An Uncollected Death

by Meg Wolfe

earth could it be?”

  “I think that whatever it is, it’s a book or something to do with books. Didn’t Olivia say something to you before she died?”

  Helene nodded slowly. “Yes. She said, ‘C’est mon livre.’ ‘It’s my book.’ But I wasn’t sure she knew what she was saying.”

  “I’m beginning to think that she did,” said Charlotte. “And I’m almost positive she didn’t hit Wesley Warren with the bat. Olivia was right-handed, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes she was. I am left-handed, and Olivia was right-handed.”

  Charlotte turned to Simon. “Do you happen to have the pictures you took that day we found Olivia?” When Simon nodded and began to retrieve his smart phone, she continued, “I want to double-check which hand the bat was in.”

  Simon found the picture, then showed it to her. The bat was, indeed, in Olivia’s right hand. “This seems to go against your argument.”

  Charlotte expected his objection. “It actually supports it, because Olivia has had difficulty with that arm since right before her husband died. In one of the notebooks there is an account of his grabbing her in a fit, and there is a noticeable deterioration in her handwriting, which only got slightly better toward the end. She did say that difficulty in lifting things was one of the reasons she needed help in gathering the notebooks.”

  “Of course!” exclaimed Helene. “I remember asking her about pouring coffee or something with her left hand, but she just said it was arthritis in her right hand. She didn’t want to admit what really happened.”

  “So you see, she couldn’t have swung that bat with her right arm, at least not with any force, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she couldn’t even pick it up. If she did pick it up and use it, it would have had to be with her left hand, but I doubt if she would have had the strength and coordination for that.”

  Simon put the phone back in his pocket. “So that means someone else used the bat on Wesley Warren—and planted it in Olivia’s hand afterward.”

  “Exactly,” said Charlotte. “There was almost certainly a third person on the scene, someone who got Wesley Warren into his car and made sure it ran off into the pond.” She went on to explain what Barnes said about Wesley Warren’s head injury, and that he was still alive when the car went under the water.

  After a moment or two of silence, Helene asked, with a pained expression, “Donnie?”

  Simon shook his head. “I can’t see him leaving his mother for dead, to be honest.”

  “But he’s clearly tangled up in this,” said Helene. She sounded tired. “I don’t think I want to talk to him in person at the moment. I need to think about this for a while.” She asked Charlotte, “Would you mind if we left?”

  “How about I stay here, and see if the guys are able to get the Jeep fixed, or if it needs towing. Then if I still need a ride, I will come back to your place.”

  “I’m pretty sure we’ll have it sorted out within the hour,” said Simon.

  Helene was reassured, and Charlotte walked with her to the car. She retrieved her tote bag and gave Helene a hug. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Helene. If nothing else, we should have all the notebooks in a few days.”

  Helene held on to Charlotte’s arms. “Just be careful. And promise me to take the day off—no packing, no painting, no moving, just give yourself one day off.”

  “I promise.”

  As Charlotte returned to Simon and the Jeep, Larry strode out of The Good Stuff, his hands on his hips.

  “So uh,” he said to Simon, gesturing at the Jeep, “this gonna take long, or what? Parking’s for customers, and this truck’s been here since yesterday.”

  Charlotte spoke quickly. “Sorry, Larry, it wouldn’t start, but I think it’ll be fixed in just a little while.”

  Larry’s face cleared on seeing her. “Oh, it’s you! I was wondering if it was your truck or not. Problems, eh?”

  Charlotte explained about working on the apartment the day before, the recent repair, and introduced Simon. The men shook hands.

  “You painted yesterday, then? You didn’t make a peep, had no idea!” Larry seemed pleased with this fact.

  “I’m glad! There were a couple of times when I dragged the ladder and it made some noise, but I got done with the carpet and the trash and stuff before the store opened. Want to see it?”

  “Sure do.”

  Charlotte turned and asked Simon if he wanted to see the apartment, as well.

  Simon just leaned against the Jeep and smiled. “Donovan will be back any time now. Maybe I’ll take a look after we’re done with this.”

  As Charlotte followed Larry up the stairs to the apartment, yesterday’s exertion came back to haunt her with aching leg muscles. The place still smelled like fresh paint, with overtones of various cleaners and artificial lemon.

