“Great idea!” I appreciated her enthusiasm.
She finally turned off the road and into a parking spot at the side of a huge warehouse. “We’ve arrived.”
I yanked open the gray metal door and gasped. Under florescent lights, the rows of kitchen supplies seemed to stretch on forever.
“Now, don’t go crazy,” Sally warned. “Even though you don’t cook much, you’re going to want every gadget you see.”
We appropriated a shopping cart and moved slowly up and down the aisles, checking out items on both sides. What an array of appliances and utensils! We stopped at a display of two-burner electric hot plates and debated which of three possible units to buy. I knew nothing about hot plates, but I knew we needed one that was safe, sturdy, and capable of producing high temperatures.
A sales clerk approached to ask if we’d like some assistance. We explained why we needed a hot plate and asked which he recommended. While he was touting the virtues of each, a hot plate with four burners caught my attention.
“Excuse me,” I interrupted his spiel. “Sally, don’t you think this might be best? There might be an occasion when a chef needs a burner to keep something warm.”
We debated the pros and cons of two versus four burners and then decided on the four-burner option. Jonas, our salesman, wrote up our purchase and then led us to the demo table section. I was shocked at how expensive they were. Jonas told us which he considered the best buy for our needs, and we followed his advice. He showed us where to go when we were ready to pay for our purchases.
“You can arrange for delivery there too.”
“One of our custodians will pick them up tomorrow,” Sally told him. “Right now, we want to wander around and select a few small utensils.”
Jonas took the hint and left us. We chose a few frying pans and pots and a set of good knives. I bought plastic tumblers of various sizes and a set of stacking tables for the party. Sally bought a serving platter and two trays. It was six by the time we climbed back into her car.
“That was fun.” I fastened my seat belt.
Sally turned on the motor. “Are you hungry?”
“I am, come to think of it.”
“Let’s stop for a quick dinner. I know just the place.” She drove onto the road leading back to Clover Ridge.
“Shouldn’t we be getting back to the library?”
“You were out on library business,” Sally said firmly. “You’re entitled to a dinner break.”
“I’ll call Susan. Let her know what needs attending.”
When I finished my call, Sally said, “Susan’s doing so much better lately.”
I smiled. “She enjoyed working on the Halloween party. It made me realize she’s creative, so I try to give her jobs that require decorating and artwork.”
We stopped at a red light. Sally turned to me. “You’re an even bigger surprise, Miss Singleton.”
“I hope you mean that in a good way.”
“I wasn’t in favor of your taking P and E. You lacked experience. It irked me that your uncle, a library board member, was so insistent that I give you the position.”
“Sorry about that. Uncle Bosco must have sensed I was about to leave Clover Ridge. The job was the only way to keep me here.”
Sally patted my shoulder. “Well, it worked out in the end. You’re a positive asset to the library. Patrons call me every day to say how much they like you.”
“Really? I love my job. I love the library. Everyone’s so nice and friendly.” I paused. “Mostly everyone.”
Sally frowned. “You’re referring to Dorothy Hawkins.”
“She’s stopped her shenanigans.”
“That’s good, because I warned her I’d have to take action if she didn’t stop her vendetta against you.”
“She seemed to think the position should have been hers.”
“It never would have. Dorothy doesn’t have the necessary qualifications. Nor does she have the personality for the job. If you hadn’t taken it, I would have had to undertake a nationwide search for applicants.”
I knew that wasn’t the entire story. “I got the impression she thought you’d give it to her because you’re such good friends,” I said.
Sally pursed her lips, and for a moment, I thought I’d gone too far. “I shouldn’t have listened to her,” Sally admitted, “but she led me to believe you weren’t the right person for the job.”
I laughed. “What did she say? I’m on drugs? A serious alcoholic? A kleptomaniac?”
I couldn’t see Sally’s expression in the dark, but I sensed she was embarrassed. “She said you were once arrested for theft. When I pressed her for the date and further information, she said the charges had been dropped.”
“In college, six of us were brought to the local jail one night for being rowdy. We were never charged.”
Sally went on as if she hadn’t heard me. “After you started working, she claimed you were slacking off. Spending half your time on your cell phone.”
“Is that why you gave me all those forms to fill out?”
“They do need to be filled out, but I’m afraid I was being difficult. How you managed to master them impressed me to no end.”
“I had help,” I admitted. “Why do people put up with her? Why do you?”
“She’s not a person to cross. Besides . . .”
I waited, more curious than ever.
“Dorothy finds out things about people—private matters she holds over them,” Sally said. “Only this time, she went too far.”
What does she have over you?
I considered telling Sally about my experiences with Dorothy but decided there was no point. Dorothy was poison, and I was glad that I was no longer in her sights. She’d gone so far as to lie about me and, I suspected, threatened to expose a secret Sally didn’t want known. Nice person she was!
Dorothy finds out things about people. Had she discovered Laura’s secret?
After a quick bite to eat, we arrived back at the library at seven thirty.
“This was a fun day. It hardly felt like work,” I told Sally while I gathered up my packages.
Sally laughed. “I enjoyed it too. I’m heading home now. See you in the morning.”
