“Carrie, is something wrong? You haven’t touched your food,” Helena said.
I gave a start. “Sorry.” I cut off a piece of chicken kabob and started chewing.
“What’s Harold Lonnigan like?” Gillian asked.
I could have kissed her for asking.
“Lonnie?” Helena shrugged. “I always thought he was good company. He works on Wall Street, like Bryce used to.”
“Does he still live in Clover Ridge?” I asked.
“He moved to the city after he and Francine got divorced. The odd thing is, I saw him at Al Buckley’s presentation.” She lowered her voice. “The night he was poisoned.”
“Really?” I said. “How did he know about it?”
“Francine must have told him, since they were sitting together. They remained on good terms for the sake of their kids. She sold the house a few years ago and moved into her condo in Devon Woods.”
“Now you’ll be neighbors,” I said.
Helena laughed. “Francine can be irritating, but I’m glad I kept in touch with her and let her know I wanted to move back. She called me the moment the unit I bought went on the market.”
I ate a forkful of grilled veggies and decided I’d asked enough questions about Lonnie and his wife. I’d call Jared later to find out what he knew about the man.
We finished our meals and decided to skip coffee and dessert so we could hit the stores. We climbed into Helena’s car and drove the quarter mile to the first place on her list, Knickknacks and Things.
“Remember, I need something to put on my dining room table. Something classic, something dramatic. Something that will stand out.”
“Uh-huh,” Gillian said. “Got it.”
“And I need a few accent pillows for the bedroom—burnt orange and moss green. When you see anything in those colors, give a shout.”
She was also on the lookout for geese figurines and statuettes of young women less than a foot tall. And a three-foot-tall ceramic umbrella holder for the hallway.
The evening proved to be fun. We wandered about, looking for items Helena might like. By the time we’d combed the third store, Helena had bought four figurines and two possibilities for her dining room table and was considering an umbrella holder. She dropped off Gillian and me in the Greek restaurant’s parking lot, where we’d left our cars.
“Thanks for helping me out, girls,” she called to us. “See you a week from Saturday.”
“Looking forward to it,” Gillian and I called back.
When she was gone, we turned to each other.
Gillian wore a puzzled expression. “I wonder what she was really after, inviting us to shop with her.”
Smart girl. “Maybe she wants to ingratiate herself with Bryce’s son’s friends.”
“Or she’s after information about Laura’s secret lover,” Gillian mused.
Very smart girl. I yawned. “Regardless, it was a fun night.” I opened my car door.
“Do you think this Lonnie was Laura’s lover?” Gillian asked.
I shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m afraid Laura Foster’s murder is going to remain a cold case after all.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The week before Thanksgiving flew by. I no longer woke each morning with butterflies in my stomach and realized that I was settling into my position as head of P and E at the Clover Ridge Public Library. Smoky Joe was taking his role as library cat very seriously. Each day he wove through my legs as I put on my parka to remind me that he, too, was going to work. And no wonder! Library workers and patrons spoiled and petted him from the moment we entered the building. Trish was writing an article about him for our next newsletter.
At work, I saw to it that ongoing programs and events ran smoothly. I worked on the newsletter and returned e-mails and phone calls, always on the lookout for new and interesting presenters. Patrons stopped me to ask about a program or to share an anecdote. I attended a meeting with other P and E heads in the area and had lunch with Marion Marshall, the children’s librarian.
The night before Thanksgiving, I met Angela at one of the local pubs known for its huge variety of beers. We found a small table in the corner and ordered tall glasses of their best brew on tap. They arrived chilled and foaming.
We clinked glasses and drank.
“Here’s to Turkey Day, the holiday when we stuff ourselves and fight with relatives,” Angela said.
I laughed. “I don’t expect to fight with anyone—not even my cousin Randy. He used to torment me when we were young. I haven’t seen him in years, though I met his wife and daughter at the library.”
