff of dreams and laden with fat. I stayed away from them at all costs. Except for special occasions.

“You can have Kringles shipped,” I said.

Lois frowned. “Does she have family here? Maybe she has a thing for Frank Lloyd Wright architecture. The stuff is everywhere, you know.”

“I didn’t pry into her reasons.” I gave Lois a stern look. “And don’t you start, either. If she wants to tell us, she will.”

We left my office and were starting our morning chores when the front bells jingled and Mrs. Tolliver marched in. “I hear you’ve hired a felon,” she announced.

I gasped. How had the news spread so fast? But even as I had the thought, I figured out the answer. Texting. Facebook. Twitter. These days it only took an instant for bad news to travel around the globe. One post on someone’s wall and your reputation was in tatters.

But who had let out the news? And why?

Lois was staring at me, round-eyed. Paoze had gone blank-faced. Yvonne had instantly become a statue, freezing solid in the act of turning a page. The few customers in the store were poking their heads above the shelves, eyes and ears alert.

Mrs. Tolliver nodded at me. “I thought it only fair to tell you in person that I will not patronize your store any longer. And I must say I question your decision. Hiring a convicted killer when there’s a murderer roaming free?” She shook her head briskly.

I faced Mrs. Tolliver. Deep breaths, I told myself. You can do this. Be brave. Or at least pretend that you are. I smiled. “Yvonne is going to be nothing but an asset to this store. But you already know that, don’t you?”

Her chin went up. “I beg your pardon. How could I possibly know such a thing?”

“You met her yesterday.” I nodded at Yvonne. “Mrs. Tolliver, please meet Yvonne Ganassi. Yvonne, this is Mrs. Tolliver, one of our store’s best customers.”

The older woman’s rounded jawline fell slack. “You’re the murderer?”

Yvonne’s shoulders slumped, her pale face a shade whiter. “I didn’t kill anyone,” she whispered. “Ever. I mean . . . I couldn’t.”

Mrs. Tolliver made a tsking noise. “I beg to differ. Anyone can kill, given the right set of circumstances. Even myself, but I would only kill to save one of my loved ones from death.” She pierced Yvonne with a laser glare. “Were you or were you not convicted of the murder of your husband’s mistress?”

Yvonne’s fingers trembled. She slid the book she held onto a shelf. Into, I noted, the correct place. “Yes, but—”

“Then no more need be said.” Mrs. Tolliver swept out of the store.

Of the three remaining customers, one scuttled out, her gaze skittering over and through Yvonne. Another edged to the back of the store. The third, a regular customer from Madison whose name I could never remember, looked at Yvonne, then looked at me. She shrugged and went back to perusing the early chapter books.

“I’m so sorry,” Yvonne whispered. “I’ll leave now. Maybe you can catch up with Mrs. Tolliver and—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, loud enough for everyone in the store to hear, including an openmouthed Lois and a very still Paoze. “You’re not quitting. You didn’t kill anyone. You’re completely innocent. You received a complete acquittal.”

She’d also, I’d found out during our walk back from eating cookies, been awarded a hefty compensation check and didn’t need to depend on a paycheck from the Children’s Bookshelf to make the mortgage payments. This was an excellent financial situation for a bookstore clerk.

Yvonne kept her head down. “It doesn’t matter if I’m innocent or not. People will know I was in jail. I don’t want to hurt your business, Beth, so I’ll just—”

“Don’t you dare walk out on me.”

“I . . . what?” Her head popped up.

“You saw what happened yesterday. Lois and I can’t do all the work that needs doing. We need a third fulltime person and you’re the person we need.”

“There must be someone else.”

“Everyone with the qualifications wants benefits, and the only benefit I can provide is the smell of new books.”

She was starting to edge away and I didn’t know what to do. If I’d been Erica, I could have pummeled her with sound logic and have her begging to sign a contract for indentured servitude. If I’d been Marina, I’d have thrown my arms around her and wept until she agreed to stay. But I was only Beth, and my powers of persuasion were limited.

“Please stay,” I said softly. “We need you.”

