The Library: Where Life Checks Out

by Carmen DeSousa

  Almost every dime she earned went to her apartment, her car, her appearance, whatever it took to get what she wanted. And she had thought that she had found her golden ticket. Until she had gone and screwed up. She had actually liked Devin, maybe even loved him. Foolish! She had never considered, never expected what he was capable of. She still couldn’t believe it.

  Choking back the tears as she thought about everything that had happened wasn’t easy, but she had to ignore it and get there. She ran to her Jetta, hopped in, and sped toward the restaurant. She chanced a glimpse at the clock as she raced down the highway: 6:30. Good. She still had a little over an hour before the owners showed.

  When Ashlyn arrived, she parked on the far south side of the building, away from employee parking, hoping that if anyone drove by, they’d assume she left her car there overnight. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence. She always moved her car around before it got dark, so she wasn’t walking across a pitch-black parking lot by herself at three a.m. As she neared the door, she spotted Devin’s Jaguar Convertible and the police tape surrounding it. They must have assumed it was his since it was the only car left in the parking lot. The slanted headlights of the XKR-S seemed to follow her as she raced toward the entry.

  Since she was the last one to leave, she had her own set of keys. In the beginning, the owner had returned nightly to shut down the business. But after three years of service, Steve trusted her to lock up. She’d never realized how important that was before now. Then again, if he’d been there last night, maybe it wouldn’t have happened.

  Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the keys in the front door. Her boss would be here by eight, so she had to hurry. She emptied the contents of her drawer into the bank bag and sprinted upstairs to the office where she was supposed to lock up her money after her shift. She struggled with that key too, her heart racing even faster than it had the previous evening. She should have already done this, but she had been so scared and wanted to leave before the police arrived.

  Once inside, she grabbed the key out of the desk drawer and dragged a chair to the wall, carefully balancing as she stood so she could reach the overhead cabinet. Steve wasn’t technical. If she replaced the tape, he’d never know. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to check what was on it. She’d have to grab it, replace it with the tape from the previous evening, and get out. The system they used was simple; he’d shown it to her once when they had gone on vacation and needed her to help watch the place. All he did was rotate the previous night’s tape to the rear and insert the front tape in the machine. He kept thirty days’ worth in the event he had to research anything. Truly, the security tapes were to watch employees. But if a robbery ever occurred, the owner would catch it on tape. And since all employees knew this practice, nothing went missing. Steve couldn’t afford for bottles of liquor or New York strip steaks to grow legs and walk out the door.

  Ashlyn felt horrible betraying her boss’ trust, but this had nothing to do with them and everything to do with her. She wasn’t sure how much was on that tape, but she knew she would be the first person the police would question in Devin’s death.

  Chapter Three

  Mark rolled to a seated position in bed, but sat there rubbing his eyes. He reached for his iPhone, focusing on the bright-white numbers.

  Three hours of sleep. Today was going to be rough.

  It was doubtful that Townsend had filled out the report to the captain’s satisfaction, so more than likely he’d have to do it again.

  He stumbled to the coffee maker, but then thought better of it. He needed to get to the station. Instead, he decided on a cold shower, which would not only wake him up, but the negative ions caused by the cold water hitting the tile would also help him think and work through the details of the man’s death. Devin Burke had turned twenty-five last month, and judging by his driver’s license image, he was an attractive man. What made a twenty-five-year old, obviously wealthy man based on what he drove, commit suicide?

  Not that there were ever any answers to that question, but he still wondered. His father’s death was thought to be a suicide, and it had turned out to be a murder, so he never presumed the cause of death until he completed his investigation.

  Mark had barely sat down behind his desk when Captain Andrew Davis barged into the detective’s division, making a beeline toward his cubicle. He’d been right; Townsend must have screwed up the paperwork.

  “Waters,” he shouted. As usual, no pleasantries. “We got an ID on your stiff.”

  Not sure if it was a statement or a question, Mark nodded, acknowledging that they had an ID, though tentative until he found out if Townsend had reached the next of kin. “Devin Burke, according to his driver’s license and the fact that his Jaguar was the only car in the parking lot.”

  Davis shook his head. “No. I mean we got an ID. His father came down this morning and identified his body, and he’s ticked.”

  “About?”

  Captain threw up his hands, pacing in front of Mark’s desk. “Who the hell knows? He’s wealthy and connected. Wants to know why we don’t have the Pennsylvania State Police searching for the murderer.”

  “Murderer, Sir?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Told him it was cut-and-dried. Looked like a suicide.” Davis plopped down in the chair opposite him and leaned forward, resting both elbows on his desk. “Now I have the commissioner of the State Police breathing down my neck; evidently they’re good friends.” He blew out a breath that reeked of a cheap cigar. “You ready, Mark? Or should I get another detective? I know you’ve only been doing this for what…five years?”

  “Seven, Sir. Five years on the street and two years in homicide.”

