“And occasionally with ours—like John and Sylvia.”
“Sounds good to me.”
* * *
Dinner went better than I’d expected. Dylan and Steve discovered they both loved hockey, and Angela and I caught up on things. I told her about Dylan’s new office, and she told me about the latest wedding plans. We ordered burgers and beers and shared two desserts.
“Great guy you got there,” Steve whispered as he hugged me good night. I was glad to see Dylan and Angela hugging too. After all, I wanted my boyfriend and my best friend to like each other.
It was ten past eight when Dylan drove up to the cottage. “Coming in?” I asked.
“I’d love to, but I have a long day tomorrow and every day this week,” he said. “I’m working on Pete’s case, which means going to some of the other restaurants his family owns, as well as to their offices. I’ll be interviewing several people.”
“Won’t that tip off the cousin who’s skimming off the top?”
“Word will get to him eventually. I say eventually because Pete says the guy isn’t well liked, though he’s sure to have people in each restaurant working with him.”
“Won’t they warn him?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
Dylan smiled. “Don’t worry. Pete and I worked out a story that’s plausible and won’t tip off the cousin and his crew.”
“I never realized how much goes into each investigation,” I said.
“And this isn’t even the half of it. A quarter of it.” He leaned over and kissed me long and tenderly. Then he pulled back and said, “Carrie Singleton, I do love you.”
“I love you too,” I said, stepping out of the car.
“You can tell your ghostly friend that if there’s no paper trail showing her niece is benefiting financially—that is, getting her own cut—from the Haven House scam, and if she isn’t attending their private meetings, there’s a good chance she won’t be charged.”
“Thank you, Dylan. For being so understanding and accepting.”
He grinned. “Are you kidding? You bring the mystery and excitement in our relationship to a whole other level.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
As I got ready for bed, I found myself humming “I’m in Love With a Wonderful Guy” from South Pacific. I was in love with a wonderful guy. Dylan and I hadn’t done anything earthshaking that day—shopping and setting up his office, then having dinner with friends—but it was all brand new to me. Sure, I’d gone out with plenty of guys, but not one of them had ever told me that they loved me. Good thing, I supposed, since I hadn’t loved any of them either. Dylan had warned me that things wouldn’t always go as smoothly as they had this weekend. I should know since we’d experienced some bumpy times back in December. I especially appreciated that he hadn’t mocked me when I’d told him about Evelyn, or said I was nuts for believing in ghosts.
My cell jingled. I grinned when I heard his voice.
“I wanted to wish you a good night and tell you I had a wonderful day.”
“Me too,” I said.
“Opening a new office is risky. I was glad you came with me today.”
We chatted a bit before saying good-night. Life is wonderful, I told myself. At least it is right at this moment, I added, remembering how quickly things could change. I got into bed and read a few pages, with Smoky Joe nestled at my side. Ten minutes later I was fast asleep.
The next morning, I was singing along with the radio as I dressed for work, when my cell phone rang.
“Hello!” I said, expecting to hear Dylan’s voice.
The sound of sobbing greeted me. For a moment I thought it was a prank call and was about to hang up, when a woman said, “Carrie, it’s Gillian.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought much about Gillian over the past week, not after she’d made it clear that she resented my advice about dating Roger Camden.
“I know,” she said between hiccups, “you must think I’m an idiot for not listening to you. I mean, I knew he was married. But he was so damn nice and drop-dead gorgeous, I thought for once I’d hit the jackpot.”
“What happened, Gillian?” I asked, though I already had a pretty good idea.
“I ended it with Roger.” The sobbing began anew with fresh vigor. “And I’m soooo unhappy. I picked another rotten apple. How could I have been so stupid?”
I spoke as soothingly as I could and finally managed to calm her down. “Where are you, Gillian?”
“At home. I’m so upset, I don’t know how I’ll get through work today if I don’t talk to someone.”
