Lemon Tart

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “Is there . . .” She paused, quickly hid the book in her purse, and looked up. She had certainly embarrassed herself well enough already, she may as well finish the job. “Is there any way to get records of what books someone has checked out?” she asked.

  “Your record?”

  “No,” Sadie said, allowing her eyes to fill with tears specifically for manipulation value. “My friend, the one who had checked this book out. I—I might want to read some of the other books she’d liked so much.”

  Much to Sadie’s relief, the woman’s face softened. “Sure,” she said. “What’s her name?”

  “Anne Lemmon—with two M’s,” Sadie said, hoping her voice didn’t sound too eager. The librarian’s fingers clicked across the keyboard, then paused, and then she hit one final button and the tape began to print . . . and print . . . and print.

  “She liked to read,” the librarian said, then her own cheeks turned pink and she looked away. Sadie just smiled as if she didn’t catch the slip into past tense. The librarian looked back at the tape, now curling around itself. “Anne Lemmon,” she said almost under her breath. “Why does that sound so familiar?”

  “Well,” Sadie said as the tape stopped, “she did like to read and she came in every week for story time with her son.” Sadie’s stomach clenched like a fist. What was she doing at the library checking out romance novels when Trevor was still out there?

  “Yes,” the librarian said, distracted, “I remember a Lemmon on the story time list. But there’s something else.” She turned and scanned the check-out area behind her where two other librarians were busy helping other patrons.

  “Jean,” the librarian said as the other library worker entered the round counter and walked within whispering range. “Why is the name Anne Lemmon ringing a bell for me?”

  “Anne Lemmon?” Jean repeated, smiling at Sadie again, then furrowing her brow in concentration. Sadie held her breath, hoping she would remember. If not, Sadie would wonder all day why Anne’s name had held recognition. Jean’s face lit up after a few seconds and Sadie could breathe again. “She’s that one who always has papers in her books—remember? If I’m not mistaken we forgot to give them back to her last time she was in,” she said, moving to the left and pulling open a drawer. “She’s the Southie,” she added.

  “Southie?” Sadie repeated.

  Jean nodded but continued fumbling in the drawer. “In my final semester I took a class on North American language. It’s fascinating how speech is influenced by different regions and climes of our country.”

  “And Anne?”

  “Was a Southie—from the south side of Boston. She’d tried to refine her speech patterns, which made it even more exciting when I pegged it. She was surprised I’d noticed.” Jean looked up and was about to hand over the papers she’d recovered from the drawer when she paused. “Oh, wait, I need to give these to Anne. Sorry, Sadie.”

  “Anne died this morning,” the green-rimmed librarian commented as discreetly as possible. “This woman is her friend; she returned her books for her.”

  Jean was stunned. “Oh,” she said after a few shocked seconds. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too,” Sadie said, looking at the counter and thinking fast. She had to get those papers. “I’m trying to get her house ready for family. I could take the papers with me and put them with her other things.”

  Jean’s face softened with sympathy and she didn’t hesitate to hand the papers over.

  “Thank you so much,” Sadie said, looking between both women. “Anne loved coming here. She said she’d never had such great customer service.” Both librarians smiled and nodded. Sadie smiled back, put the long printout of Anne’s former reading into her purse, and headed toward the front doors. She went through the first set of glass doors and stepped to the side in an alcove before pushing through the exterior doors. She couldn’t wait another second to look at the papers Anne had used for bookmarks in her last round of steamy reads. Maybe she’d used a letter from Trevor’s father, or a postcard from her parents.

  The first paper was a grocery list:

  •Peanut butter

  •Vegetable oil

  •Tampons

  •Peaches

  •Pizza

  Sadie moved to the second one—a past receipt for books Anne had checked out three weeks ago. The third bookmark slowed her breathing. It was a business card from an attorney here in Garrison. Sadie’s heart rate increased and she read the information slowly.

  Attorney Susan M. Gimes

  Specializing in all matters of family law

  Sadie flipped it over, not believing her luck when she found a handwritten note on the back:

  Wednesday 9:00—bring papers.

  “I’ll take those, Mrs. Hoffmiller.”

  Sadie startled and looked up into the eyes of Detective Madsen. She pulled the card to her chest and took a step backward. “What—what are you doing?”

  “Conducting a police investigation,” he said through tight lips. “Something you just can’t seem to stay out of—which only makes it more and more obvious to me that you have far too much unwarranted interest in this case.”

  Chapter 10

  Sadie straightened and clenched her jaw. “You followed me?”

  “And for good reason,” he said. “Now give me the papers.”

  Sadie hesitated a moment and then held the items in question even closer. “I don’t think so,” she said, lifting her chin. “They were given to me to put with her other things.”

  “Her other things are all part of a crime scene—those papers are hereby part of the investigation too.”

  Sadie pursed her lips and said nothing as she tried to figure a way out of this.

  “You don’t want to push me,” Madsen said, leaning so close to her that she could smell the coffee on his breath. Library patrons continued to walk in and out of the building, looking at them. “I’ve taken as much interference from you as I’m going to.”

