“Did you see him when he was here in the winter?” I asked. “Redding was the investigator on the case involving Lacey’s sister.”
“When Lacey was accused of murder? No. I never saw him at the café, and Lacey never wanted to talk about what was happening. I knew what it was like to have secrets, so I didn’t press her.”
I nodded.
She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms as if she felt a chill. “The next three days were horrible. I didn’t see him again, but I was a mess. I kept thinking that Bryant would show up at any moment at the café, at our home, or even at Aster’s school. In my head, I had it worked up that he was going to take my daughter away from me. I couldn’t eat or sleep. David asked me again and again what was going on, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. I wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening.” She gave me a wan smile. “But since I wasn’t eating or sleeping, it was clear that I wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Just when I was going tell my brother, I saw Redding again.”
“Where?”
“Here at the Riverwalk. It was the day before the race. He was talking to Jo. Whatever he was saying clearly upset her. She ran away from him.”
“Did you hear any part of the conversation?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. I was in front of the café and they were across the street. I couldn’t hear them.”
I bit the inside of my lip. Danielle was the second witness to mention seeing Jo and Redding together. It was clear that she knew the private detective. What had she gotten tangled up in? The little heart emoji she’d sent me earlier in the day didn’t seem as encouraging anymore.
Danielle took a shuddering breath. “After Jo left, I couldn’t take it anymore. The worry I had over knowing Redding was in the village was too much. I went across the street and confronted him.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “He seemed surprised that I would come at him in that way. I think most people who have met me don’t think of me as a confrontational person. I’m usually not, but I had to do this to protect Aster. I love her.”
I squeezed her hand. “I know you do. What happened next?”
“I asked him if Bryant was in the village, and he seemed surprised. I would even say that he seemed scared. Like me mentioning Bryant was not what he expected. I don’t know what he thought I would say. He said Bryant wasn’t here. I asked him if Bryant sent him to find me, and he said no, he wasn’t in the village because of me.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I did because I wanted to, but I don’t know if he was lying or not. He could have been. I’m sure that, because of his line of work, he was very good at lying.”
I knew he was from my experience.
“Then when I heard Bryant had died, I was so confused. How could he happen to die when I had just seen Redding, and Redding was dead too? I can’t believe that the two weren’t connected. When you saw David speak to me at the café, he told me about my ex-husband. I was sad. I thought after all this time, after everything that he did, that I wouldn’t be sad to learn he had died, but I was terribly upset. I suppose I still loved him in a way. He was my first love. I had loved him since I was a child. I’m not sure if I ever let him go.”
I could understand that. I had been in love with the same man most of life until I met Rainwater. It had taken a very long time for me to let go.
“I can’t believe the deaths aren’t somehow connected to me, too. I was the only person in the village they both knew, as far as I know.”
“Did he say why he was in the village?”
“He was on another case. He said the case was much bigger than mine.”
A knot formed in my stomach. Could that reason be Charming Books?
“My people have said that this river is so powerful that it can give life and take life,” she said in a soft voice. “That it can heal. These were the stories that David and I were raised on. I think David has grown out of those stories. He is too much of a logical police officer. But I believe them. I like to think that there is a spirit in all things, just like our people have taught us. David might deny that, but I think deep down he still believes it too.”
A snippet from the end of the last Whitman poem the shop had revealed to me came to mind.
I swear I think now that every thing without exception has an eternal soul!
The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of the sea have! the animals!
* * *
I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!
That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is for it, and the cohering is for it!
And all preparation is for it—and identity is for it—and life and materials are altogether for it!
Maybe that was the part of the poem I was supposed to read. Maybe Danielle had to be the one to show me that. If that was the case, what did it tell me about Redding’s death? I didn’t know.
Chapter Thirty
The next day, I asked Richard to open the shop, and he was more than happy to do so. Grandma Daisy was busy with meetings, and I didn’t want to ask her.
No one had seen Jo Fitzgerald in days. I was worried about her. I knew she was an adult, but after seeing the calendar in her apartment with all those shifts to work and classes to attend, it concerned me that she would blow all that off. Jo was too organized just to walk away from her responsibilities like that. She had a reason to stay away, and I was afraid it was because she knew who had killed Redding. But why wouldn’t she go to the police if she knew?
I needed to clear my head, so after Richard arrived, I went for a walk to the Riverwalk. As I was leaving Charming Books, Faulkner squawked at me and Emerson made a dash for the front door. For once in my life, I was faster, and I beat him out of the bookshop before he could escape. I had a feeling I would pay for that later. I usually did when it came to Emerson—and to Faulkner, for that matter. The two creatures were assertive about their importance at Charming Books.
New white tents were in the process of being put up on the Riverwalk for the coming weekend. During the tourist season, it seemed that the village celebrated one festival after another. Many of them had no historical context or reason. They were simply planned and held to attract more tourists from Niagara Falls to our little village.