“My mom expects me at the house at nine thirty to set the table and make the sweet potato pies.”
“You love every minute of it.”
“Girlfriend, you caught me out.” Angela raised her glass in salute and gulped down most of her beer. “I love seeing most of my cousins, aunts, and uncles. I think we’re twenty-three at last count.”
“Besides Randy, Julia, and their kids, my aunt and uncle’s neighbors will be there, along with Lieutenant Mathers and his wife.”
“Interesting group,” Angela said. “Are you planning to hand over Laura Foster’s pages to Lieutenant Mathers?”
“I think I will.” I exhaled a mouthful of air I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in. “Part of me wants to first show them to Jared, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I haven’t even told him I found them. I’m worried he’ll blurt it out to his family the way he did at dinner last week, and . . .”
“And you think maybe one of them killed Laura and maybe even Al Buckley.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what to think. I know Laura’s lover’s name began with the letter L. I told Jared what Helena said about Harold Lonnigan. He remembered him but never saw him with his mother. He said Bryce speaks to him from time to time.”
“That’s not much help. Did Jared know why Lonnigan and his wife divorced?”
“He remembers Bryce once commenting that Lonnie couldn’t take her exasperating ways any longer, and now he’s happy living a free life in Manhattan.”
“I don’t suppose it makes much sense to go into Manhattan to question him,” Angela said.
“Which is why I want to give Lieutenant Mathers Laura’s pages. It might encourage the police to expend more resources to solve her murder. Maybe they can find out L’s identity.”
We drained our glasses and ordered another round, along with a quesadilla and a plate of zucchini sticks to share. Though we both had eaten dinner, we finished off the food in no time and ordered buffalo wings. Angela complained about her boyfriend and how he was going to his aunt’s house instead of coming to her parents’ the next day. I sympathized and then found myself the subject of our conversation.
“Carrie, you must be happy Jared’s visiting a college friend over Thanksgiving.”
“We’re not a couple. I wasn’t planning to invite him to my aunt and uncle’s house.”
Angela giggled. “That would have been awkward, don’t you think, since you’re going with Dylan Avery.”
“In the same car. Not as a date.”
“Call it what you like. Believe me, Dylan Avery wouldn’t be going to your aunt and uncle’s for Thanksgiving if he didn’t like you.”
“He’s known them for ages.” I spoke as calmly as I could, but inside I was lit up like a roman candle.
I’d been doing my best not to think about Dylan, telling myself not to weave fantasies that couldn’t come true. Dylan was someone from my childhood. My brother’s friend. My landlord. His job kept him out of town most of the time. But I’d been feeling euphoric since he’d called the night before to ask what time we were expected and to say he’d come for me at twenty to three.
Half an hour later, Angela and I asked for our check. Outside, we hugged in the chilly November air before getting into our cars.
“Remember, I want to hear all about tomorrow,” Angela said.
I waved and set off for home.
* * *
Thursday morning dawned bright and sunny, with unusually warm temperatures. I ate breakfast and then placed all the ingredients I needed to make a batch of double-chocolate brownies on the counter. I hummed as I preheated the oven. Smoky Joe watched me from his perch on the windowsill.
I loved Thanksgiving. Even though my mother was never much of a homemaker, she’d made an effort to have a somewhat typical Thanksgiving dinner for Jordan and me. Since it was usually only the three of us, she roasted a chicken instead of a turkey. But I didn’t care. She always made stuffing, sweet potato pie, green beans, cranberry sauce, and double-chocolate brownies—the only dessert she ever baked. The recipe I was following this morning was written out in her handwriting.
I decided to wear a pink sweater and a navy pencil skirt over navy tights. And, of course, my new boots. I took time with my hair and my makeup and redid my nails, painting them a screaming purple. I had the sudden urge to dye a streak of purple in my hair. Maybe I’d do it just before my birthday. I grinned. Even Sally couldn’t object to a bit of color now that I’d turned respectable.
