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

by Hillary Avis

  Allison sat, her hands clenched as she waited.

  “Where do I start,” Michelle murmured, sinking into the pink brocade sofa opposite her. “There’s so much.”

  “Start with the burglary last week,” Allison said. “That was Elaine, too, wasn’t it?”

  “Maybe. I can’t be sure of anything. I thought the Claypools were all gone, but I guess not.” Michelle shook her head.

  “Gone?” Allison was still totally confused.

  “They moved away, after the rift,” Michelle explained—or rather, didn’t explain. Then, seeing Allison’s irritated expression, she added, “When the library was originally formed, the families didn’t have roles like they do now. Everybody knew everything. They all had paper, they all had pens. They all could read the books any time they wanted, although of course they agreed not to invade each other’s privacy or use the books for anything nefarious. Obviously, that arrangement had to come to an end.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “The Claypools happened,” Michelle said darkly. “Keep in mind, this started before Paul and I were born, so I only know what my father told me. But Arthur Claypool’s sons were not good people. They started using the library for their own purposes. They’d find out everyone’s bank balances and then extort the money. Rip out the pages afterward so people didn’t remember they’d been bilked out of their life savings. You can imagine how easy it was, since they all had pens and paper.”

  “I don’t even know what the paper and pens are for,” Allison said as she tried to process what Michelle was saying.

  “They could make their own books,” Michelle explained. “On any topic. So, say, I could bind some paper into a book and use the pen to write your name on it as the title, and I’d then have all your memories. Every secret. Every lie. Every crime. Everything.”

  Allison felt the blood drain from her face. Her hands went suddenly cold, and she rubbed them together. No wonder Elaine wanted the pen. If she had it and the paper, she didn’t need the library—she’d have everything she wanted.

  Michelle nodded. “So you understand why it was a problem. The final straw came when the Claypool boys started snatching children and ransoming them back to their parents.”

  “They must be the ones who kidnapped Paul!” Allison blurted out. “I saw his memory when I was looking for Taylor. He was blindfolded, so he didn’t know what was going on.”

  Michelle raised an eyebrow. “I’m not surprised to hear it. He wouldn’t have been more than three. They must have thought he was too young to remember, otherwise they would have torn that out, too. Anyway, the Bakers got together with the Crisps and decided to force the Claypools out. They couldn’t be trusted with the library.”

  “How’d they get them to leave, though?”

  “Same way. My dad and Zelda Baker—well, she was Zelda Rye by then—made books to capture all the Claypool boys’ crimes, then threatened to turn them over to the police if the whole family didn’t leave town. Arthur figured it was better to move than to have his sons in jail for the rest of their lives. So he left and took his whole family with him.”

  Taylor wandered in from the kitchen, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Michelle frowned at him. “Go wash up—don’t bring those sticky fingers in here!”

  “You’re just getting to the good part,” Taylor complained on his way toward the stairs. “I like it when they kick out the bad guys.” Allison grinned at his receding back.

  “He’s heard the story a few times or twenty,” Michelle said, picking up on Allison’s amusement. “Anyway, that was the big rift. Once the Claypools were gone, the other two families realized that there was no guarantee it wouldn’t happen all over again. It’s not that they didn’t trust each other, they just knew that future generations might abuse the memory books like the Claypool boys had done. So that’s when they set up the library as we know it. They destroyed all the pens except one, and the Bakers kept it. My family kept the paper. The two families had to work together to create any new books, so no one person could exploit the library. They agreed that only the oldest child of each family would be told about the library, and the two families would socialize as little as possible, to avoid collaboration.”

  “That must be why they kept you and Paul apart.”

  “Yes, like I said, it was for the best even though I didn’t think so at the time. And to protect the library even further, the families set up the guardian system, so the books would be in the care of a neutral third party who would never stay long enough to fully learn or exploit the books.”

  “Elaine did, though,” Allison said bitterly.

