“You’re just making things worse for yourself, Shalimar,” I said, forcing myself to be calm. My mouth felt dry, and I struggled to keep my voice steady. Moving very slowly, I pushed Gina into a chair at the circulation desk and positioned myself in front of her. “We know you’re here because you’re looking for your contact lens.”
She stared at me, breathing hard. “You do?” She looked wildly around the room. “How did you—” She paused, licking her lips. “Okay, you know about the contact lens. That makes it easier. I know I lost it somewhere around here, but where . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I’m not leaving here until I find it. And if I have to kill you two, so much the better.”
“The cops have already found the contact lens, Shalimar.” She took another step toward me, her expression faltering. I improvised quickly. “It was over there, in that potted palm. I’m afraid the game’s over.” I paused, watching her. Her face sagged, and she leaned against the counter. “They know you killed Mildred,” I said in a low voice. “The best thing you can do right now is turn yourself in.”
“Maggie’s right,” Gina said, her voice surprisingly level. “Please put the gun down before someone gets hurt. There’s still time to do the right thing. You can turn yourself in.”
“Shut up!” Shalimar shouted, her face contorted. “I told you I need to think.” She raised her left hand to brush her hair out of her eyes. “I think the best thing is to get you two down in the basement,” she said, her words clipped.
Off to the left, I saw a slight figure enter the front door of the library. He was in a semicrouched position, moving slowly, clasping a gun in two hands like someone on a SWAT team. I knew I had to keep Shalimar talking to distract her. I strained to make out who it was, and then it dawned on me.
Opie!! Officer Duane Brown was on the scene. I nearly cried with relief. But what in the world was he doing here?
“Shalimar, you really don’t want to do this. Listen to me. I have no idea why you killed Mildred, but you need to turn yourself in and let the police sort this out.” I managed to keep the quaver out of my voice.
Shalimar’s face clouded, and when she spoke, her voice was hardly a whisper. “But I didn’t kill Mildred,” she said slowly. “I swear I didn’t.”
“Then who did?” I asked. The question hung in the air between us.
“It was Bobby,” she said, a flash of fire returning to her voice. “I came inside to talk to Mildred and to look through those stupid old spools on the microfiche. Bobby was waiting in the car. He was positive Mildred had found a copy of Paley’s will. She said she didn’t. When I went outside and told Bobby that she couldn’t help us, he went inside to talk to her.” She was staring straight ahead, and her voice had a flat, robotic quality. “He thought she was lying. Maybe even holding out for money.” She gave a little sigh. “He was only inside a few minutes when he came running out and told me to hit the gas. It wasn’t until we were halfway home that I realized he’d killed her.” This time her voice rose half an octave and ended in a sob. “He’s the killer. Bobby, my own husband.”
Shalimar still had the gun in her right hand, but then she let her arm drop slowly to her side.
In one smooth movement Officer Brown rushed forward and knocked the gun to the floor. As Shalimar whirled to face him, hands outstretched, her nails aiming for his face, he said coldly, “You really don’t want to do that.”
And just like that, it was over.
Everything happened very fast then. Gina clutched her hand to her throat, her face pale, looking as if she might faint. “Take deep breaths,” I told her. “Deep, slow breaths. You’ll be fine.”
She gave me a watery smile. “Thank you, my dear. You’re very brave.”
Brave? I was shaking like a leaf, my heart hammering in my chest.
Rafe turned up then with three uniformed officers. Shalimar was taken into custody. Nick Harrison walked right into the library behind the cops, until they spotted him and shooed him out the front door. He grinned and put his hand to his ear, in a call-me gesture.
Gina Raeburn quickly regained her composure and was remarkably calm after what she called her near-death experience; she asked Rafe if that “fine young officer” could be commended by the city. Opie blushed bright pink and insisted he was just doing his job.
Rafe gave me one of his unreadable looks and said he’d get up with me later. I think he was relieved that I hadn’t been shot with that doll-sized pistol, but Rafe plays his cards close to his chest and it’s impossible to be sure.
My cell chirped just then, and I glanced at the readout. Vera Mae.
“Are you alive, sugar?”
“I’m here,” I told her. “Did you hear what happened here at the library?”
“I surely did, hon. I heard you tell Ms. Raeburn you were going to head over there, and then I realized you might be following Shalimar. She was hightailing it away from the square, and I knew something was up. I had one of my ‘feelings,’ you know?”
“Yes, I do,” I told her. Vera Mae has the “feeling” that something dire is going to happen at least once a week. Naturally, her worst fears are never realized—at least, not usually—and they’re forgotten.
“So that’s why I called him,” she said, breaking into my thoughts.
“Who?” I glanced at Gina Raeburn. One of the officers had brought her a paper cup of water and she seemed relaxed, with color in her cheeks. I knew she was going to be okay.
“Why Rafe, of course,” Vera Mae said. “I told that boy something was up and that he needed to get over there quick.” She paused. “He takes my feelings real serious, you know.”
