An Uncollected Death

by Meg Wolfe

still be careful about sharing any of this with him or with Mrs. Dalmier, because they might inadvertently let something slip to someone who really does have something to do with all this.”

  “Well, I don’t think any of us are going to say a word to Bosley Warren, Mitchell, or even Donovan at this point. Those are the most likely ones in my reckoning, even if I’m not sure why.”

  “Do you have any feelings about the motive, one way or another?”

  The question surprised Charlotte. “Well, I suppose I do. I’m sensing it has to do with books, since that seems to be the one common element among all the players, including myself. Books and writers. And I’m convinced that it’s what Olivia held in greatest value, more than anything else in her house.”

  “Another rare book, like the one Bosley Warren found?” Barnes’ smart phone had been vibrating, and he began to get up from the table after checking it, making preparations to leave.

  “Seems to be,” said Charlotte, “but I find it difficult to believe that that kind of lightning would strike twice in the same small town.”

  “Then we might have to look a little deeper into the provenance of that book. But remember,” he held up a finger in warning, “keep your own counsel, be discreet, and don’t work at Mrs. Targman’s house alone.”

   

  Later that morning, Charlotte sat alone at a window table at The Coffee Grove, reading the latest email from Ellis, writing one back to her, and searching for any updates on Hannah Verhagen’s whereabouts (but she found none). The shop was busy, and most of the tables and armchairs were full with friends meeting up and couples having brunch, plus the usual students, business people, and local attorneys. She knew she really ought to be back at Lake Parkerton and finish sorting through her things, but she couldn’t face being alone there after the confrontation with Bosley Warren and Detective Barnes’ confirmation that she might be in some danger from whoever killed Olivia and Wesley Warren.

  She called Helene, inviting her to come down, and told her to bring Simon, as well. The Englishman was growing on her, and his being the one person cleared of suspicion gave him a stability that was much to be desired in her currently unsettled circumstances. She thought, too, of Diane, who had been another source of support and encouragement, and called her as well.

  “Hell, yeah!” Diane cheered over the phone. “Any excuse to get out of the office on a Saturday morning! I’m on my way!”

  And in fact Diane actually arrived first, tossing her tote bag and jacket on the chair opposite Charlotte’s, and waving and calling out to Jimmy to make her “the usual.”

  “So!” Diane said breathlessly, “Do. Tell. How is everything going? Did Stanton’s start yet? How’s Helene?”

  “Everything’s fine. So glad you could make it. Helene is on her way over, too.”

  “Ooh, good! I’d love to see her, it’s been ages. When are you moving? We could be doing this every day!”

  Charlotte laughed. She really needed to be around friendly energy like Diane’s. She described the Stanton crew and her own efforts to go through everything and make decisions. They both spotted Simon’s motorcycle pulling into a parking space across the street. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, but the woman riding with her arms around him was.

  “Who’s the chick?” said Diane, and they watched as the rider dismounted slowly and carefully, then removed the helmet. Helene!

  Diane burst out laughing. “I swear she is the coolest!”

  Simon and Helene soon joined them. He was clearly enjoying himself, and Helene looked both exhilarated and like a cat who swallowed a canary. They placed their orders and Jimmy came over to pull two small tables together to make one larger one. He joined them when he brought a tray of coffees and pastries, and Charlotte took it all in, the pleasure of a gathering of good-natured friends over good coffee. It dawned on her that she hadn’t really done anything like this with a group since the economy took a nosedive and her Lake Parkerton neighbors turned in on themselves.

  “Lola!” cried Diane, waving as the real estate agent entered the shop. Today Lola was wearing a turquoise suit of the same cut as her pink one, with black spike heels and a lacy black camisole. Charlotte couldn’t be sure if the lipstick and nail polish were the same color as before, but they were certainly as shiny.

  Lola gave Diane an air kiss and a quick hug, and the same to Jimmy, who went to get her a chair and a coffee. She then came around and gave Charlotte a hug, as well, and flashed her billboard smile when introduced to Helene and Simon. Charlotte caught herself watching Simon’s reaction to Lola, and was disappointed when he flashed her a big smile right back. Oh well. Men.