And that lucky someone is me. “Sorry, Gillian. I’m about to leave for work myself. I can’t talk now.”
“Can we meet for dinner? I absolutely have to talk to you or I’ll—explode!”
I had no idea Gillian was this volatile. But then how well did I really know her? We’d formed a quasi-friendship a few months before, when she was dating Ryan Foster, and Ryan’s brother Jared and I had been trying to discover who had murdered their mother fifteen years earlier. I had wondered then how she could continue to go out with Ryan, who was sarcastic and nasty to Jared the few times we were all together.
“Gillian, why don’t you come for dinner tonight? Say around six thirty. This will give me enough time to prepare something for us to eat.” Or to buy something in town.
“Oh, no, Carrie. I can’t impose on you to make dinner as well as listen to my pathetic tale.”
“I think it will be better than meeting in a restaurant. This way we’ll have privacy, and no one will be able to hear our conversation. Do you still have my address?”
“Of course. You gave it to me when Ryan and I came to your birthday party.”
We said goodbye, and I started making a shopping list in my head. I could pick up a rotisserie chicken in the supermarket on the way home. I had plenty of salad, veggies, and rice as well as an unopened bottle of chardonnay in the fridge. Voila! Dinner!
“Good for you, Gillian!” I said aloud. “Too bad you got involved with Roger in the first place, but better late than never.”
“Meow!” Smoky Joe said, agreeing with me.
I arrived at the library in good spirits. As I walked to my office, I admired the festive valentine decorations—Susan’s artistic handiwork—that adorned the walls and bookshelves. February had begun only a few days ago, and while I knew spring wouldn’t be coming to Connecticut anytime soon, I felt hopeful that at least it was on its way. I looked forward to seeing flowers and leaves on trees and the last of the snow. Uncle Bosco and Aunt Harriet would be flying home in a week. I could hardly wait, I missed them so.
Evelyn paid me a visit shortly after I arrived. “Did you get a chance to talk to Frannie?” she asked as soon as she materialized.
“No, but I’ve given it some thought. Honestly, from what I’ve seen of her at meetings, I don’t think she’s involved. I asked Dylan what he thought about her chances of going to prison. He thinks she’ll be okay. They’ll go after the ringleaders, not their spouses.”
Evelyn shot me a look of pure admiration. “So you asked him after all! I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Frannie’s a foolish girl, but I hate to think of her standing trial.”
“I also told him that you often visit me in your—ghostly form.”
“Did you?” Evelyn beamed. “And how did he take the news?”
“After nearly crashing the car, he took it pretty well. At least he didn’t think I was nuts.”
“He’s a good man, Carrie. I hope you don’t screw things up.”
I put my hands on my hips and pursed my lips at her. “And why would you think that?”
“Forgive me, Carrie. I apologize for sounding so critical,” Evelyn said. “I just want things to run smoothly for you and Dylan.”
“Do things ever run smoothly, I wonder? We had the nicest day yesterday, but things crop up. Problems. Issues. Speaking of which, your nephew broke Gillian’s heart.”
Evelyn shook her head as she tsk-tsk
ed. “What did he do this time?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find out tonight. Gillian was distraught. I invited her to dinner so she can get it all off her chest.”
“Seems like he’ll never learn,” Evelyn said.
She had no sooner disappeared, when someone knocked on my door.
“Come in.”
Doris Maris entered my office, her face wreathed in smiles. She was wearing lipstick and a touch of blush, and her hair looked as though it had recently been styled.
“Hello, Doris. I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you lately. How are things?”
“I know how busy you are, Carrie, but I wanted to tell you—they’ve found an apartment for Shondra and me! We can move in next month. And I start working next week. In a shop in town. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“It sure is. How’s Henry doing?”
“He’s a little more energetic, but the doctor says he won’t get any better. He’ll have to stay in the facility. Thank God there’s a program that covers the cost.” Doris shuddered. “I don’t know what would have happened to him if he had to sleep in that shelter much longer.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She gave me a small smile. “There is one bright spot, though. Remember Jimmy Belco?”
