Death Overdue

by Allison Brook

  The doorbell rang at exactly seven. My heart pinged at the sight of Jared in well-fitted jeans and a black turtleneck sweater under a camel-colored blazer. We studied one another like two young kids, and then we both grinned at the same time.

  “Nice to see you in casual clothes,” he said.

  “Nice to be in casual clothes.”

  Jared stepped inside and helped me on with my jacket.

  “Good night,” I called out, hoping my aunt and uncle would stay in the kitchen, where they were finishing their dinner.

  “Good night,” Aunt Harriet shouted.

  “Have fun,” came from Uncle Bosco.

  “Thanks. Good night,” Jared answered.

  Was that giggling I heard as I closed the door behind me?

  The moon shone our way to Jared’s Lexus, which he’d parked in the driveway leading to the garage. He backed out carefully and made the necessary turns around the Green, and we were on our way.

  We chatted easily about Clover Ridge and our jobs. It was as if we’d agreed to hold off any discussion about the murders until later.

  “Your aunt and uncle are nice people,” Jared said as we turned onto the narrow road that led to the restaurant. Sure enough, it curved around like a slithery snake. The only visible lights came from the headlights of the occasional oncoming car and from houses hidden by trees and bushes. “They’ve done a lot for Clover Ridge.”

  “Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco are the best, but I think it’s time I found my own place.”

  Jared laughed. “I get that. My father and brother have no idea what the words neat and orderly mean. When I came home from college, I bought one of the newly built condos. Haven’t moved since.”

  I grimaced. “I’d like to start off renting, but everything I see is so expensive.”

  “Check out the local paper and the real estate websites. Reasonable rentals, like reasonable house sales, are grabbed up immediately.” He grinned. “I’ll keep an eye out for you if you’d like.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  * * *

  Antonio’s was far busier than I would have thought on a Thursday evening. The front half was a pizza parlor and hopping with young families. Several people waved to Jared as we walked through to the entrance of the dining area.

  The lighting there was dimmer, the only sound a guitar strumming a love song and the murmur of conversation of the four other parties already enjoying their meals. The hostess led us to a table in the back corner and handed us large menus.

  Jared caught my expression of surprise. “Don’t be put off by the formality of the place. The tablecloths are really paper, see?” He raised a corner and ripped it a quarter of an inch. “And the food’s pizza and other basic dishes like spaghetti and meatballs and lasagna, with giant cannoli for dessert.”

  “I’m so relieved.”

  We both laughed.

  I was still studying the beer and wine menu when our college-age waitress approached and lit the candle on our table. “Know what you want to drink?”

  “So many choices!”

  “What are you in the mood for?” Jared asked.

  “Actually, I’d love a nice, full-bodied Chardonnay.”

  “In that case, I recommend the Kendall Grand Reserve,” Jared said.

  The waitress grinned and supported his choice.

  He ordered a dark ale for himself. “You can taste it. See if you’d like it another time.”

  Another time. I liked the sound of that.

  The waitress reappeared in what seemed like record time. She set down my wine and opened Jared’s bottle. He shook his head when she offered to pour his ale into the insignia glass.

  I took a sip. “Delicious.”

  Jared smiled. “Glad you like it.” He took a pull on his ale and set the bottle down. “I come here often with clients. Amazing acoustics. Even when the room is full, you can hear the other person at your table. But for some reason, you can barely make out a word your neighbor’s saying.”

  I strained to hear the conversation at the table closest to us but was unable to distinguish any words. “Amazing.”

  We ordered a mozzarella spinach salad to share, eggplant rollatini for me, and frutti di mare for Jared. An assortment of warm twists and rolls arrived. I selected a roll, spilled some olive oil on my bread plate, and tasted. “Mmm.”

  “Good, isn’t it? This place is known for its bread,” Jared said, biting into a garlic twist.

  When our salad arrived, Jared dished some onto our salad plates. “Shall we begin?”

  I looked at him. “Eating or analyzing the murders?”

  “Both. What do they have in common? Who could have committed them?”

  I considered his questions as I chewed my first forkful of salad. “I think it’s safe to say it’s likely that the same person who killed your mother killed Al.”

  “The same person—if not a second person protecting the first.”

  “Mmm. I never considered that.”

  “I hope you’ll be able to figure out what I’ve failed to consider.”

  I met his gaze and realized his eyes were hazel and not brown, as I’d previously thought. “I think we have to start with your family.”

  “I agree.”

  I raised my eyebrows in astonishment.

  “Why are you surprised?” he asked. “I’ve gone over this a thousand times in my head, and there’s no evidence to support any one theory.”

  “How did each member of your family get along with your mom?”

  “I can tell you we weren’t the perfect TV family that friends and neighbors have since made us out to be. Ryan and I were in high school and trying to break out of the bubble Mom tried to create. Like Friday night family night, when the four of us did things together like eating dinner out or going to a movie. Ryan wasn’t having any of it. He’d say, ‘Where’s Dad if this is family night?’ Dad was working in the city then and came home late most nights, including Fridays.”

