Much Ado About Muffin by Victoria Hamilton

was packed, and I knew several of the patrons. Bad combo when you’ve just found the murdered body of a local hero/villain, depending on where your sympathies lay. Though I had yet to meet anyone who considered her a hero.
    â€œDid you
really
find the body?” Helen Johnson, two tables over, asked, whispering it loudly across the table between us, which was occupied by a farmer I didn’t recognize.
    â€œYes, we did,” I said, including Gogi, across the table from me, in my gaze.
    Isadore, who was clearing tables, thumped her bus pan down on an empty table and cast a look around. Helen eyedher nervously and shut up. I confess I did wonder what had happened between the former friends.
    â€œWhy don’t we get out of here?” Gogi whispered, leaning across the table. “I should get back to Golden Acres, make sure my folks aren’t upset by the news. We’ll plan our shopping trip for another day, next week maybe.”
    Out on the sidewalk I heaved a sigh of relief, even as I eyed the post office with trepidation. “I wonder if Hannah knows yet,” I said.
    â€œMaybe. Probably not, though, unless someone went in to the library and told her.”
    I made a sudden decision. “I’m going to go tell her myself, or if she’s already heard, make sure she’s okay.”
    â€œHannah is tougher than you seem to think. That girl has had dozens of operations, hundreds of treatments and medications. She’s resilient.”
    â€œBut tenderhearted,” I said. “I won’t rest unless I do this.”
    Gogi touched my shoulder, then pulled me into a hug. “You’re a good woman, Merry Wynter.”
    â€œDo you want a ride?”
    Gogi shook her head. “I think I’ll walk. I need some peace before I enter the fray.”
    We walked together as far as the library, then she walked on alone. I entered the library, the cool, calm oasis that Hannah had created in the weird little burg that was Autumn Vale.
    â€œMerry, my good friend!” she called out, looking up from a catalog on her desk. “I’m so sorry. I heard what happened, and that you found her.”
    And in that moment I knew that I had come to the library not for Hannah’s comfort, but for my own, and my eyes watered. I needed to see her sweet face and know there was so much goodness in the world that countered the evil that men do. “Hannah, it was so awful,” I said, circling the desk, hugging her frail little body to me, and sitting in the visitor’schair next to her wheelchair. “It was terrible. I think it’s worse because I didn’t like her, and now I feel guilty about that.”
    â€œYou need a good cup of tea,” she said, and set about her task, the wheelchair moving smoothly and quietly to the table behind, where she plugged in the kettle and got down the teapot. She set out a tray and some cups. “I tried my hand at
montecados
, a kind of Spanish cookie,” she said over her shoulder. “While you were gone I tried to do a few Spanish things, so I’d feel close to you. I made these and they turned out, so I made some more last night, hoping you’d be in.”
    My breath caught in my throat, and I was happy that she was still turned away, reaching for a plastic container of treats, so she didn’t see my grimace. All the time I had been gone, though I thought of her, I didn’t consider that she was missing me, that I was important to her. I’d
never
make that mistake again.
    I carried the laden tray to one of the library tables that marched down the center of the long cement block room. Isadore, with the instincts of someone always hungry, entered, and Hannah silently poured us all some tea—I noticed she’d already had three cups on the tray—and set the little cookies, pale circles with an almond pressed into the center of each one, on a pretty antique plate.
    After a moment of imbibing, I tried