“How could I not?”
We both laughed.
“I talked to Henry’s doctor about him. A colleague of his is starting a group for young people—like Jimmy—who have ADD and can’t control their impulses. The treatment involves group therapy and meds and hopefully leads to housing and employment.”
“I hope Jimmy sticks to the program,” I said.
Doris thrust back her shoulders and narrowed her eyes. “I told him he’d better or I’d be coming over to drag him to every meeting.”
So this was Doris Maris before she’d lost her home and her business and ended up in a homeless shelter!
I hugged her tight. “I’m happy things have improved in your life. Stay in touch.”
“I will, Carrie. I’ll never forget that you cared and asked your uncle to help us.”
I was still smiling when I went downstairs to the small storage room to examine the cooking equipment that Sally and I had bought a few months ago when I’d started scheduling our culinary presentations. This coming Wednesday evening, we were holding our very first cooking program. Chef Alfred, who owned a popular local restaurant, would be demonstrating how to make butternut squash soup, chicken medallions, and a surprise Valentine’s Day dessert. Though he would be bringing the food, his knives, and his own pots and pans, I was determined to make sure we had everything else he’d need to make this a successful evening.
Dylan called me twice to tell me how his interviews were going. At three o’clock he called, sounding very excited.
“I’ve made my decision! I’ve asked Rosalind Feratti to be my Gal Friday. She’s enthusiastic and bright and computer savvy.”
“How old is she?” I asked, wondering what Rosalind looked like.
“Mid-forties. She has three kids—two in college and one in high school. And a husband.” He laughed. “In case you were curious.”
“Just wondering,” I said, and then I told him about Gillian’s phone call.
“The girl has problems. She saw the same warning signs you did and went ahead and dated the guy. Don’t get too involved in her melodrama,” Dylan said.
“I don’t plan to,” I said, somewhat annoyed by his attitude.
“I’m only saying it for your sake,” he said, picking up on my reaction. “Sometimes people with emotional baggage lean on other people and drain their energy.”
“Okay. I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks.”
* * *
At five o’clock I went looking for Smoky Joe and found him in the café. A teenaged couple was petting him as the girl tried to coax him to eat a piece of her muffin.
“Please don’t feed Smoky Joe,” I said, pointing to the sign on the wall.
“Sorry,” she apologized.
“Told you,” her boyfriend said, a smirk on his face.
“I know it’s tempting, but think how fat he’d get if everyone gave him something to eat,” I said.
I scooped up Smoky Joe, put him in his carrier, and carried him out to the car. “Now I have to pick up a few things for dinner,” I told him as we exited the parking lot.
Besides the chicken, I ended up buying a frozen package of mixed veggies in a cream sauce that looked yummy, as well as a simple coffee cake. When I got home, I fed Smoky Joe and put the chicken in the oven at a low temperature to keep it warm while I saw to the veggies, salad, and rice pilaf.
The table was set and our meal ready to be eaten by the time Gillian arrived. She hugged me and handed me a cake box. “For dessert.”
“Thank you,” I said, very much relieved to see she’d calmed down and was once again her usual self. I poured us each a glass of wine and led her into the living room.
“I feel so foolish for the way I carried on this morning,” Gillian said as she sank into the chair opposite me. “I almost called you back to say I’m fine. I did something stupid, but I sure won’t make the same mistake again!”
I hope not. “Do you want to talk about it now or over dinner?”
“Now! I want to get it over with and forget Roger Camden as quickly as I can.” Gillian sipped her wine, then placed her glass on the coffee table. “At first things were going well. Too well.” She laughed, clearly embarrassed. “I suppose that in itself is a sign of worse to come.”
“I certainly hope not,” I murmured, thinking how yesterday had been as perfect a day as I could have wished for.