I expected to hear a car horn at twenty to three. Instead, the doorbell rang at two thirty. I opened it, and Dylan stepped inside.
For a moment, we stared at one another. He looked deliciously sexy in worn jeans, a light-blue denim shirt, and a brown suede jacket. He enveloped me in a hug.
“I thought I’d come in and see what you’ve done with the place.” He followed me into the living room.
“Not much,” I said when I’d caught my breath. “It was perfectly decorated.”
Smoky Joe jumped down from the sofa. Dylan reached out, and the cat sniffed his hand. A minute later, Dylan was scratching him behind his ears, which started him purring.
“He looks like the feral cats that hang out near the Jenkins’ farm. Glad this one got away.”
I laughed. “He was hungry and came here looking for food. But I think he must have known he was a people cat and wanted our company.”
I followed Dylan into my office.
“You’ve added your touches, as I knew you would.” He peered at the two pictures I’d hung over my computer.
I went into the kitchen for the pan of brownies.
“Those look great,” Dylan said. “Mind if I have one?”
“You mean . . . now?”
“Sure. I haven’t eaten a thing since I worked out this morning.”
I cut a brownie for him, and he demolished it in two bites.
“That was awesome. I’ll have another at dessert time.”
Dylan was helping me on with my jacket when I remembered Laura’s journal. “Be right back.” I dashed into my bedroom to retrieve the original pages from their hiding place and then went into my office for an envelope. The copy I’d made for myself was in a folder under a pile of towels in the linen closet. Dylan shot me a sidelong glance, but I wasn’t about to explain what I was bringing with me or why.
We walked out to his car, a low-slung two-door BMW. I glanced in the back seat and saw a package with two bottles of wine. We fastened our seat belts and set out for my aunt and uncle’s house.
“How long will you be home?” I asked.
“Through the weekend.”
My heart thudded in my chest. “Will I see you before you leave?”
“That can be arranged.”
What does he mean by that? Dylan didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask.
“Have you finished your latest case?” I asked instead.
“My part’s done, at least for now. The gems have been recovered and the thieves arrested. I’ll have to show up at their trials, but that’ll be months from now.”
“Will you start a new case immediately?”
“I don’t know. I fly back to Atlanta Monday morning to report to my boss and take care of some paperwork. If they don’t need me by the end of the week, I’m thinking of taking a short Caribbean vacation.”
“Oh.” I hoped I didn’t sound as forsaken as I felt. Which was silly, given our nonrelationship.
* * *
Randy, Julia, and their children were already at the house when we arrived. My cousin was thirty-two and beginning to lose his hair. He was still rail-thin but had developed a bit of a paunch. Uncle Bosco started to introduce us when Randy reached out and pulled me into a bear hug. I found myself hugging him back.
“It’s good to finally see you, cuz,” he said.
“Same here.”
“You made a big hit with Julia and our daughter.”
“Hello, Cousin Carrie. How’s Smoky Joe?” Tacey said.
“He’s just fine.”
Julie and I smiled at one another.
“And this is Mark.” Randy rested his hand on his eight-year-old’s shoulder.
Mark stuck out his right hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Cousin Carrie.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
We shook hands.
I went over to say hello to Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco’s neighbors, Ruth and Chuck Claymont. They were in their mideighties and hard of hearing, so I had to repeat my greetings a few times. Dylan, I noticed, was in the kitchen with Aunt Harriet.
A few minutes later, Lieutenant Mathers and his wife, Sylvia, arrived. Sylvia was a warmhearted redhead in her midfifties. They were introduced to everyone, and Uncle Bosco took orders for drinks. I asked for a glass of white wine and then went into the kitchen to see if Aunt Harriet could use a hand.
I found her chatting animatedly with Sylvia.
“Sylvia’s bringing me up to date on her children,” Aunt Harriet said.
I must have looked puzzled because they both burst out laughing.
