“He’ll get to her yet,” Evelyn murmured.
“Was he always so angry and scornful?”
“I’m afraid so. Even as a child, he gave his parents a difficult time. Poor Jared adored his older brother and tried to keep up with him.”
“I was annoyed with Jared for telling them Laura might have kept a journal after I’d told him not to mention it. I explained that the storage place where she might have written was now full of cartons of books that no one could possibly go through.”
“That attic is a mess.”
“I was surprised to see Dorothy bringing a book down from there. That she managed to find anything amazes me.”
Evelyn laughed. “Dorothy has many faults, but she’s a fantastic organizer. I imagine she made sure that the old reference books were placed in cartons labeled ‘Reference.’”
“But searching for Laura’s pages is something else. I wouldn’t know the first place to look.”
Evelyn grinned. “As to that, I have a few ideas.”
Having nothing pressing to do at the moment, I headed for the door that led to the attic. Evelyn kept pace beside me. A few patrons stopped me to ask questions about upcoming programs. I answered them as patiently as I could. I sensed Evelyn knew more than she was saying, and I was eager to find out what it could be.
Once upstairs, I turned on the light and closed the door, hoping no one would come up and ask what I was doing there. Not that anyone would. Sally wasn’t working today either.
I looked around the room, glad for Evelyn’s company. “Here we are. Where shall we start?”
Evelyn leaned against one of the three desks, their surfaces all laden with cartons of books. “I believe these desks were here before the attic became a catchall for discarded copies of books. And there are the chairs.” She pointed to the far corner.
“Uh-huh.” Where was this leading?
“The desks have drawers. I think you should go through them,” Evelyn said.
“Well, okay. But I doubt Laura would put something personal in a desk drawer any member of the staff might open.”
“True, but things have gotten shifted around here in the past fifteen years. It’s worth a look.”
I opened the narrow top drawer of the desk closest to me. It was filled with candy wrappers, paper clips, a few ballpoint pens, and rubber bands. There were two side drawers. The first held typing paper and forms that the library no longer used. A white cardigan was in the bottom drawer.
“No luck, I see,” Evelyn said. “But there are two more desks.”
They stood against the far wall, with dozens of piled-up cartons blocking immediate access.
Evelyn must have seen me hesitate, because she cast me a stern look. “They’re worth investigating.”
I moved the boxes impeding my path to the desks. After fifteen minutes of hard work—my hands filthy with dust—I reached the first desk.
“Nothing here.” I opened the three drawers.
“One more to go,” Evelyn said.
The drawers were empty, save for a pad of notepaper and a box of paper clips. Then I had an idea. “I’m going to look underneath and behind the desks, just in case Laura hid the papers there.”
“That’s the spirit!” Evelyn perched on top of a pile of cartons.
I examined the two desks carefully. I pulled out every drawer to see if there was anything glued to the desk’s frame.
“Nothing,” I reported.
“Don’t forget the first desk,” Evelyn advised.
“Of course not.”
I moved the necessary boxes to retrace my steps and examined the first desk’s underside. I pulled out the top drawer, found nothing. Same for the second drawer. But the third drawer that held the sweater seemed to be stuck. I yanked on the handle until the drawer came out. I saw nothing on the desk frame. I felt under the drawer and yelped as I detached a brown envelope taped to the bottom of the drawer.
“Evelyn, look!”
My fingers trembled as I unfastened the metal clasp. Inside were ten or twelve sheets of yellow legal-sized pages filled with a scrawling feminine hand.
Chapter Thirty
I hugged the envelope to my chest as I raced from the attic to my office. Once inside, I sat at my desk and pulled the sheaf of pages from the envelope. I scanned the first page.
“. . . my mood swings from ecstasy when I think of what we share to absolute terror that someone will discover our secret. I wish I could shout it to the world. But I can’t. He can’t.”
My heart thudded against my ribs. This was Laura’s intimate chronicle of her adulterous affair.
