Buried in the Stacks

by Allison Brook

  “You’re most welcome,” I said.

  “Come and meet the others.”

  “Carrie, dear! Thanks so much for having us!” Francesca Benning hugged me like a long-lost relative. “I don’t know what we would have done otherwise.”

  “I imagine we’d be holding the meeting in our house,” said the tall, handsome man I now knew to be her husband.

  Francesca turned to him, an amused expression on her face. “Of course, dear. We’re always open to a good cause. Carrie, this is my husband, Gerald Benning. Jerry, meet Carrie.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “Likewise.”

  His smile conveyed warmth, though he quickly turned to the man beside him. Was it “Gerry” or “Jerry” Benning? I suddenly remembered the JB on Dorothy’s list who had paid a whopping five thousand dollars. Could Dorothy have been blackmailing her own brother-in-law?

  I had no time to speculate on this because Reese was asking us to take our seats.

  “Carrie!”

  I turned to find out who was calling my name. Gillian Richards came dashing toward me and embraced me in an affectionate hug. I hugged her back.

  “So glad to see you,” I said. “I meant to call to get together, but—”

  “No need to explain,” Gillian said, sliding into the chair beside me. “I’ve been busy too.”

  “Are you still seeing Ryan?” I asked. I’d gotten to know Gillian when I was helping Jared Foster find out who had murdered his mother. Gillian and I had bonded when she’d been dating Jared’s brother, Ryan.

  “Are you kidding? It took me awhile to see past his smoldering good looks, but once I did, I was out of that relationship ASAP.”

  “I’m glad,” I said. “Ryan’s a jerk. You deserve better.”

  More people joined us, including Roger Camden. I counted heads. There were twenty of us. I thanked Max silently for knowing enough to add more chairs than the outside number of seventeen I’d given him. When everyone was seated, Gerald Benning called the meeting to order. I wasn’t at all surprised that he was the group’s leader. He was a lawyer, well-spoken, and clearly used to being in charge.

  “The good news is I’ve worked out the kinks with the recalcitrant owner. It’s a done deal! The purchase of the property that we’ve christened Haven House is going through.”

  Gerald paused for the applause and whistles that commended his achievement.

  “Of course,” he continued when the cheering died down, “the house was in bad shape and requires extensive carpentry, plumbing, and all new appliances. We need to raise money for those expenses.”

  A heavy-set man cleared his throat before speaking. “Is there any chance we can set up the upstairs rooms so people can stay there?”

  Gerald made little effort to hide his exasperation. “Larry, as I’ve stated before, we’re focusing on daytime activities. As it is, we have enough on our plate linking up with social, medical, and mental services that many of the homeless require. We need to work hand in hand with the homeless residences in the area. With this in mind, I’ve invited Brenda McGovern, the head administrator of the South Conn Shelter to attend a future meeting.”

  The comments came fast and furious. When so many homeless had addiction problems, who would monitor their behavior?

  Would Haven House get enough attention from services that were in sore need of funding and sufficient personnel?

  What if Haven House drew more homeless than could possibly be attended to?

  And what about someone like Henry Maris? What will become of him? Of Doris? I supposed I should be concerned about all the homeless people equally, but I couldn’t help caring more about what happened to the two of them.

  I was impressed by the way Gerald managed to answer most of the group’s questions. Some he deferred to a slender man with a beard named Theo or a white-haired woman named Martha. They appeared to be the three people in charge and most knowledgeable about the details of the project.

  The questions continued. They were about to get out of hand, when Gerald brought that part of the meeting to an end.

  “You’ve raised many important issues. Martha, Theo, and I will research as many of them as we can before our next meeting. I think we all agree that in order to establish a care center that serves the homeless properly, we must raise sufficient funds. We need to make the Clover Ridge community not only aware of our project, but willing to do their part and contribute to Haven House.” He turned to Martha.

  “Martha, would you please give your report on the upcoming fundraiser.”

