“Good morning, Vincent!” I took a seat across from him.
“It is a lovely morning, isn’t it?” he agreed. For as cantankerous as he could be at times, it was nice to see him congenial for a change. “Oh, I do have an update about the Monroe case before we talk about Knox.”
“Oh?” My curiosity was definitely piqued now.
“They brought two of Marco Callaghini’s associates in for questioning,” he revealed, his eyebrows waggling. “I’m thinking it will only be a matter of time before charges are made.”
“While we’re on the subject…I wanted to tell you what I learned at Mrs. Monroe’s home the other day when you said I could walk through it.”
“Oh, yes. Do tell.” He made a grand, sweeping gesture with his right hand as if he couldn’t wait to hear all the juicy evidence I’d unearthed.
“Well, I don’t know if I discovered anything the professionals didn’t already document, but I did notice Mrs. Monroe’s pantry is full of honey and that she has a beehive in her backyard.”
He nodded. “Yes, we did note that Mrs. Monroe is an avid apiculturist.”
Apiculturist? Okay, then. I tried to refrain from launching an eye roll in his general direction. “Well, great, then I’m sure your detectives noticed there were jars with four different colors of ribbons. I’m sure there’s some sort of significance to the colors, since they are all confined to their respective shelves.”
“Or maybe Mrs. Monroe was just particular about how she organized the fruit of her bees’ labor?” One of his dark brows arched as he laced his fingers together on his desk.
“Perhaps,” I agreed, “but it would be good to know. Maybe the forensics lab should test the honey?”
His eyebrows drew together in a rather critical look. “I am not sure what that could have to do with her murder.”
Something about that pantry seemed off to me, and I couldn’t quite articulate why I thought testing the honey was a good idea. But I did. If I were in charge of the investigation and had access to mass spectrometry, we’d be testing the honey. That much I knew. As Vincent had already reminded me on numerous occasions: this isn’t CSI.
“I also found a note on her computer with what appears to be a login for an online diary,” I noted.
“Yes,” the chief nodded, “that was a dead end. The account was deleted.”
“Oh…” And to think I was planning to ask Liz Cooper to look into it when I got to work today. Now that Mrs. Monroe had been laid to rest, I was more invested than ever in finding her killer. And I felt like we had been ignoring a potential goldmine in that online diary.
Truth be told, what Paul Bethany said about his private conversations with Mrs. Monroe, though concerning—I certainly won’t be trusting him with any confidences of my own—had stuck with me. I was curious to know if she spoke of these regrets and this torrid affair in her online journal.
“Anything else, Sunshine?”
“Oh, her children,” I remembered.
“They’re hardly children,” he scoffed.
“Right, well, her son and daughter. I happened to still be in the house when they arrived, and they said a few things that were…interesting. I don’t think they knew I was there.”
“Oh? Interesting how?”
“Well, one said something about a ‘honey convention,’ and the other said, ‘Don’t worry about that; I took care of it.’” I shrugged since I still didn’t have any clue what a “honey convention” was.
“What’s a honey convention?” Vincent joined me in my puzzlement.
I had no choice but to offer another shrug. “And I also found out that Marco Callaghini is a client of her son’s. He works in finance in New York at Benson, Hayes & Monroe.”
“Well, now that is very interesting indeed,” Chief James agreed. “I’ll have to check with my contact at the state police and see if that’s on their radar.”
“Please do,” I said firmly, feeling maybe just a tiny bit cocky that I’d put together a connection that might have eluded the pros. “Now…what else can I do to help with the case?”
“Nothing at the moment,” he insisted. “But I did want to talk to you about Knox Monroe.”
“Ironic that he has the same last name…”
“Indeed. But it’s a common name.”
“Yes, it is. Now, you mentioned he’s into art. What kind of art?” Flashes of artwork I’d seen lining the walls at Mrs. Monroe’s Victorian home appeared in my mind. She apparently had an appreciation for art as well. I had a feeling some of the pieces were originals and probably worth thousands of dollars—if not more.
