The Magic Library Mysteries Collection: The Complete Series, Books 1-3

by Hillary Avis

  Allison sat there, stunned, as Michelle thumped down the hall and let herself out the front door. She rubbed her arms with both hands to lessen the goosebumps that had risen at Michelle’s dire warning. It was normal for grandmothers to worry, especially when their grandchildren were out all night. That didn’t mean it was true.

  Still...

  Allison sighed. The second box in the entryway would have to wait until tomorrow. She was tempted to go upstairs and find a book about sleepovers first, a much more likely explanation for Taylor’s disappearance. But she had to admit that the kidnapping book would be far shorter, so her practical side won out. She grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen junk drawer and went around to the side yard where a pair of creaky old doors led to the dirt-floor cellar under the house.

  In the glare of the moon, a brand new padlock shone on the doors. Ironic that she’d purchased it and secured the doors specifically to keep Taylor out. She unlocked it using the smallest key from her keyring and, looping the open padlock through the latch for safekeeping, heaved one side of the doors open. The faint snapping sound of spiderwebs being stretched to their limits met her ears, and she quickly swept the cellar with her flashlight beam so she could avoid any dangling spiders before descending the short flight of stairs.

  It was only when she was back outside in the night air, a dusty box in her arms, that she let out her breath, as though holding it would protect her from cellar creepy-crawlies. She giggled self-consciously as she set the box down in the grass, replaced the padlock, then lugged the box into the dining room and plunked down on the table. She eyed the label on the outside with some trepidation.

  Sinister Stories.

  Like the rest of the house, the box was full of memory books. This particular box held the worst of them, the ugliest topics, memories most people didn’t want to revisit. She certainly had no desire to delve into any of the titles; she’d had enough of them when she used the Homicides book to solve a murder just a few weeks ago. That book had been only a few pages long and covered the five homicides in Remembrance’s living memory.

  She cracked open the tape on the top of the box and opened the flaps. The Kidnappings book, wedged at the bottom of the box, was bound in charcoal gray cardboard with thick black lettering on the cover. Allison’s stomach clenched as she held it in her hands, turning it over to the back cover as though it might have a blurb on the back. After she’d worked up the courage, she flipped to the table of contents.

  The book was organized by name. At least that part was easy. It wasn’t always the case with these books—sometimes they were organized by date or mood or location or any number of topics that made navigating them more difficult. She skipped to the Rs and ran her finger down the short list of names. Relief flooded her when she didn’t find “Robinson, Taylor” there. Wherever Taylor was, he hadn’t been kidnapped.

  But her relief was short-lived, replaced by gut-twisting dread when she spotted a name she did recognize.

  Rye, Paul.

  Paul had been kidnapped? Her heart thudded in her chest as she turned to Paul’s chapter and began reading. “His breath came in quick, hot bursts as he tried not to cry. They were talking—about him, he thought...”

  The memory rose up, but instead of crisp, clear images, Allison’s vision suddenly went dark. A cloth blindfold was tied tightly over her eyes, the tail end of it flapping against her nose and mouth, making it hard to breathe without feeling claustrophobic. All she could hear were noises—the hum of a truck engine, the low music of a radio playing a Beach Boys song, two men talking over her head. She squirmed in her seat and the man to her right poked her in the ribs.

  “Be still,” his low voice warned, and then continued with the conversation they’d been having. “Twenty-four hours.”

  “You think they can come up with it that quick?” The other voice, the man who must be driving, sounded doubtful.

  “Uh-huh. They got it in the bank.”

  “What if they don’t? What do we do with...” The voice dropped off, but Allison knew they meant her, even though she couldn’t guess what they meant by “do with.” Maybe they were fighting over who would drop her off at Gram’s. She usually played there on weekday mornings while Mama and Pop were working at the bakery. Gram smoked long white cigarettes in the kitchen while Allison watched Captain Kangaroo, and then when it was over, Gram would come into the living room and they’d fold laundry until I Love Lucy came on.

