by Leslie Nagel
“Well, I am officially impressed by what you and your club accomplished,” Trent said. “Closing such an old cold case is extremely rare, despite what the TV dramas say. A neat job all around.”
“Not so neat.” Charley pouted. “We never did find that necklace. Poor Afiya really wanted it to lead to the killer, but it was only a red herring, just like the one in the novel.”
“A mystery for another day.” Dmitri turned. “Detective? Your package is locked in my glove box.”
Charley narrowed her eyes as she caught Marc shaking his head. “You already got me a present.”
“Well, he got you another one, so deal with it.” Dmitri winked. “You are going to looove it,” he singsonged. “Not as much as the lingerie I suggested, but—”
“Shut up,” Marc and Trent said in unison.
A flurry of voices snagged her attention. The Cartolano clan was arriving, side dishes and assorted children and babies in tow. Frankie waved, then made a beeline for the closest chair and sank down with a sigh, as her mother and various sisters-in-law took command of the buffet table. John, her father, and her brothers left them to it, surrounding the keg and high-fiving Bobby in turn.
Frankie looked adorable in a lavender maternity dress, her thick brown curls piled high on her head. Charley found it hard to believe her girlhood friend would be a mother in a matter of weeks. Talk about milestones, she thought, returning Frankie’s wave. She couldn’t wait to play auntie.
Mitch Cooper strolled in and sauntered over to the keg. He shook Bobby’s hand and greeted several guests. To Charley’s trained eye, the young detective seemed to have made a special effort to look as though he’d made no effort with his appearance. The snug logo T-shirt and baggy boardshorts were a major departure from his usual starched perfection. His face even sported a few days’ worth of stubble.
Across the yard, Vanessa shot to her feet, smoothed her skirt, and hurried over. Charley couldn’t hear what she said to him, but Mitch was definitely playing it cool. He sipped from a cup of beer, then finally turned around to face her. One look at her, however, shattered his composure. The cup slipped out of his hand and landed in the begonias as he took Vanessa in from head to toe. With evident effort, he scraped his jaw off the ground.
Vanessa grinned, but whatever she said next had Mitch flaming beet red and turning away. Her shoulders slumped, and Charley heard her hiss, “Me and my big mouth.”
“Come on, Coop,” Marc muttered.
At that moment Mitch stopped dead, spun, grabbed Vanessa around the waist, and kissed her. It was difficult to say which of them appeared more astonished. Then Vanessa threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with enthusiasm, as a smattering of applause rippled through the crowd.
Charley blew out a breath. “Finally.”
“Dinner and a show,” Trent joked.
“He’d better not break her heart,” Dmitri growled. Then he chuckled. “Actually, it’ll probably be the other way around.”
“Great party.” Paul Brixton pecked Charley on the cheek. “Happy Birthday, Nancy Drew.”
Charley winced. “After this case, I think I need a new nickname.”
“Point taken.” Paul lowered his voice. “Heard from the city attorney this afternoon. Sawyer Magellan replaced the stolen school funds forty years ago, right after Regan’s body was found. He knew how it would look when the cops started digging. The statute of limitations is long expired, and with a levy on the ballot this fall”—he shrugged—“Oakwood’s schools don’t need a financial accountability scandal. Having a teacher kidnap a student and then off herself in a city park is bad enough.”
“What about Vance?” Marc asked.
“Marshals caught him trying to cross into Canada. He’s been arraigned on a smorgasbord of charges, including”—Paul tipped his beer in a salute—“the felony assault on your noggin. After almost fifty years of not-so-faithful service, Merritt Vance’s dismissal will be announced at the next Oakwood School Board meeting, retroactive to last week. He will not be receiving a gold watch.”
“I don’t know which is worse, the thefts or his illicit garden,” Charley admitted. “Pot’s mostly legal now, and it happened a long time ago, but that was a massive breach of trust.”