“Roger was charming and funny. It meant a lot to me that he wanted to please me. We had dinner out most nights. Nothing fancy—mostly subs and pizza or the diner—but that didn’t matter to me. I figured money was tight. After all, he wasn’t working and had to support his family.”
She took a deep breath and continued. “And then he asked to borrow two hundred dollars—just for a few days. I wasn’t happy about it since I don’t think it’s a good sign or a good idea to lend money to a guy you’re seeing, but I gave it to him anyway. I was relieved when he paid me back. I must have looked surprised because Roger said, ‘You thought I wasn’t going to pay you back, didn’t you?’
“But a day later, he asked to borrow a thousand dollars. I told him I didn’t have that kind of money available, that it was all in savings. He persisted—couldn’t I take it out for a week? I saw how he paid back his debts. I hemmed and hawed. Roger threw up his hands in disgust and stormed out. I thought I wouldn’t hear from him again, but he called me later that week and asked me out, sounding cheerful, as though nothing had happened.”
“Wow,” I said, remembering that Evelyn had said her nephew was used to living off women.
“By now I was on my guard. I began to wonder if Roger thought I was an easy target. Someone he could sponge off of.” She laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “As if he were a professional gigolo.”
I started to cough.
“A few days later he asked to borrow money again. This time I was ready. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable lending money to men I dated, and perhaps it was time we ended our relationship. Roger shrugged. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Whatever you want.’ He said it was my loss, and he took off.”
“So that’s how it ended?” I asked, knowing there had to be more.
“If only,” she said bitterly. “Guys like Roger don’t like to be dumped. They’ll end a relationship on their terms, never yours.” Gillian gulped down the rest of her wine. “Roger called a few times. I stopped answering the phone when his number showed up. Then I got a few hang-ups from a number I didn’t recognize. I knew it was him. The calls started to freak me out. The guy’s devious. I started imagining all kinds of weird things he might do. I don’t want to be on his shit list.”
She was beginning to hyperventilate. I covered her hand with mine. “Gillian, don’t let your imagination ru
n away with you. So far it’s only a few hang-ups. He’s just letting off steam.”
“There’s more. This morning I got an email. It said ‘You’ll be sorry. Even sorrier if you tell anyone’ in bold caps. What should I do, Carrie? How can I stop him?”
“First of all, I’d call the police.”
“Of course I thought of that, but what can they do?”
“They’ll look for proof that Roger’s been harassing you. Threatening you, actually.”
“I bet he made sure to cover his tracks. If they question Roger, he’ll deny everything. And then he’ll know how scared I am.” She began to sob. “I don’t think they have the manpower to protect me.”
I put my arm around her. “I’m so sorry, Gillian. I know how scary this must be.”
Her sobs grew louder. I ran into my bedroom for tissues and handed her a wad of them. She blew her nose.
“Your boyfriend’s a detective.”
“Investigator.”
“Do you think he could trace the calls? Look into Roger’s past? Maybe he’s done this before.”
“The police can look into it for you.”
She sighed. “I’ve called them a few times about inconsiderate neighbors. There wasn’t much they could do to help me. I need someone who will focus on my problem.”
“Would you like me to go with you to speak to Lieutenant Mathers? He’s a friend of mine, and I know he’ll take this seriously.”
Gillian sniffed. “I’ll think about it.”
We sat quietly for a few minutes. “Are you up to eating dinner?” I asked.
She smiled. “Yes. I’m hungry, and I refuse to lose my appetite over Roger Camden.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Gillian’s spirits improved over dinner. I was glad to see her taking a second serving of everything. “This is really good,” she said. “I must remember to buy rotisserie chickens. They’re easy to heat up.”
“And there’s enough for a few evenings’ meals,” I added.
We chatted easily as we always had. I thought Gillian was feeling well enough for me to ask if Roger had ever talked about Haven House being used as a moneymaker for him and his pals.
Buried in the Stacks Page 25
