by Donna Doyle
“Identity theft?”
“Yes. You remember when she insisted that Lucas had stolen her check from the library moneybox?”
“That was a pretty stupid idea for a lot of reasons. Lucas wouldn’t know she had made a library donation; he wouldn’t have had the time or the privacy to go rummaging through the library moneybox, even if he had access to it; and he—he wouldn’t do it. He’s still banned from the library because of that?”
“He is, but I’m working on a way to get around it. I might need your help.”
“You’ve got it,” Troy responded.
“You don’t know what I’ll ask you to do,” Kelly laughed.
“Doesn’t matter,” Troy said, his eyes for a moment providing evidence that he meant exactly what he said, before he leaned back in his chair, picked up another piece of pizza from the pepperoni side, and said, “Anything to put one over on the Starkses, especially if it’s for Lucas.”
“It’s for Lucas,” Kelly said firmly. “I’m going to get him to help me set up next weekend for the program with the veterans. It’s on the Saturday before Memorial Day. We’ll need to have the chairs set up for the audience, and the half-circle of chairs for the veterans. And bottled water, things like that. Hanging up bunting . . . the local papers cover it, so we want the library to look nice in the photographs.”
Photographs. Troy’s mind recalled the photographer who’d been at the mayor’s office that morning, taking pictures of Chief Stark and Mayor Truvert. A photographer’s camera subjects gave no indication of what his views were, or his politics or anything. It was his job. But it might be interesting to find out what the journalists on the weekly paper thought.
“Do you know the photographer for the Settler Springs Weekly?” Troy asked.
“Doug Iolus? I know him, why? We went to prom together back in high school.”
“Was he a boyfriend?”
“No, we were friends and we both wanted to go, so we were a couple for the night. He’s fun. He shows up for library events and we get good coverage.”
“I wouldn’t think there’s much money in working for a weekly paper in a small town.”
“Probably not. He also substitute teaches, and he’s a stringer for the city papers. He lives pretty simply so I don’t think the income bothers him much. He gives private guitar lessons, too.”
“You know a lot about him.”
“I’ve known him a long time. He’s a good guy. You’d get along with him. He’ll be at the program. You could meet him.”
“I don’t think that’s what Sean is going to want to do while he’s here. Like I said, Sean works hard to keep the war away. Listening to war stories wouldn’t help him do that.”
The door to Troy’s past and his military experiences was slightly ajar. The opportunity to ask questions was tantalizing. She knew so little about him. And for him to be friends with someone who had lived in Settler Springs long before Troy arrived, well, that just seemed like it had to be a piece of the puzzle waiting to be put into place. But Troy was very good at putting up barriers to parts of his life where intruders weren’t welcome. He wasn’t like her; he had so many hidden corners and shadows.
“If we were buildings,” she said suddenly, “you’d be a basement and I’d be a porch.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It just hit me.”
“Maybe I’m a finished basement,” he said with a grin, “with a game room and a bar and a nice, cozy couch by a fireplace. And maybe you’re a screened-in porch. What do you think about that?”
“I think that’s enough architectural analogies for one night.”
7
A Guest Returns Home
“I sure never thought you’d end up in uniform again,” Sean said after he’d put his duffel bag in the back of Troy’s Suburban, gotten into the front seat and stretched his long legs out for comfort after hours spent on the cramped airplane. “And I sure never expected you to end up in my old home town.”
Troy steered the Suburban out of the parking lot, paid the fare, and they were on their way.
“I wasn’t sure where to go after getting out of the Army,” he said, “and all I could think of was you talking about that little town called Settler Springs, in Pennsylvania, where people still knew their neighbors by name. So I came here. The police department had a vacancy, and I applied.”
“Well, you had MP experience from your hitch, so it was probably an easy pick for them. My dad and I left town when I was ten years old, after he and Mom split up. I don’t remember who was police chief then, but since Mom was a Krymanski, the police were always—”
“You’re a Krymanski?” Troy exclaimed, so startled by this disclosure that he took his eyes off the road to look at Sean, then quickly steered back into his lane.
“Yeah, why? Don’t tell me you’re now one of those cops who chases down Krymanskis every time you get a call?”
“No,” Troy said. “Pretty much the opposite. A couple of the Krymanskis are . . . I guess friends of mine.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sean, slouched in the seat, his broad shoulders and muscled thighs taking up all of the available space, turned his head in interest. His thick brown hair, almost shoulder-length, was spread across the headrest. He had a beard that made Troy’s face itch; it wasn’t unkempt, but to Troy’s mind, beards were for winter when the weather was cold, not for a hot May with temperatures reaching summer levels. “Which ones? There are a lot of ’em. I guess I must be related to all of ’em, but I might not remember everyone.”
“Mainly Lucas Krymanski, and you wouldn’t remember him because he’s only fourteen—well, fifteen now. His mother Tia was married to a Krymanski but they’re divorced. I don’t know the name of her ex-husband.”
“Tia Krymanski . . . ” Sean tried the name out. “Dad didn’t keep in touch after we left, so I don’t remember anyone dating someone named Tia.”
