by Eva Gates
Theodore put the drinks on the table. A latte for Julia and a hot tea for him. “If you’re talking about Detective Watson, I’m thinking of paying a call on him myself. I can tell him Julia had nothing to do with her grandfather’s death.”
“I don’t think that would be wise,” I said, “unless you have solid evidence. Watson doesn’t like what he sees as people interfering in his cases.”
“It’s so nice of you to care.” Julia smiled at Theodore. “But I have to agree with Lucy. He’s not going to listen to you. You scarcely even know me.”
Theodore puffed up his chest. “I know you well enough, Julia, to know that you have a kind and loving heart.”
“You’re so sweet,” she said.
He puffed up some more.
“I want to go home,” she said with a heavy sigh. Deep smudges lay under her eyes, and I suspected she hadn’t slept much, if at all, last night. “I need to take my grandfather back to New York to make funeral arrangements. I need to mourn properly.”
“I have to get to work.” I gathered up the remains of my sandwich. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’d like to spend some more time at the library, if I may.”
“Of course you can.”
“I like your library. I like it a lot. I’d love to have a look through your rare books room. My grandfather might not have wanted me to take control of his collection, but he did insist on me having a firm knowledge of East Coast nautical history.”
“You’re welcome any time,” I said. “Charlene would be delighted to talk about it with you. Tomorrow’s Halloween, and we’re having a variety of festivities. As well as children’s parties upstairs, Louise Jane will be speaking again, telling different stories from the ones on Saturday, no doubt less child-friendly ones, and we’ll have refreshments after.” Theodore hid a shiver under the pretext of adding sugar to his tea. “The teenage party is at five, and the adult one, at seven. If you’re free, why not come? Some people will be in costume, but many won’t.”
“I’d like that.”
“I hope you don’t mind that we’re still celebrating Halloween. After the death of your grandfather, I mean.”
“Why would I mind? Life goes on, doesn’t it? And you have your jobs to do. Granddad would have approved. He liked your library because it was a vibrant community center.”
“Excellent idea.” Theodore gathered his courage around him like a cloak. “I hadn’t been planning to go the library tomorrow evening, as I find Halloween excessively childish, but if you are going to be there, Julia, I’ll also participate in the festivities. If you’re interested in the history of the area, my family has lived in the Outer Banks since…”
I stopped at the counter on my way out. “One coconut cupcake to go, please.”
Chapter Sixteen
I put the remains of my lunch in the fridge to have for supper and took the circulation desk from Bertie.
“I wish I could cancel tonight’s board meeting,” she said. “We have such a busy day tomorrow.”
“I’d offer to help,” I said, “but I’m canvassing for Connor tonight.”
“Far more important than a board meeting,” she said.
“Did you hear anything about Doug Whiteside’s radio interview? Connor was expecting him to attack the library over the death of Jay Ruddle.”
“Eunice Fitzgerald called me to report on it. The usual Doug nonsense, implying that the library brings murder and destruction down upon itself. Eunice said he didn’t sound as though his heart was in it today, and he got easily distracted when the interviewer asked him what his plans were, should he win, for that plot of land where the Mega Mart was supposed to go before they pulled out. Connor was given a chance to respond after the show, and he reminded everyone of the importance of the library to the community. I’m glad we have Connor on our side.”
“Me too,” I said.
The library was steadily busy for the rest of the day. Many of the children who came in for the after-school programs seemed more excited than usual. Pre-Halloween enthusiasm was building. I was glad we’d decided to go ahead with Halloween.
We closed at six, and I was scheduled to be at the campaign office at six thirty. I would be door knocking with Connor himself tonight, provided no emergency took him away, and I found myself looking forward to it.
Good thing I had a ready-made dinner. I gobbled the remains of my sandwich and the coconut cupcake, standing at the kitchen sink in my apartment. That had been a mistake, I thought, as I nipped into the shower. My stomach protested at the speed with which the cupcake had gone down. What a waste of a million calories.