  “Did you go out with your mom on Fridays?”

  Jared shrugged. “I did for a while, but all she did was complain that Ryan and my dad weren’t with us, so I soon begged off.”

  “Was Ryan always as angry as he was the night Al was murdered?”

  “Not when we were little. He was a great older brother in elementary school—letting me play with his friends when they came over, things like that. He started to get moody when he was in eighth grade. He would fly off the handle for the smallest reason.” Jared shook his head. “To this day, I can’t figure out why.”

  “What about your parents’ relationship?”

  “It bothered Mom that Dad worked so many hours, but when Ryan brought it up, she always made excuses for him—said he had to make enough money to keep up our house and our way of living. Ryan thought she was being a pushover, accepting the late hours, and his anger was really directed at Dad. But that’s changed.”

  “How?”

  “They’re the best of pals these days. Live blocks from one another, go out for dinner occasionally.”

  “And where do you fit in?”

  “It’s funny. Dad and I kind of leaned on each other the first few years after we lost Mom. But we seem to have grown apart. I think part of it is because I want to know who murdered her. Dad and Ryan would like to forget she was murdered. Neither of them liked it that I was friendly with Al.”

  “Do you think either of them killed your mother?”

  Jared let out a deep sigh. “Neither had an alibi for the time she was murdered. Dad left his meeting before it ended, and Ryan had a fight with his friend and split.”

  “Why would either of them have wanted to kill your mom?”

  “Neither of them would have planned to kill her, but I’d seen Ryan get angry with her if she didn’t want him to go somewhere or do something. And Dad and Mom had some bang-up fights. Not often, but once in a while.”

  “Helena Koppel said your mom wanted to divorce your father.”

 
; Jared remained silent for a minute or two. “Helena’s been known to exaggerate or even lie to be the center of attention. I don’t know if my mother wanted to divorce my father. I thought everyone’s parents fought occasionally. Some of my friends’ fathers drank. Others ran around.”

  “Do you think your father had someone else? Someone in the city?”

  Jared bit his lip. “I wondered about that too. I mean, working late on Friday night? Do people on Wall Street work late on Friday nights?”

  Our waitress brought our entrées, and we began to eat.

  “This is delicious!” I exclaimed when I swallowed my first bite of eggplant. “Want a taste?”

  “Sure. And here’s a shrimp for you.”

  We sampled each other’s main dishes and gave our wholehearted approvals. We said little as we concentrated on our meals. Jared polished off his large plate of frutti di mare, and I was considering bringing home part of my food when Jared said, “Another thing that’s interesting—Mom and Uncle George were always close. He was married and living in Westchester at the time. After his divorce, he had dinner at our house occasionally.

  “Anyway, a few months before Mom was murdered, I came home from a game and heard them arguing. Uncle George wanted Mom to agree to sell this piece of property in upstate New York that they’d been left by their parents. It seemed he needed the money for a business venture. Mom wanted to hold onto the property for Ryan and me. Maybe build a summer home there. Uncle George kept shouting that she was living in a dreamworld. He needed the money for the here and now, while she wanted something that was never going to happen. Not with the way her family dynamics were playing out. She asked what he meant by that, and he refused to tell her. Finally, he seemed tired of her asking, so he said she had an absentee husband and an angry son who was bound to do something terrible one day.”

  “What did he say about you?”

  Jared swallowed, clearly embarrassed. “‘And poor Jared does his best to keep the peace at any cost. Do you think that’s good for a fourteen-year-old kid? Do you?’”

  “What happened after that?”

  “That was the last time Uncle George came to the house—until the funeral.”

  “What happened to the land they were arguing over?”

  “My dad agreed to sell it. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “Do you think he had financial problems too?”

  “Dad? Not that I knew of, but he always kept a tight lid on what he considered unnecessary expenses. He even tried to keep Ryan from going on a class trip his junior year, until Ryan nearly blew a gasket. Hmm, now I’m wondering if money was tight, and that’s why Dad worked late.” Jared grinned at me. “It’s like you’ve hypnotized me, getting me to remember so many things—arguments and comments I never paid attention to.” He paused to think. “Or how they added up.”

  “What just occurred to you?”

  “I’m remembering Dad teasing Mom about working in the library part time, asking her why she wasn’t getting a full-time job that paid a decent salary.” He mused. “Maybe money was more of a problem than I knew at the time.”

  We ordered cappuccinos and cannoli, and Jared asked for the check. I offered to pay my half, but he wouldn’t let me. “My treat. Next time, we’ll go Dutch.”

  On the way home, he asked if anything he’d told me had given me ideas.

  “Nothing concrete, I’m afraid. But I plan to think about it and let you know.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  Jared dropped me off at home, bussed my cheek, and said he’d call. As he drove away, I felt a pang of disappointment because he hadn’t kissed me properly. No, Carrie! I scolded myself. Don’t go there. Sure, Jared’s good company and easy on the eyes, but don’t turn this into a romance.

  I’d linked up with Jared to solve the two murders. I needed to analyze everything he’d told me that evening about his parents, his brother, and his uncle George. Any one of them might have killed Laura. And to be fair, I had to consider Jared as a possible suspect.

