Buried in the Stacks

by Allison Brook

  We ate a late lunch and headed back to Clover Ridge. I tried not to think about tomorrow, when Dylan would be flying off to Atlanta. At least we had the rest of the day to enjoy each other’s company.

  We were halfway home when Dylan put his hand to his head. “I almost forgot!” he said, interrupting my reverie. “John called when you were in the ladies’ room, and then Mac called … anyway, I hope you don’t mind spending an hour or two at John and Sylvia’s.”

  “John and Sylvia Mathers?”

  He laughed. “Do you know any other couples named John and Sylvia?”

  “No. I just—I mean, I seem to talk to John a lot and I’m fond of Sylvia, but I’ve never been to their home.”

  “You do remember that he and I work in related professions.”

  “Of course! And John mentioned he’d get in touch with you when you were home.”

  “He did, and he knows of a few cases I might be interested in. We figured we’d discuss them while you and Sylvia chat, then go out for a light dinner.”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  Sylvia and John lived in an old Victorian house that was as modern on the inside as it was old on the outside. As John and Dylan settled down for a chat in the wood-paneled den, Sylvia gave me a tour of the other downstairs rooms and the four bedrooms above. Each room was tastefully decorated in various color schemes.

  “Your home is lovely,” I said as we headed downstairs again. “Did you hire an interior decorator?”

  Sylvia laughed. “That’s all my handiwork. I love choosing colors and furnishings.”

  We sat down at the kitchen table and sipped chardonnay, never at a loss for words. Sylvia regaled me with stories about my Great-Aunt Harriet, whom she’d known since she was a little girl.

  “I can’t imagine Aunt Harriet getting up and dancing in front of all those people!” I exclaimed when Sylvia finished one of her anecdotes.

  “Oh yes! Harriet was a lively firecracker in her younger days.”

  “Her forties, you mean,” I said. And we both laughed.

  Sylvia refilled my glass and fixed her gaze on me. “Are things getting serious with you and Dylan?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s too soon to say.”

  “Of course it is,” Sylvia said. “Besides, it’s none of my business. It’s just that the two of you make such a wonderful couple.”

  I covered her hand with mine. “Thank you. And thank you for caring.”

  We talked a bit more, and then Dylan and John joined us. Eventually, we set out for a Chinese restaurant that John and Sylvia frequented. The conversation turned to Dylan’s new office and Clover Ridge politics. I ate my fill of hot and sour soup and shrimp with broccoli and almost fell asleep in the backseat of John’s car as we rode back to their house to get Dylan’s car.

  “Remember, no investigating,” John murmured in my ear as he hugged me good night.

  “Of course not,” I answered. “I’ll leave that to you.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I kissed Dylan goodbye Monday morning and drove to work. I knew he’d return by the end of the week, but by mid-morning I was already missing him terribly. In only a few days, I’d gotten used to having him close by. He’d become an integral part of my life. The person I loved and needed the most in the whole, wide world. The realization frightened me. What if something were to happen to him? Or if he decided he didn’t love me anymore?

  I told myself not to be silly. People endured separations, sometimes for months on end. Dylan would be home on Friday. Saturday at the latest. It wasn’t as though I had nothing to fill my days in the meantime. I had a full-time job. I had friends. And there was Smoky Joe to look after too.

  But Dylan’s absence wasn’t the only hole in my life. For weeks I’d been trying to find out who had killed Dorothy, and perhaps Evelyn. My investigation and my concern for the homeless who had been spending their days in the library had led me to the founders of Haven House, the very people who were planning to use it for their own selfish ends. I’d been warned to stop nosing around. The people who cared for me wanted me to do just that, but it felt wrong to simply abandon my investigations. Doing nothing left me feeling useless and disloyal.

  If only I weren’t feeling so restless! Angela had agreed to go out for dinner after work, as long as we went shopping afterward—this time for furnishings for her new condo. Though she and Steve had already ordered most of their furniture, they still needed several small tables and decorative pieces.