  She stood. “As Gerald pointed out, we need money—and lots of it—to pay for repairs, furniture, and salaries for Haven House. Our upcoming dinner-dance fundraiser is selling well. But we still have room for more guests, and more guests means more money. With this in mind, I’d like to form a committee to promote attendance. Any volunteers?”

  Francesca’s hand shot up in the air. “If no one minds, I’d love to head this committee. I belong to several organizations, and I think I can urge many of the women to attend an affair for a good cause.” She winked. “Especially since it’s being held at the prestigious Clover Ridge Country Club, whose clubhouse is one of our oldest and most elegant manor houses.”

  “Yes, we’re fortunate the owners of the Country Club regard our event as a benefit to all of Clover Ridge and therefore are charging us a very reasonable fee.” Martha smiled. “And unless someone disagrees, Francesca, you may head the committee.”

  No one disagreed. Gillian and I exchanged glances. Silently we concurred there was no way either of us would join a committee headed by Francesca Benning. A few people raised their hands, eager to serve on the committee. Francesca looked triumphant as she called them to a corner to discuss future plans.

  We passed on the publicity committee but decide to join the planning committee that would draw up a tentative schedule of daytime activities. With only five of us, I said we’d be able to find a quiet corner to meet the following Thursday evening in the library.

  Gerald brought the meeting to an end, and everyone stood to leave.

  “See you next Thursday,” Gillian said.

  I smiled as I nodded in agreement. Though I considered Haven House a worthwhile project, it wasn’t my usual type of activity. But I’d stick with it because it offered me a connection to some of Dorothy’s relatives. And I was glad I had Gillian for company.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Evelyn was waiting for me when I unlocked my office door on Friday morning.

  “Well, that was an enthusiastic meeting in the conference room last night. I see my niece’s husband put himself in charge.”

  “I had no idea you were there,” I said.

  “I decided it was time I started doing more to help you find Dorothy’s killer.” She gave me a searching look. “That is, if you’re still determined to find him.”

  “I am, though I’m disgusted by the way Dorothy treated people who were her colleagues and her friends.”

  “My sentiments exactly, which is why I found it so difficult to share that information with you. But I was wrong. As appalling as it is, the list might be a key to finding Dorothy’s killer.”

  “Yes, it might be,” I said, thinking of the other times Evelyn had held back information for fear of incriminating her niece. “Which is why I’ve already mailed it to John. The police can go ahead and question anyone that might be on that list.

  “Dorothy was far from my favorite person, Evelyn, but she didn’t deserve to be murdered. Besides,” I reached out, wishing I could squeeze her hand, “I know how much she meant to you. And I need to find out if her murder had anything to do with your death.”

  “Thank you, Carrie. From here on in, I promise to do everything I can to help.”

  “I’d like you to keep an eye on Sally and Harvey Kirk since their initials are on the list. And please continue to listen in whenever the Haven House group meets in the library. As you saw for yoursel
f, your niece and her husband and your nephew Roger are involved in the project. Who knows if or when one of them might say something that will expose him or her as Dorothy’s murderer.”

  “You can’t be suggesting that my—” Evelyn began.

  “Evelyn! Remember what you promised.”

  “I’ll listen in,” she said. “It’s the least I can do.”

  “Good.”

  “Until now Clover Ridge has done little to help the homeless aside from providing a few places where they can sleep. I’m glad Frances, Gerald, and Roger are doing their part in the project, though I imagine Gerald has an ulterior motive.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Gerald has political aspirations. He ran for mayor two years ago and lost to Alvin Tripp. I suspect this new enterprise will win him support and votes in the next election.”

  “Which reminds me,” I said, giving her a searching look. “Do you think the “JB” on Dorothy’s list might be Jerry Benning with a J? Your niece called him Jerry last night.”

