by Eva Gates
Beside me, Charles yawned. Fluffy rolled over and yawned. Connor stood up. He held out his hand to me. “Let’s go to bed. Maybe some of this will be clearer in the morning.”
* * *
It wasn’t.
As soon as I woke, I checked my phone for messages. Sam Watson had texted to tell me they’d found nothing out of the ordinary inside the library or upstairs; I could go home whenever I wanted, and the library could open for the day.
I smelled coffee and padded into the kitchen to find Connor dressed for the office and making breakfast. He turned with a smile when he heard my footsteps and crossed the room to give me a kiss on the top of my head. He smelled of good soap, and his hair was damp from the shower. “You slept well. I was worried you wouldn’t.”
“If you know that, then you didn’t sleep well.”
“No.” He reached for the coffeemaker and poured me a cup. Charles and Fluffy watched us from the floor. “I’ve been up for a long time. I couldn’t stop thinking about your list.”
“Oh yes, the list.”
Connor went to the fridge and got out eggs, butter, cheese, and a fresh loaf of wheat bread from Josie’s bakery. Fluffy and Charles sat to attention when the fridge door opened. I leaned against the counter and sipped my coffee and watched him work. Nothing nicer than watching a man cook you breakfast.
“I should take the dog out,” I said.
“I put her out for a quick moment, but she’ll need a walk.” Connor dropped a spoonful of butter into a frying pan, cracked eggs into a bowl, and added a splash of milk. While the butter heated, he grated cheese and sliced a green onion. “I haven’t fed her, though. Her or Charles. I didn’t know how much to give them.”
I took care of that while Connor cooked the eggs and made the toast.
I ate my eggs and smiled at him across the table. “I think I’m going to like being married to you, Connor McNeil. Are you going to make me breakfast every morning?”
“No. I expect you to wait on me hand and foot like a devoted wife should.”
I laughed. “You keep on expecting that.”
Charles leapt onto the table in front of Connor and hissed. Connor jerked back and lifted his hands in protection. “Whoa there. I didn’t mean it.”
“Do you want Charles to come and live with us?” I asked.
Connor eyed the big cat. “Do you want to come and live with us, buddy?”
Charles turned his head and looked at me.
“If you do,” Connor said, “you can’t be jumping onto the table.”
Charles leapt down.
Connor and I stared at him.
“I think he answered you,” I said at last.
“I think he did.”
Charles washed his whiskers.
* * *
The police had left no evidence of their presence at the library last night, and I was glad of it. I didn’t want to be pestered with questions as to what was going on.
As Connor had noticed, I’d slept well. Which wasn’t what I would have expected would happen. Someone had threatened me, warned me to back off. I didn’t like that, and I had to ask myself why they’d done so. I wasn’t doing much active investigating in this case, such as going around to people’s houses or confronting them with hard-hitting questions about where they’d been at certain times. I simply knew most of the people involved, and we talked about the death of Rich Lewiston and considered possible motives when we were together. Wasn’t that a natural thing to do? I’d asked questions some might consider nosy, and I’d talked about the case with the police. Did Rich’s killer think I knew more than I did?
As a regular Saturday morning at the library swirled around me, I thought about all that had happened over the past few days, trying to remember what I’d said to whom when. I’d told James Dalrymple I was good at finding things out. Had that been a mistake? I’d been warning him to be careful around Charlene, but had he thought I’d meant something else?
I’d have had no reason at all to think that James, a visiting professor from England here to do academic research, had anything to do with the death of a Boston lawyer if not for Evangeline’s reaction to seeing him. He hadn’t reacted to her in return, but maybe he was better at concealing his feelings than she was. Or maybe he’d expected to run into her at some point in time and had prepared himself for when it happened.
It was time for me to talk to Charlene. Enough of doors slamming in faces and surreptitious meetings anyone else would call dates. Charlene and I were friends, and if she was falling for James, and if James was mixed up in any way in the killing of Rich Lewiston, Charlene had to be told.
Before I could do anything about that, Louise Jane came into the library, a bounce in her step and a huge smile on her face. “I have fabulous news, Lucy,” she declared.
I didn’t say, You’re running away to sea?—but I thought it. Charles left his post on the wingback chair near the magazine rack and climbed onto my desk to hear this fabulous news.
“What?” I said.
“Are you always so suspicious, Lucy? It does you no credit.”
“I’m not in the mood for guessing games this morning, Louise Jane.”
“You will be when I tell you.” She stood in front of the desk, beaming at me.
“Mrs. Covington,” I called to a passing patron. “How nice to see you this morning.”
“And you as well, Lucy. How are the wedding plans going?”
“Slow but steady,” I said. “We’re thinking of late next year, once hurricane season has passed, or maybe the following spring.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t go to Boston for the wedding. You’re an Outer Banks girl now.”
Louise Jane cleared her throat.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Covington said, glancing between us. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Louise Jane said.
Mrs. Covington slipped away, leaving me no one to chat to. Except for Louise Jane, who let out a heavy sigh. “Really, Lucy.”