Five simple words, each one a single syllable. No way was that going to be argument enough. I heaved a heavy internal sigh. Yvonne would leave and never come back. The newspaper ad for a new employee would go answered. Lois and I would run ourselves ragged trying to operate the store ourselves. Lois would get sick from stress and have to be hospitalized. I’d rush from store to hospital to PTA meetings to home and would inevitably forget one of Jenna’s hockey games. She’d never forgive me, and as we descended into her teenage years, our relationship would deteriorate to silence. All for the want of a bookstore clerk. I looked at Yvonne and couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“You really want me to work here?” she asked.

My heart started beating again.

“Yes!” Lois shouted. Her head was peeking up over the row of middle-grade bookshelves. “Absolutely yes.”

“Are you sure?” Yvonne asked. “What if Mrs. Tolliver tells three people not to come here again, and those three people tell three other people, and—”

“Don’t be such a worrywart,” Lois said, coming around the endcap. “It’ll be fine. The three of us will make a great team.” She draped her long arms over our shoulders. “Paoze, get over here. Add in Sara, and Beth will be franchising the place before you know it.” She beamed.

Like I wanted the headache of franchising. Ick.

“Well, if you’re sure . . .”

“Very,” I said firmly.

“Hooray!” Lois cried, and slapped us both on the back.

We stood there, a perfect photo opportunity for anyone who wanted to take a picture of a young man and three women of varying ages. One tall and familiar man did walk in the door, but he didn’t have a camera in hand. What he had was a concerned expression on his face.

“Beth, can I talk to you?”

I hoped there wasn’t a problem with one of his girls. Evan was divorced and had two children, but his daughters were grown. One was in the army, and the other was a sophomore at the University of Wisconsin.

But the look on his face wasn’t that kind of look. I looked up into his blue eyes. Blue as the eyes of the Siamese cat I’d had as a child. Blue as a winter’s dawn.

“Beth, are you listening to me?”

“Um, sorry. I was just . . . thinking.” Daydreaming, whatever. For some reason, Evan’s presence had that effect on me. One look into those light blue eyes and the real world fell away. In my imagination we were often on a desert island, or in Europe, or in the English book town of Hay-on-Wye with Evan cheerfully carrying all my purchases.

“Thinking is a good thing.” He pulled out my desk chair and kissed me as I sat down. The spare chair was covered with catalogs and books and magazines, but Evan knew the drill. He picked up the pile, dropped it onto the floor, and sat.

“So I hear you’ve hired a convicted murderer.” He draped one ankle over the opposite knee.

I’d been in the act of leaning back comfortably, but at his words I sat bolt upright. “Where did you hear that?”

He waved his hands. “You know this town.”

This town, that town, every town, probably, when it came to news like this. “It’s not true.” Well, technically it was. I sighed and gave him the thirty-second summary.

“Interesting situation.” He put his hands around his knee. “How do you feel about some unsolicited advice from a current business owner and former attorney?”

I put my hands over my abdomen. “My stomach hurts already.”

“Your stomach hurts all the time.”

“Only when I worry.”

“You worry all the time.” He gave me that lopsided grin.

I smiled back. “Not all the time.”

We sat there making goopy-eyes at each other until my face got tired. “Okay, I’m ready for the advice. Hit me.”

He dropped his foot to the floor and looked at me straight on and serious. “Hiring Yvonne is a mistake.”

I felt as if he had hit me. “No,” I said. “You’re wrong.” I started listing all the reasons Yvonne was perfect for the job, perfect for the store, and perfect for Rynwood, but Evan rode over my tally.

“Hear me out, okay?” He sat forward, elbows on thighs, letting his hands dangle together. “None of that matters. The only thing that counts in a business is that it makes money. Every decision has to have that as its focus.”

I stiffened. He was using the patient voice. I hated that. “Are you saying I don’t know how to run my own business?” Stupid Beth, floundering in her own ignorance. It was amazing the store had carried on this long.

Evan stood and walked over to my chair. He took my hands, pulled me to my feet, and enfolded me in his arms. “You’re doing a wonderful job,” he said into my hair. “You’ve created an almost magical atmosphere here. You think it’s the books, but the crucial ingredient is completely different.”

I pulled back and looked up at him, frowning. “What do you mean?” He wasn’t making sense. Of course it was the books. Poor man; he’d been spending too much time with plumbing fixtures.

He kissed the tip of my nose. “It’s you. Your quirky sense of humor and your sense of fun, but most of all your warm heart.” His lips touched mine softly. I would have put my arms around him and leaned into the kiss, but I didn’t want to get a stiff neck. Our height differential necessitated a couch for even mildly amorous activities. Either that or a step.

