Buried in the Stacks

by Allison Brook

  Still, I stepped carefully, avoiding patches of snow and ice as I crossed the shallow lawn, then crouched among the low evergreen bushes that fronted the living room window. I gulped in a cold rush of air as I peered inside. Eight men were sitting around an oval table, playing cards. Judging by the cash out on the table, it was a high-stakes game. I knew all the players but two.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Gerald, Ernie, Ben, Theo, Roger … and Harvey Kirk and two strangers were playing what looked to be poker. I pressed my ear against the cold windowpane to hear what they were saying. No one was talking. They were concentrating on the game and drinking from shot glasses.

  I quickly ducked down when Ernie rose from the table. He headed for what I imagined was the kitchen and returned with a bottle of whiskey. He poured liquor into the glasses. “A toast to Trevor Glackens!”

  Who is Trevor Glackens?

  “A toast to you, Ernie!” Gerald shouted back, holding up his glass. “For dreaming up this lucrative, fail-safe scheme!”

  “Yay, Ernie!” the others roared, like a bunch of high school boys at a football game.

  “Let’s not forget my friend in the state housing department!” Theo said.

  “Yay!”

  “And especially our helpful congressman for proposing a second grant,” Gerald shouted. “He wanted to be here but had a previous engagement.”

  “Yay to our congressman!”

  My mouth fell open, though I shouldn’t have been surprised from what I’d heard about our local official.

  I was so busy focusing on the scene before me, I nearly jumped when a car approached, its bright beams lighting up the street. I slid to the ground and wedged myself between the bushes and the wooden exterior below the window. I peered out from my hiding place as the driver parked on the other side of the street. A minute later a man walked up the cracked cement walk. It was Fred Hawkins.

  I drew in my breath as he glanced to the right, to the very spot where I was lying on my side. Well hidden, I hoped. Then why was he staring? Had I made a sound? Was the light coming from the living room exposing me?

  Fred shook his head, as though doubting he’d seen what his eyes told him he’d seen, and stared at the door. I was safe! He knocked four times.

  Is that supposed to be a signal? I wondered.

  The door opened. I heard Gerald greet Fred as he let him in. It took me a few minutes to work up the courage to move to a crouching position and peer through the window. Roger was pulling over a chair from the kitchen, and Ernie was pouring Fred a drink. Fred didn’t look too happy to be there. Still in his parka, he sank into his seat and gazed down at the floor.

  “Hey, why the long face?” Ben asked.

  Fred shrugged. “I’m not really in a poker-playing mood.”

  “Have a drink.” Ernie handed him a shot glass filled with liquor. “You’ll get in the mood.”

  Fred put the glass down on the table. “I don’t think I’ll be staying.”

  “Of course you’ll stay,” Ernie said. It sounded like an order.

  Leave! The visceral message came from the deepest part of my brain. I trembled as I rose from the window and ran to my car. I sped down the block as if the hounds of hell were chasing me.

  Poor Smoky Joe! I’d woken him up. He let out a meow of indignation. I slipped my hand inside the carrier and stroked his back until he fell back to sleep. “Sorry, baby,” I murmured as I slowed down to an appropriate speed and made the necessary turns to take us home.

  I had to tell John. But first I wanted to ask Ken a question. I called him as soon as I stopped at a red light. “The Haven House ringleaders are holding a poker game.”

  Ken sighed. “Carrie, I thought you agreed—no more playing detective. And why are you calling me instead of John?”

  “I will call him, but first I have to know—who is Trevor Glackens? Ernie mentioned his name.”

  “Trevor Glackens owned the house before that group bought it. He died a few years ago and left it to his nephew, Curtis Bradshaw. The name isn’t familiar to you because Trevor’s name isn’t on the bill of sale that you looked up. Curtis lives in California with his family and wanted to unload the house ASAP. Pfeiffer got wind of it and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  “I see,” I said, impressed by Ken’s knowledge regarding the sale.

