Read and Gone
Page 26
“Do you think Miss Evelyn is celebrating Christmas where she is?”
I stroked her long, silky hair. “I think so. It’s a special place, Tacey, so they probably celebrate Christmas in a special way.”
“No cookies for Miss Evelyn.”
“No cookies,” I agreed.
“Next year I want to give her a present,” Tacey said. “She gave me one.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. “What was it?”
“I told Miss Evelyn I wanted Mommy to read me a book about an elephant. And you know what? She showed me where one was. Mommy checked it out so we could read it together.”
Bless you, Evelyn Havers, I thought. And Merry Christmas, wherever you are.
Sylvia and John Mathers joined us a few minutes later. I took a shrimp toast from the tray Julia held before me and glanced around, curious to know what everyone was doing. Uncle Bosco was horsing around with Randy and the children; Sylvia and Aunt Harriet were in the kitchen catching up on each other’s news; and Julia was chatting with the Claymonts. I chuckled to see Dylan, my father, and John huddled in a corner, where they were probably discussing the gems and Chris Crowley. Two lawmen of sorts and a thief. Retired thief, I quickly amended and hoped fervently that it was so. My father let out a hoot of joy. What is that all about? I wondered.
I was surrounded by people I cared about and who cared about me. Hard to believe I’d only arrived in Clover Ridge in May, feeling beaten and bedraggled. You’ve come a long way, Carrie, I told myself.
Dylan beckoned to me, and I followed him into the small sunroom at the back of the house.
“I want to give you your Christmas present,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a narrow, rectangular, gift-wrapped box.
“Oh! I didn’t think to—”
“Shh,” he said, putting a finger to my lips. “I wanted to give it to you back at the cottage, but things got hectic.”
I ripped through the gift paper almost as fast as the kids had, and opened the box.
“Ooh!” was all I could manage. Inside was a tilted open heart of gold, with diamonds along one side, on a slender rope chain.
“Would you like to wear it now?”
I needed no encouragement. I handed the necklace to Dylan and lifted my hair so he could fasten the lobster claw clasp. The heart fell an inch below the hollow in my neck. Perfect! I ran into the bathroom to see myself in the mirror.
“It’s lovely,” I said to Dylan, who had followed me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad to see it goes well with your new earrings.”
I stared at him. “Don’t tell me you and my father went Christmas shopping together.”
Dylan laughed. I kissed him until I felt giddy with happiness.
“Would everyone please come to the table,” Aunt Harriet called, loud enough for all of us to hear.
We approached the beautifully set dining room table.
“You’re sitting here, between Dylan and John,” Uncle Bosco told me.
Aunt Harriet whisked Julia and me into the kitchen to help bring out the platters of food. When we were all seated, Uncle Bosco said a few words about the meaning of Christmas and how blessed he and Aunt Harriet felt to have family and good friends and neighbors with them on this special day. Aunt Harriet started doling out salad from the large bowl, and conversation resumed.
I turned to John. “I’m glad that yesterday’s events didn’t keep you from coming today.”
He grinned. “Everything’s under control. I even got in my five seconds of fame. I’ll be on TV”—he checked his watch—“in about an hour.”
“I dodged my moment of fame,” I told him.
“So Dylan said.” John put his hand over his heart. “I swear I didn’t send that reporter to your cottage.”
“Any new developments on the case?”
“Now Chris Crowley won’t shut up, to his lawyer’s annoyance. Half of what he’s saying are complaints about his father—that he grew up in poverty because his father never could keep a job, and he—Chris—would have been a big success if his father hadn’t been such a loser.”
“And so he murdered people to get his hands on stolen gems. Did he explain why he killed Tom Quincy?”
John laughed. “It turns out both Chris and Quincy suspected Jennifer Darby had the gems. Each was watching the house, trying to figure out his best approach. Should he risk a break in? Threaten Jennifer? Quincy spotted Chris and went after him. Chris had the knife and used it. He swore it was self-defense.”
“Maybe it was.”
“Come on, Carrie. A punch in the gut, yeah, but stabbing someone to death? I don’t think a jury will buy it, especially since he used the same knife on his other two victims.”
“Do you think Jennifer will go to prison?”
“I doubt it. She’s agreed to testify that Benton told her that he and an accomplice stole the gems.”
My heart raced. “Did she say who the accomplice was?”
“She claims Benton never told her.” John’s eyes bored into mine. “And even if she did, it would be considered hearsay.”
“Oh,” I breathed.
John’s face took on a bemused expression. “Interesting how things work themselves out. She heard somehow that the gems’ owner was offering a finder’s award.”
I stared at him. “Don’t tell me she had the nerve to try to claim it.”
“She did.”
“But she’s not getting it,” Dylan said, sliding his arm across the back of my chair.
I turned to him. “Good!”
“You are!”
I felt light-headed. Dizzy. On the verge of fainting. Not sure that I’d heard correctly.
“You’ll receive half a million dollars,” Dylan went on. “I explained in great detail how the gems were recovered to my boss and to our client. It was agreed—the reward is rightfully yours.”
I reached for my wine glass, which Uncle Bosco had refilled, and gulped down the contents—certainly not the way wine was to be savored.
“Please thank them for me,” I said. “I don’t know that I deserve it. After all, it was Smoky Joe who led me to the heat register.”
“But you retrieved the bag of gems,” Dylan said, “and later led us to Crowley. No doubt about it, the reward is yours.”
When I realized my father was grinning at us from across the table, I gave him a thumbs up. Half of the reward money was his if he promised never to steal again.
“Carrie, you haven’t touched your salad,” Uncle Bosco called to me.
“I’m eating it right now,” I said, putting a forkful of greens into my mouth.
Things were perfect again, or close to it. I smiled, savoring the moment. If I’d learned one thing these past few weeks, it was they wouldn’t stay perfect for long.
Also available by Allison Brook
Death Overdue
Author Biography
A former Spanish teacher, Allison Brook writes mysteries, romantic suspense, and novels for young readers. She loves traveling, reading, knitting, doing Sudoku, and visiting with her grandchildren, Olivia and Jack, on FaceTime. She lives on Long Island with Sammy, her feisty red cat. This is her second Haunted Library mystery.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Marilyn Levinson.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-734-0
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-735-7
ISBN (e
PDF): 978-1-68331-736-4
Cover illustration by Griesbach/Martucci.
Book design by Jennifer Canzone.
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
34 West 27th St., 10th Floor
New York, NY 10001
First Edition: September 2018
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