“I was quite surprised to hear he is interested in both making art and art history. I understand he is quite enthralled with impressionism, which has influenced his own painting style. Monet is his favorite artist, of course,” Chief James shared.
“Of course,” I agreed. “Well, we have a plethora of books on Monet and impressionism at the library. Maybe his foster parents could drop him by, and I could help him choose a few books?”
“I will endeavor to mention that to the Shaws,” he said. “Knox is required to perform some community service for restitution for his crimes. Is there anything he might be able to do at the library?”
I drummed my fingers against the surface of Chief James’s desk, making his three-tiered metal file holder rattle against the wood. Despite knowing immediately that it irritated him, I kept on. Seeing him a little agitated when he was normally so calm, cool, and collected gave me a bit of a thrill.
“Let me check with Evangeline about that,” I answered. “I can give you a call back later today?”
“Sure, that would be fine.” He smiled and locked gazes with me for the briefest moment before we both felt the awkward silence that ensued creep in.
I jumped up, smoothing down the skirt of my paisley-print dress. It was a riot of bright colors, and I loved the way they intermingled in the vibrant swirling pattern.
“Thanks, Sunshine,” he said as I turned to leave, a sincere smile brightening his face. “I really appreciate your help.”
I wasn’t expecting him to say anything kind—not that his sentiments were gratuitous or undeserved in any way. In fact, he could have waxed a little more poetic about what an asset I’d been to the crimefighters of Bryce Beach this summer, but I would take what I could get.
When I arrived, the library was busy for a Tuesday morning. Evangeline was standing at the reference desk talking to Tom, which immediately raised suspicions. She didn’t like getting sucked into long, meandering conversations with Tom any more than I did. Molly’s desk was empty, so I wound my way around the YA area to the reference desk to see if I could butt into their conversation and possibly score brownie points with my boss by rescuing her from Tom.
“What’s up, guys?” I flashed both of my colleagues a smile. A couple of heads popped up from the bank of computers in the reference area as if to remind me to modulate my volume. I swear patrons shush me more often than I shush them!
“We’re getting ready for the new cataloguer to arrive,” Tom answered before Evangeline had a chance. “She’s implementing a buddy system for new hires, and she asked me to be Falcon’s buddy.”
“I didn’t call it a buddy system.” Evangeline crossed her arms over her chest. “I believed I called it a Peer Orientation Specialist.”
“P.O.S.?” I shot her a wide-eyed stare. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, crud. I didn’t think of the initials…”
“Yeah, you might want to go back to the drawing board on that,” Tom agreed. “‘Buddy’ is still available!’” He winked.
“Where’s Molly?” I changed the subject. It wasn’t like her to be late, especially since most of her story times were in the morning so as not to conflict with afternoon nap times. Speaking of naps, maybe we could have a mandatory one today? I was already exhausted, and the day was just getting started. I had not been sleeping well since Mrs. Monroe’s murder.
Mrs. Monroe’s murder. Just saying it in my head made a chill dance down my spine. Besides being incredibly alliterative, it was just plain heartbreaking. My love for my hometown would likely forever be tainted by this heinous crime. How could we ever recover from something like this?
“She will be in a little late,” Evangeline answered. “She had something important to do this morning.”
My eyebrows rose in question, but she waved me off. I thought maybe it had something to do with Tom, but I didn’t press. “So, when does Falcon get in?” I didn’t mean to say his name with a sneer, but I could hardly help myself. I’d have to learn to get over that before he arrived.
“He should be here by noon. He’s just coming in today to fill out some paperwork. He doesn’t officially start until tomorrow,” she explained.
“Gotcha.”
“I’m all ready for him,” Tom said, rubbing his hands together and pointing to a hefty-looking binder on his desk. “I even made up a special orientation binder for him.”
“Wow!” I gaped at the three-inch-thick binder. “Lucky Falcon!”
Oops, sneered his name again. Crudola!