  “And I’ve helped you out a great deal as well,” Sadie fired back—not bothering to whisper at all. An older woman stopped to stare at them openly. Sadie couldn’t tell if she was simply watching for entertainment or truly concerned for Sadie’s safety. “Yet you continue to suspect me, and now you’re even following me after Detective Cunningham told me I could return Anne’s books.”

  “Detective Cunningham?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, a look of amused arrogance on his face.

  Sadie reviewed what Officer Malloy had said when he handed over the books. He’d simply said the detective asked him to bring them over. She’d assumed it had been Cunningham. Apparently she’d assumed wrong. “Why go through all the trouble of having me do this?”

  “Because I wanted proof that you’re a troublemaker, that’s why. I’m on my way to a hearing and thought I’d give it a shot. And sure enough, you found something and you want it for yourself.”

  Sadie rolled her eyes. “You have all the logic of a fourteen- year-old,” she said. “I haven’t even left the library—I didn’t have time to call you.”

  The old woman was still standing there, glancing between Sadie and the check-out counter as if trying to decide whether or not to call for help. Sadie looked at her imploringly, until another woman several feet ahead of her turned and said, “Julia, are you coming?” The old woman gave Sadie a shrug, as if to say she’d help her if she didn’t need to get inside. Sadie was not impressed. Was there no such thing as a good citizen anymore?

  “Come with me,” Detective Madsen said through clenched teeth. He took her arm, none too gently, and led her out of the building. Sadie tried not to show her own panic, though she realized what she ought to do was scream for help. She stumbled to keep up with him until they reached the same blue sedan she’d seen in front of Anne’s house earlier. He opened the back door.

  “I’m not getting into that car with—” The next thing she knew she felt his hand on the top of her head and within mere moments she was in the car. How’
d he do that? The next second he was in the car too, right beside to her.

  “Look,” he said in a voice thick with frustration as he slammed the door shut. “I’m trying to solve a murder here.”

  “That you think I committed.”

  “You are not helping yourself by being so difficult.”

  She scooted as far away from him as possible—it wasn’t decent to be squished up against him in a parked car, even if she was a decade or two older than he was. What if someone saw them? She tried to open the door to get out, but it was locked.

  “I’m not being difficult,” she said. “I’m only trying to help. I don’t believe it is within your authority to detain me against my will.”

  “I think you happen to know an awful lot about things you shouldn’t know and it’s most certainly within my authority to investigate that.”

  Sadie furrowed her eyebrows. “What do I know that I shouldn’t know?”

  “Where she was killed. Where all her important papers were kept—”

  “You people asked me those things!” she yelled.

  “And you knew the answers!” he yelled back.

  “I’m trying to be helpful!”

  “You’re making a mess of it. This is real life, lady, not some game. You’re not going to beat us to the punch and solve the crime, so if that’s what you’re trying to do, it’s time to give it up.”

  “I’m only trying to help,” Sadie said again and folded her arms over her chest.

  “If you wanted to help, you’d keep your nose out of things.”

  Sadie pursed her lips to keep from saying that she had no choice but to put her nose into things. This wasn’t just about Anne. Ron was involved, and Trevor was still gone. She considered the enormity of the answers she still needed to find, and felt tears rise up; she quickly blinked them away. “Fine,” she said, handing over the papers. “But I want it on the record that I think you are treating me very unfairly and that I have cooperated at every turn. Whatever issues you have with Detective Cunningham are your problem. Trying to one-up him by badgering me is a pretty lousy substitution for whatever you’re trying to get.”

  Madsen’s neck turned a dark pink and his jaw flexed. She’d hit a nerve. He let out a grunt and shook his head. “Just back off and let the professionals do their job,” he said as he took the papers from her.

  She bit back the sarcastic comment on the tip of her tongue about just how professional he was being. He looked through the papers and lifted his eyes to meet hers. “I need the other one too,” he said with exasperation.

  “Look, I gave you what I was given, if—”

  “The business card,” Madsen said in sharp tones. “Give it to me or I’ll arrest you for interfering with a police investigation. I’m already late for the hearing so just give me the card and let me do my job.”

  Sadie let out a sigh and pulled the card from the sleeve of her hoodie where she’d managed to hide it. She told herself she would have given it to him later, but he brought out the worst in her and made her act like the Sadie who once hid her dad’s golf clubs because he wouldn’t let her go to a party after a high school football game. He never did find out she was the one who put them behind the water heater and made him miss his tee time. Passive-aggressive was likely the technical term, but Sadie thought of it as quiet justice. Madsen took the card and then held her eyes. She didn’t flinch.

  “Can I expect you to stay out of this now?” he asked in what she supposed was a professional tone but was actually a ten on the offensive scale.

  “Does Detective Cunningham know you’re here, pulling me into an unmarked car and threatening me?”

  The pink on Madsen’s neck inched its way up. He said nothing.

  Sadie nodded sharply. “That’s what I thought. Will you please let me out, or should I start screaming for help?”