  “You’re my good little guy, aren’t you?” Gram would ask in her gravelly voice as she doled out milk and animal crackers after the laundry was put away. Allison hoped they were taking her to Gram’s. She squeezed her hands together into fists.

  “They’re good for it. I know they are.” The man to Allison’s right hummed along with the radio, catching the last chorus of the song before it switched to a commercial.

  Allison couldn’t help it; tears started leaking out of her eyes, dripping down her cheeks under the blindfold. She snuffled and covered up her face with her arms, hoping the two men wouldn’t notice.

  A couple of pats thudded on the top of her head, accompanying a chuckle. “Don’t fret, little Paul. Your daddy will pay up and you’ll be back in your mama’s arms before dinner.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” the driver said curtly.

  After that, Allison didn’t cry anymore.

  The memory faded and Allison looked up from the page, her throat still aching from the effort of holding in her tears. She couldn’t believe what she’d read—Paul, kidnapped? Judging by the memory, he couldn’t have been more than two or three at the oldest. It had to have been terrifying, but he’d never once mentioned it to her in all their time together. Not once.

  What other secrets had he kept?

  Chapter 10

  Monday, Memorial Day

  Allison didn’t sleep that night—she tried when her eyelids grew so heavy that she could barely see, let alone read, but every time she laid down upstairs, she’d think of another book to check that might have Taylor’s memories of today and get up to read his chapter.

  Bicycle Rides had plenty of entries under his name. Wading, which was stashed under the big cast-iron tub in the bathroom, too. But neither book had any entries from today, which meant his memories of the day’s events were stored somewhere else.

  By the time the sun rose and her alarm went off, she was on her second pot of coffee and her second pile of books. It was time for work, though she hated to leave the library like this, with books scattered and stacked all over the floor.

  After so many years getting up early to make bread, she ought to be used to operating on little sleep, but two sleepless nights in a row were too much even for a seasoned baker. She scrubbed her face with cold water to shock herself awake, but it hardly made a dent. Yawning, she filled a travel mug, grabbed her tote bag of work supplies, and headed out.

  Her phone buzzed as she locked the door. A message from Michelle. “Find him in the pages?”

  Allison looked over at the yellow house, where Michelle must be watching her leave. She shook her head in an exaggerated motion and texted back, “Nothing from yesterday. But he’s still in the books, so there’s that.”

  Michelle didn’t respond, and Allison tried to push the worry out of her mind as she walked to Golden Gardens to start her shift. She’d only been working as a part-time enrichment coordinator for a week, and she had to focus if she was going to pull off four hours of activities with the memory care facility’s residents. Taylor was going to be fine—Leroy and his search and rescue crew would join the hunt this morning and find him in no time.

  She let herself in the side entrance, slugged the last third of her coffee to fortify herself, and stashed her stuff in a cubby in the back hall. She cut through the kitchen to the large activity room that was the hub of all dining and recreation for the facility. Most of the residents were seated around the large, oak tables, just finishing their breakfast, including Paul.


  She made a beeline toward him, eager to ask about the kidnapping, but was distracted when Julio, one of the caregivers, motioned to her across the room. His hands full of empty juice glasses and hot cereal bowls, he nodded to the living room section of the activity room, and she saw he’d arranged some of the upholstered dining chairs in a large circle in preparation for her arrival.

  Right. Work. She could ask Paul about his memory later.

  She gave Julio a grateful smile and stifled a yawn as she hung her tote bag on the back of one of the chairs.

  “Where’s Willow?” Julio asked, joining her. He held up a floppy blue monster made of shaggy faux fur. “I brought her a new toy.”

  “You’re sweet.” She flashed him a smile. Julio fawned over Willow like she was a celebrity every time she’d brought her in to visit with the residents. “You’ll be happy to hear that she found a forever home yesterday.”

  Julio looked crestfallen as he stared at the blue monster toy. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye!”

