I stepped inside the cottage, glad to be home. I switched on the hall and living room lights and started dinner. The aroma of roasting chicken filled the kitchen. I sipped Chardonnay as I cut up lettuce, tomatoes, and a cucumber for a salad and then sautéed mushrooms and zucchini, which I topped with grated parmesan.
My first dinner prepared in my cottage was surprisingly delicious. Things were going well. I loved my new home and my job. I was making friends in Clover Ridge, and I had family. Oddly enough, moving had brought me closer to Uncle Bosco and Aunt Harriet. I even looked forward to seeing my cousin Randy at my party. Julia had e-mailed to say they’d be happy to come. For the first time, I felt grounded and like I was where I belonged.
Of course, I wasn’t getting anywhere regarding the murders. Lieutenant Mathers was right. It was police business to investigate and track down the murderers. They had the know-how, the work force, the technical wizardry. Only, they hadn’t managed to find out who killed Laura Foster fifteen years ago. I sensed they weren’t making headway finding Al’s killer either.
It had to be the same person. Which meant the killer had come to the meeting intending to kill Al. How he or she had managed to put the poisoned cookie on Al’s plate without being seen was beyond me.
I enjoyed my dinner and then cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. I made a cup of coffee using the Keurig machine Dylan had thoughtfully provided. Dylan. I marveled at the way things had turned out. Not at all as I’d expected when the curt male voice had answered my call.
I went into the small bedroom I was using as my office and called Roy Peters. He sounded happy to hear from me.
“Roy, I was wondering if you’d still like to get together so you can tell me more about Al Buckley.”
“It would be my pleasure. When were you thinking?”
“I start work late tomorrow. We could meet for breakfast or an early lunch at the Cozy Corner Café.”
“Much as I’d love to, I have two doctors’ appointments tomorrow. Wednesday I bowl. How’s Thursday?”
“Thursday I don’t have to be at work until ten thirty. I could meet you for breakfast.”
“Is eight too early for you?”
“A bit,” I admitted. “How’s eight thirty?”
We agreed to meet at the café Thursday morning. Next, I called Dylan’s cell phone. It rang a few times. I was about to disconnect when he answered.
“Hi, Carrie. How are things going?”
“Fine. I picked up your mail. I’ll send it to you tomorrow morning. Shall I toss the junk?”
“Yes, please. Here’s the address.” He rattled off a street in Baltimore and then asked me to read it back to him. After I did, he said, “Just a second.” He muffled the phone, spoke to someone, and returned a minute later. “Sorry about that. Anything exciting happening in Clover Ridge?”
For some reason I didn’t understand, I found myself telling him about my visit to the police station. I ended by saying that I didn’t think the police were getting anywhere regarding the two homicides.
He laughed sarcastically. “Why am I not surprised? I hope you’re not playing detective and trying to solve both cases.”
“Jared and I have spoken to a few people, but no one seems to know anything. His mother’s friend Helena said Laura was having an affair, but Helena didn’t know who the man was.”
“Some cases don’t get solved.”
“But it looks like Al’s murder is linked to hers.”
“Very possibly, though we can’t be certain. What else is new?”
“My aunt and uncle are throwing me a party here at the cottage for my birthday. I decided to also make it a housewarming party.” My heart hammered. “It’s the second Saturday night in December. I’d love it if you could come.”
“Thanks for the invite, but I can’t say if I’ll be home then. Hold on—”
I heard voices again and Dylan saying he’d be right there.
“Have to go. Talk to you soon.”
“Someone called while I was at your house collecting your mail,” I added quickly.
“Who?”
“It was a man. He didn’t tell me his name, but he was abrupt. Sounded a bit ominous, actually. He hung up when I said you weren’t there.”
“I forgot to tell you, never answer the phone, okay? I can retrieve my messages myself.”
Stung, I said that I wouldn’t do it again.
“Good-bye, Carrie.”
I disconnected, annoyed with myself. Now Dylan was mad at me, which bothered me more than I cared to admit.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The housephone rang loudly. Insistently. My eyes remained shut as I fumbled for it on the nightstand. “Hello.”
“Sooo sorry,” said a female voice in a deep Scottish brogue. “I thought, being a librarian, you’d be up at the crack of dawn.”
“Is it dawn?”
“It’s gone on eight o’clock. This is Mrs. Corcoran. Or Mrs. C, if you like. I’ll be coming to clean the cottage today.”
“It’s pretty clean. I only moved in Saturday.”
“Yes, I know, but Tuesday’s cleaning day. Have you stowed your suitcases?”
I glanced across the room. “Not yet.”
“I’ll put them in storage for you. Any clothes need washing?”
“Well, I have a few things I was going to put in the washing machine.”
“I’ll see to it. Just leave them in a pile on the bedroom floor.”
“Thank you, Mrs. C.”
“Mind you, I can only care for your clothes when Dylan’s away and the house requires no more than a general going-over. When he’s home, it’s another story.”
“I understand.”
“Good, because I don’t want to mislead you. Of course, I’ll be changing the linens and towels and running them through the washer and dryer. I’ll stop back later to fold them and put them away.”