I said good-bye and closed the car door. I’d stowed my purchases in the trunk of my car and was heading for the library entrance when Sally pulled alongside of me. “Let me know if Dorothy starts to bother you again.”
“Will do. Good night, Sally.”
In my office, I looked over the notes Trish and Susan had left me. Susan came in, and I told her what we’d bought at the warehouse.
“Now that we have four chefs scheduled for future programs, I was thinking we might put an article in the newsletter about our upcoming cooking demos,” she said.
“Great idea. Want to write it?”
“Sure.” She gave me a broad smile. “Like me to do anything before I take over at the hospitality desk?”
“I think I have everything under control.”
I was reading my e-mails when I heard my cell phone jingle.
“Hi, Carrie. It’s Gillian. Ryan’s girlfriend.”
“Hi, Gillian. Nice to hear from you, but I’m at work and really can’t talk.”
She laughed. “Sorry. I forget librarians often work evenings. I’ll be quick. Ryan and I were wondering if you and Jared would like to have dinner with us Saturday night.”
I’d meant it when I told Gillian I’d love to double date with her—if only Ryan weren’t her boyfriend. He was an angry, obnoxious bully, and I doubted Jared would want to go out with them. I eased into the best way I knew to reject her invitation.
“I’d love to, Gillian, but Jared and I aren’t a couple like you and Ryan. I don’t feel it’s my place to make social plans for us.”
“Could you ask him? It would mean a lot to Ryan.”
“Really? How can you say that when Ryan insults Jared every chance he gets?”
“Please, Carrie.” Her voice quivered with anxie
ty. “Ryan wants the four of us to go out.”
And he instructed you to do the arranging. “Why?”
“He doesn’t mean to give Jared a hard time. He’s so angry about their mother’s murder, it spills out all over the place. He wants to talk to you both. To find out what you’ve learned.”
“We haven’t learned anything new since we last saw you. Thursday, though—” I stopped short, not wanting to bring Roy Peters’s name into the mix.
“You’re speaking to someone about the case?” Gillian sounded excited.
“It may prove to be nothing.”
“Please ask Jared about Saturday night. It’s time the two of them started to get along. Besides, I think you and I could be friends.”
“I think so too, only—”
“Sorry, I have to go,” Gillian said. “Call me after you talk to Jared.”
I hung up, wondering what Ryan was really after. A chill shivered down my spine as I remembered his angry words to Al the night he died.
Had Ryan killed Al to stop him from presenting evidence that proved he had murdered his mother?
Did Ryan want to know if Jared and I had found something implicating him, and if we had, did he plan to do away with us too?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Wednesday was a quiet, peaceful day. Two more chefs called to say they were interested in doing demonstrations. And one had a friend who worked in another restaurant who was also interested in giving a presentation.
Max stopped by at noon to tell me he’d picked up the equipment Sally and I had bought on Tuesday. The only fly in my ointment was Trish, who remained cool toward me, speaking only about work. I was glad to attend the department heads’ meeting Sally had called for because it took me out of my office. This couldn’t continue. I’d talk to Trish after I had breakfast with her father.
I’d called Jared twice to tell him about Gillian’s request to have dinner. Each time, his secretary told me that he was with a client. Finally he texted to say that he was flying to Rhode Island to see a client and staying overnight.
Thursday morning, I left the house a few minutes past eight to make sure I was on time for my meeting with Roy Peters. I was pumped with anticipation as I pulled into the library’s parking lot. I hoped Al had talked to Roy about the new information he’d discovered regarding Laura Foster’s murderer.
Roy waved to me from a table for two in the middle of the café. Every seat was occupied, and the place buzzed with conversation. Who would have guessed so many Clover Ridge residents ate breakfast out?
A middle-aged waitress came over with a pot of steaming coffee. She filled my cup and refilled Roy’s. He recommended the Spanish omelet, which he ordered, but I opted for blueberry pancakes, my favorite breakfast on the rare times I found myself in a diner in the morning.
Our food arrived faster than I’d expected. As I poured syrup on my pancakes, I said, “Tell me about Al Buckley, Roy.”
“With pleasure.” He gulped down the last of his coffee and called over our waitress for a refill. “He was a good friend, and I miss him more each day.”
“Did he tell you about the book he was writing?”
“A little.” Roy chewed a mouthful of omelet. “I knew it was about the Laura Foster murder. He was furious with himself for not catching her killer back when he was on the force, but he was pretty sure he knew who had killed her.”
My heart pounded. “Did he tell you?”
Roy chuckled. “Are you kidding? Al was a private SOB. Always played his cards close to his chest.”
I swallowed my disappointment. Al hadn’t told Roy what he’d discovered. Which meant he probably hadn’t told anyone. But Roy was in a talkative mood, glad to have someone hear his stories. I forced myself to listen, though I was certain it would lead to another dead end.
“I remember the morning his phone call woke me when the sun was rising: ‘Get up, Roy! I’m picking you up in half an hour and treating you to the best breakfast you’ve ever had,’ he shouted into the phone.
“‘What’s this all about?’ I asked.
“‘I know who did it!’
“‘Did what? I’m going back to sleep.’