  He winked. “I knew that, son. Just pullin’ your chain. You’re exactly like your old man. I have faith in you, but the media’s gonna be all over this, looking for someone to lynch. They want their fall guy. So if you don’t find ’em, they’ll accept you instead.”

  Mark cringed. “Got it.”

  “You know they already love you after you solved that twenty-year-old mystery with Gino Canale. I’m sure your father was smiling down on you for avenging his death.”

  Mark couldn’t help but sigh. Avenging his death? “Somehow it didn’t feel like that, Sir, but thank you. I was grateful to know that he hadn’t committed suicide, as the M.E. originally suggested.”

  Davis stood and held out his hand. “For the record, I never thought that.”

  Mark accepted his outreached hand. “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Now, get to work and clear this case quickly.” He walked toward the door and opened it, but then turned back to him. “But first fix that crap Townsend turned in. We obviously hired him before we required a high school diploma. Was he half-drunk after leaving The Depot or can he not spell?” He let the door slam behind him.

  Mark turned and eyed Tim, who was acting as though he were engrossed in the newspaper. Although he probably was. Either the sports page or the comic strips one. He entered Townsend’s cubicle and slammed the paper down in front of him. “Where’s the report? I swear Tim if I have to keep doing this, I’m putting you in for a transfer to PEO.”

  Townsend jumped to his feet. “You wouldn’t!”

  Mark laughed. “Try me. Nothing like being called a meter maid when you’re a dude, huh? I’m sure your kid’ll get a kick out of that.”

  “That’s plain ornery,” Townsend sulked.

  “Yeah, well. Life sucks and then you die.” Mark walked to his desk and scooped up his keys. “Have that report sparkling and on my desk by the time I return, or I’ll start filing the papers.”

  “Where ya going?”

  “To The Depot.” Mark turned to Tim, who stood there like a pup wanting to go for a ride. “Didn’t you hear? I gotta go solve an unsolvable crime.”

  Chapter Four

  Mark followed Steve Baxter upstairs into his office of The Depot. The owner of the establishment held the door open for him to enter. The man obviously didn
’t have a self-esteem issue based on the size of the tiny room. The area was about four-foot deep and at most, eight-foot long. The only things inside the office were a laminate desk, an old metal filing cabinet, and a PVC shelf that held a few stock items with a built-in cupboard above it. Obviously the owner had just pulled a small office together out of hand-me-down office equipment.

  “It’s up here,” Steve said after grabbing a key out of the desk drawer to unlock the miniature doors housing the security tapes. It amazed Mark how lax business owners were with keys. “I installed the cameras a few years ago after cases of meat kept disappearing. I have one on the bar, one on the door, one in the kitchen, and another aimed at the storage shed out back. That’s the view you’ll be able to see the train tracks. All the cameras are on motion detectors, so as long as someone is there, it’s filming.” He laughed. “It’s never caught our ghost unfortunately.” Steve reached to the back of the cabinet, grabbed the cassette, and hopped off the chair he’d scooted in front of the shelving system. “I already changed the tape before you called this morning. I’ve gotten in the habit of doing it before I prepare the bank deposit.”

  Mark listened to the man ramble as he peered out the two-foot square window. According to accounts, the woman who haunted the place had been known to stand at this window. He couldn’t help but laugh at that one. If she were a ghost, couldn’t she materialize through the walls if she wanted to see out?

  He turned toward the man and accepted the tape. “I also need a list of whoever worked yesterday.”

  The owner cocked his head. “I’m confused. I thought you said the man jumped in front of the train?”

  Mark shrugged. “My job is to check everything, sir.” His job didn’t entail answering everyone’s questions. And there were always questions. The closer their proximity to the deceased or the scene, the more they thought he owed them answers. Mark never obliged until he had his answers first.

  Steve removed a bright blue pushpin holding a computer-printed calendar on a corkboard organizer. He jotted down the names on the paper and handed it to Mark. “Anything else, Detective? Otherwise, I need to get to work. I’m sure we’ll be busy today. You know how curious the public is.”

  Mark shook his head. “No. This’ll get me started, and yes, I do know.” He glanced down at the list. “By the way, did you know Devin Burke?”

  “No. Not really.”

  He tilted his head.

  The short man, who couldn’t weigh more than a hundred thirty pounds soaking wet, leaned against the paper-covered desk. “Well, you know. You see people, but that doesn’t mean you know them. Never noticed him until a few months ago, and then I started seeing him daily, right before I left.” Steve stood and opened the door for him, reminding him subtly that he needed to leave. He locked the door behind them, and then continued, “I stick mostly to the dayshift. Lunch is our busiest time, and between my night manager and the bartender, they pretty much take care of things. I noticed Devin started showing up around happy hour. The only reason I recognized him was because he sat in the same spot and was always talking to Ashlyn, my night bartender.”

  “Were they dating?”

  He laughed. “Well, I don’t follow my employees’ personal lives, but yeah, there was something there, I’d guess.”