  Dylan called twice—once to tell me he’d landed safely, and the second time just to say hi and that he missed me. We chatted for a few minutes, and I mentioned my evening plans.

  It made sense for Angela and me to leave right from work, so I fed Smoky Joe and decided to leave him in the library. Gayle and Fran agreed to look out for him until I returned from my evening out.

  Angela drove us to the mall, where we ordered burgers and salads in one of the popular restaurant chains.

  “Sounds like you guys had a busy weekend,” she said when I’d finished telling her all that Dylan and I had done.

  “We sure did, and now I miss him.”

  “Of course you do. But soon he’ll be based here in Clover Ridge and working in New Haven.”

  “Except work could still take him all over the country. Though, if business is good, Dylan said he’ll hire an investigator to do most of the traveling.”

  We’d finished eating and were waiting for our check when Angela’s cell phone rang.

  “Uh-huh. We can stop there.” After listening for a few seconds, she said, “Give me a minute.” Angela fished a pen and notepad from her pocketbook and started scribbling. “Yes, I wrote down the measurements. I’ll jot down the SKU numbers of the ones I like.”

  Angela smiled. “Me too. Talk to you later.”

  She was still smiling when she disconnected the call. “Steve wants us to stop by the electronics store and check out the television consoles. He finally agreed that a console would be of more use than mounting the TV on the wall.”

  I laughed. “I find it hard to believe that Steve is showing an interest in how your family room is going to look.”

  “Me too. He came with me the other evening to look at wallpaper for the kitchen. He chose a paper with bright red and orange flowers. I thought it would be garish until I brought it over to the condo and stuck it up on the kitchen wall. It looked great.”

  “I suppose getting married changes some men,” I mused. “They become more domestic.”

  Angela winked. “You’ll see.”

  We stopped at various stores and checked out tables, lamps, and TV consoles. Angela took notes, indicating the pieces she liked best. “I’ll come back with Steve and let him negotiate prices. He’s better at that than I am.”

  I was weary by the time Angela dropped me off at the library fifteen minutes before closing time. I found Smoky Joe curled up in a chair in the children’s section, fast asleep. “You’ve had a big day, and now we’re going home,” I crooned. I took him in my arms and thanked Gayle and Fran for keeping an eye on him.

  He was still half-asleep when I put him in his carrier and lugged him out to the car. “And we’re off.” I started the motor and exited the parking lot. But suddenly I was wide awake and eager to do something, go somewhere. My restlessness had returned with a vengeance. Haven House and Dorothy—two subjects I’d avoided thinking about all day—were back in the forefront of my mind.

  I found myself heading for Dorothy and Fred’s neighborhood. I slowed down as I passed their house. A shiny red SUV, which I assumed belonged to Leila Bevins, was parked in the driveway. Light was shining through the sheer curtains covering the living room and dining room windows. It emanated from the kitchen at the rear of the house, where I imagined Fred and Leila were enjoying their after-dinner coffee. I squelched the impulse to walk around to the back of the house to try to hear what they were discussing.

  I glanced at Ernie Pfeiffer’s house next door
. No lights were on, no car stood in the driveway. He didn’t appear to be home.

  “It’s a good thing I’m officially off the case because I’m coming up with zilch,” I told Smoky Joe. “This time we’re really homeward bound.”

  * * *

  Tuesday turned out to be a long working day. I was supposed to start at one in the afternoon and work until closing time, but Sally called and woke me at seven to ask if I could come in at nine.

  “The Clover Ridge Gazette is sending over a reporter and a photographer for that feature article about our library.” She sounded frantic. “They’ll be here at ten.”

  “Really? I thought that wasn’t scheduled for another two weeks.”

  “It was, but one of their lead stories for Sunday fell through so the editor-in-chief begged me to let them do it today instead. And he wants you and Smoky Joe to be a big part of the article, so you need to come in early. You can leave at five if you like.”