  “Holy mother of margarine!” Larry exclaimed, turning to beam at her as she reached the top of the stairs. “This is great!”

  It did look rather nice, she thought, especially with the bright sunny sky shining through clean windows, the walls freshly repaired and painted, and the wood floor gleaming with the warm patina of age. Larry looked over the kitchen, bathroom, and closet, nodding his approval, but Charlotte remained at her vantage point near the stairs, trying to visualize which of her furnishings would work. The entire apartment was only slightly larger than her living room at Lake Parkerton, and most of her furniture was designed for a larger space.

  “So when you moving in?”

  She shrugged. “Tomorrow. I was planning to move in today, but then the Jeep broke down—and I have to admit I’m awfully tired.”

  “I’m not surprised you’re tired, I’m tired just imagining what you did yesterday. But it sure looks nice. I’ll make sure the thermostat is on for this zone later today, and I’ll get the paint stuff and the ladder outta here for ya.”

  Charlotte thanked him and went back outside. Donovan had returned, and he and Simon were installing the new part. Then Charlotte spied a meter cop coming down the sidewalk, stopping to write a ticket three cars down from the Jeep. Oh great. The ticket was going to be exponentially larger with every two hours it sat in that space.

  “Hey guys,” she said to Simon’s back and Donovan’s legs, “how’s it going?”

  Donovan grunted something about rust and Simon made a “so-so” gesture with his free hand. The meter cop came closer, then stopped to talk to someone. Charlotte’s palms started to sweat. She was grateful that Simon had taken the initiative to get the Jeep going again, but she wondered how much the part was, and how pricey the ticket was going to be by the time they got done—if they got it done at all. If they didn’t, she’d also have a towing expense. She felt as if the money from Helene’s check for Olivia’s project was evaporating before her eyes.

  Donovan called out for something, and Simon handed him a different tool. The meter cop finished her conversation, and was checking the next car. Donovan then scuttled out from under the Jeep, dusted himself off, and gave Charlotte a hello wave that was not unlike a cop’s hand signal to stop. She waved back the same way, hiding her conflicting feelings about him. Would she get a chance to tell him that she was onto him and he had better stay away from his mother’s house the rest of the week?

  Simon got all the tools off the truck frame, and Donovan got in the driver’s seat. The Jeep started just as the meter cop walked up, and Charlotte almost hit her when she jumped up and down in excitement.

  “Oh, oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you behind me,” Charlotte apologized. “They just got it fixed. Oh please don’t give me another ticket, I—”

  “No problem, ma’am,” said the cop, setting her cap back on straight. “So you’re saying it’s been here because it broke down?”

  Charlotte nodded. “I was here yesterday to get my apartment ready so I could move in today,” she pointed up at the windows above The Good Stuff, “but by the time I got done and was ready to leave, it wouldn’t start, and I’d just spent hundreds of dollars ge
tting it fixed last week, and I—,” she stopped when the cop held up her hand.

  “Let me check something,” she said, and stepped away to talk into her radio.

  Charlotte looked over at Simon, who was placing socket wrench bits back into a case, and wiping fingerprints off the hood. Donovan was nowhere to be seen. “Where’d he go?” she asked him quietly.

  He nodded toward a small parking lot down the street, and she saw Donovan getting into his car and driving off. “Cop came up. Doesn’t want to be seen, I suspect.”

  Wow, thought Charlotte. Everything pointed to Donovan being involved in something criminal. She felt uneasy that she was now obligated to him for his help.

  The cop came up and handed Charlotte a ticket slip, but said, “This isn’t a ticket. Take it in to the station and tell them what happened. I think they’ll waive the whole thing. I told them you were clearly having it repaired and you weren’t just shopping too long or something. Should be okay. You’re moving up there, eh?” She pointed up at the windows.

  “Yeah, tomorrow, if things just go right for once.”

  The cop laughed and nodded at the ticket, “Well, I hope that helps. When you go into the station, apply for a resident sticker so you can park on the side streets overnight. Have a good day, and welcome to the neighborhood.” She waved at Charlotte and Simon and continued her rounds.

  Charlotte was so relieved—the Jeep was running again, the tickets were waived, Larry liked the job she did on