I put on a plain black dress with a thin red belt and a red sweater, and slipped my feet into black ballet flats. I studied myself in the mirror. Suitable for a political campaign, I decided.
I locked the door to my apartment behind me and hurried downstairs at six twenty. Charles had not come up with me, preferring to supervise Bertie as she set up for the board meeting.
The meeting was scheduled to begin at six thirty, and to my surprise, Diane and Curtis were standing at the door when I opened it.
“Good evening.” I was about to slip past them when I had a thought. Instead, I held the door and ushered them in. “I noticed your store in Kill Devil Hills is going out of business,” I said to Curtis. “Are you expanding elsewhere?” That sounded politer, I thought, than asking if the chain was in dire financial straits.
“I wish,” he said. “Times are tough everywhere. Tourism is down, competition is up.”
“I’ll have a coffee, Lucy,” Diane said. “I still don’t understand why we had to stop having luncheon meetings. It was so much more convenient for everyone. Six thirty! We can hardly have dinner at five, and by the time this meeting is over, everyone will be starving.” She walked away, somewhat unsteady on her sky-high heels.
“You have other stores,” I said to Curtis. “I’m sure they’re doing well.”
“If I can hold on until next season we might be able to recover. Thing is, Lucy, it’s not enough to be a sharp businessman anymore.”
Not that Curtis, from what I heard, had ever been a sharp businessman. He’d inherited the chain of stores established by his father and had plenty of ideas of expanding. But ideas, so the gossips said, were all Curtis had. Not the drive to succeed—or even the ability to hire the right people to succeed on his behalf.
“Not with the sort of cutthroat business people out there these days. I’ll have a coffee too, thanks.” He started to walk away. Diane had stopped at the magazine rack and was reaching for a copy of Martha Stewart Living.
“Haven’t there always been cutthroat business people?” I said quickly. I hadn’t planned on interrogating Curtis, but now that the opportunity had presented itself …
“My father and his contemporaries might have been tough, but they conducted business like gentlemen.”
“Is that so?” I refrained from telling him I had some knowledge of business history. And it wasn’t pretty.
“These days, people think they can get away with anything.” Curtis’s gaze moved upward, as though he could see through the ceiling to the rare books room where Jay had died. “Men like Jay Ruddle. Out to make a buck any way they can, fast as they can, and they don’t care who they step on.”
“Mr. Ruddle was of your father’s generation,” I said.
“My father died a long time ago. The end of an era. Jay Ruddle died on Saturday. No loss to anyone.”
“I’ve heard he made enemies when he was first expanding his business, but that was a long time ago, and he retired recently, didn’t he?” It was absolutely none of my business, but I’ve found that when people have a grievance, sometimes all they want is to tell someone else about it. Whether it’s their business or not.
If we’d been outside, Curtis would have spat. As it was, he looked as though he was considering it. “Ruddle let go of hands-on management, yes, but he kept control of
the board. He still made the big decisions, and some of the small ones too. Like to undercut my business. Earlier this summer, right out of the blue, that big store of his in Kill Devil Hills started stocking beach furniture. Folding chairs, packable shelters, folding tables, coolers. That’s my core business. It always has been. He set his prices so low, there’s no way I can compete and still make a profit. He did it with the specific goal of driving me out of business, and it’s working. I’ve had to close one outlet this year. I don’t know if I can hang on until next summer.” Curtis was building up to a full-blown rage, but suddenly he deflated. A small smile touched the edges of his mouth. “Doesn’t matter now, does it, Lucy? Jay Ruddle will no longer be making any decisions. The new chairman will be horrified at his business practices. There’s no place for a personal vendetta in the corporate world.”
“Vendetta? What do you mean? Why would Jay Ruddle care about your stores, Curtis?”
“Because he was a miserable, bitter old man who carried a grudge all the way to his grave, that’s why.”