“I can’t talk about my upcoming wedding with patrons and friends?”
She couldn’t restrain herself any longer and blurted out, “I’ve found you a house.”
I hadn’t been expecting that. “You’ve what?”
“I’ve found you and Connor a house to buy. You said you don’t mind a fixer-upper if it’s at a reasonable price. Well, it’s at a reasonable price, and it’s in Nags Head. Awful good location, right on the beach. A nail here, a screw there, and it’ll be as good as new.”
“Louise Jane, Connor and I can’t afford a collapsing garden shed on the beach in Nags Head.”
“You can afford this one. When do you want to come and see it? This afternoon would be good.”
“You’re not kidding, are you? This isn’t a practical joke?”
“When have you ever known me to joke?”
“Never,” I admitted.
“Call me when you’ve spoken to Connor, and I’ll take you around to see the house. It needs to be in daytime, though; the atmosphere at night isn’t … conducive to a proper inspection.”
“Uh. Okay.”
She turned and had started to walk away when I remembered what I’d been thinking about. “Louise Jane, one thing. Did you and Daisy go into the marsh last night?”
“No. We had dinner and then went to a movie in town. I like Daisy a lot. I’m going to miss her when they go back to England.”
“Just you and Daisy went to this movie?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking?”
“No reason.”
“Of course there’s a reason, Lucy. You never cared before about my social arrangements.”
“Sure I have.” I smiled at her.
“Whatever. Yes, just Daisy and I went to the movie. James was doing something with Charlene. I don’t know what. Don’t forget to call Connor, now.”
“I won’t.”
Louise Jane headed for the bookshelves, and I lean
ed back in my chair and thought about what she’d said. James hadn’t been with his wife yesterday evening. Did that mean he’d been sending texts to me and nailing warnings to the library door? Not necessarily, but it was time to find out what was going on. James had been spending a lot of his time in the library, working in the rare-books room—easy enough for him to find my phone number. I picked up the desk phone, but before I could make the call, Daisy and James arrived.
“Hi.” The rows of bangles on Daisy’s arms tinkled cheerfully as she lifted a hand in greeting.
“ ’Morning,” James said.
I studied his face, searching for a sign of … what? Guilt? Disappointment to find me still here?
I saw nothing but polite disinterest.
“Have a nice evening?” I asked.
I’d been talking to James, but Daisy answered. “Great. Louise Jane and I went to the cinema.”
“What about you, James?” I said nonchalantly. “What did you do?”
“Nothing special.” He walked away.
Daisy called, “Cheerio!” clattered her bangles once more, and followed James up the back stairs to the rare-books-and-maps room. Louise Jane’s arm popped out from the stacks, and she gave them a wave as they passed.
The next person through the doors was my aunt Ellen accompanied by one of her friends. “Good morning, Lucy,” they called.
“ ’Morning.”
“We’re here to help with Saturday activities,” Aunt Ellen said. “The marsh walk the other day was such an enormous success, Ronald wants to carry what the children learned out there inside with activities to do with Eastern North Carolina wildlife.”
“He’s got the school-aged children keeping a diary of sightings,” the other woman said. “We’re going to help them with that today.”
They headed for the stairs. Curses. Saturday is always the busiest day at the library. Ronald had children’s programs all day, and that meant parents would be in too, needing help or wanting to chat, and the volunteers, such as Aunt Ellen, would be needed in the children’s library. Bertie didn’t usually come in on Saturdays, and she wasn’t expected today.
Meaning, I was trapped here until closing time.
Maybe not. “Louise Jane!” I called.
Her head appeared around a shelf. “Yes?”
Louise Jane was a regular volunteer at the library. She knew her way around the place and how we did things. All I needed was someone to staff the circulation desk for an hour or two, and she’d done that before. Charlene and Ronald were in the building if anything came up.
I’d take an early lunch hour. In the past, Bertie had given me permission to take the time I needed when I was helping the police. I’d assume she’d do the same this time. It shouldn’t matter that this case didn’t directly involve the library community, should it?
Better, as they say, to ask forgiveness than seek permission.
“I’m taking my lunch break early, and I have to go into town,” I said. “Do you mind watching the desk for an hour or so?”
“Not at all. I need to start getting more familiar with how things work around here anyway.”
“Why?”
“No reason.” Louise Jane gave me a wink. “No reason at all.”
“Thanks. I guess. I’ll call you in half an hour. If you don’t hear from me, call Connor and tell him I decided not to take his advice.”
Her eyebrows rose. “What does that mean?”
“He’ll know.” I checked my watch. “It’s five to ten now. I’ll call at ten thirty, and then every half hour until I get back.” I set the timer on my phone to remind me.
Louise Jane’s intense eyes studied my face. “Are you in some sort of trouble, Lucy?”
“No. It’s another beautiful summer’s day on the Outer Banks; what sort of trouble could I get myself into?”