“She’s got five kids, and she keeps them all in line. She’s having some problems with her eldest now, though. Carrie was always a good kid, but she broke up with her boyfriend during her senior year and now she’s giving Tia a hard time. Lost her job at a local eatery, ended up with failing grades and will have to go to summer school after graduation—the school is letting her walk with the other seniors, but it’s with the understanding that she’s not done yet. Tia had to push for that. I hope Carrie doesn’t let her down.”
“You really are part of the town,” Sean said in admiration. “Knowing all that. I don’t think the cops cared two cents about whether the Krymanskis graduated from high school or ended up in jail back then. I was too young to know most of what they were talking about—and there were enough Krymanskis who spent some time in the town jail that it should have been named the Krymanski Wing—but I know that the cops didn’t waste any time on us.”
“Who was on the force when you were a kid? Do you remember?”
“Not really. I had cousins who got into trouble, but I avoided the cops. Why?”
Troy hadn’t really expected Sean to remember, but he was curious to find out if his pal had any recollection of Roger Stark, who had started out as a regular police officer after graduating from the academy.
“Just curious.”
“Cop trouble?”
“We’re having some issues.”
“’Some issues,’” Sean repeated, gently derisive. “A dirty cop? In Settler Springs? What’s he doing, letting people off on their parking fines?”
“His son is in prison for murdering his pregnant girlfriend. Stark tried to pin the blame on Lucas.”
Sean sat up in his seat. “You kidding me?”
“No, I’m not. That’s how I got to know Lucas. The local librarian insisted that he was innocent, and she wouldn’t let up until I listened to her. She was right. We didn’t know then, of course, that the Starks were involved, but the deeper we dug, the more we found out.” Troy deliberately kept his tone matter-of-fact to disguise a
ny deeper familiarity with Kelly other than their shared work in proving Lucas’ innocence.
“The local librarian?” Sean repeated in disbelief. “When I was a kid, the librarian was a prune-faced old hag who hated kids and yelled at us when we forgot to whisper.”
“Librarians have changed.”
“Is she pretty?”
Sean and his laser focus on what he perceived, even when it hadn’t been said.
“Very.”
“You two a thing?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Troy shrugged. “We come from different worlds. She’s church, community, good girl . . . I’m not.”
“You ever think of changing?”
“Right now, I’m thinking of us stopping for a baseball game, having a couple of hot dogs and a couple of beers spread out over nine innings. What do you think? The Pirates are in town, it’s a good night for a baseball game, and I don’t go into work until 2:00 p.m. tomorrow.”
Back in Settler Springs, Kelly was assuring herself that there was no reason that she shouldn’t get in touch with Doug to go over the program the following week. Of course, he already was scheduled to come and take photographs during the program, but he would be there from the start to the finish anyway, and maybe there would be something else to add to the photography.
“We’re going to have the Boy Scouts do a flag ceremony,” she said after she and Doug had exchanged greetings over the phone. “We have a new flag on the flagpole. Rep. Eldredge gave it to Mrs. Stark and I was wondering if we—”
“For as much money as the Starks donate to his campaign, he ought to have given half a dozen flags,” Doug interjected. “Autographed by Betsy Ross.”
“Oh, do the Starks contribute?” she asked innocently.
“The Starks have their own constituency,” Doug said.
“That sounds cryptic. What do you mean?”
“Isn’t Mrs. Stark the library board president?”
“She is. Why?” Doug knew those kinds of things; he was an encyclopedia of knowledge about local boards, officers, business owners, everything someone might need to know in a hurry. So his question was rhetorical. But he might have a reason for posing it.
“I hear that she’s spending a lot of time in the library these days.”
“You hear right.”
Doug chuckled. “Kelly, if I had to do my job with Lois Stark hovering over my shoulder, I’d have my resume out.”
“I’m not looking for another job.”
“So you think that eventually she’ll give up and leave you alone?”
“Give up on what?”
“On hanging around the library to find out what you’ve learned from Officer Kennedy about her husband’s extracurricular activities.”
“His what!” Kelly was too nonplussed by the end of his comment to react to his assumption that she would have obtained information from Troy about the Starks.
Doug laughed again. “Not those kinds of extracurricular activities, Kel. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“I think we’re having two different conversations here.”
“Okay, we’ll consolidate. I’ll stop by the library to go over the publicity for the program.”
“At the library? But if Mrs. Stark is here, you aren’t going to be able to say anything . . . that she’d object to.”
“Trust me, Kel, I’ll take care of it.”
Kelly went to bed that night feeling quite satisfied with her efforts. Troy had said not to investigate any connection between Representative Eldredge and the Starks, but from the alacrity with which Doug had responded to the conversation, it was clear that he had information that he wanted to share. Even if his information was more in the line of speculation than knowledge, Doug wasn’t the kind to dress up a rumor to make it pass for truth. He had sources; even a small weekly paper in a small town had people to go to for inside information on the news that didn’t make it to print. If Doug could help in some way, it might make it easier to find out what the Starks were up to, and if something could be done about it so that Leo could get his job back.