“Agreed,” Marc said. “Oakwood kids deserve more than an excellent education. We owe them a learning environment that teaches them about the world without putting them at risk. Let’s hope modern background checking will prevent another Merritt Vance.”
Paul grinned. “Nice speech. You know, Hyatt’s making noises about retiring next year. You should think about running for mayor.” At Marc’s horrified expression, everyone laughed.
“And on that note,” Lawrence boomed, “dinner is served.”
After the feast, Afiya appeared bearing an enormous chocolate cake decorated with pink roses and covered in glowing candles. Sixty voices rang out strong and clear, the familiar old song binding them all together in a shared moment of joy and good wishes. Charley managed to douse the flames with a single breath, a feat that earned her whistles and applause.
“Speech! Speech!”
“No speeches,” she protested with a laugh. “But I do want to thank you all for coming tonight.”
Charley gazed around at the beloved faces smiling back at her. She found PJ in the crowd. He nodded solemnly, his face still taut with strain, brown eyes shadowed but steady on hers. He would be all right, she thought with a surge of affection. Perhaps more than all right, if the arm he had wrapped around Katie was any indication.
“They say what doesn’t kill you makes you strong,” she continued. “But I think we draw strength from everything we experience, both the good and the bad. You have to risk something to gain something. Oakwood is a special place. I hope we won’t let the terrible events of this past week drive us back inside behind locked doors. I’m not saying I want another power outage.”
“Hell, no!” someone shouted, and everyone laughed.
Charley grinned. “Not sure I could survive another week without my cellphone. But I did like the way it brought this community together. I hope we don’t lose that spirit, even with the power back on.”
Cheers and clapping greeted this sentiment. She started to sit, but Marc rose and touched her elbow.
“Well said, as ever.” He smiled. “I’ll admit I’m a little biased, but I think we’ve got the most beautiful birthday girl in the world right here.”
There was more applause as Charley blushed. She tried again to sit, but Marc held her against his side.
“Most of you know I’m renovating the house next door.”
“Yep. Singled-handedly. The boy’s a one-man fix-or-flip TV show,” Dale Penwater drawled. Everyone burst out laughing, and Heddy pecked her contractor boyfriend’s cheek in approval.
Marc joined the laughter and sent Dale a salute. “When I’m—we’re—finished, it’s going to be a real gem, a palace fit for a princess. My princess.” He turned to Charley. Her heart gave a little flutter as he took both her hands in his. “It’s going to be a beautiful house, but a house isn’t a home unless there is love at its heart.”
Marc dropped to one knee, his eyes never leaving hers as everyone gasped. Charley’s eyes flooded with tears as realization dawned, her heart nearly bursting with joyous surprise.
“Charley, you are the only woman I’ve ever known who makes me believe that dreams can come true. You are my warrior princess, my guiding light, the other half of my sky. Please say you’ll stand by me, stay with me, grow old with me. I don’t know what life has in store, but I do know that none of it—” Marc’s voice broke, and she nearly lost it right then, but he held on to her hands like a drowning man as he pleaded, “Nothing will mean anything if I can’t share it with you. Please tell me that you love me as much as I adore you. If you do, nothing can stand in our way. Charlotte E
lizabeth Carpenter, will you marry me?”
She gazed down at this lovely, stubborn, generous man, both gentle and strong, a man of courage, intelligence, and humanity, the man she’d wanted for over half her life, the man who knew her heart and shared her dreams. He was flawed, as was she, and yet he was perfect. Her perfect mate. She tried to speak, but managed only a breathy sort of laugh.
“Sweetheart?” Marc released her hands, fished around in his pocket, and pulled out a white velvet box. “If you don’t say yes, I can’t give you your birthday present.”
He opened it to display the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. An antique gold setting held a huge square-cut emerald surrounded by at least twenty diamonds. Charley’s mouth fell open, and she groped for the power of speech. Finally she managed to fill her lungs.