  Allison chuckled at his expression. “Don’t worry—she lives with Myra now. I bet she’ll bring her in if you ask.” Julio beamed at the thought and Allison pulled a pack of party balloons out of her tote bag and blew up a few to use in her planned activity. The effort made her dizzy and she yawned again.

  “Late night?” Julio asked, grabbing a couple of balloons to help her. She nodded, and he grinned. “You must throw a good party. I’m pretty sure Myra’s totally hungover.”

  “She’s not feeling well?” Allison scanned the room for Myra, but didn’t spot her. That wasn’t so unusual, though—Myra often dispensed medications after breakfast and could be in one of the many bedrooms. Julio followed her gaze.

  “She’s not here. She’s late.” Julio raised his eyebrows disbelievingly, and Allison knew why. Myra was never late—she was the kind of person who was fifteen minutes early to everything. Late to leave, maybe, but never late to arrive. “She should have been here”—Julio checked the large digital clock on the wall—“an hour ago.”

  Allison’s heartbeat rang in her ears as she imagined the worst. Myra’s truck in a ditch somewhere between here and the filbert farm. Myra in the back of an ambulance with chest pains. Myra collapsed in her driveway. “Someone should go check on her—” she began, but Julio held up his hands.

  “She’s on her way,” he said reassuringly. “She called in, don’t worry. I was joking about the hangover. She said she’s out looking for someone, that’s all.”

  Allison nodded, relieved, and knotted the balloon in her hands. “Taylor, probably. The kid who lives next door to me. He disappeared yesterday and hasn’t found his way home yet.”

  Julio clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Naughty. Hopefully he didn’t get stuck in a culvert or something. My brother did once, and he was pretty hungry by the time we found him and got him out.”

  Allison groaned. Just what she needed, another scenario to worry about. “You’re supposed to say everything’s going to be all right!”

  Julio shot her a sympathetic look and wheeled around to clear another table’s dishes. Allison shook herself and put on a cheerful expression. “Mr. Simon! Come play balloon ball with me! You, too, Lilian.” She helped a few of the elderly residents from their seats to the activity circle, wheeling those in chairs while the folks who used walkers made the painstaking journey across the room.

  Patience was something you learned here, whether you were a resident, on staff, or a family member. Goodness knew she’d had more than a few lessons in patience over the last couple of years. She caught Paul’s eye. “Want to play with us?” she asked lightly. She tried to treat him as just another client when she was on the clock. He gave a slight shake of his head, the politest rejection, but her heart still sank.

  She found an empty seat and, in her perkiest voice began narrating a rousing game of “bat the balloon around the circle.” It was a game she’d played with Emily when she was a toddler, but like so many toddler games, it suited the memory care crowd perfectly: fun and stimulating with no rules to remember. It got their hearts pumping as they stretched to reach the balloons that floated near them, even the ones whose motor skills were further in decline.

  After twenty minutes or so, she noticed some of the residents began to tire. Mr. Simon swiped for the balloons with his cane instead of his hand, much to her amusement and concern. She stood and clapped her hands to end the game before he smacked anyone in the head with his cane. “Well done, everyone! I’ll put on some music now so we can have a rest.”

  She put on a big-band record and then circulated, chatting with the residents one-on-one until she noticed Myra bustle in with a tray of pill boxes and miniature cups of water. Her medication rounds, an hour or two late. Allison left the sofa area and tagged after her. She waited until Myra dispensed a round of meds and checked off a resident before she interrupted.

  “Did they find him yet?”

  Myra jerked her head around. “Find who?”

  “Taylor—Taylor Robinson. My neighbor’s grandson. Julio said you were out looking for him.”

  “I didn’t even know he was missing.” Myra frowned into her tray of pills. “I was out looking for that darn dog. She ran off in the night. Didn’t realize it until I was leaving for work and she wasn’t on the porch, and it’s not like I can saddle Crystal with stomping all over the property looking for her.”

  Willow. Breath caught in Allison’s throat. Myra’s place was so close to the highway, a dangerous place for a loose dog. Rachael had been right about the fence. “Did you find her?”