“I’ve known your aunt Harriet since I was little,” Sylvia explained. “She and my mom were close friends. Harriet and Bosco are my daughter Meg’s godparents.”
I made polite noises and left them to catch up in private. I looked about for Dylan and was surprised to see him conversing in the hallway with Lieutenant Mathers. Their expressions were serious, and I sensed that they, too, wanted their privacy.
But of course! They were both in law enforcement and had a good deal in common. Were they discussing their recent cases? I remembered the envelope I wanted to give Lieutenant Mathers when the opportunity arose.
Julie found me and told me how happy Randy was to reconnect with me.
“Really?” I asked. “When we were young, he teased me until I cried.”
She grinned. “I think he wasn’t used to spending time with little girls and didn’t know how to act.”
I laughed.
“Anyway, I won’t let him tease you ever again,” she said.
We bumped fists. “I think you and I are going to be great friends.”
“I think so too.”
I returned to the kitchen, where Aunt Harriet was removing a tray of stuffed mushrooms from the oven and Sylvia was stirring something on the stove.
“Can I help?” I asked.
“Would you please put these on that serving dish and pass them around?”
“Of course.” I placed a toothpick in each mushroom, grabbed a handful of small plates and napkins, and went into the living room.
The Claymonts, sitting side by side on the sofa, each took a mushroom. My next stop was the den, where Uncle Bosco was chatting with Randy and his family. I placed the serving dish on the coffee table and helped the kids with their mushrooms. Julie said she was going to see if Aunt Harriet had another platter of hot hors d’oeuvres that needed serving. Tacey followed her mother and then made a beeline for me as I headed down the hall, where Dylan and Lieutenant Mathers were still talking.
“Carrie.” Tacey tugged at my sweater, stopping me in my tracks. “How is Miss Evelyn?”
“She’s fine, honey.”
“I haven’t seen her in a long time. Mommy’s busy and can’t take me to the library.”
“Oh.”
“Have you seen her?”
“I did about a week ago.�
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“Why can’t she leave the library?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why doesn’t she like my cookies?”
“Evelyn doesn’t eat cookies, Tacey.”
“She told me, but I think that’s silly. Everyone likes cookies.” She looked up at me. “You know Miss Evelyn’s real, right?”
“She’s real, but in a different way than us. And most people can’t see her.”
“But we can.” Tacey gave me a broad smile and skipped back to her father and brother.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Uncle Bosco called us to the table, where our names were written on cards in lovely calligraphy. I silently cheered because my place was between Lieutenant Mathers and Dylan. Julia and I helped Aunt Harriet serve the butternut squash soup. When we were all seated, Uncle Bosco led us in a short prayer of thanksgiving. Then he asked us to say what we were thankful for. The kids giggled as they mentioned toys they’d received. The adults appreciated their good health, their families, or having the opportunity to share this Thanksgiving with dear friends.
“I’m thankful I had the good sense to come home to Clover Ridge,” I said, suddenly all choked up.
“We’re so glad you did.” Aunt Harriet beamed at me across the table.
I finished my soup and looked at Dylan. He was trying his best to hold a conversation with Ruth Claymont, so I turned to Lieutenant Mathers. “Nice to see you here today, Lieutenant.”
“Since today’s a holiday, why don’t you call me John?” His smile transformed his face. It struck me that he was a good-looking man.
“Certainly. If you’ll call me Carrie.”
“Will do.” After a moment, he asked, “Are you enjoying your job at the library?”
“I love it.”
“I hope you and Jared Foster have given up playing detective.” A touch of his old seriousness returned.
“I think we’ve exhausted all our leads. Though I have something for you.”
“Really? What is it?”
I retrieved the envelope with Laura’s pages from the tote bag I’d brought and handed it to him. “It’s kind of a journal Laura Foster wrote before she died. She hid it in the library attic.”
Death Overdue Page 24