I had to smile, in spite of the fact that I’d nearly been shot. “I’m sure he does, Vera Mae.”
“So he sent that nice young Officer Brown to investigate and said he’d get over there himself as soon as he could.”
“Ah, it all makes sense now.”
“Maggie, can you get over to the station? Cyrus wants to do a news feature on you, and we need a couple of sound bites. This is going to be even bigger than the time capsule ceremony. Cyrus wants to do some promos and run them all day long. That is, if you feel up to it, sugar,” she added as an afterthought. Ironic. My terrifying ordeal in the library would be a ratings bonanza.
Did I feel up to it? I felt a little shaky and weak at the knees, plus my heart was still pounding. I longed to have a cup of coffee and go home and curl up on the sofa with Pugsley.
And then Vera Mae said the words that made me pull myself together and rush right over to WYME.
“If you don’t feel up to it, hon, Chantel said she’d be glad to step in and host your show today. She said she had a vision that Shalimar was going to be arrested and she’d love to have the chance to talk about it with your listeners.” Vera Mae chortled with laughter. “Not that Cyrus would let her, but I’m just saying she offered, sugar.”
Chantel had a vision and figured she was going to get away with hijacking my show? Hah. Not in a million years! “I’m on my way,” I said through gritted teeth. “And tell that chick to get her own show.”
Chapter 33
It was nearly six o’clock when I finally went down to the Cypress Grove PD to give my statement, and to see Rafe. He was waiting for me in his office, leaning back in his desk chair, his hands behind his head.
“Maggie,” he said, jumping to his feet. The way my name rolled off his lips, it sounded like a caress. He crossed the room and grabbed me by my upper arms and rested his cheek against mine, just for a second. It was so fast it was almost subliminal. I think he would have drawn me into a tight hug, but the door to his office was wide open and people were milling by. “How come you always end up in the thick of things?” he whispered into my ear before releasing me.
“Just lucky.” I smiled at him.
He grinned and motioned me to his visitor’s chair. “Want some coffee?” He gestured to a pot that I knew had been brewing brown sludge all day long.
“Please,
I’ve already cheated death once today.” A beat passed. “So what happens now?”
“Well, technically, you’re supposed to give me a statement about what happened in the library, and I write it down. Then one of the officers types it up and you sign it. But I figured you probably have some questions for me.”
“I do.” Rafe was right. I was bursting with questions. “I’m still trying to put the pieces together and figure out what happened today. With the time capsule and Magnolia Hall. And everything else, I guess.”
“Where do you want me to start?”
“Trevor McNamara. What does he have to do with all this? And is it true? Did he really inherit Magnolia Hall?”
Rafe nodded. “Yes, he did. That codicil to the will was a bombshell. Trevor McNamara is Paley’s illegitimate grandson. Ron Paley never acknowledged him in life, but he always felt guilty about it. He even kept a copy of his birth certificate. That was another item in the time capsule, but the mayor didn’t make that one public. Trevor McNamara was illegitimate. Paley’s daughter, Eleanor, gave birth to him, and she and the baby were whisked out of town to cover it up.”
“Trevor is his grandson? So maybe that explains why I saw him in the Cypress Grove Library a couple of days ago,” I said softly.
“Apparently so. He said was trying to dig up some information on his biological family. He had no way of knowing what was in the time capsule, but he guessed that some family secrets would come to light.”
“So he knew he was part of the Paley family? And that’s why he came to Cypress Grove?”
“He’d always suspected it. He knew that this might be his one chance to claim his inheritance. A family in Massachusetts had adopted him as a baby, but he was sure he was related to the Paleys. He even carries around a picture of his mother, Eleanor Paley. Eleanor died shortly after he was born, but a maid mailed a photo of her to his adoptive parents, and they saved it for him.”
“So Trevor is Bobby’s half brother, but no one ever acknowledged him.”
“That’s right. Ronald Paley thought he could make things right by leaving Trevor Magnolia Hall. After all, the Paley family had ignored Trevor and rejected him his whole life. They’d do anything to keep up appearances. But in the end, Ron Paley tried to do the right thing and added that codicil to his will.”
“But the codicil never saw the light of day?”
Rafe nodded. “It disappeared in the fire at the courthouse, so the provisions of the original will were in place. Everything went to Bobby. If the time capsule hadn’t been dug up, Trevor’s claim to the estate never would have come to light. It was just sheer luck that Mr. Paley decided to put a copy in there.”
“But why did Mildred have to die? Did Bobby kill her because she knew too much?”
“He thought she did. Mildred suspected there was a missing heir, and she did one of those ancestry searches online. She’d always suspected that Paley’s daughter, Eleanor, was sent away because she was pregnant. In those days, an unwed mother was considered a disgrace to the family. Bobby had heard the rumors that he might have a half brother somewhere up north, but he ignored them. He killed Mildred because he was convinced she knew the secret and was going to go public with it.”
“So Shalimar wasn’t involved in the killing.” I shook my head, remembering the scene in the library, and a little chill went through me.