“No, you can’t go into the village hall today,” a strong baritone voice rang out along the street. “The mayor is doing very important work.” Charles Hancock a bald, eightyish man, stood at the foot of the village hall steps, stopping the path of village councilman Cameron Connell. My grandmother’s golf cart was parked next to him on the sidewalk. I was certain that was some sort of parking violation, not that Rainwater and the other police in the village had time to deal with such a small infraction right now.
“Like hell I can’t,” Cameron shouted back. “I’m on the village council. Get out of my way!”
I hurried over to them. “What’s going on?”
Charles smiled at me. “Hello, Violet.”
“I’m going in,” Cameron said.
Charles jumped in front of him. He could move pretty quickly for a man of his advanced age. “No, you shan’t.”
Charles, with his old-fashioned mannerisms, was one of the few people on the planet who could say shan’t without sounding ridiculous.
“It is my duty as her knight to protect Mayor Daisy Waverly at all costs. I’m sorry if you are offended,” Charles said, not sounding sorry in the least. “But she’s very busy going over the museum budget right now and asked not to be disturbed.”
“Charles, what are you doing here? Isn’t Bertie supposed to be Grandma Daisy’s gatekeeper?”
“I am at your grandmother’s service whenever she has a need. She mentioned to me that Bertie requested the day off, so I came here quick as a flash and offered my services as her gatekeeper.”
I blinked. “She did?” I didn’t know that Bertie ever took time off. The mayor’s office was her whole life.
“This is ridiculous!” C
ameron removed his cell phone from the inside pocket of his sport jacket. “Do I need to call the police to get you forcibly removed from my path?”
Rainwater didn’t need this with two murders on his hands, so I stepped in. “Charles, just let Cameron go in. He is on the village council. Grandma Daisy won’t mind.”
Charles looked at me.
“Don’t you trust me when it comes to what my grandmother wants?” I smiled.
He stepped aside. “I suppose so.”
Cameron stomped around him, muttering curse words as he went. I had a feeling Grandma Daisy was about to get an earful about her guardian knight.
Charles watched him go. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t stay too long and fatigue Daisy with his complaints.”
“I’m sure you will.” I turned to go.
“Violet?” Charles called after me.
I turned.
“Are you still looking for the Fitzgerald girl?”
My eyes went wide. “How did you know that?”
“Daisy told me.”
Of course she had. I sighed.
“Have you seen her?”
He shook his head sadly. “No, but I’m praying for the child. I just want you to know that.”
Unexpected tears sprang to my eyes. “Thank you, Charles.”
He nodded and turned his attention back to the street, looking for unwelcome visitors to my grandmother’s office.
I wiped the tears from my eyes as I walked around the side of the café where I had stashed my mother’s bike with the intent to ride it over to campus. My hope was that Renee could use her super librarian skills and help me find the connection between Walt Whitman and this case.
My grandmother had told me that during construction of the museum, they had discovered that the hill had been man-made. The building and all the buildings on River Road, including Charming Books, had been built on limestone. Beneath that limestone was the aquifer, the source of the natural springs that gave power to Charming Books. I hadn’t thought much about how the water must affect other places in the village. Why was Charming Books the only place with magic? Then again, perhaps there were other Caretakers in town and other unique elements I had yet to learn about. Were there others in the village hiding their gifts, as my family had, out of fear?
I shook my head. These deep questions were too much. I needed to focus on finding Jo and finding out who’d killed Redding.
Shovels and a pickax sat behind the village the hall. There was also a battery-powered lantern. The basement window stood open—I wondered if my grandmother knew. If it rained, water could get into the building. Given the unstable foundation, water was the last thing we wanted in the village hall.
I was about to peer into the space when Vaughn Fitzgerald struggled out of the opening. He had blueprints in his hand that were streaked with mud. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
I stepped back. “I was just taking a look. I wanted to tell my grandmother the window was open.”
The surprise on his face smoothed over. “She already knows. I told her this morning I would be on-site today.”
“Has construction resumed on the hall?” I asked as I peered through the open window. It was so dark all I could see were the first few feet of limestone wall. The little kid in me wanted to go in there and explore. When I was a child, Colleen and I had made up fantastical stories about hidden treasure and a Native American princess that must have lived in Cascade Springs before the Europeans settled in the area. A place like this would be a perfect spot to hide such a treasure. Although I had to remind myself that the village hall had been built long after the Europeans settled in the village.
“Not yet. It will soon. Your grandmother told me how well the race did in raising funds. I don’t have any doubt that we will get this project back on schedule with Grandma Daisy at the helm.”
I laughed. “I don’t have any doubt either. She’s determined to make this happen. How’s it looking under there?”
He squinted in the afternoon sunlight. “The sun sure does a number on your eyes when you’re underground for so long.”
“I bet.”