“I don’t understand—” My words were cut off as the door opened and Eunice Fitzgerald, chair of the library board, came in, followed by a cluster of other members. “Good evening, Curtis,” she said. “It’s unlike you to be early.”
Curtis appeared not to realize that had been a dig. “Diane wants to get started on time. We have dinner reservations after.”
“Of course you do, dear. Mustn’t let our little library business interfere, must we?”
“I’m glad you understand,” he said.
“Are we going to stand here all day, people?” Diane shouted. “Let’s get on with it. Lucy, why aren’t you making coffee?”
“Because I’m off the clock,” I muttered.
“I’m very much looking forward to tomorrow, dear,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said. “I’m glad Bertie decided to go ahead with the scheduled events. Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. When my children were young, I went to so much trouble to make their costumes. These days, my granddaughters grab something premade from the dollar store.” She shook her head sadly.
“Are you planning to dress in costume?” I asked.
She put her finger to her lips. “I might be. I might not be. Come along, everyone—let’s not dawdle. Curtis and Diane have their dinner to get to.”
They headed for the hallway and the break room for their meeting, and I lost my chance to ask Curtis what he meant about a vendetta.
I checked my watch. I was going to be late for canvassing.
As I drove into Nags Head, I used the Bluetooth on my phone to make a call. “Hi, Aunt Ellen. Lucy here.”
“Lucy! How nice to hear from you. I’ve just come in from helping at a tea for Connor at the seniors’ residence. I can assure you he has the old-lady vote wrapped up. Most of them don’t care much about local politics, but they all think he’s very handsome.”
I laughed. “We’ll take whatever we can get.”
“They also think it’s a shame he’s not married.”
I was not going to go there. “Did you learn anything about Jay Ruddle? You were going to look into his past and see if you could think of anyone who might have wanted to see him dead.”
“I did a bit of poking around, dear, but learned nothing worth telling you about. Some of the older people remember him, and not necessarily fondly, but he left the Outer Banks a long, long time ago. Memories die and grudges are slowly forgotten. Some of the folks I talked to said they were surprised to hear he was still alive. Until he wasn’t, that is.”
“I’m wondering about something Curtis Gardner said to me. He seems to think Jay was on a vendetta against him.”
Aunt Ellen sighed. “Someone is always out to get poor Curtis, at least according to poor Curtis. Covers up a world of incompetence on his part.”
I waited to turn onto Highway 12. Traffic was heavy going north, bringing people back to Nags Head for the night. To the south, there wasn’t much other than the small ocean-side communities of Rodanthe and Buxton, and the ferry to Ocracoke at road’s end.
“But,” Aunt Ellen went on, “as in most conspiracy theories, there lies a grain of truth. Jay Ruddle and Ed Gardner were both in love with Margaret Duncan. That was well before my time, and pretty much everyone forgot all about it until Jay’s recent return and then his untimely demise put it back into folks’ mind.”
“Who’s Margaret Duncan?”
“These days she’s better known as Margie Gardner. Curtis’s mother.”
The traffic broke and I pulled onto the highway. “Is that so?”
“Margie was apparently a great beauty back in the day, and her father had a fair amount of money, or so folks say. Ed and Jay were local boys. Ed was from a fishing family, and Jay’s father owned a furniture store. Neither of them had much in the way of expectations. Everyone figured Margaret would marry a man chosen by her father, but nope. One day it was announced that she was going to marry Ed Gardner. They say Jay Ruddle was furious. So furious he threw himself into running his father’s business. And we know how that turned out.”
“Was there a reason for this sudden engagement?”
“If you mean was she expecting, that was the gossip at first, but nothing came of it. Curtis wasn’t born until some years after the wedding. Margaret and Ed had two daughters after Curtis. The girls moved away when they married in turn.”
“Is Margaret still alive?”