As much as I longed to read every single word she’d written, I shoved the pages back inside the envelope. I’d read them at home, slowly and carefully. My exhilaration knew no bounds. Here was evidence neither Al Buckley nor Lieutenant Mathers knew existed. I’d found it! With Evelyn’s help, of course.
“Evelyn?” I glanced around the office, but she was nowhere in sight. When had she left? I thought back and realized she hadn’t accompanied me out of the attic. Had she begun to fade, or had she chosen to leave me to go wherever she went when she wasn’t in the library?
Puzzled, I mused about Evelyn’s sudden disappearance. Didn’t she want to learn the identity of Laura’s secret lover, the person who had probably killed her? Or had my sudden exit offended her?
Thank goodness there was a concert at two that required my presence from one forty-five until it ended at a quarter to four. That would keep my mind occupied. I was eager to get home and read what Laura had written. I left precisely at five and drove home at top speed. When I arrived at the cottage, I poured myself a large glass of Chardonnay and sat down in the living room with the stack of pages on my lap.
The first few pages, which began in early September, were mostly about Laura’s feelings. She described the rush of happiness her new relationship brought her. The joy of being listened to, appreciated, and cared for. By mid-November, anxieties had begun to creep into her thoughts. Was she crazy to maintain an adulterous relationship? Though she and her love met in a motel two towns away, she worried that someone might have seen them together. She was terrified, imagining what Bryce would do if he found out.
She worried about her sons and how a divorce would impact their lives. They would hate her and blame her for ripping their family apart. As it was, she had no idea how to control Ryan’s growing hostility. He was angry and out of control—getting into fights in school, arguing with his friends. She pleaded with Bryce to talk to him, but Bryce was ineffectual. She wondered if her affair was somehow responsible for Ryan’s recent acts of vandalism.
As the new year approached, Laura’s entries became filled with unhappy thoughts. She felt trapped in an intolerable situation. A divorce would solve her problems—but only if her lover was willing to break his marital ties and marry her. While they professed their love for one another, they never discussed a future together. He claimed to love and cherish her. He soothed her when she poured out her concerns about her family but never once suggested they leave their spouses and marry. And she was too afraid to bring it up.
How frustrating that Laura went on and on without mentioning her lover’s name. I shuffled through the pages. On the next to last sheet, I came upon the letter L. Excited, I started reading.
“L insists we’re best off staying the way we are. Keeping our relationship a secret will avoid the mundane, day-to-day patterns that drain the spontaneity from every love affair. I don’t agree. I need to have him with me all through the night, day after day.”
Who is L? Laura’s neighbor, Lou Devon, visited her frequently to make small house repairs. Ryan thought he and his mother might have been involved, though Jared doubted there was anything between them. Lou Devon wasn’t especially good looking, but he paid attention to Laura. That alone could be an aphrodisiac.
Helena’s husband’s name was Lloyd. But Lloyd was dead, so there was nothing to be learned there. Unless I quest
ioned Helena. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that. She’d told Jared she knew his mother had had a lover but that she didn’t know who he was. Was that a lie?
I read on. The next-to-last entry was written in mid-January and described a terrible quarrel. Laura had asked L why they couldn’t be together. L said he couldn’t leave his wife. Each time Laura asked why not, he offered a different reason: “It’s too complicated to explain.” “It would devastate her.” “We’re partners for life.” Laura left in tears. When L called a week later wanting to see her, her heart filled with happiness. Laura went to meet him, certain he’d changed his mind. Instead, he’d told her their relationship was over.
“L said our love has run its course, and we should be grateful for the joy we shared. I stormed out of the room, humiliated and wounded. How could I have been so stupid?”
I refilled my glass and returned to the first page to read all the entries in sequence. Poor Laura, I thought. Another woman led on by a devious male.
I ate my dinner—a roast beef sandwich on rye bread with spicy mustard—and contemplated what I’d learned. Laura had fallen badly for L and was devastated when he refused to take their love affair further. Had she become angry enough to tell L’s wife that he’d betrayed her? Who was L? Lou or Lloyd?