  Which of the four family members, if any, was guilty of murdering Laura Foster?

  Even if none of them was a murderer, it made me realize that even so-called normal families had their dark undercurrents.

  Chapter Seven

  “Someone looks happy today!”

  “And good morning to you,” I greeted Angela as I strode past the circulation desk Friday morning. No further comment followed, and I sighed with relief. Trish must have been true to her word about remaining mum about my dinner with Jared Foster.

  “I’ve always loved Halloween, haven’t you?”

  I gave a start when I discovered Evelyn Havers walking beside me.

  “All the decorations, the costumes, bobbing for apples . . .” Evelyn’s laughter sounded like wind chimes. “At least, that’s what we did in my day.”

  I looked around at the festoon of jack-o’-lanterns, skeletons, and witches adorning the walls and hanging from the ceiling. “It’s turned into a fun holiday, but when I was a teenager, Halloween was an excuse for older kids to have shaving-cream fights and toss eggs at houses.”

  “Not here in Clover Ridge. And certainly not here in our beloved library.”

  “That’s for sure. Sally’s asked me to place more scarecrows and dried corn arrangements wherever there’s empty shelf space.” I entered my office.

  Evelyn followed me inside.

  “Did you want to tell me something?”

  She blinked as if she was trying to come up with an excuse. “How are things between you and my niece?”

  “Cold. Hostile. If looks could kill . . .”

  “A pity, but looks can’t hurt you.”

  “It isn’t pleasant.” I turned on my computer to check for urgent e-mails—namely, from Sally.

  Evelyn sighed. “You’re annoyed with me, and I can’t blame you.”

  I gave her my full attention. “I’m hurt that you won’t tell me what you know about Laura Foster. But I don’t suppose it matters now. Jared and I are working together to find out who killed his mother and who killed Al Buckley. We’re scrutinizing everyone who was important in Laura’s life, starting with her family.”

  Evelyn grinned. “You and Jared. Now that’s an interesting bit of news.”

  “There’s nothing interesting about it. We’ve joined forces because we share the same purpose. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. I have to draw up a list of supplies for the adult Halloween party next Tuesday night, and—”

  “There was something I always wondered about,” Evelyn said. “And I wasn’t the only one.”

  “What was that?”

  Evelyn perched on the corner of my desk. “A month or two before Laura was killed, the family lawyer came by to see her a few times. Each time they left the building, she’d say it was to have a cup of coffee.” Evelyn cocked her head. “Now why would they bother to leave the library when we serve coffee here?”

  “To talk privately,” I said. “After all, he was her lawyer.”

  “Then why didn’t she go to his office?” Evelyn shook her head vehemently. “I think it was for some other reason. She always looked in better spirits when she returned from their time together.”

  My mouth fell open. “You don’t imagine. . . .”

  “Heavens, nothing like that in half an hour or forty-five minutes . . . although, I suppose if they were . . .” She gave me a stern look. “That wasn’t what I had in mind. I asked at the café around the corner. They actually did go out for coffee. What I’m trying to say is I think Laura and her family lawyer were romantically involved.”

  I shook my head. “But why do this in front of the people she worked with and then go for coffee in another public place? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “To throw us off the trail. To make us think they were talking about some legal matter. Lawyers often see their clients outside the office. As do accountants.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Besides, I got the sense that L
aura wasn’t very happy at home. Ryan was a handful, and Bryce was always working. The library was a safe haven for her. A place where she could help people, and they appreciated her.”

  I nodded. “I know nothing about the lawyer, but the rest of it lines up with what Jared told me about his mother. She wasn’t happy before she died.”

  “And unhappy people often do foolish things.”

  That said, Evelyn faded from the room.

  Another suspect to add to the list. But how could I possibly find out if what Evelyn supposed was true? I mused on the possibilities as I skimmed through my e-mails. The only note from Sally was a reminder to see her before I went shopping for the Halloween party, and I was planning to do that anyway.

  Why did Evelyn have a change of heart about telling me what she knew about Laura Foster? A mystery within a mystery.

  I reached for a pad and pen and started jotting down appetizers I planned to buy for the Halloween party. I’d been worried patrons would be reluctant to come to a library event that included food and drink, but the sixty available slots filled in minutes, and the hospitality desk kept adding more names to the waiting list.

  I was excited about the upcoming Halloween party. Patrons who signed up had agreed to come dressed as their favorite literary or movie character and had paid ten dollars to cover the cost of refreshments and prizes. The library staff was welcome—as long as they wore a costume. I was coming as a female Sherlock Holmes. Uncle Bosco had a green plaid deerstalker, and Aunt Harriet had a large green cape. I’d ordered an oversized magnifying glass online.

  “Think bite-sized pieces that don’t cost too much,” Sally had advised. “Be sure to check all prices beforehand. The bakery makes scrumptious pumpkin breads and caramel apple cupcakes we can cut up and serve on toothpicks. Get small paper plates and napkins with Halloween patterns.”