“If that’s what you do on Tuesdays.”
“That’s some of what I do, missy. I’ll be by soon as I finish here in the house.”
“Oh, you’re there already?”
“For the past hour. I didn’t call earlier because I wanted you to get your beauty sleep.”
“Thank you, Mrs. C. I start work at one today, but I’m running errands this morning, so I probably won’t be meeting you today.”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head. Have a good day.”
Suddenly energized, I showered and dressed quickly and then made myself coffee and toast for breakfast. I’d fallen into a mind-blowing situation. Not only was I paying an amazingly low rent, but the cottage came with all sorts of perks. It was like living in a luxurious vacation resort.
I stuffed Dylan’s mail into one of the large envelopes he’d left me and drove to the Clover Ridge post office a few blocks from the library to drop it in the mail. That taken care of, I had three hours to myself. I decided to visit Aunt Harriet.
She was happy to see me and greeted me with a hug. “I’m meeting Betty Stiles for lunch at noon, but we have plenty of time for a visit.”
“I thought we’d go over the party plans. I know it’s a month away, but—”
“The sooner we get organized, the better. I’ve collected three catering menus. Choose the one you like. I’d like numbers as soon as you have them.”
I pulled out my cell phone. “Twenty yes’s so far, six no’s, and fifteen I haven’t heard from.”
“I think you should contact the fifteen the beginning of next week.”
I studied the menus she handed me. One was Italian food, one was Chinese, and the third was eclectic food with interesting appetizers and finger foods from various international cuisines.
“I like this one,” I said.
Aunt Harriet laughed. “I told your uncle Bosco that would be the one you’d choose. They’re all finger foods, which is perfect for a party.”
We talked about drinks. Aunt Harriet said that she also planned to make cookies and mini cream
puffs for the occasion. The cake would be a surprise.
“I’ll buy the paper goods. Jared offered to take care of the decorations.”
“That was kind of him.”
“He’s nice. We’ve become good friends.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Just friends?”
I nodded. “I think that’s all we’ll ever be. We’re the same age, but at times, Jared seems so much younger.”
“Poor boy. His mother’s tragic death must have left terrible scars.”
We chatted a few more minutes, and then Aunt Harriet glanced at the clock. “I’m sorry to have to chase you out, but I must shower and dress. I offered to drive today, and Betty hates to be kept waiting.”
I hugged her good-bye and drove to the nearby mall to browse and eat a light lunch before starting work at one. All that talk about food drew me to the gourmet food store. I studied the goodies on both sides of the aisles, wishing I could afford to treat myself to a jar of caviar and some of the expensive cheese I loved. Instead, I bought a box of imported crackers and a can of oysters for Thursday night’s dinner with Angela. A sales clerk offered me a sample of dark chocolate filled with pistachios. Yummy! Though it was outrageously expensive, I bought a pound of it for the party.
I window-shopped my way to the health-food bar at the far end of the mall. As I stood in line to order my salad, I scanned the seating area in search of an empty table. I gasped with surprise to see Bryce Foster sitting at a table against the wall. He was speaking animatedly to the woman facing him. I moved a few feet to get a better view of her. The woman was Helena Koppel!
“Miss? What are you having?”
“Sorry. A chickpea salad with chicken and a cup of coffee.”
“Your bread? Roll? Rye? Whole wheat?”
“Roll.” I paid and went to stand in the waiting area.
From my new vantage point, I was close enough to catch snatches of Bryce and Helena’s conversation. They were too wrapped up in each other to notice me.
“I think I’ll take those bedroom lamps after all,” Helena was saying.
“Good choice,” Bryce answered. “They go well with the new bedroom set.”
Helena sighed. “I appreciate your help. I didn’t realize what an undertaking choosing all new furniture was going to be. That and the move are sapping my strength.”
“No need to feel stressed. I’m here to help.”
Helena actually fluttered her eyes. “I appreciate it, though I feel bad, taking you away from the store.”
Bryce reached across the table to pat her hand. “I have to eat, don’t I? And so do you.”
“I suppose so. But you’ve been so kind.” She took his hand in hers.
I nearly gagged as they gazed into each other’s eyes.
“Number twenty-seven.”
Startled, I grabbed my tray and carried it to an empty table on the other side of the room and called Jared.
“Hi. I’m at Healthy Foods in the mall, and guess what! Your father and Helena are here having lunch.”
“Dad mentioned she was coming to the store to pick out furniture for her condo. The sale’s moving along quickly. Helena plans to move in right after Thanksgiving.”
I hesitated. Clearly Jared had no idea that his father and Helena were starting up a romantic relationship. “I thought they looked kind of friendly.”
Jared laughed. “I doubt it. Dad’s just being kind to an old friend. He hasn’t dated anyone in years.”
“If you say so. I was at Aunt Harriet’s this morning. We decided on the menu for my party. And I bought some goodies.”
“Very efficient of you. I’ll pick up the decorations in the next few weeks.”
“Thanks for taking care of that.” I paused. “I went to see Lieutenant Mathers yesterday, but he wouldn’t let me see anything in your mother’s file.”