I reached for my cell phone to call Jared when the jingle sounded.
“Hello, Carrie. Dylan here.”
“Hi. Where are you?”
“Winding things up in Baltimore. I’m flying to Atlanta tomorrow morning, so please don’t send any more mail to this address.”
“Sure. Do you have your new address?”
“Not yet. When I do, I’ll text it to you. On second thought, don’t send anything. I’m flying home next Wednesday for Thanksgiving weekend.”
Yay! “Does that mean you can come to my aunt and uncle’s for Thanksgiving?”
“It sure does. Please let them know I look forward to seeing them both.”
“I will.”
“Have to go. Talk to you soon.”
I put down the phone and twirled a pirouette. Dylan was coming to Thanksgiving dinner!
I closed my eyes and imagined us driving together to Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco’s house. He’d probably bring a bottle of wine or flowers, and I’d bring . . . what could I bring that Aunt Harriet couldn’t make better than me?
I was great at baking big, fluffy popovers—only they were best served the moment they came out of the oven. My double-chocolate brownies were always a big hit. Yes! I’d make a batch of them with walnuts or almonds.
I decided to wait awhile before telling Jared I’d found his mother’s journal. I couldn’t trust him not to tell Bryce and Ryan. I didn’t think anyone in that family should have access to the pages Laura had written—at least not yet.
Was I obliged to hand over the pages to Lieutenant Mathers? I imagined Laura’s case had been reopened, at least as far as it touched on the investigation into Al’s murder. Not that the pages revealed anything beyond the fact that Laura’s lover’s name began with the letter L. I had no wish to go to the police station after the cool reception I’d received the last time. The police weren’t willing to share what they knew with me, so why should I share my information with them?
Still, the pages were evidence of a kind. Perhaps one of their specialists could get more from reading them than I had. I stretched my arms overhead and let out a yawn. I would hold onto them for now. I could always hand them over to Lieutenant Mathers when I saw him Thanksgiving Day.
Chapter Thirty-One
Helena surprised me by calling Monday evening to ask if I’d mind going shopping with her for some accent pieces for her new home.
“I’m far from an expert when it comes to decorating.” I hoped she’d take the hint and back off.
She laughed. “I can tell you have excellent taste by the way you dress. Besides, you don’t have to feel responsible for any purchases I make. I’ve asked Gillian too. I figure, between the three of us, we’ll make good choices.”
“Sure.” I was relieved to know Gillian was included in this outing.
“What evening this week is good for you?”
“I finish at five on Wednesday and Thursday.”
“Gillian said Wednesday is good too. Do you like Greek food?”
“I sure do.”
“Let’s meet at the Hellenic Kitchen. My treat.”
I wasn’t about to argue, since Helena viewed our outing as a favor to her. What was she really up to? Did she have serious plans to snag Bryce as a husband and want to pump Gillian and me to find out what his sons thought of her? We arranged to meet at six at the Greek restaurant outside of town and shop in the decorating stores in the nearby strip mall.
I called Gillian. Like me, she couldn’t figure out why she’d been invited to shop for decor items for Helena’s new condo.
“Unless she’s trying to get into Bryce’s good graces through us somehow,” Gillian said.
“My thoughts exactly.”
We decided that we didn’t care why she’d invited us out. We’d have a good time. I figured it might be a good opportunity to ask a few questions and find out what Helena knew. After all, she had been Laura’s best friend.
That Wednesday, I arrived at the restaurant at exactly six. Helena was waiting in the tiny vestibule, as excited as a kid celebrating a snow day.
“I managed to have the closing changed to Friday! Now I can move in on Sunday. Bryce promised my new furniture will be delivered on Tuesday in time for Thanksgiving.”
I looked at her in surprise. “Won’t preparing a holiday dinner be too much work after moving in?”