“Yes,” she breathed, smiling down at the man she’d gladly wake up next to forever. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
* * *
—
They stood arm in arm, bidding a soft good night to the last of their guests. Lawrence hauled bags of trash and Afiya floated from table to table, blowing out candles and unplugging the paper lanterns. Bobby sat on the deck, head back and eyes closed, humming happily to himself.
Frankie and John had been among the last to leave. “No getting married until I look decent in a matron of honor dress. Promise?”
“Promise,” Charley vowed, and the women hugged as tightly as Frankie’s girth would allow, laughing and crying a little in the strange and wonderful way of BFFs, before John took his little family home.
“I don’t want this evening to end,” Charley confessed. “Can we walk?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Marc threaded his fingers in hers as they strolled, chatting about the party, about the future, heading nowhere in particular. Dusk pooled beneath the trees as cicadas trilled and fireflies performed their magical mating dance.
“The ring originally belonged to a Danish countess,” Marc told her. “The count gave it to her on their wedding day almost two hundred years ago. I saw it in Christie’s London catalog, bought it via telephone auction, and had them courier it to their New York house. Dmitri picked it up for me before he and Trent headed home. Wait until you see the written provenance, laying out its history.” He reached over and tweaked a red curl. “The perfect jewel for my vintage diva.”
“As a rule, I hate surprises.” Charley held out her left hand, admiring the flash of green and gleam of gold. “But for this, I am making an exception. Speaking of surprises, I’m guessing from your reaction that we won’t see you pursuing public office anytime soon?”
Marc snorted. “Got that right.” He stopped in the shadow of an oak tree, pulling her close. “If the past few days have taught me anything, it’s that keeping you out of trouble is a full-time job.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Although, while we’re on the subject…”
“Charley Carpenter? Is that you?”
Charley glanced up and realized with a start that they’d wandered farther than she’d thought, and were now just a few blocks from Smith Gardens. A tall figure with long white hair stepped into the glow of a streetlamp. When she heard the jingling of leashes, she took several steps back as two huge dogs pranced forward, their panting mouths displaying teeth she’d have recognized anywhere.
“Good evening.” Carter Magellan greeted them with a nod. “Oh, not to worry,” he said as he saw Charley’s look of dismay. “Caesar and Othello only get grumpy when people wander onto their turf. They’re really a couple of cream puffs.”
“Mm-hmm,” Charley said doubtfully. “It’s good to see you. How…” She trailed off awkwardly, not sure what to say.
Carter gave a sad smile. “Life goes on. Kendall took away my love. My own sister let me serve twenty years for a crime she committed. I miss her—or I miss the sister I thought she was.” He squared his shoulders. “And yet, I also feel free for the first time in forty years. Does that make sense?”
“I think I understand.” Charley returned his smile. “How is your father?”
Carter rolled his eyes. “That bastard is too mean to die.” At their startled expressions, he amended, “He and I will muddle along somehow. Kendall had a will, and she was quite specific that these two fellows come to me, along with all their toys and accessories. Sawyer won’t have anything to do with them. I found these collars mixed in with her jewelry-making stuff. They’re a little over the top, but they were her final project, so the boys and I decided to honor her memory by taking them for a spin.”
“I think that’s very…” Charley peered closer, then gasped.
Set into wide bands of sunflower yellow leather were twenty-four clear pea-sized gems, twelve for each dog, their many bezel cut facets winking and flashing in the lamplight. Centered at the top of each collar were two larger round stones of a vivid sky blue, each one bigger than her thumbnail.
Charley straightened abruptly. Her eyes met Marc’s. He stared back, his face mirroring her own shocked recognition.
“Well, it’s been good seeing you,” Carter said shyly. “I hope we’ll meet again.”
He chirruped and the seated dogs sprang to their feet, tails wagging, bedazzled collars glittering. Then man and dogs strolled on, and Charley and Marc stood, gaping and speechless, as over one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of jewels disappeared into the night.