“I’m not surprised. The case is linked to Al’s.”
“I’m talking to a friend of Al’s on Thursday. Roy Peters is Trish Templeton’s father. Trish is my assistant at the library.”
“That’s a stroke of luck. Maybe Al told him something about my mother’s case.”
“I hope so. We could use a good lead.”
We said good-bye, and I concentrated on my salad. I almost missed seeing Bryce and Helena leave the restaurant, walking single file through the lunch crowd. Bryce had his hand on her shoulder.
As I drove to the library, I wondered why seeing Bryce and Helena together was so upsetting. They were both widowed and free to date whomever they liked. It wasn’t uncommon for old friends to date and marry now that they were both single.
Was it because they were older? I shook my head vehemently. I enjoyed seeing older couples in love—probably because my own parents were always squabbling. I smiled as Uncle Bosco and Aunt Harriet came to mind. They were in their seventies and still adored one another. I could only hope to have a loving relationship like theirs when I reached their age.
Maybe Jared’s dislike of Helena had rubbed off on me. He insisted that she wasn’t to be trusted. That she exaggerated and distorted the reality of many situations. I remembered her standing up the night Al was murdered and saying that Laura had been unhappy in her marriage and had wanted a divorce. It had turned out to be true enough, but I thought it was cruel of her to announce it before Laura’s family, friends, and neighbors. Still, it didn’t seem to bother Bryce, so why should it bother me?
Trish was hard at work on our next newsletter when I entered my office. She gave me a rundown of the people who’d called, what they wanted, and who I needed to call back.
“I’ll get to it as soon as I start the one thirty movie. And I want to look in on the first senior chair yoga class. Betsy’s new to the library, but I hear from the grapevine she’s an excellent instructor. I’m hoping she can continue to give us this time slot—at least through June.”
Trish cocked her head. “Sally stopped by. She was wondering if you were busy this afternoon. I told her I thought you weren’t too jammed up. She wants you to call her when you get in.”
“Will do.”
“And last but not least, my dad called to remind you of your breakfast date tomorrow morning.”
I laughed. “I didn’t forget.”
“Why on earth are you two having breakfast together? He wouldn’t say.”
I was about to make a joke of it and pretend we were going on a date when I realized Trish was really concerned. “I want to learn more about Al Buckley. I feel terrible he was murdered on my watch.”
“I don’t think you should meet my dad to talk about Al.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Al claimed he knew who murdered Laura, and then he became the killer’s next victim.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” I said.
“My father likes being with people but doesn’t get the chance to socialize much. When he’s with people, sometimes he talks about things he shouldn’t.”
“You’re afraid he’ll tell me something Al told him about the case. And what if he does? Don’t you want to see the murderer locked up?”
“I don’t want anything to happen to my father.”
I heard the desperation in her voice. “Nothing will, Trish. I think you’re worrying about something that will never happen.”
“Can’t you tell him you can’t meet him tomorrow?”
“I’m sorry, Trish. I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t!” She turned back to her computer.
Not sure what else I could say, I called Sally’s extension.
“Do you have time to run over to the restaurant supply store this afternoon?” she asked. “I’m free at three and thought we might drive over if it works for you.”
“I have a few things to take care of, but three gives me plenty of time to work on my to-do list.”
“Great. Meet me at the back entrance.”
“I’ll be there.”
Thank goodness Sally’s hostility toward me had worn off,
but I felt awful that Trish, whom I liked so much, was mad at me. Was I being selfish, meeting her dad to pump him for information about Al? I didn’t think so, especially since he was eager to talk about Al. I supposed it was his way of working out his grief. Besides, no one would dare harm Roy in the Cozy Corner Café, and he might prove to be the only lead in the case.
I started the afternoon movie—a foreign film I’d been meaning to see—and then stood in the doorway of the yoga class, observing the much-praised Betsy. In the dimly lit room, she was demonstrating the triangle pose as Indian music softly played. We waved to one another, and then I returned to my office to make some necessary phone calls. Trish nodded when I entered, but we didn’t speak until I left an hour and a half later. I told myself I’d smooth things over tomorrow—after I met with her father.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sally was in high spirits as we drove to the nearby town where the restaurant supply outlet was located. “I’ve never come home empty-handed. I’ve bought a wonderful set of kitchen knives for half what it would have cost me in a regular store.”
“My aunt Harriet shops there regularly. Most of her baking pans and cooking utensils come from the outlet.” I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’ll probably buy a few serving dishes for the party. The idea of my having a domestic side is hard to believe.”
“Why? Most people have a domestic side. I got married when I was twenty-two. And soon I was working and preparing dinner every weeknight for the first time in my life. I learned how to cook real fast.”
“Who taught you? Your mother?”
“No. Bob.”
“Really?”
“He shared an apartment with friends in graduate school and proved to be the best cook of them all, so he ended up making most of the meals.”
I pulled out my list of possible purchases and read the items aloud. “The chefs plan to bring their own sauté pans, utensils, and knives.”
Sally smiled. “Still, we should have utensils and pots and pans on hand if we’re going to make this a regular part of our curriculum.”
Death Overdue Page 18