“‘Killed Laura Foster.’ He said he’d been up all night reviewing the interviews again and again. He paid careful attention to everyone who’d had opportunity within the time frame of the murder. ‘I’ve come up with the only logical person,’ he’d said. ‘Trouble is, there’s no damn evidence to back me up. No prints on the vase. No witnesses. Nothing. The lucky SOB.’”
So for all his bluster the other day, Lieutenant John Mathers had nothing either. Had he found evidence pointing to Al’s murderer? Either the killer was extraordinarily clever or just plain lucky.
“Is that why Al asked the audience all those questions about Laura?”
“I wasn’t there,” Roy said, “but Trish said people were offering up personal comments.”
“They were. Helena Koppel said Laura told her she wanted a divorce.”
“That was a lousy thing to announce in front of Laura’s family and neighbors,” Roy exclaimed. “Who cares about something like that after all these years?”
A few diners paused in their conversations to stare at us.
“Roy, keep your voice down. We don’t want everyone to hear our business.”
He lowered his voice to a soft rumble. “Right. Sorry. It’s just that I get so riled up, thinking how mean people can be.”
I couldn’t resist sharing what I’d seen at the mall. “Would you believe I saw Helena and Bryce holding hands the other day?”
That brought a deep chuckle from him. “There’s no accounting for taste.”
“Laura’s son Jared and I have been trying to learn who was behind his mother’s murder, but her death is shrouded in secrets. Turns out, Laura was having an affair, but nobody knows who the man was.”
“Goes to show nobody knows what happens behind closed doors. I’d always thought they were a happy family.”
We returned our attention to our breakfasts. I could barely finish my pancakes but made myself eat every last crumb. They were too delicious to leave.
Our waitress cleared the table. Roy asked for more coffee and a piece of apple pie. He must have caught my expression of surprise.
“I know, I know,” he apologized. “Trish’s mother would be yelling at me if she saw how much I’m eating. But I rarely go off my usual breakfast of oatmeal.”
“I can relate.” I wished I didn’t feel like a stuffed turkey. “Did Al say if the murderer was a man or a woman?”
He pursed his lips. “He wouldn’t even say that much.”
I stifled a sigh. Roy might have known Al well, but he wasn’t privy to anything Al had discovered about Laura’s killer. “What kind of proof did he hope to find?”
“Maybe someone who had slipped through the interviews had seen something suspicious that night. Better yet, maybe the murderer would show his hand. Kind of like revealing a tell when you’re playing poker. He hoped that getting people to share their less-than-perfect memories of Laura might trigger some reaction in the person he suspected. Then he planned to talk to him or her. He was taping it all, you know.”
I felt a sense of excitement. “How? With his iPad? That’s missing.” I thought a bit. “I wonder if the police know he was recording.”
“I told John Mathers that Al was recording it all, but what good did it do, with his iPad gone?”
“Sally always films the major programs. I’ll see if she saved it. See if I notice a pattern to Al’s questions. To his responses to people’s comments.”
We chatted a bit longer, and I was left with the following: Al had figured out who’d killed Laura Foster. He had no proof but was hoping to get some through his Q and A with the audience. His questions had provoked the killer, and not in the way he’d planned.
Our waitress dropped the check on our table. “My treat,” I said as Roy reached for his wallet. But when he insisted on paying, I real
ized it meant a lot to him and thanked him profusely for his information and the meal.
Walking to the library, I mulled over the various alibis at the time of Laura’s murder. Ryan had been driving around, Bryce had been coming home from the city, Helena was—I couldn’t remember where—and Jared was at basketball practice. I didn’t remember where George was at the time, but checking would be easy enough. And who and where was this mystery lover we knew nothing about?
I ran into Trish in the room adjoining the ladies’ room. She was making coffee for the current events group that met in our boardroom every Thursday from eleven to one. The room wasn’t supposed to be used by patrons, but the man who’d been the library director thirty-four years ago had started the group, and it had continued ever since. The members brought their own lunch, and we served them coffee and cookies.
“Your dad and I had a lovely breakfast.”
“That’s nice. Did you get what you wanted?”
“I learned what Al Buckley was after the night he came to speak here.”
“You had no business taking advantage of an old man! Knowing my father, half the room heard his story.”
“I doubt it. Everyone else was busy talking as well.” I touched her arm. “Please, Trish. Don’t be mad. I only wanted to find out what Al might have told your father. It wasn’t very much.” I sighed. “I’m beginning to think the two murders never will be solved.”
Trish shrugged, but she returned to the office with a plate of cookies for us to share. I went through my e-mails and called back three people who’d written to say that they had programs to offer. One wanted to give a talk on small-motored planes. A professor at a nearby college wanted to talk about drones. A third wanted to present a one-woman show about Hedy Lamarr.
The small plane expert didn’t come across as a good speaker. I told him we were booked up for now and that I didn’t think there would be enough interest in the subject. He started to object, but I interrupted and brought the conversation to a close. I found the other two charming—each in their own way. I told them how much we could afford to pay. They were agreeable, so I sent them each a form to fill out, asking them to choose one of the dates I had free in February or March. That taken care of, I went to see Sally.
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