“No. She’s turned state’s evidence. She’s helping us nail Bobby.”
I was silent for a moment, turning everything over in my mind. Layers upon layers of misunderstandings, greed, deceit, and murder. As Lucille Whittier had said, “a lot happens in a small town.”
Suddenly I remembered the blue chips of paint. “Chris Hendricks!” I had almost forgotten about the jittery picture framer. “What happened? Did he kill Althea Somerset?”
Rafe nodded somberly. “Yes, I’m sure he did. He’s in custody right now. We got a warrant to search the historical society again and found the blue paint chips on the hall table, just like you said. And there’s more. We also found a footprint on the tabletop that’s a match for his sneakers. There were traces of blue powder on the top of the Parsons table—they’d gotten pushed under a doily. I guess that’s why the crime scene techs missed them the first time around. Plus they weren’t really concentrating on the hall, because Althea was murdered upstairs in her apartment.”
“So Chris Hendricks really did stand on the Parsons table to hang the picture back on the wall?”
“He must have. I think everything happened just like you said, Maggie. We’ve got him.” He glanced down at a notepad on his desk. “It seems Althea suspected the painting was valuable. One of the old dears at the historical society told us today that Althea planned on getting it appraised. She’d forgotten to mention it before. So Althea never would have given it to Hendricks. He figured he’d have to kill her for it.”
“It was all about money, about the painting,” I said, turning it over in my mind. I thought of Althea, losing her life over some paint on canvas. What a waste.
Rafe gave a wry smile. “It was definitely all about money. The root of all evil.”
“The painting is worth a lot?”
“A small fortune. The FBI tracked it down for us. It belongs to a wealthy Miami collector. No one seems to know how it ended up at the historical society. Hendricks thought he could get away with the perfect crime. He might have, if you hadn’t noticed those tiny blue paint chips.”
“Glad I could help.” There was something else. Chantel. “Did the tech guys ever clean up that security tape?”
“Afraid not. We can’t pin anything on Chantel. Maybe she broke in to Vera Mae’s, maybe not. We can’t prove it, and she’s not going to admit it.”
“I think she probably did,” I said. “She was snooping around, probably hoping to get that box of papers.”
“There’s enough of a cloud hanging over her that I think she’s lost her credibility. When the story gets out of who she really is, her career here is over.”
“I think so, too.” Vera Mae had told me after my show that Cyrus and Chantel were huddled in his office again. This time, when Chantel emerged, she told Vera Mae that Cypress Grove was too small for her, and she was ready to move on. “I wish I’d asked her how she did that trick with the pen.”
“What’s that?”
“She said she could do telekinesis. She made a ballpoint pen move across the console in the studio, just by using her mind. We were live on the air. It was pretty impressive.”
Rafe laughed. “That’s an old trick, Maggie. Was she alone in the studio at any time before she did the trick for you?”
“I thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. I might have zipped back to my office to get some notes,” I said finally. “But what could she have done? How would she make the pen move?”
“Magnets, Maggie. That’s the secret.”
“Magnets?”
“Two magnets—that’s all you need. She probably planted one under the counter, out of sight, and another in the ballpoint pen. All she had to do was slide her hand under the counter and move the magnet. Once she had her hand on the magnet, she could make the ballpoint pen move anywhere she wanted.”
“Oh.” I laughed. “She really had me fooled. Maybe I’m too gullible, too trusting.”
“Or too easily impressed. You’re full of surprises. I thought you didn’t believe in magic. That’s what you’ve always told me.” He had a devilish glint in his eye, and my pulse jumped as he crossed the room in a few powerful strides.
“Have I?” I thought for a moment. “Well, maybe I spoke too soon. Because there are some types of magic I really do believe in. At least I think I do.” I remembered the scene in the town square. I’d been thinking of the word “catalyst,” and to my amazement, Chantel had said the word out loud.
I stopped mulling over the problem when Rafe shut the door to his office, a smile playing over his lips.
Then he locked eyes with me, his black eyes flashing, and
it dawned on me. He swept me into his arms and pulled me close to him, so close I could hear his heart beating.
“Do you believe in this kind of magic?” he said, nuzzling my neck. “Or maybe this?” He planted a string of kisses below my ear, setting my pulse thrumming. “Or how about this?” He brushed his lips against mine; his lips were incredibly warm and soft. I felt myself melting. I gave a happy little sigh, tightened my arms around his neck, and snuggled against him.
“You’re very persuasive, Rafe,” I murmured. “I think you just made a believer out of me.”
He gave a low, sexy chuckle, and I felt my heart start to tap-dance in my chest. “Maggie, my love, that’s exactly what I was hoping for.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mary Kennedy is a former radio copywriter and the award-winning author of forty novels. She is a clinical psychologist in private practice and lives on the East Coast with her husband and eight eccentric cats. Both husband and cats have resisted all her attempts to psychoanalyze them, but she remains optimistic. Visit her Web site at www.marykennedy.net.
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