  Mark nodded, appreciative to get his first lead. He extended his hand. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Baxter. I’ll replace the tape.”

  He waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. I have some unopened ones.”

  “One last question if you don’t mind. Do you happen to have the bartender’s phone number?” Obviously, she would be the first person he needed to question.

  “Sure, I have Ashlyn’s number right here.” He removed his phone from his pocket, clicked through a couple of keys, then read out the number.

  Mark wrote the digits beside her name from yesterday’s schedule. How convenient. Ashlyn worked last night.

  Chapter Five

  Ashlyn listened to the voicemail message from Detective Mark Waters for the tenth time before walking into her statistics class. As she eased herself into her chair, she flipped her phone to silent mode. The professor immediately started teaching, but his words drifted through the air without penetrating her thoughts. Maybe some of it would seep into her brain because all she could do was replay the detective’s message in her head over and over, attempting to decipher if he suspected she was responsible for Devin’s death.

  She turned toward the rectangular window that offered a spectacular view of the college’s common area, wishing she could appreciate the beauty of the blooming Yoshino and Kwanzan cherry trees with their pure-white and bright-pink blossoms. Pennsylvania in the springtime was like a tiny miracle every year. She always longed for the dark and dreary days of winter to cease, replaced by the vibrant colors of spring. She’d researched all the names of the trees she loved and added them to her design notepad of how she’d decorate her estate one day. She would make sure that her property had trees that were green year-round, interspersed with shrubs, flowers, and trees that bloomed at different intervals throughout the year, so her view would always be cheerful.

  Now, her dreams of the perfect business, house, and life felt as though they would wither and die.

  Inserting one of her earbuds, she decided to listen to the detective’s message one more time before deciding what to do.

  Ms. Allan, this is Detective Mark Waters with Edenbury Police Department. I’m investigating the death of Devin Burke and would like to ask you a few questions. Please call me to set up a time that you can come into the station.

  He left his office number and cell phone number, stating that she could reach him day or night at one of those numbers.

  Tugging her turtleneck sweater around her chin self-consciously, she swiped away a tear. It hadn’t been her fault; she’d been protecting herself. She didn’t even understand exactly how it had happened. One minute he was hurting her, and she had defended herself with the only weapon she had, and the next he was dead.

  She twisted a strand of her hair, resisting the urge to chew on it as she’d done as a child. Her mother would always slap her hand from her face, telling her to be a lady. Just as she’d done when she’d tried to replace the hair with her fingernail. Her mother had reiterated that if she wanted to be anything in life, she needed to use what the Good Lord had given her, all of it. Her intelligence coupled with her looks and body would take her wherever she wanted to go, she’d tell her.

  Ashlyn released a sigh. The only place she might be going now is prison.

  No, she reprimanded herself internally. The detective simply wanted to ask her questions. There was nothing proving that she’d had any part in Devin’s death. Nothing but the tape that is, she reminded herself. She needed to see what was on the tape. But between school and work, she wouldn’t be able to watch it until late tonight.

  In order not to look guilty, she’d decided not to stay home from school or work today. To go on with her life as if she hadn’t heard anything had happened to her ex-boyfriend, since Devin had made it clear on her voicemail that he no longer wanted to see her. The only reason he’d even come into the restaurant last night was because she’d told him, “Fine! I don’t ever want to see you either.” She’d learned a long time ago never to fall on her knees and beg for anything. Men viewed that as weakness. If she acted as if she didn’t care, she’d have a better chance of keeping him. But then she’d said the words that had really ticked him off. She’d told him, “And no, I won’t be having an abortion.”

  Chapter Six

  Leaning back in his office chair, Mark clicked play on the antiquated system to watch the security feed. Who used tape anymore? Most businesses had gone to digital. Instead of watching the entire day, Mark fast-forwarded to about an hour before closing time, assuming whatever had happened that made Devin Burke commit suicide, happened before the bar closed, or directly afterward.

  Six people sat around the bar, two co
uples, and two single men, no one resembling Burke’s description, even before he’d become bird food.

  A woman stepped out of the ladies’ room, and Mark inclined forward. She was breathtaking. Long light hair restrained by a small clip fell around her shoulders. Since the image was black and white, he couldn’t be sure if she had blond or strawberry-blond hair, but based on the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, his bet was on strawberry blond. The woman stepped behind the bar as she dabbed at her eyes and then threw the tissue in the garbage. Ashlyn Allan? he wondered. She looked like an Ashlyn. But why did the first woman who’d caught his attention outside of work have to be one he had to interrogate? Of course, it wasn’t her fault that the guy she’d been most likely dating had jumped in front of a train. At least he hoped not.

  Mark rested his chin on his clasped hands as he watched the bartender tally the tabs for the customers. In between the patrons finishing their drinks and paying their bills, she hand washed glasses in the sink, wiped down liquor bottles, and put juices and cut fruit in a small fridge under the counter.