“Very much so. She used to keep the books for Curtis, but I don’t think she does that any more. She lives in Duck and is quite active in the community. My sources tell me it was money from Margaret’s father that enabled Ed to start his own business. Gardner Beach Wear. Initially it was a clothing store, selling bathing suits and clothes and shoes to wear on vacation, but they soon expanded into beach and patio accessories.”
“Sounds like the plot of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. One eligible woman, two suitors.” I slowed as I reached Whalebone Junction. Time to get off the phone and pay attention. “Thanks for this Aunt Ellen.”
“Do you think it means anything?”
“Probably not. Oh, one thing. Was Margaret Gardner at the lighthouse on Saturday?”
“I didn’t see her.”
“Catch you later,” I said.
That, I thought, was very interesting. I honestly couldn’t see a man like Jay Ruddle seeking revenge on the son of the man who’d won the girl all those years ago. As Aunt Ellen had said, Curtis saw enemies under every bush without realizing that his biggest enemy was himself.
But that might be irrelevant. Whether or not Jay Ruddle lay awake at night plotting vengeance on the son of Ed Gardner and Margaret Duncan, Curtis thought he did. Whether Jay had deliberately undercut Curtis in order to drive him out of business didn’t matter. Not if Curtis thought he had.
He hated Jay Ruddle and was glad the man had died.
Everyone else I’d spoken to about Jay’s business practices had told me the man had made enemies, but it had all been a long time ago. These days everyone believed Jay was a retired man with an interest in North Carolina history and the money to indulge his hobby.
Everyone but Curtis Gardner.
I arrived at Connor’s campaign office twenty minutes late. “Sorry, Lucy,” the volunteer co-coordinator said when I ran in. “Connor left with the first group. He couldn’t wait any longer. You can go out with Melody here. She has your package.”
I forced a smile at Melody.
* * *
I spent the evening touring the streets of Nags Head with the taciturn Melody. When we got back to the campaign office, I was told that Connor had gone out again. I said my good-nights and went home alone.
Before switching off the engine and getting out of the car, I sat for a long time, peering intently out the windows. Finally, I summoned my courage and switched off the headlights. No mist. No colored lights bobbing above the ground. I felt no urge to wander into the marsh.
I got out of the car and ran up th
e path, keys firmly in hand. I unlocked the door, ran in, and slammed it shut behind me. I let out a long breath.
Charles stood on the table next to the Rebecca MacPherson. His spine was arched, and the long hairs along his back stood at attention. He hissed.
My heart sped up again. “What are you looking at?”
I walked over to the table, and Charles’s body relaxed. The ship was as I had left it. No, something had changed. The captain was not on the quarterdeck, and the miniature cat, George, perched high in the rigging.
“How did that get there?” I plucked the little figure off. I held it out to Charles. He hissed at it. “Just a toy.” I put the tiny cat back in its place next to the man standing at the wheel. Someone must have touched the model when we weren’t looking and rearranged the figures. I’d have a look for the captain tomorrow. I ran my fingers through Charles’s long tan and white fur. He purred. “Let’s go to bed. Halloween is tomorrow, and then we can get this thing out of here.”
* * *
When I hesitantly opened my curtains the next morning, I wasn’t greeted by the sight of a ghostly horse.
Clearly, my imagination had been in overdrive the last few days. I vowed to put those supposed sightings out of my mind and never think about them again.
Chapter Seventeen
Libraries continue to have the reputation as staid, no-nonsense places where thin, middle-aged women with gray hair tied in stiff buns, dressed in overly large, tattered sweaters and sensible shoes, hiss at anyone who dares to utter a whisper, and where patrons tiptoe around in deadly fear of turning pages too loudly and thus falling under the wrath of the librarian. I sometimes think of the movie It’s a Wonderful Life, when, in the alternate universe, Jimmy Stewart recoils in horror when he hears that poor Donna Reed has, with no man to marry her, become “a librarian.” This announcement is made to the accompaniment of fearsome music.