  “I’m convinced she wasn’t neutral. She’s connected to the Claypools somehow. I just wish I knew how. My father watched the Claypools in the books after they left. He said the last descendant died in a plane crash thirty years ago.”

  “If they didn’t live in Remembrance, how did he watch them?” Allison asked, bewildered.

  “They still had property here in town. As long as they had an address here, their memories were recorded. And once the last Claypool memories disappeared, our guard was down. Paul and I never thought about them. It was all in the past.” Michelle broke off, shaking her head. “But then my son was murdered on the same night that Paul lost all memory of being the author.”

  Allison sat back in her chair, reeling. “I thought he lost all memory of our marriage.”

  “He became the author around the same time you got married, if I recall,” Michelle said. “The Ryes & Shine was essentially Paul’s wedding gift, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah—his parents retired right around then. Maybe slightly before the wedding, because Paul and I moved into the apartment above the bakery when we got married, so Aaron and Zelda had already moved to Montana. I guess they flew back for the wedding.”

  Michelle nodded. “Zelda gave Paul the pen and made him the author before they left. He inherited both responsibilities at the same time. That’s why he doesn’t remember anything after that point.”

  “So Elaine wasn’t trying to steal my husband,” Allison said wonderingly. “Before I knew about the Claypool connection, I thought she fell in love with him in the memory books or something. But she just wanted the author out of the way!”

  “Don’t be too sure that’s all she’s after. If she wanted him out of the way, she could have just killed him, like she tried to do to me. It must have taken a lot of time and effort to find all his memories in the library.”

  Allison nodded. “I think it took her all three years of her guardianship.”

  Michelle grasped her cane and thumped it into the plush carpet. “Mark my words: she left him alive for a reason. Just like she wants the pen for a reason.” A cuckoo clock on the wall began to chime and at the sound, Michelle used her cane to pull herself up from the sofa. “Are you sure you don’t want some breakfast? I’m starving.”

  Allison glanced at the time and, with a jolt, realized she was already late for brunch with Myra and Kara. “I should go.”

  Michelle reached out and grabbed her arm—hard. Her fingers dug in like she might not let go. “You have to find that pen. Until you do, you can’t go anywhere.”

  Allison pulled her arm away, rubbing the red marks that Michelle’s grip had left on her forearm. “I have to—I’m sorry.”

  To Allison’s surprise, tears welled in Michelle’s eyes. “She might come back. She already has the paper, and if she gets her hands on the pen...”

  “I’ll make sure she doesn’t. At least, not today. And then I’ll find it—I promise.”

  Chapter 27

  The minute she was outside, she called Emily. To her surprise, Emily answered on the first ring. Usually Allison had to leave a message and wait for a call back.

  “Mom! I didn’t get to say goodbye yesterday, but I wanted to—”

  “Is Elaine there?” Allison interrupted, too impatient to wait for the end of Emily’s sentence.

  “No—she’s at home, I th
ink. Why, do you need her number?”

  Allison forced a cheerful tone. “I just thought it’d be nice if you two did something together today. Some daughter-in-law bonding time. Maybe you could look for your wedding dress?”

  “Don’t you want to do that with me?” Emily sounded dubious.

  “Of course! But you’re not going to buy a dress on your first time out, are you? You need to try on a bunch to see what you like. Scope out the good stores before you’re totally swamped with work. It’ll be fun!”

  “I guess so. Hang on, I’ll ask.” Then, more muffled, “Zack, can you text your mom and see if she wants to go shopping with me today?”

  Zack’s voice was distant but clear. “Sure, I was just talking to her.”

  Allison smiled to herself and headed inside the house while she waited for Elaine to text Zack and Emily back. She didn’t have long to wait. Emily popped back on the line. “OK, we’re going to try on some dresses. Happy?”

  Yes, very. Spending the afternoon with Emily would keep Elaine out of Remembrance—and out of Allison’s house, hopefully long enough for Allison to find the pen. “Listen, when you go—send me lots of pictures! And then I’ll come up next weekend and we can all go shopping together. Sound good?” Allison held her breath, hoping Emily would acquiesce.