To the REAL Oakwood Class of 1979.
Together we discovered a great truth:
Life’s most important lessons happen outside the classroom.
—XL
Acknowledgments
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church has been an integral part of every phase of my life in Oakwood. I grew up attending services and Sunday school. I was confirmed there and married there. Both of my children were christened at St. Paul’s. The beautiful music of the carillon is a favorite memory from my childhood. The bells fell into disrepair, but after a silence of many years, they were restored by my father as a loving tribute to my mother. The full name of this reawakened treasure is the Ann Harlamert Simms Memorial Carillon.
I am grateful to Kristi Hale, Executive Director of the Wright Memorial Public Library, for her assistance and knowledge about the history of this lovely, historic building and its many renovations.
The creepy tunnel under Schantz Avenue is REAL. Many thanks to Brian Barr at the Oakwood Register for sharing his harrowing tale of spelunking under the city. That reminder of a legendary underground artifact inspired this novel.
Love and appreciation to my husband, Bruce Nagel, for sharing his knowledge about the impact of a power outage on Internet access, landlines, cellular phone service, and the city water supply. All the feels, babe.
My sincere thanks to Jerry Williams for sharing his expertise on the topic of high school football—in particular, the specifics of field goal kicking rules as they existed in the 1970s, right down to the size and shape of the tee.
To Mark W. Risley of the Oakwood Historical Society, for his generous fact-checking on the history of The Acorn, early graduating classes of OHS, and all things Oakwood. Any liberties taken with historical fact are on me.
A shout out to Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark of “My Favorite Murder,” Charley Carpenter’s favorite true-crime podcast. I’ve been advised that I cannot name MFM in the text without a boatload of copyright red tape. However, Charley’s friends send her into the field with the entreaty to stay sexy and don’t get murdered, because, of course they do. This series is all about hometown murder, ladies. You speak my language and are a source of sassy inspiration for so much of my writing.
I don’t usually kiss and tell, preferring to let my local fans guess who—if anyone—in my novels are representations of actual Oakwood residents. But in this story we’ve got a super obvious one. I intended it as a fond and respectful tribute to a former teacher who ta
ught me much, and I hope he takes it that way. Thank you to Robert Guizzo for inspiring my Mr. Gleason, and for your amazing forty-three years of patience and dedication to the teaching profession. We didn’t always make it easy. (A few months prior to the release of this novel, Mr. Guizzo announced his retirement. Coincidence?)
Deepest thanks as ever to Curtis Russell and the entire PS Literary team, who keep me sane and show me how this whole author gig should be done. To editor extraordinaire Junessa Viloria, I thank you for invaluable collaboration that always feels effortless. You have helped me to make every one of my books the best they can be.
My thank-you notes wouldn’t be complete without acknowledging the Friends of Smith Gardens. This tireless band of volunteers maintains one of the loveliest of many natural resources that Oakwood enjoys. I hope they’ll forgive the creative license I’ve taken within these pages, including the depth of the pond, the landscape stones, and the location of those stone benches. The tranquil beauty I described is, however, no exaggeration. If you’re ever in the area, Smith Gardens is well worth a visit in any season.
Oakwood is a real place. While many of the locations and institutions mentioned in this book exist, others do not. Any resemblance of characters to the remarkable people of this city is purely coincidental.
BY LESLIE NAGEL
The Oakwood Mystery Series
The Book Club Murders
The Antique House Murders
The Advice Column Murders
The Codebook Murders
PHOTO: AMANDA R. MILLER
LESLIE NAGEL is the USA Today bestselling author of The Book Club Murders, The Antique House Murders, The Advice Column Murders, and The Codebook Murders. She lives in the real city of Oakwood, Ohio, where she teaches writing at a local community college. After the written word, her passions include her husband, her son and daughter, hiking, tennis, and strong black coffee, not necessarily in that order.