  “But Susan can’t come in tonight—”

  “Don’t worry about that! Just get here by nine.”

  I showered and dressed, taking time to blow-dry my hair and put on eye makeup, something I rarely wore to work.

  “Smoky Joe, we’re going to be in the paper again,” I told him as I set the alarm, then locked the front door behind us.

  The furry feline blinked, not very impressed by my news.

  There was an air of excitement in the library, with everyone buzzing about the upcoming article. Somehow residents had gotten wind that the Gazette was coming, because the library soon filled up with twice the usual number of patrons.

  At ten o’clock they arrived—a tall, slender, blonde woman no more than twenty-five and an equally young and slender male photographer dressed all in black. Sally greeted them, then went around the library introducing Peggy and Rico to each of us heads.

  “Nice to meet you, Carrie. Where’s Smoky Joe?” Peggy asked when she met me.

  “He’s around here somewhere. Should I go find him?”

  Peggy laughed. “Nope. If he’s around, I’m sure we’ll see him. We’re going to start in the children’s section.”

  Half an hour later, she and Rico were back in my office.

  “We got some great shots of Smoky Joe with the little kids,” Rico said.

  “He loves spending time in the children’s section,” I said. “Actually, he loves spending time in every section of the library. He’s become the most accomplished little beggar. Librarians and patrons alike know better than to feed him—I’ve posted signs to this effect—but they don’t always listen.”

  “I suppose it’s tempting to feed him treats,” Peggy said, looking guilty.

  I heard scratching at the door and went to let Smoky Joe in. He didn’t want to eat or use the kitty litter, but had come to be a part of the action.

  Peggy pulled out a small tape recorder. “Do you mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  “How did Smoky Joe become a library cat?” she asked.

  “He showed up one fall morning outside my cottage. I was getting ready to drive to work. He jumped in my car, and I found myself bringing him here.” I laughed, remembering how Smoky Joe had run into the children’s section and let them make a fuss over him as Marion and Sally were leaving Marion’s office. “I announced he was our new library cat. Sally and Marion saw how friendly he was and how much the children adored him, and so Sally went along with the idea.”

  “But Smoky Joe is really your cat,” Peggy said. “I mean, you take care of him and bring him home with you every night.”

  “I do, and I’m responsible for him, but whenever I’m here in the library, Smoky Joe is here as well. The patrons love him because he spends time with them and soaks up their attention. He only comes in here when he needs something or requires a break.”

  As if he’d understood what I’d just said, Smoky Joe leaped into my lap and closed his eyes.

  Rico shot photos of him snoozing and then shot some of my office. I was glad I’d straightened up my desk.

  “Smoky Joe’s a hero, isn’t he?” Peggy said. “He helped solve a mystery right here in the library.”

  “Oh yes. One of your colleagues wrote a story in the paper about that.”

  Rico took a few photos of me, and they left shortly afterward. I heaved a deep sigh of relief.

  Dylan called to say he’d be coming home Friday after all. I whooped with delight, then told him about being interviewed for the library article.

  “You and Smoky Joe are becoming Clover Ridge celebrities,” he teased.

  I decided to work until the library closed. For one thing, Susan couldn’t come in to work her usual evening hours, and despite the morning’s interview and the good news that Dylan was coming home on Friday, I was still feeling restless.

  Evelyn made an appearance after Trish left for the day, and asked me if there was any news to report.

  “Sorry, no,” I said. “I drove by Fred’s house last night. His girlfriend was over.”

  She perched on the corner of Trish and Susan’s desk. “Could you hear what they were saying?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t get out of the car. What about you? Has Harvey done anything suspicious?”

  “Difficult to say. He made a few calls on his cell phone, but he didn’t mention any names, and I couldn’t make any sense of what he was saying except ‘I’ll be there.’”

  I felt a stirring of excitement. “I wonder if he was talking about a secret meeting of the investors. The regular meeting isn’t until next week.”