  “Sure. See you.”

  The instant she hung up with Emily, a text from Myra arrived. A selfie, with the vine-laced pergola at the Feast and Flower behind her. Her shoulders lifted in a shrug and her eyebrows raised quizzically, her expression and posture said where the heck are you?

  A second message buzzed underneath the photo. “Should we order for you?”

  Allison looked down at Willow, who raised her head and grinned, her face still ringed with reddish dirt from the backyard. There was no way she could take her to the meet-and-greet like this. She looked like she’d just been on a two-week badger-hunting expedition. Allison sighed and snapped a picture of her, then sent it to Myra with her reply.

  “I have to flake. Willow’s adoption is this afternoon and she currently looks like this.”

  A few moments later, another photo arrived as a response, this one of Kara mugging a sad face over the top of some fruity drink. Allison chuckled and slipped her phone into her pocket. She was sad to miss brunch, too, but there was always next week.

  She used her knees to usher Willow to the front yard...as far from the backyard dirt crater as possible. Then she returned to grab a bottle of dog shampoo and an apron from the house. She leashed Willow to the fence post by the hose bib and soaked her with water before dumping half the bottle onto the dog’s back, working Willow’s fluffy coat into a lather.

  Willow, for her part, didn’t seem to mind the bath. She kept turning her head around to see what in the world Allison was doing to her rear end, but she wasn’t nippy or scared. Good notes for the future adopter. She’d be sure to mention it this afternoon. It was helpful to have something to say other than “runs off, barks all night, digs huge holes, sheds like a month-old Christmas tree.”

  Rinsing the shampoo off was a whole other story, though. Willow seemed to think it was a game, leaping sideways as far as the leash would allow and snapping playfully at the stream of water so it splashed all over Allison’s apron.

  She couldn’t help giggling. “Hold still! You need to be clean or nobody’s going to want you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Allison jumped at the voice that seemed to come from the sky before she realized it was just Taylor up in the oak tree. “You’re right—I was exaggerating,” she said. “Everybody wants to adopt her since she found you in the woods, so she’s going to meet a lot of people this afternoon. She should look her best.”

  “You should leave the dirt on. Then you’d know they really wanted her for who she is—not just how she looks.”

  Oh, the innocent wisdom of children. He was right in many ways, even if he didn’t understand that the state of Willow’s coat reflected more on Allison’s caretaking than Willow’s good character. She was washing the dog as much for herself as for the future adopters.

  Taylor swung down out of the tree, grunting slightly as he landed in her front yard. He peered into the raised garden bed nearest him and pointed to the feathery leaves. “What are those?”

  “Carrots,” Allison said. “You can pull a couple if you want. Willow loves them.”

  Taylor grabbed a handful of leaves and tugged, looking delighted when he ended up with three stubby orange carrots in his fist. Allison gestured to the hose and showed him how to rinse the dirt away and break off the greens. He offered one to Willow on the flat of his hand and she gingerly took it, dropping it to the graveled path to roll and sniff before she decided it was edible.

  Taylor watched the dog intently, breaking into a wide grin when Willow finally crunched up the vegetable, little flecks flying from the corners of her mouth and staining her drool orange. He copied her sloppy chew, gnawing on his own carrot with abandon and letting the chips fall where they may—mostly all over the front of his T-shirt.

  Allison shook her head and pretended to squirt him with the hose, aiming next to his feet so a little splashed onto his Tevas. “Maybe I better give you a bath, too.”

  Taylor squealed and made a dash for the fence, using it to vault himself into the lower branches of the tree. Allison turned back to her monumental rinsing task, ruffling Willow’s sodden coat to get every bit of shampoo out.

  “Hey.” He was still watching her from the tree. “Don’t give her away. She’s a good dog.”

  “She’ll be happier somewhere else, I think,” Allison explained kindly. She knew Taylor felt a connection to Willow because of their night in the woods, so she didn’t want to hurt him, but the truth was the truth.