“You,” he whispered, and kissed my forehead. “You make this store a haven.”

He was wrong, but it was a nice thing to say.

“That’s why I want to warn you about this decision.” He kissed me again then released me. “Your sense of fairness is exceptional, and I’m afraid it could land you in trouble.”

Back to Yvonne. Rats. I thought the topic had been successfully buried. “She didn’t kill anyone.”

“A lot of people think she did.”

“They’re wrong.” I folded my arms.

“Your customers’ perceptions count more than any fact,” he said. “If we didn’t have an unsolved murder in town, this issue wouldn’t be so crucial, but the facts are undeniable. Yvonne was sentenced to life in prison for murder by way of strangulation. Sam Helmstetter was killed the same way.” Evan took one of my hands between his two large ones, hiding it completely. “Let’s think about this differently. If a pediatrician came to town and you heard that he’d been accused of malpractice, would you consider taking Jenna and Oliver to him?”

“Of course not,” I said indignantly. And as I said the words, I realized what I’d said. “Um, not until I’d done some investigating . . .” My voice trailed off to silence.

“Point taken?” Evan asked. His tone was gentle.

I nodded, unhappy with myself for leaping right into the trap. “Some days reality stinks.”

He laughed. “Ah, it’s not so bad. We’re alive, breathing, and in good health. What else could you want?”

My answer was automatic. “Full-ride college scholarships. Two of them, please.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He opened his palms and kissed the back of my hand. “Thanks for listening.”

“You’re welcome.” I looked at my hand. The only other person who’d ever kissed my hand had been Uncle Rolly on my thirteenth birthday. “Thanks for caring enough to voice your concerns.”

“I care about you.”

“And I care about you.” This was as close as we’d come to saying the scary “I love you” thing. Stronger than “I like you,” but much safer than the L word. “So I hope your feelings aren’t hurt,” I said, “when I ignore your well-meant advice entirely.”

“You mean—”

“I’m not going to ask Yvonne to leave.”

He sighed. “I had that feeling.”

“If this town turns against the store, we’ll survive. Over half of our customers are from Madison.” Which I only knew because we’d started to ask for zip codes. Though I disliked asking, the information was helping us decide which advertising was worthwhile. My advertising budget was about the size of a twelve-year-old’s allowance, which made wasting even a single dollar painful.

Evan looked unconvinced. “If you lose—let’s just hypothesize here—twenty percent of your Rynwood customers, how would your monthly revenues match your budget forecast?”

I did the math in my head. Then, since I didn’t like the way it turned out, I did it again. “Math isn’t my strong suit.” But even I could recognize impending doom when the edge of the cliff was rushing near. For once, however, I wasn’t going to worry about it. “And it doesn’t matter. Yvonne is staying.”

“It sounds as if you’re making this a statement of principle.”

I hadn’t thought about it in those terms. Principles weren’t something I thought about on a daily basis. “I suppose I am.”

He frowned. “Principles can be expensive. I hope the cost isn’t too high.”

“You and me both,” I said, hoping to make him smile. “Stop worrying, or your face is going to freeze like that.”

He didn’t laugh, but he did smile a little. “Are we still on for Saturday night? I have—”

The phone rang. Then again. “Sorry,” I murmured. “Children’s Bookshelf, how may I help you?”

“Beth,” said Richard, my ex-husband. “It’s Richard.”

“Hello, Richard.”

As soon as the name came out of my mouth, Evan stood and headed for the door. “Wait,” I said.

“What?” asked Richard.

“What?” asked Evan.

“Not you,” I said into the phone. “You,” I said to Evan. “Saturday is still good. Five o’clock?”

“How about four?” He smiled as he shut the door behind him.

“Okay, I’m back,” I told Richard. As always after seeing Evan, I felt as if I could solve the world’s problems and be home in time to cook dinner. “What’s up?”

He said three short words and my life changed. There were other sets of three words that changed lives: “I love you,” “It’s a girl,” or the pronouncement of “husband and wife.” Those were all good changes, at least most of the time. No, Richard’s three words were the bad kind, the kind you hoped you’d never hear. But maybe I’d heard wrong. I didn’t always listen to Richard as closely as I might. Maybe he’d said something else. “I’m sorry, Richard. What did you say?”

“I’ve been fired.”