  Evelyn sent me a sharp look. “Carrie, you’re not thinking of attending.”

  “Don’t worry. Not after those two warnings.”

  She faded, leaving me feeling totally useless.

  At six o’clock I fed Smoky Joe his dinner and ate the bowl of chili I’d ordered from the Cozy Corner Café. At seven twenty-five I went downstairs to the meeting room to introduce a young writer who was giving a talk about her two novels. Jodi Li was a few years younger than me and lived outside of town, just a few miles from my cottage. Thirty patrons had signed up for the program. I knew from our three phone conversations that she was upbeat and had a great sense of humor. We both were hoping this program would help stir interest in the eight-session class on fiction writing she’d be teaching in the late spring.

  I touched on Jodi’s childhood in Taiwan, her move to the United States at the age of eleven, and why she’d decided to become a novelist while studying finance in college.

  “Her books are chock-full of insight into the immigrant experience and a pure reading delight,” I said. I called Jodi up to the front of the room to start her presentation.

  Her voice sounded shaky as she began a tentative introduction of her own. I was surprised. Talking to her, she’d always come across as confident and witty. But I’d come to realize that some people freeze in front of an audience.

  When she paused, I said, “Why don’t you tell us about your first day in seventh grade?”

  Jodi covered her mouth. “That was sooo embarrassing.”

  “I know,” I said, sending her a huge smile. “People love to hear about embarrassing situations that didn’t happen to them.”

  The audience broke up laughing. That did it! Jodi returned my wink and started off with a joke, probably the one she’d planned to tell as soon as I’d called her to the front of the room, but hadn’t managed to get out.

  I stayed awhile, enjoying her anecdotes about her childhood and her family. I finally left, knowing that Jodi would be a big hit tonight and that we’d get the required sixteen people to make the writing course a go.

  Which reminded me that I had to make a decision about the knitters and crocheters group that Shirley Klauss wanted me to arrange. I sat down at my computer and went to our Facebook page and posted:

  Please message me if you’re interested in joining a knitters-crocheters group that meets one morning a month.

  At closing time, I carried Smoky Joe’s
carrier out to my car. The temperature was in the twenties. I was still shivering as I heated my seat and turned on the windshield wipers to clear off the dusting of snow that had fallen earlier. I pulled out of my parking spot, surprised that despite my long day I wasn’t tired. Once again, I was energized and raring to go.

  Go where? I wondered. I couldn’t very well go peeking into people’s houses. Besides, hoping to overhear something incriminating was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

  Also, anything I’d hear while eavesdropping wouldn’t hold up in court.

  And finally, it was too damn cold.

  As I exited the parking lot, I decided to water Aunt Harriet’s plants one last time before she and Uncle Bosco returned from Florida. I drove around the Green, past stores closed or closing for the night, and onto the street of residences on the far side of the Green, across from the library.

  My chore accomplished, I returned to my car and found myself turning the corner onto Garrett Street. Haven House, though built in the same white wooden-frame style as the rest of the neighborhood, was considerably more modest than my aunt and uncle’s home and sorely in need of attention.

  Two cars were parked in the driveway, and three others lined the street in front of the house. What were they all doing here at this time of night? I was surprised to see drapes drawn across the large living room window. Haven House wasn’t scheduled to be furnished and decorated until after the contractor and his crew had finished their work.

  A bright light shone through a gap in the drapes. It was much too narrow a space for me to see anything from my car. Excitement built up inside me as I pulled in front of the lineup of cars.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told Smoky Joe—quite unnecessarily since he was fast asleep. I closed the car door as quietly as I could and hurried toward the house, hoping none of the men would suddenly open the front door and find me lurking about. I dreaded to think what they would do if they caught me spying on them. I offered a silent prayer of gratitude that there were no streetlights near the house, and I wouldn’t be visible if one of them were to peer out from the well-lit living room.