“The site is mostly stable. I like to check on it every few days. We’re supposed to have a big thunderstorm tonight, and I want to make sure everything is secure. There’s nothing we can do right now to keep the water out until we have the money to do the extensive repairs. I just want this building to make it through until the repairs can be permanent.”
I looked up at the sky and it was perfectly blue, but I knew powerful storms could roll in off Lake Ontario with very little notice.
“It would be terrible to lose the village hall,” I said.
He smiled at me. “Don’t worry. I won’t let that happen.”
I nodded. Vaughn was the best at his job. My grandmother and the village council wouldn’t have hired him otherwise.
“I see you have a passenger on your bike.” He laughed.
I looked behind me and groaned when I saw Emerson grinning at me from the bicycle basket.
“It seems to me that he thinks he’s going wherever you are.”
“He definitely believes that.” I narrowed my eyes at the little cat before turning back to Vaughn. “I’m headed to campus to visit a friend.”
He nodded, and then a sad expression crossed his face. “Have you heard from Jo?”
I shook my head. “Have you?”
“No, and I’m becoming worried. It’s been three days since I last heard from her. It’s not unusual for me to go a day or two without hearing from her. She’s my sister and an adult. I’m not her keeper. She can do what she wants, but she’s not responding to any of my text messages or calls.”
I thought of the little red heart I had received. I could tell Vaughn about it, but instead I said, “She’s not replying to my texts either.”
“I suppose it should make me feel better that she’s not singling me out to be ignored, but I’m worried about her.” He brushed dirt off his sleeve.
“I’m worried too,” I admitted.
Vaughn let out a great sigh. “If you hear from her, will you let me know?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said.
He bent over and closed the window. “That should hold through the storm.”
I nodded. “Do you need help putting your tools away?”
He shook his head and laughed. “You know what I think, Violet Waverly? You’re always trying to be overly helpful. It might get you in trouble someday.” He winked.
Chapter Thirty-One
I wondered about Vaughn’s comment until I got back to my bike, and then all I could worry about was Emerson. When I was in front of the cat, I put my hands on my hips. “You aren’t going to campus with me.”
The cat hunched down in the basket. I knew I would have a terrible time getting him out.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re lucky Renee likes cats.”
He popped up again and braced his forepaws on the front of the basket. He knew that he’d won the argument. He almost always won. I didn’t even know why I bothered to argue with the tuxedo feline anymore.
I climbed onto my bike and pushed off. On the sidewalk in front of River Road, I waited for a white horse and carriage to pass. The back seat of the coach was empty, and I guessed the carriage driver was practicing his route for the height of tourist season that really began on Memorial Day, just a week away.
After the carriage passed, I crossed the street on my bike and turned left onto the Riverwalk along the river and into Cascade Springs Park. When I was under the trees in the park, the village seemed to fade away, and I felt I was in the Cascade Springs that my ancestress Rosalee must have known, the one that was wooded and had a mixed community of Native American tribes and white settlers. Some of those white settlers were French fur traders, and other were new settlers like my ancestress who had been displaced by the War of 1812.
As I rode deeper in the woods, the pavement stopped and I began to ride on just packed m
ulch and dirt. The pungent smell of the mulch assaulted my nose. The parks department must have just put down new mulch, as they did every year at the beginning of the tourist season. The village was getting ready for the crowds.
Emerson lifted his nose in the air. He smelled the mulch too. The little cat sat back in the basket and looked at me with those bright-green eyes. His mouth was turned up into a knowing smile. I rolled my eyes. “You make it very hard to stay annoyed with you.”
He settled down into the basket as if he was happy with that knowledge. I shook my head.
We rode by the spring where I collected the water.
“Come out!” a hushed voice called.
I slowed my bike to a stop and listened.
“I can help!” the voice called again.
I got off my bike and pointed at Emerson. “Stay there,” I whispered. “I’m going to see who’s in the woods.”
The little tuxie hunched down in the bicycle’s wire basket.
I followed the shouts to the other side of the springs. I spotted Bobby thrashing his way through the bushes. If he was trying to be quiet as he searched the woods, he was doing a poor job of it.
Bobby jumped. “Violet! What are you doing here?”
“I could be asking you the same.”
“I—I’m out on a hike.”
I frowned. “I didn’t know you hiked. I thought you were strictly into cycling.”
He forced a laugh. “It’s always good to cross-train. You can’t get too used to an exercise.”
“Have you seen Jo?” I asked.
He looked in every direction except at me. “No, not since race day.”
“Aren’t you worried about her?”
He laughed again. “She will turn up. Jo lands on her feet.”
I wondered how he knew this, and then it hit me. I was alone in the woods with a possible killer. Even I knew this wasn’t good.
“Don’t look at me like that, Violet.” Bobby sounded hurt.
“Look at you like what?” I asked as casually as possible.
Verse and Vengeance Page 17