* * *
I phoned Evangeline to let her know I was coming, and I found her and Leon Lions relaxing by the hotel pool. Not as calm as I’d been last night; my nerves were on edge, and I’d kept my eye on the traffic around me all the way into town. No one seemed to be following me. Would I have been able to tell if they were? Still, as I’d said to Louise Jane, it was daytime. I’d be sure to stay in public places, surrounded by people.
Josie’d called this morning when I was still at Connor’s, wanting to make sure I was okay. Jake told her what happened, although either Butch hadn’t told him about the note left on the door or he hadn’t shared that with Josie, and I decided not to tell her that she’d been threatened as well as me.
The threat had been intended to scare me off investigating the death of Rich Lewiston. Instead, now, more than ever, I was determined to get to the bottom of things. Suppose they never found out who did it? The threat would hang over me for a long time.
Evangeline looked terribly glamorous relaxing in the sun beside the pool in a black one-piece bathing suit, huge sunglasses, long dangling earrings, and an enormous straw hat adorned with a black ribbon. Her dark hair was pinned up on top of her head, and a glass of orange juice rested on the table next to Paris Is Always a Good Idea by Jenn McKinlay. Leon did not look the least bit glamorous in orange-and-purple swim shorts collapsing under the weight of his big round white belly and a tow truck company’s orange ball cap protecting his balding head from the sun. He also had an orange juice, and his choice of reading material was a political biography.
The juice, I couldn’t help but notice, was extremely pale. Meaning it had been watered down with sparkling wine to make a mimosa.
“Good morning,” I said cheerfully.
Evangeline lifted her sunglasses and peered at me. “What’s this about, Lucy?”
“Where’s Ricky?”
“I haven’t seen him this morning. He and Stephen went out last night after dinner.”
“Hungover, probably,” Leon said. “Oh, to be young again.”
“Can I speak to you, Evangeline?” I asked. “Privately, I mean.”
“What about?”
“That’s the private part.”
Leon lumbered to his feet. “Don’t mind me. I’ll get us another round of drinks.” He took his cap off, rubbed idly at his bald head, and dropped the hat onto the table next to him. “Lucy?”
“Nothing for me, thank you,” I said.
He went into the main building, and I pulled over a chair. The area was busy with children splashing in the cool water of the pool and parents soaking up the hot sun, but no one was sitting near enough to overhear us. I kept my voice low. “Let’s not waste time. Leon will soon be back. I’m going to ask you a question, Evangeline, and you’re going to tell me it’s none of my business, and I’m going to insist. Let’s go directly to the answer part, shall we? Why did you lie to the police about never visiting Nags Head?”
She lowered her sunglasses and looked at me for a long time. “You’ve changed, Lucy.”
“That falls under the none-of-my-business category, which we’re not bothering about.”
“I never knew you to be so forthright.”
“I’ve always been forthright. Perhaps I hid it behind a veneer of polite disinterest. The difference between me and you and my mother and the rest of your social set is I don’t disguise my forthrightness as gossip.”
Rather than getting directly to the point, we were now discussing the habits of the Boston country club set. Not where I wanted this to go. “The cops know you lied. So I’m asking why.”
Evangeline sighed. She put her sunglasses back on. “I’ve discussed this with your Detective Watson, so I suppose it’s not a secret worth keeping any longer. My husband visited Nags Head every one or two years for more than thirty years, almost the entirely of our married life. He did not go fishing, and he did not meet with clients.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“I didn’t come every year to keep tabs on him, and I never came when he was here. I did, however, drop by on a few occasions to check as to how his visit had gone. The fact is, Lucy,
Rich has a child who lives on the Outer Banks.”
I wasn’t expecting that. “Really?”
“A child conceived with and born to another woman after Rich and I were married. Rich never acted as a father to the child, and as far as I know the child, now an adult, never knew him as their father. The mother is still alive, and …” Her composure momentarily broke. She glanced away and swallowed deeply. Then she turned back to me. The sunglasses were large and dark and I couldn’t see her eyes. “Rich kept yearly contact. He assured me they no longer had a … relationship, but as he was sending money for the child’s support, he wanted to ensure it was being handled properly.”
“Was that true?”
“Yes. I visited on occasion to make sure it was true. The affair was over, but Rich wanted to see his child occasionally. It was always done discreetly.”
“James Dalrymple.”
She pulled down her glasses and peered at me over the top. “Who?”
“James Dalrymple. I could tell that you knew him and you were surprised to see him in the library.” James was the right age to be a son of Rich. He’d told me his mother lived in England. Maybe she came once a year to meet with her former lover. James had also told me he hadn’t been back to America since he was a child. I pushed the conflicting accounts aside. I’d worry about all that later.
Evangeline shook her head. “I don’t know anyone named Dalrymple, and Rich’s illegitimate child is not named James. Your mother might think you’re some sort of a private detective, Lucy, but if you are, you’re not very good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think that’s enough true confessions for one day.” Up the sunglasses went, and Evangeline picked up her book.
I struggled to recover my wits. “Okay, so I was wrong about that, but I wasn’t wrong about you visiting the Outer Banks. What’s the relationship between you and Leon?”