  “I never thought of that,” Evelyn said. “I tend to think of him as Gerald, with a G, though Dorothy and Fred did call him Jerry.” She scrunched up her face in a puzzled expression. “Though I can’t imagine what Gerald might have done to earn him a place on Dorothy’s list.”

  “And we may never find out,” I said. “I’m going to see what I can find out about Lillian Morris and Don Zippora, but first I want to call the hospital to learn how Henry Maris is doing.”

  Evelyn beamed at me from her usual perch on the corner of Trish and Susan’s desk. “You’re a good girl, Carrie. I don’t know how I managed before you came along.”

  Managed what? I wanted to ask, but as with so many of her other cryptic remarks, I was left in the dark.

  At least now I could count on her to observe Sally and Harvey, not that I expected either of them to suddenly confess to having murdered Dorothy. Still, people revealed more of themselves when they thought they were alone.

  I called South Conn Hospital and was able to connect with the charge nurse on the psych ward. She was reluctant to give me any information, but when I said I was calling on behalf of the library where Henry had been spending his days, she told me they would be keeping him for a few days for tests. I thanked her and felt a sense of relief. At least Henry was finally getting a physical and psych workup. But where would he go from there? Certainly not back to the shelter. The next step was to find a safe facility where he would be well treated, a facility that would accommodate Doris as well, hopefully.

  Was there any such place? I decided to call Uncle Bosco.

  Aunt Harriet answered the phone, sounding very glad to hear from me.

  “Carrie, dear, we were just talking about you. How is everything? We heard about Dorothy Hawkins’s dreadful car accident.”

  “John thinks it was no accident. Someone rammed into her car with the intention of killing her.”

  “Honestly, I can’t say that I’m surprised. Such an unpleasant woman. I imagine she had many enemies.”

  “Several, and she wasn’t well liked here in the library.”

  “I hope you’re not getting involved in the investigation, Carrie. Remember what happened last time, when you chased after—”

  “Don’t worry, Aunt Harriet. Dylan’s coming home later today. I’ll be too busy to do any sleuthing,” I said, to keep her from worrying.

  “Well, that’s a relief. You must be overjoyed.”

  “I sure am. Is Uncle Bosco there? I wanted to ask him something.”

  “He went to a breakfast meeting with the board members of the community here in Del Ray. He should be back any minute.”

  I laughed. “How did he get involved in the politics of the place? You guys are only renters.”

  “You know your uncle—always in the middle of things. Once they learned of his vast experience in Clover Ridge civic affairs, the board wanted his advice concerning a problem they’re having with the local authorities.”

  “Which is kind of what I want to talk to him about as well.” I told Aunt Harriet about the group setting up Haven House and my concern regarding Henry after he left the hospital.

  “I’ll have Bosco call you when he gets in. I think it’s wonderful that a group is creating a day center.”

  We were saying our goodbyes when Aunt Harriet interrupted. “Here’s Bosco now!” She called him to the phone.

  Uncle Bosco listened without interruption as I told him about the homeless situation in the library, Henry’s condition, and the plans to set up Haven House. When I was finished, he exhaled loudly.

  “A facility like Haven House is much needed, and setting this up is a compassionate gesture, but it’s a much more complicated enterprise than those people seem to realize.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For one thing, they seem oblivious to the fact that many of the homeless are alcoholics, drug addicts, or both. Others have mental illness. It’s all well and good to provide a place that offers activities during the day, but what happens when someone turns violent? Or decides to steal the TV for drug money? Drug rehab centers in our area are understaffed. I’ve told the town council that more money needs to be allotted for the increase in cases.”

  “Well, maybe now’s a good time to urge them to spend more money on the opiate epidemic affecting our community,” I said.

  There was pride in his voice when he said, “You might very well be onto something, Carrie, dear. Urge the leaders of this day center to contact the local mental health groups and invite them to come down to meetings.”

  “I will, Uncle Bosco. But what do you think can be done for Henry Maris?”