  Lola herself brought the conversation around to Wesley Warren, reporting on local chatter. Of the two brothers, Bosley was considered the more likely to have a car crash, given his liking for drink and his impulsive nature. Wesley was the quiet and cautious one. Charlotte knew not to contribute anything to the conversation, in light of Barnes’ warning, but decided it wouldn’t hurt to ask questions. She directed one at both Diane and Lola, who were sitting next to each other, and with a glance included Jimmy, as well.

  “Do any of you know somebody named Mitchell, I think his last name is Bennett?”

  Diane shook her head, Jimmy just looked down at his coffee, and Lola went quiet and pale.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said with a sigh. “I would just as soon not know him.”

  Jimmy looked over his shoulder, checking out the rest of the people in the shop, before asking Charlotte, “How in the world do you know him?”

  “I just met him once. He’s a friend of a friend. Gave me a bad feeling, and I guess it is warranted.”

  Lola nodded, then leaned forward, talking quietly, and the others leaned forward to hear her.

  “Several years ago, I was married to a drunk, and needed money to get divorced and support my little girl and get some kind of career training. Had it all planned out, but life doesn’t tend to work according to plans. To make a long story short, I ended up owing money to Toley Banks.”

  Simon and Helene looked confused, and Jimmy muttered, “Local loan shark.” They then understood. Charlotte kept her expression neutral, and nodded as if the information was new to her, as well.

  Lola continued. “Mitchell is, essentially, Banks’ collector. Looks so sweet, y’know? And so charming. That’s what gets you.”

  Helene, Simon, and Charlotte glanced at one another in mutual understanding: if Donovan was associating with Mitchell, he was mixed up with Toley Banks.

  “Anyway,” continued Lola, “it took a while, but I finally got squared up with them. In theory, anyway. Part of getting squared up with people like that is they always seem to want another favor, as part of their so-called ‘interest.’”

  “Is that why you pushed Warren Brothers’ estate services?” asked Charlotte.

  Lola had the grace to cringe. “Yeah. They’re into Banks, too, even though they’re relation. I heard you’re going with Stanton’s, though.”

  Charlotte nodded. “It’s a better fit. Sorry about that.”

  Lola shrugged. “It’s okay, Charlotte. You’re better off.”

  Jimmy had finished his coffee and was pensively tapping the empty cup on the table. “There have always been slimeballs who take advantage of people when they’re vulnerable, and not many other options for vulnerable people to go when they need help. But right now there’s a lot of people needing help, and it’s just going to make loan sharks richer.”

  Diane had her own opinion about the “legal loan sharks,” banks and mortgage companies that convinced people they could afford more house than they really could, and the conversation gradually rippled out to the difficult economy, and the things many people had to do to cope without good-paying jobs. Helene and Jimmy had stories of charities, both local and international, Simon had tales from England and other countries, and from there the topics spread to more mundane and personal concerns.

  Helene was going to have her hair done,
as she was attending a fundraising gala in Chicago on Sunday, staying overnight with a friend; Diane was going to a weekend rally for MG owners; Lola was excited about having one showing after another, and two houses with sales pending, but she had to stay on top of the buyers’ various demands that the sellers were balking at; Simon had a field trip for his students in the afternoon, and had “another godforsaken faculty party” on Sunday evening; Jimmy had an out of town visitor coming in, a cousin he hadn’t seen in years.

  Charlotte had thought about Diane’s encouragement the other day, to reach out to friends for help, especially when she was ready to move, but as she listened, she realized that each one’s life was so full, whether as teachers, artists, businesspeople, family members, and members of the community. They weren’t spring chickens, either. She couldn’t bring herself to ask more of them than this fellowship. Her original instinct to whittle down her possessions to only what she could personally manage, what she could move on her own steam, in her own vehicle, was the right one.

   

   

   

   

  Fifteen

  Sunday, September 22nd

   

  The entry door was tall and narrow, deeply carved, painted shiny black, and squeezed between The Good Stuff and Cindy’s Nail Salon. The hardware was real brass and original to the late 19th-century building, including the number 222. Charlotte’s hands shook a little as she