  “No, she won’t,” he said stubbornly. He climbed higher in the tree and inched out on a branch until he could swing his legs over and balance on top of the side yard fence. Over his shoulder, he added, “She’s happy here.”

  Judging by Willow’s wagging tail, he wasn’t wrong. Allison didn’t know what to say. How could she explain to Taylor that Willow wasn’t hers to keep, anyway? That Willow was probably better suited to a rural property, where her barking and digging would be of no consequence? If Willow stayed here in town, she’d be considered a nuisance, maybe even a bad dog, when in another setting, she’d be perfect. Valued.

  “I’ll find her somewhere good, I promise,” she called after Taylor. He didn’t turn around this time, just climbed back through his second story bedroom window.

  Chapter 28

  Allison turned off the water and stood back while Willow shook, sending giant sprays of water in every direction. Still dripping, Willow flopped down on the sunny gravel path and rolled, her coat picking up bits of chewed carrot, dry leaves, and plain old dirt. She leaped to her feet, detritus stuck all over her.

  She dropped the hose and groaned. Time for Bath, Round Two.

  Too busy feeling sorry for herself, Allison was barely aware of a car pulling up along the sidewalk. A moment later, Myra leaned over the fence with something in her hand.

  “If Allison won’t come to brunch, then brunch must come to Allison.” She proffered a brown paper sack printed with the Feast and Flower logo, a rosebud balanced delicately on the tines of a fork. Allison motioned her—and Kara, who’d pulled up behind Myra’s car and stepped out, around through the gate.

  Myra handed her the takeout bag, which smelled enticingly of strawberries, and shot Willow a bemused look. “I thought you were giving her a bath.”

  “I did,” Allison shot back. “Then she went ahead and redecorated.”

  Kara snorted and gingerly patted Willow’s wet head, then picked a few sticks out of her coat. “Suddenly I’m glad my dog fits in the kitchen sink.”

  “She’s a handful compared to Pogo, that’s for sure,” Allison agreed. She checked the time and wiped her hands on her apron before she opened the bag and peeked inside the takeout box to see
what Myra had brought her. Crepes. The whipped cream on top was already melted, but they still looked delicious.

  “Oh!” Myra dipped into the giant purse on her arm and pulled out some plastic utensils wrapped up in a napkin. She handed them to Allison, who gave her a wan smile of thanks. Myra didn’t return the smile. “You look frazzled.”

  Allison’s heart felt heavy in her chest. Frazzled was an understatement. She felt more than just worn around the edges. She felt destroyed. “I’ve got a lot going on. Plus Willow kept me up all night—again.”

  Kara settled on the porch steps, scooting to one side so Myra and Allison could get past her to the bench. “Why does she bark so much?”

  Allison’s mouth was already full of the heavenly strawberries-and-cream crepes, so she motioned to Myra to answer.

  “Livestock dogs are nocturnal,” Myra explained. “They sleep all day and then they’re on guard all night and alert to any trouble. They do the watching when people can’t. We have an Akbash to tend the goats.”

  “Huh.” Kara sat quiet for a minute, then asked, “Does she just bark all night, or does she only bark when something happens?”

  “Usually for a reason, but I don’t always know the reason.” Allison swallowed, feeling guilty. Maybe if she hadn’t shut Willow in the bedroom, Elaine would have been too afraid to come inside. She wished she could just tell Kara that Willow was barking at a burglar. But that would set off a whole cascade of problems. Kara would want to come inside to photograph, measure, take prints, whatever they did for this kind of thing...not to mention, if Allison pointed a finger at Elaine as the thief, it’d throw a grenade on Emily and Zach’s engagement.

  Kara seemed to read her mind, though. “Could be the burglar might still be operating in the neighborhood. You don’t have a car parked out front, so they might assume nobody is home and target your house. Do you mind if I check around the yard for footprints?”

  “You think a burglar was here last night?” Myra squinted at Kara and then at Allison.