  I called John on his cell. He answered quickly. “What is it, Carrie? Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay,” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt for worrying the people who cared about me. “I—er—happened to be driving by Haven House. There’s a poker game in progress.”

  “And you just happened to see it,” he scoffed.

  “Well, I noticed the cars, so I peeked in.”

  “I hope to God they didn’t see you.”

  “Don’t worry. They didn’t.”

  “I’ll look into it,” John said. “And no more sleuthing, Carrie. I mean it.”

  “No more,” I promised. “I intend to lead my quiet little life.”

  * * *

  I turned on the local TV station as soon as I woke up the following morning, and was surprised that there was no mention of arrests made at Haven House. When I called John to ask what had happened, he told me that when he had entered the premises, there was no sign of cards or cash on the table.

  “Couldn’t you see the game going on through the space between the drapes?” I asked.

  “The drapes were tightly closed.”

  Had Fred seen me, or were they just being extra careful?

  “They’re not fools, Carrie,” John said wryly. “They know how to play the game, and I’m not talking about poker here.”

  When I spoke to Dylan and told him what I’d witnessed the previous evening, I was relieved when he didn’t read me the riot act.

  “I know it’s frustrating for you because the law can’t simply step in and haul them all off to prison. Building up a case like this takes time, Carrie. You need to learn patience.”

  I laughed. “Not my strongest suit.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll be trying your patience even more. I had to change my flight to Saturday morning.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Just think, though: Saturday I’ll be home for good. And please—no more playing detective.”

  “A thing of the past,” I said.

  Angela also was glad that I’d agreed not to do any more sleuthing. “You’ve done all you possibly can,” she said over lunch on Wednesday. “Besides, I don’t want anything to happen to my maid of honor.”

  I laughed. “Always the wedding. You’d think that’s the most important event in the world.”

  She shot me an inscrutable look. “Just wait. You’ll find out one day what this is all about.”

  I quickly changed the subject to her new condo.

  By Thursday afternoon, twelve patrons—all women—had emailed me to say they’d be interested in a knitters-crocheters group. Evelyn made an appearance as soon as Trish left for the day. I told her what I’d witnessed and my decision to let things be.

  “So it’s true—my nephew and Gerald are both up to their ears in this scheme.” She tsk-tsked. “You’d think they’d know better than to get involved with Ernie Pfeiffer.”

  “I am sorry,” I told her.

  “They’re fools!” she declared. “They’ll end up in prison. I can only hope that Frannie isn’t part of this.”

  “I honestly don’t know. She got very upset the night of the dinner dance when someone backed out of the project, saying it was dirty.”

  Evelyn’s expression softened. “Poor Frannie. She wants money and prestige but has no idea how to get it on her own. I don’t remember her working a day in her life.”

  “She’s been an active volunteer for Haven House.”

  “I can only hope she has nothing to do with their reprehensible scheme.” Evelyn paced up and down the short length of my office.

  “You’re worried that when this all comes to light, Fr
ancesca might get swept up with the others and be charged with larceny or whatever the charge will be.”

  “I am.” She paused. “I wonder if there’s any way you can find out if Frannie has gotten herself involved in the criminal aspect of Haven House.”

  “I don’t see how I can, Evelyn. I don’t have access to their financial arrangements.”

  “No, but you can ask her.”

  “Are you kidding? No matter how I phrase my questions, they’re bound to offend. Even worse, she’ll tell her husband. Then someone in that group will come after me.”

  Evelyn wrung her hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry I asked you to do the impossible. It’s just that I’m worried about Frannie. Roger’s a lost cause, but …”

  She looked so sad, I found myself saying that I’d try to find a way to talk to Francesca but that I couldn’t make any promises. As Evelyn faded from sight, I told myself I didn’t have to contact Francesca today or tomorrow, or even over the weekend. To paraphrase Scarlett O’Hara, I’d think about it next week.