  “Nope. Looked for over an hour, shouting into the wind like a crazy person, and didn’t find a hair. I just told Crystal I was taking her to work so she wouldn’t worry all day.”

  Well, Julio would be happy to hear Myra’s cover story. Maybe when Willow showed up, she’d bring her in. Though Willow wasn’t used to being an inside dog, she’d loved meeting the staff and residents, and her large size meant that it was easy for the wheelchair-bound residents to reach her and bury their fingers in her fluffy coat. She could be a great therapy dog with a little more training.

  But now she was out there—somewhere—on her own, like Taylor. But unlike him, she might not be able to find her way home since she hadn’t had enough time to settle in. “Maybe she was chasing something,” Allison offered lamely. “I’ll go over and search after my shift ends if you don’t mind me borrowing your truck again. I can check Harman’s place in case she ran down the highway and ended up back there.”

  Myra gave a curt nod without looking her in the eye and moved on to the next resident on her med sheet, her movements brisk and efficient as she hustled to make up lost time. She was being professional, not petty, but Allison couldn’t help taking her economy of words personally. Even though she knew it wasn’t her fault that Willow made a midnight escape, she felt a twinge of guilt that her problem had become Myra’s problem.

  And—she reflected as a huge yawn cracked her face—it hadn’t even solved her problem, since she didn’t get any sleep, anyway!

  Chapter 11

  Paul didn’t join any of her planned activities. He kept to himself, his nose buried in a Louis L’Amour book that she knew he’d read at least twice before. So she waited impatiently until her four hours of singalongs and finger painting were through before she stopped by his private corner of the activity room to ask the question that had buzzed in her brain all night. Paul looked up briefly from his pages when she approached, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

  “Happy Memorial Day,” she said, as a way of breaking the ice. A shock ran through her as the words left her lips. Memorial Day— the day his memories had disappeared two years ago. It was hard to believe it’d been so long. It was like the old adage about parenting: The days are long, but the years are short.

  “Oh. Yes. To you, too.” He set down his book carefully in his lap and looked at her with new interest. “Have you heard anything from Emily?”

  All
ison’s heart surged. She’d waited for this moment for so long, the moment that he remembered her. Usually, he didn’t even recognize her, treated her as a stranger every day. She didn’t know if it was the fact that she was an employee of Golden Gardens now, so he could connect her to the facility, or if it was because he remembered Emily and she’d introduced Allison as a friend of the family, but either way, she’d take it.

  “She’s coming down with Zack and Elaine on Saturday.” She pulled up a chair next to him and tried to figure out how to bring up the kidnapping without sounding forced. After a few seconds, she gave up. There was no natural segue to that kind of topic. “I was wondering—is it true you were kidnapped as a child?”

  His eyes widened and the paperback slid off his lap onto the floor. He leaned to pick it up, shaking his head. “Who told you? I haven’t thought about that in—oh, I don’t know how long.”

  “That must have been terrifying,” she said, hoping to deflect the question. “Did they ever catch who took you?”

  “Not that I know of, but I was pretty young so I don’t remember much. Maybe they arrested them later and just didn’t tell me.” He paused, his forehead creasing. “It was the strangest thing—my parents acted as though it never happened. Sometimes I would mention it. ‘Remember when I was little and those men took me?’ My mother would just laugh and say I had a wild imagination. That’s why I stopped talking about it. Who did you say told you about it, again?”

  “I don’t remember,” she fibbed.

  “Huh.” He was quiet for a moment. “I think they wanted money.”

  She nodded, remembering what she’d seen and heard in the books.

  “Which means my parents paid a ransom. I still wonder why Mom pretended it didn’t happen. Maybe she was embarrassed.”

  “Or she didn’t want you to think about it.” Allison put a sympathetic hand on his arm, and he patted her hand absentmindedly, sending a little zap of electricity running over her skin. “I know I’d want to spare my child the trauma of dwelling on it.”