I started to walk back over to my desk when I remembered Chief James asked me about finding a community service project for Knox Monroe. “Oh, hey, Evangeline?” I stepped toward Tom’s desk, but she shook her head and gestured to my desk instead.
“What’s up?” She glanced back at Tom and then to me again, like she was relieved to have extricated herself from one of Tom’s time warps of verbosity.
I explained to her what was going on with Knox and the favor Chief James asked for. “Hmm…” She took in a deep breath and let it out. “You said he’s an artist?”
I nodded. “I haven’t seen his work, but apparently he’s into impressionism. Vincent asked me to find Knox some books on Monet and some other impressionists.”
“Vincent, eh?” My boss’s dark eyebrow rose as she studied me, a bit of a smile twisting her mouth.
“Well, it’s time we were on a first-name basis, don’t you think? I mean, we’re solving crimes together, after all.” I shrugged, trying to brush off her insinuation there was anything beyond a professional relationship between us. “What do you think about Falcon?”
She ignored my question about the new hire. “Can you find out if the boy’s work is any good, and if he’s ever worked on a mural?” Excitement glittered in her eyes like she had a trick up her sleeve she wasn’t ready to disclose, not even to me.
“Mural?” I pressed, trying to coax it out of her.
“Just let me know. I have an idea…”
I wanted to probe a little further, but then I saw Molly waltzing through the door. She looked like sunshine personified, walking on a cloud, her face shiny and golden.
“I’ll take what she’s having!” I snickered as Evangeline turned to watch our friend sashay toward us.
“How’d it go?”
Molly was beaming. “I got him!” She turned her phone toward us, and there was a photo of her holding a small dog with white and caramel-colored fur and bright brown eyes. I recognized that pupper—it was Natty, Mrs. Monroe’s Pomeranian.
I gasped, “You’re adopting him?”
She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. “I had to try, and though they’d received many applications, they liked the fact that he’d be going to a home with another dog. Apparently, being around other dogs has helped him thrive in foster care.” She wiped away one of the tears that rolled down her cheek. “I need tomorrow off, Boss Lady. I have to pick him up, then help him and Murph acclimate to each other.”
“Take the rest of the week,” Evangeline said, clearing her throat as if she was trying to keep her emotions in check.
“Really? What about story time?” Molly gestured to the circular rug where the children always sat and the rocking chair parked at the edge of it where she read the stories.
Evangeline looked at me, then to Tom in Reference and Barbara in Circulation. “Between all of us, we’ll cover your story time and give you a chance to bond with your new baby.”
“Awww! You’re the best!” Molly flung her arms around our boss, who awkwardly patted her back in return, not being much of a hugger.
“And now, I need to go get ready for Falcon.” Evangeline broke away from Molly’s embrace, wringing her hands like she was nervous—about training a new librarian with more experience than she has, perhaps?
“I’m so happy for you, Molls! What a kind and generous thing to do,” I gushed. Now it was my turn for a hug.
Unlike my boss, I was a hugger.
I was showing Liz the photo I’d taken of the notebook page propped up beside Mrs. Monroe’s computer when I sensed a presence at my desk. I glanced up into the freckled face of Knox Monroe. Behind him stood a middle-aged woman with a gray streak down one side of her otherwise dark hair.
After talking to Evangeline earlier, I called Chief James to relay to Knox’s foster parents that we wanted him to stop by the library. I didn’t expect it to be only an hour later, but here they were.
“Hi, you must be Knox,” I said, and he lifted his chin somewhat defiantly in response.
The woman behind him pursed her lips and closed her eyes for a second before saying, “Hello, I’m Madeline Shaw. Knox is staying with us until a more permanent placement can be found.”
Ouch. The disdain in her voice was palpable. I knew Knox had punched her husband, so it was understandable that she was frustrated, but to take that tone in front of the kid… He’d already been through a lot. I’d have to get through this without saying something snarky to Mrs. Shaw. My plan was to focus on him.
“Knox, I hear you like art, especially impressionism.”