  I drove back to my place, warmed by the thought that in just a few days Dylan would be home for good.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Something bad had happened. I sensed it the moment I entered the library Friday morning. I set Smoky Joe free and, instead of heading for my office, walked over to the circulation desk to question Angela.

  “Fred Hawkins has been assaulted,” she told me. “He’s in the hospital. A concussion and a few broken ribs.”

  “Oh no!” A pang of guilt assailed me. “I told you he looked unhappy when he joined the others at Haven House on Tuesday night. I should have let John know.”

  “Now don’t go feeling responsible,” my best friend said. “Just because he didn’t want to stay and play cards doesn’t mean they were about to beat him up. For all you know, someone else attacked him.”

  “Like who?” I demanded. “Some angry person’s going around hitting people just for the fun of it?”

  Angela shrugged.

  “When did it happen?”

  “Last night. Around ten o’clock. Outside his house.”

  “The Haven House group met last night,” I said, “I don’t know where. And I have no idea if Fred attended the meeting.”

  “Carrie, it’s not your fault he got hurt.”

  “No? Then why do I feel like it is? I’m calling John.”

  When John heard my voice, he was totally pissed. “Carrie. You promised not to do any more sleuthing.”

  “I didn’t. I just heard that Fred Hawkins was assaulted last night. I should have told you that I saw him at Haven House on Tuesday night. He arrived late and said he wasn’t in the mood to play cards. Ernie told him he had to stay.”

  “Really? For your information, he wasn’t there when I stopped by.”

  “He must have left,” I said. “I should have told you. Maybe if I had …”

  “Carrie, please don’t turn this into a guilt trip. Even if you had told me, there was nothing I could have done. Can you understand that? You didn’t like how Ernie talked to Fred, but you had no proof they were planning to give him a beating. He didn’t file a complaint against them. And even if he had, we don’t have the manpower to protect someone twenty-four/seven.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, but it doesn’t seem right.”

  John’s laugh held no humor. “Of course it’s not right. But please understand, there was no way you could have prevented this. If Fred wanted protection, he should have come to us. But given his involvement with that crew, I was probably the one person he most wanted to avoid. And I probably would have advised him to leave town for a week or two.”

  “Is he at Conn South?” I asked.

  “He is. Planning on visiting him?”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Be careful, Carrie. I don’t want you ending up there too.

  * * *

  I cancelled lunch with Angela and drove to the hospital instead. Regardless of what Angela and John insisted, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was partially responsible for Fred’s landing there. I was angry with him too. Didn’t he know that getting involved with someone like Ernie Pfeiffer would lead to trouble? And announcing that he wanted to back out of their arrangement—which was what I assumed he’d told them—was plain stupid. I shook my head in frustration. I didn’t know how I could have prevented the situation—only that I hadn’t acted, and Fred had gotten hurt. Not taking action seemed to be the rule of the day.

  Between visiting Dorothy after her fall and my father’s two stays in December, I had the route to South Conn down pat. I stopped at a small market and bought a pound of grapes and a bag of clementines. I parked and headed for the hospital entrance. The woman at the front desk gave me Fred’s room number, and I waited for the elevator to take me to the third floor.

  I found Fred sitting up in bed, a bandage around his head. Leila sat in a chair facing him. They seemed to be arguing.

  “Look who’s come to visit me!” Fred said, his voice hearty with bravado.

  It was all show. I knew it, and so did Leila, judging by her pained expression. Still, I played along. “I heard you were here, so I thought I’d pay you a visit. Just a short one, since I have to get back to work. I hope you’re not seriously hurt.”

  “Just a sore head and a few bruised ribs. I’ll be out in a day or two.”

  “And then what?” Leila asked, her eyes blazing with anger. “How will you protect yourself?”

  “Now, Leila, don’t be like that,” Fred said. “I’ll be fine.”

  Leila pursed her lips. She turned to me. “Thank you for the fruit. I’ll wash it as soon as I wrangle some paper plates from the nurses’ station.”