Helena brushed away my concerns with a wave of her hand. “Bryce and I will have a quiet dinner ourselves on Thursday. I’m planning a small housewarming party on Saturday night. You and Jared will come, of course.”
I opened my mouth to say I had other plans but found myself agreeing to be there.
“Delightful!” Helena showered me with one of her dazzling smiles. “It wouldn’t be the same without the two of you.”
Inwardly, I cringed. Is my life to be forever linked with Jared and his family?
The outer door opened and Gillian appeared. “Sorry I’m late. I got held up handling a last-minute sale.”
I pushed open the door to the restaurant. As we waited to be seated, Helena repeated verbatim to Gillian what she’d said to me.
“Of course Ryan and I will come,” Gillian said. “Who else are you inviting?”
“Ken and George and a few of my old neighbors.”
“Sounds lovely,” Gillian said. “I can’t wait to see your new place.”
A stocky, blonde, middle-aged woman led us to a booth. Helena sat opposite Gillian and me. The place was half filled with diners. On the walls were large posters with scenes of Greek islands: Santorini, Mykonos, Rhodes. Places I’d love to visit one day.
We studied our menus and ordered drinks. As we waited for our appetizers, Helena told us what she was looking for in the shops we were going to visit.
“I’ve discarded most of my knickknacks—I’m simply tired of them—and I want a few new items for my étagère and end tables as well as a centerpiece for my new dining room table.”
She took out her iPhone to show us photos of the furniture, which I thought looked rather stuffy and formal. My soup and their salads arrived, and we settled down to eat. For a while we talked about decor, then Helena changed the subject to relationships—Gillian and Ryan’s, Jared’s and mine.
“Jared and I are just friends,” I stated.
“That’s too bad,” Helena said. “I’ve watched Jared grow up, and I can honestly say he’s one of the nicest young men you’ll meet in Clover Ridge.”
The world is larger than Clover Ridge. “He is very nice.” I gave her my stare. I hadn’t used it since Dorothy stopped harassing me and was glad to see it still worked.
Helena fluttered her fingers and gave a little laugh. “How could I have f
orgotten? You and Jared forged a partnership to find poor Laura’s killer. Have you learned anything new in the past few days?”
“Nothing, really. One of the older librarians thought Laura was having an affair,” I quickly made up.
“Did she see Laura with anyone?”
“Once or twice.”
“Really? Who was the guy?” Gillian asked.
“I don’t know.” I turned to Helena. “Jared said you knew of the affair.”
Helena nodded. “All Laura would tell me was that she was seeing someone.”
“And you have no idea who it might have been?”
She threw open her arms melodramatically. “I’ve spent hours trying to figure it out but have no answer for you.”
His name began with an L. It might have been your husband. In which case, the murderer might be dead. “And no one comes to mind?”
“Hmm.” Helena put her finger to her chin. “I always thought Laura had a bit of a crush on one of our old friends. But that’s all I thought it was—a crush.”
My heart raced as I asked, “What was his name?”
“Harold Lonnigan. We called him Lonnie.”
Our main course arrived, but I was too busy mulling over Helena’s bombshell to bother with food. Who was Harold Lonnigan? Until now, I’d never heard him mentioned. Helena referred to him as “an old friend.” Was he someone Laura, Bryce, Helena, and Lloyd had socialized with? Was he married? He must have been, if he was the L in Laura’s journal.
Or had Helena made up this entire story to turn attention away from her husband, Lloyd? But according to Helena, Laura had never told her the name of her lover. Helena would have had to have seen the pages Laura had written—the pages I’d found that were hidden in the back of my dresser’s bottom drawer under my bulkiest, warmest sweaters—to know that Laura referred to her lover as L.
Unless Helena had found out that her best friend and husband were messing around. Wasn’t that what usually happened, regardless of how cliché it sounded? A wife is charmed when her husband’s best friend listens to her. A boss comes to rely on his secretary. Couples who spend time together—who know each other well enough to break down the usual social barriers.
Death Overdue Page 23