When he just stared at me, his eyes narrowed, Mrs. Shaw gave him a little push on the back of his shoulder. His spine snapped straight, and he shot her a glare. “I do like art,” he answered, the words not much more than a growl slipping through his clenched teeth.
“I’m going to take you upstairs and show you where the art books are, okay? Hey, I was wondering, would you be willing to let me see any of your artwork?” I smiled at him, not too wide, just a soft, reassuring smile. I hoped he might take a chance on trusting me, trusting that I wouldn’t judge him for the choices he made in the past, only the choices he made going forward.
The tiniest smirk lifted the corners of his mouth as he held up a spiral-bound notebook that was clutched to his chest. He shoved it toward me, looking bashful all the sudden, his pale blue eyes glowing with a mixture of pride and nervousness.
I took it from him and set it carefully on my desk before flipping it open.
I was not at all prepared for what I saw.
A watercolor painting of Bryce Cove lay before me, the lighthouse and marina both expressed in painstaking detail. It looked like it had come off a postcard or one of the art galleries down on the boardwalk. No, it was better than that.
It was simply gorgeous.
Knox Monroe was a gifted artist. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind.
Eleven
I was still mulling over what Pastor Bethany said about Mrs. Monroe when I was walking to my car after work. I’d wanted to ask Liz about the Pro Journal account, and if there was any way to recover a deleted file, but I’d gotten sidetracked when Knox came in. Then, when I came back to the YA area, Liz had gotten busy showing Evangeline the prototype for the new library website. I’d have to ask her about it tomorrow, but in the meantime, I decided to go back to Mrs. Monroe’s house and see if there was anything I’d missed in my earlier walk-through.
I left my car in the library parking lot and walked down the sidewalk to Mrs. Monroe’s stately three-story Victorian home. The police tape had been taken down, and now the house sat empty. I didn’t believe in ghosts, but I did feel a strange presence on the property as I walked up the stairs and down the path to the front porch.
This time the door was ajar. That seemed suspicious, and I probably shouldn’t
have just waltzed on in, but my curiosity got the better of me.
I started for the stairs to finish my exploration of the second floor, which I didn’t complete during my prior investigation because of her children being there, and heard a voice calling out, “Hello?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I knew I felt a presence!
Footsteps sounded on the creaking wood floor, and then a figure stood in the entryway between the foyer and the library. My eyes darted over and swept from head to toe as recognition lit up in my mind. “Hi…”
“Can I help you with something?” came an annoyed voice.
“I’m Sunshine Baker,” I introduced myself. “You’re—”
“You spoke at the funeral,” the woman said, running her fingers through her perfectly coiffed brown hair. It looked freshly dyed and professionally styled, like she’d just come from a photo shoot.
“I did. And you’re Mrs. Monroe’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“Matilda Monroe, nice to meet you.” She extended a slim, elegant arm, and I shook her hand, which felt small and delicate in mine. “What are you doing here?”
“I, uh…” I scrambled for a guise or cover story of some sort—I hadn’t gotten any better at coming up with cover stories apparently. I decided to go with the truth. “I knew your mother well, and I’m just looking for some clues, to be honest. I’m a bit of an amateur sleuth—”
“You’re the one who figured out who stole the library donations, aren’t you?” Her eyes narrowed as they stabbed into me. It sounded more like an accusation than praise.
“Yes, yes, that was me. I was so glad to recover the funds because I’m a librarian. Your mother was our primary donor… She was a big supporter of the library.”
Matilda made what sounded like a harrumph and rolled her eyes, which matched her mother’s pale blue, almost gray ones. “At least she supported something…”
Hmm, that sounded…bitter. “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?” Maybe Matilda would be in the mood to talk about her mother; maybe it would help her get some sort of closure. I could be here for her in her time of need, a good Samaritan with a strong shoulder and willing ear. And if it helped me with my investigation, then all the better.
Dangerous Curves Boxed Set 1: 3 Cozy Christian Mysteries Page 41