  She left. I turned to Fred. “Leila’s seriously upset.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I sat down in the chair Leila had vacated. “Who did this to you, Fred?”

  He cocked his head. “Why? Is someone going to arrest him? Keep him from doing it again?”

  “Do you think you’re safe by not telling the police?” I asked.

  “I do. The point was made. I say nothing, I do nothing, and nothing’s done to me.”

  I leaned closer to Fred. “Did Ernie Pfeiffer do this to you?”

  “I’m not saying.”

  “Of course he’s not saying,” Leila said.

  I gave a start. So did Fred. We hadn’t heard her return.

  “Honey, we went over this,” Fred said. “The man’s dangerous. He might come after you next.”

  “Let him try!” Leila said.

  “It’s for me to decide,” Fred said. He turned to me. “Carrie, please don’t say anything to anyone about this.”

  “I won’t.” I stood. “I’d better get back to the library.” I bent down to kiss his cheek. “Heal quickly and stay away from that group.”

  “Don’t worry. I intend to.”

  Leila slipped on her jacket. “I’m leaving too.”

  “Call me later?” Fred asked.

  Leila nodded and led the way out of the room.

  Neither of us spoke as we walked down the hall to the elevator. Leila pressed the “down” button and sighed. “He’s impossible.”

  “Did he tell you what happened?”

  “Oh yes. He left my house close to ten o’clock last night. He drove home, pulled into the garage, and took the garbage out to the curb. Ernie was waiting for him with a metal pipe.”

  I gulped. “My God.”

  The elevator arrived, a full car of visitors, doctors, and nurses. At street level, we let everyone get off and then walked to the parking lot.

  “He managed to call nine-one-one, and an ambulance brought him here. He had someone call me.”

  I looked at her. “You’ve been here since—”

  “Since last night.” I studied her face, saw how tired and drawn she looked. “Lieutenant Mathers came by. He tried to get Fred to tell him who did this to him, but Fred wouldn’t say.”

  I slowed down as
I approached my car. “The police and other agencies know about Ernie Pfeiffer and his group’s dirty tricks. They’ll move on them when they have enough evidence.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Leila said, “but it’s been my experience that people like Pfeiffer and that bunch get away with bloody murder.”

  I drove back to the library, musing over what I’d just learned. Fred had all but admitted that Ernie Pfeiffer had beaten him and put him in the hospital, and I had promised not to tell anyone. That included John. But now John knew what I’d witnessed when Fred went to Haven House on Tuesday night. He would question Fred again and hopefully, this time, manage to coax him to divulge everything he knew about the “other” plans for Haven House.

  At any rate, my part in this investigation was over. As I’d told Leila, it was up to John Mathers and other law enforcers to make a strong case against Pfeiffer, Gerald, and their crew. I had to wait and see how it all played out.

  Finally, I was learning the art of patience.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Saturday morning, Dylan called me at eight thirty to say he’d be arriving home a little after noon.

  “I’ve shipped several boxes to my new office. They should be arriving by Tuesday,” he said, sounding excited. “I’m conducting final office manager interviews on Monday and will officially open the office on Wednesday.”

  “How can you be sure you’ll hire someone by then?” I asked.

  “I’ve done several Skype interviews this past week. I’ve narrowed it down to two women and one young man.”

  “Sounds like you’re ready for business.”

  “Am I!” Dylan sounded jubilant. “It looks like one of the leads John gave me last weekend is turning into a case, and there’s the possibility of another one. I won’t be sure for a week or two.”

  “Before you know it, you’ll be hiring someone to help with the workload.”

  “I’m counting on that happening. I told you I want to cut down on my traveling in a year or two.”

  After lunch, Dylan surprised me by showing up at the library. I’d just left Sally’s office, where we’d been discussing a few new ideas I had for future programs. He strode toward me and took me in his arms. Whistles and clapping broke out in the reading room. I took Dylan’s hand and led him to my office, where we enjoyed a welcome-home kiss.