  “Ah, poor Henry. Your aunt and I knew the Marises when they had their store in town. It’s terrible, what happened to them. And now the poor guy has dementia. Good thing you called for emergency help. It was the only way to get him in to be evaluated.”

  “Can you help me find a place for Henry that’s well run—one where he’ll be looked after—and maybe for Doris too? She needs a permanent home. She can’t spend any more time in that shelter.”

  “I’ll make some calls, see what I can do for both of them.” Uncle Bosco chuckled. “I had no idea you’d become so civic-minded. Next thing I know, you’ll be running for town council.”

  “Are you kidding? I can hardly keep up with everything as it is. And Dylan’s coming home to open his own investigative office in town. I plan to help him as much as I can.”

  “Your aunt and I miss you, Carrie. We thought perhaps you’d want to fly down and spend a few days with us before we come home next month.”

  “I’d love to, since I miss you both, but there’s too much going on here for me to take off, even for a few days. I’m afraid I won’t get to see you until you’re back home.”

  “You turned out to be a true Clover Ridge citizen, through and through.”

  “Just as you were hoping,” I said.

  “Exactly. Just as I’d hoped.”

  I checked the morning’s activities schedule for the library, then made the rounds to make sure that all programs were in progress and running without incident. That done, I walked over to the circulation desk to ask Angela if her mother knew anything about Lillian Morris or Don Zippora. I waited until she’d finished checking out movies for a patron before I posed my question.

  “Mom knows Verna Zippora. She and Don are in Florida for the winter. They’re staying in a community not far from where your aunt and uncle are renting,” Angela said.

  “So that’s that,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure JB is Gerald Benning. Last night Francesca called him Jerry, which means Dorothy probably did too.”

  “That leaves Lillian Morris. Mom hasn’t heard anything recently about her, though a few months ago a friend told her that Lillian caused a ruckus at a book club meeting. The hostess had to ask her to leave. One more thing—she got herself a job at the Macy’s in the mall. Women’s fashions, Mom thought.”

 
“Thanks, Angela. I’ll stop by the store and tell her about Dorothy’s list. See how she reacts.”

  “I hope she doesn’t bite your head off.”

  “So do I.”

  I was about to swing by Sally’s office to tell her about last night’s meeting when I remembered that she was interviewing two candidates for the position of reference librarian. The sooner she found someone to her liking, the happier all of us would be. Having to take turns covering the reference section was cutting into everyone’s valuable working time.

  Back in my office, I made a few phone calls regarding future programs and events. Just as Trish arrived, Dylan called to tell me his plane was scheduled to land at a quarter past four. “Which means I should be arriving home anytime after five thirty. Make reservations at whichever restaurant you like for six thirty, seven.”

  “I thought I’d get takeout instead of going out to eat tonight. I’ll place the order before I leave work and pick it up on my way home. Which would you prefer—Indian, Chinese, or Italian?”

  Dylan laughed. “Any one of the three is fine. Gotta go. I still have a few ends to tie up before I leave the office.”

  “I hope that means you’re finished with the last case you were working on.”

  “Well—just about. I’m looking forward to coming home and being with you.”

  “I changed my schedule so we’ll have the entire weekend to ourselves.”

  “Can’t wait, babe.”

  “Me neither.”

  I hung up my phone, feeling a flash of concern. After spending New Year’s weekend together, Dylan had flown back to Atlanta with the bag of jewels I’d helped him recover. He’d already told his boss that he was leaving the company, when Mac had begged him to undertake one last job—tracking down an oil painting stolen from a Texas oil magnate. It sounded as if that investigation was still in progress.

  Three weeks ago, Dylan had sounded excited when he told me he wanted to set up his own investigative company in town and would only take cases in the tri-state area. But maybe he’d decided he liked flying all over the country and occasionally overseas. Or perhaps he couldn’t say no to Mac, who was reluctant to let go of his best operator. I didn’t think that was the case. Dylan had a clear sense of how he intended to lead his life and would do exactly as he wanted.