  He let out a long breath and finally opened his door. He slid out and she stepped out a moment later, not looking at him or allowing him any parting comments. Her car was only a few spaces away, and once inside, she waited until Madsen had pulled out of the parking lot. Then she reached under her seat to retrieve her local phone book. She always kept last year’s edition in her car for reference while running errands.

  It took less than a minute to find Attorney Gimes’s address. She smiled to herself and shifted into drive.

  Chapter 11

  Sadie pushed through the glass doors and approached the reception desk. She cleared her throat. “Hi,” she said to the twenty-something blonde behind the desk. The desk groaned under the weight of papers and files piled everywhere and the receptionist was sufficiently frazzled. “I wondered if I could speak with Susan Gimes,” Sadie asked.

  “Do you have an appointment?” the young woman asked without looking up from the files in her hands.

  Sadie shook her head. “No.”

  The receptionist looked at her for the first time. “Are you a client?” she asked and Sadie could have wrung the condescension from her voice like water from a dishrag.

  “No, but a friend of mine was.”

  The woman’s face hardened even more—apparently being the friend of a client and having no appointment didn’t count for much. “I just wanted to talk with Susan Gimes for a minute. I guess I should have called first.”

  “A call would have been nice,” the receptionist said almost too quiet to hear. Louder, but with no more enthusiasm, she added, “Have a seat. I’ll see if she has a minute.”

  “Thank you,” Sadie said. She backed up and sat in one of the red upholstered chairs in the waiting area. She’d no sooner sat down when her cell phone rang, causing her to jump.

  Is it Ron? she wondered, her insides knotting up. She wasn’t ready to talk to him, but a look at the caller ID showed a number she didn’t recognize. Deciding not to take the chance, she hit the end button and waited until she heard the chime indicating a voice message had been left. After dialing her mailbox, she listened to the message.

  “Mrs. Hoffmiller? This is Jean from the library. After you left I remembered something else Anne Lemmon left at the library at story time on Friday. She’d been on the computer and had printed some pages. But her son started throwing a tantrum and she left without paying for her copies. We put them aside for her to pick up next time. If you wanted to put them with her other things, you’re welcome to pick them up—but you’ll need to pay the fees for them. It’s fifteen cents a page. I’m so sorry for your loss—let us know if there’s anything we can do. Thanks.”

  Sadie saved the message before closing her voice mail. She remembered that day because Anne had asked Sadie to watch Trevor while she went to her job interview that afternoon. Anne had still been frustrated about Trevor’s tantrum when she dropped him off but Sadie told her she’d done the right thing, taking him home and putting him immediately in time- out.

  Sadie wondered what Anne had printed and was eager to get back to the library. But first things first. She looked around the office, feeling antsy. It wasn’t large or fancy, but it was very cozy and Sadie made a note to compliment Ms. Gimes on that if she had the chance.

  Sadie had never been very good at waiting. When she went to the doctor’s office she always took a book. But she’d not anticipated waiting in the office of an attorney she’d never heard of and the minutes felt like hours. She tapped her fingers on her purse and tried not to watch the second hand of the large clock hanging above the reception area, but it was hard not to. After four minutes she considered making an appointment and coming back, but that was silly. She was a grown woman, surely she could wait a few more minutes.

  She scanned the waiting room again and saw copies of Time and Working Woman on an end table. Neither one held any interest for her. She did have the library book in her purse, but there was no way she was going to read that in public. It had been a lot of years since she’d read a romance novel and she wasn’t sure she was prepared for other people to see her with it. Then she remembered the book list the library
had printed for her. That was something she was planning to go over anyway. With anxious relief to have found something to do, she reached into her purse and dug out the list.

  After scanning half the list, one title stood out to her: My Father’s Eyes. Sadie fumbled in her purse for a pen and underlined it, even though she was unsure why it had caught her attention. She read through the rest of the tape and found at the bottom, where fines or unreturned items were listed, that My Father’s Eyes had never been returned—Anne had paid for it before it was even overdue. Sadie stared at the title again. There was something familiar about it but she couldn’t think what it was. Had Sadie read the book? Not likely.

  After reading through the list again and determining there was nothing else that stood out, she folded the list and returned it to her purse, ignoring the hidden romance novel for a second time. However, her nerves tightened with every second, and she finally gave in. The waiting area was empty anyway. She unzipped her purse and opened the book hiding inside, careful to keep the cover in her purse. She had barely gotten through the flowery description of the buxom main character, when the receptionist interrupted her, bringing her back to the present.

  “Mrs. Gimes will see you now,” the receptionist said in a tone of forced politeness as Sadie quickly zipped her purse back up.

  Susan Gimes was on her feet when Sadie entered the office. She was very tall, at least six feet, Sadie guessed, with black hair cut short and trendy, and large brown eyes. Her very presence was quite imposing, something Sadie felt sure was an asset in her line of work. The two women met halfway across the room and Sadie shook the proffered hand before taking the seat offered to her.

  “My apologies for my receptionist—we’re in the middle of updating our files and computer system and we ended up shorthanded today. Because of that I’m afraid I only have a couple minutes to meet with you,” Susan Gimes said with a very professional smile as she sat behind the large mahogany desk.