8
Mia’s Fears
“Mia, what’s wrong?”
Sean looked up from the kitchen table where he and Troy were eating breakfast, alerted by Troy’s tone of voice that the phone call wasn’t a casual one.
“Troy, I hate to bother you, but can I talk to you? Somewhere where we won’t be seen? I can’t go to the station, not with Chief Stark there.”
“What’s the matter? Is Leo okay?”
“Yeah, he’s okay. We went up to camp, I was going to stay the night, Mom’s up there with the kids—can I talk to you? I’m jumbling my words and I know I don’t make any sense.”
“Yeah, not a problem. Do you want me to stop in at Sloppy Joe’s?”
“No, it’s not good if people see me talking to the cops all the time. They’ll think I’m using again.”
“Your place?”
She hesitated. Probably, Troy realized, for the same reason; she didn’t want her neighbors to think that she was engaged in anything that interested the police department.
“Why don’t you stop over by my place?” he suggested?
“Your neighbors will see me.”
“As long as we talk outside, they won’t think we’re up to anything,” he said genially. Troy’s street was occupied by a number of hale and hearty senior citizens who looked after their young neighbor as much as he looked after them, with the difference that they were interested in every aspect of his life, particularly where women were concerned. He sometimes suspected that they were disappointed by the absence of females spending the night.
She laughed at that. “Okay, thanks. I’ll stop by on my way to work? I start at 11, so I’ll come by around 10, if that’s okay?”
“That’ll work. See you then.”
“Do you get a lot of calls like that?” Sean asked, getting up from the table to refill the scrambled eggs on his plate.
“Sometimes. She’s the daughter of the police chief I told you about, Leo, the one who’s suspended. She’s a former addict, ex-wife of a drug pusher and murderer. She’s had it rough since moving back home.”
“I probably wouldn’t know her either,” Sean said. “When you leave town at age ten, you don’t have much of a memory for everyone else who stays.”
“Mia is in her twenties, somewhere in the mid- to late-twenties, I guess. She’s clean now and working, trying to stay that way.”
“So why is she coming over to see you?”
“She’s had a couple of bad experiences. She was pulled into the murder investigation that nailed her ex-husband, and then she was being harassed . . . it couldn’t have been Shaw—that’s her ex—behind it, but I’m been wracking my brain trying to figure out how to make a connection.”
“Somebody hid his tracks too well?”
Troy thought of Carl Olivetti. No one could say he’d hidden his tracks, but no one could connect him to any plot to terrorize Mia, even though he finally admitted that he had been the one who placed the dead rat in her mailbox, who had left a broken bicycle on her porch in pieces to let her think that it was the one that belonged to her son, and who had slashed Carmela Dixon’s tires. Ollie had denied that it had anything to do with Carmela and Mia being witnesses against Travis Shaw in the pending murder trial. He just felt like doing it, he had said after repeated questioning. And because he was being charged with the murder of John Parmenter, the lesser accusations were deemed too insignificant to be pursued, even though his Jeep had been seen parked by Mayor Truvert’s camp.
There was something there. It was as ephemeral as a spider’s web, but spiders’ webs caught flies and Troy knew he had to try to be patient. Stark, Truvert, Shaw . . . they weren’t disconnected, even if no one could definitively point to the filaments. Sooner or later, the invisible threads would be exposed to view.
“No . . . yes . . .”
Sean downed his glass of tom
ato juice. “Okay, which is
it?”
“Both. It’s that kind of situation.”
“Doesn’t sound like the Settler Springs I remember. But I guess nothing is the way you remember it from when you were ten. You were probably all over the world by the time you were ten.”
“All over the world, but nowhere was home. I’m sorry about having to let Mia come here. I had planned for us to go hiking this morning. There’s a pretty good path on the Trail where I run; it’s a little rugged but it’s a good workout.”
“The Trail. I remember the Trail,” Sean said. “Maybe I’ll head out that way on my own and see how it looks. Me and my dad used to go out there with Skippy. Our dog,” he explained to Troy. “It was a nice spot. Mind if I take Arlo?”
“He’ll love it. Here,” Troy handed Sean his keys. “I’ve got the squad car, so take the Suburban. Are you going to visit family?”
“Yeah, I’ll drop in on some people while I’m here. Not today, though. Today I think I’ll just take a look at the town and see how it matches my memory of it.”
“Sounds like a plan. If you’re back by lunchtime, we’ll go to The Café. Tia Krymanski is the cook there. She can update you on the clan. Even though she and her husband are divorced, the kids are Krymanskis and they’re close to their cousins and the rest of the family.”
Sean had been gone less than half an hour when the doorbell rang. Troy opened the door to see Mia standing there. He came out onto the porch.
“Have a seat,” he said, pointing to the white Adirondack chair on the other side of the small table where a citronella candle attested to nights spent outside after work, when he and Arlo enjoyed the silence of the sleeping town. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t tell my dad,” Mia began. “He’s got enough on his mind now.”
“How’s he doing?” Troy asked, both because he was concerned and because he knew that Mia needed to ease into her subject.
