I handed the charge card and printed receipt to Sally. She looked at the card, turned it over a few times, and let out a disparaging sound. “Where did you find it? On the floor behind your desk?”
“Someone slipped it under my door while I was downstairs checking on the decorations.”
“Good thing I hadn’t canceled it yet. I’ll call the card company to make sure no one has used it in the past hour.”
I nodded and left as quickly as I could.
With the Halloween party under control, I thought it would be a good idea to resume working on the March–April newsletter I’d begun a few weeks earlier. I got out a copy of the January–February issue to use as my framework and whatever notices I’d collected so far for the new edition. Then I shot off e-mails to the various departments asking for a heads-up regarding special events they had planned for March and April. I sent one to Sally as well.
Trish, Susan, and I spent a peaceful afternoon working in harmony. At five, we left for home. Trish offered me a lift, but I chose to walk across the Green in the dying light of day. I couldn’t shake the fear that Dorothy was planning to ruin the Halloween party somehow.
I joined Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco in the den, where they were enjoying their usual glass of wine. Uncle Bosco got up to pour me a glass, and I sipped it eagerly.
“Rough day?” he asked.
“Just hectic.” I didn’t want to bring up the subject of the missing charge card or the fact that Dorothy Hawkins was pulling all sorts of tricks to make me look bad. Then I remembered. “I met Julia and Tacey at the children’s Halloween party. Julia wants me to visit them. I said I would.”
“Lovely!” Aunt Harriet beamed at me. “I think you two will become fast friends.”
I breathed in the delightful aroma of our dinner. “What have you prepared for us tonight?”
“Mushroom soup, followed by candied baked chicken, noodles, and roasted veggies.”
I grinned. “Sounds wonderful. Can’t wait to taste it all.”
Aunt Harriet stood. “In that case, I’ll see to our dinner. Make sure nothing’s burning. It should all be ready in ten minutes or so.”
When she left, Uncle Bosco said, “I ran into John Mathers today.”
My pulse quickened. “Really? Lieutenant Mathers in charge of Al’s homicide?”
“The very man. I had business in town hall. So did he.”
“Did you ask him about the case? What did he say?”
Uncle Bosco chuckled. “I don’t mean to make light of poor Al Buckley’s murder, but you’re as excited as a little kid getting a treat.”
I shrugged. “I’m simply curious. I hope the police have made some headway finding Al’s killer.”
“Unfortunately, there aren’t many leads. John’s pretty sure whoever poisoned Al was trying to shut him up about the Laura Foster case. He’s planning to question her family and friends again.”
“That makes sense. Did the police find any notes Al might have made about the Laura Foster case?”
“No, unfortunately. He kept everything on his iPad.”
“Which was stolen the night he was killed.”
Uncle Bosco leaned forward and squinted at me. “You’ve gotten pretty friendly with Laura’s younger boy, haven’t you?”
“Jared. Yes, we’ve become friends.”
When Uncle Bosco didn’t respond, I gasped. “You don’t think Jared killed his mother and Al Buckley!”
Uncle Bosco reached across the coffee table to pat my shoulder. “I worry about you, Carrie. I don’t want you mixed up in a family involved in two homicides. You’ve been running around like a mad hare these past few years, and now that you’ve finally settled down in a good job, you choose the oddest people as your friends.”
I felt as though I’d been slapped. “Jared’s a very nice person. Really, he is.” I stood. “I think I’ll see if Aunt Harriet can use some help.”
“Don’t go yet.” The plaintive note in his voice stopped me. I sank back into my chair.
“I’m sorry I upset you. It’s just—your aunt and I have gotten so used to having you living here. We’re going to miss you.”
I gave a little laugh. “I’m only moving a few miles away. And I’ll be at the library every day if you ever need to see me.”
“I know. I’m just a silly old man.”
“You’re not a silly old man.” I put my arms around him. “You’re the dearest relative I have in all the world. I don’t know what would have become of me if I hadn’t come to live with you and Aunt Harriet back in May. Everything was so bleak then. I had nothing to look forward to.”
Uncle Bosco patted my arm. “You did right to come home to Clover Ridge.”
Home? Do I consider Clover Ridge my home?
“Dinner’s ready!” Aunt Harriet called.
“Be right there.”
Dinner was as wonderful as I knew it would be. When we finished eating, I helped Aunt Harriet clear the table. While she loaded the dishwasher, I placed the leftovers in containers and stacked them in the refrigerator. We chatted about the Halloween party and my upcoming move as we worked.
After she put away her apron, Aunt Harriet said, “You know you’re welcome to have dinner here with us any night you like.”
“Thank you, Aunt Harriet.” I hugged her. “My library hours are crazy. I’ll probably eat out or bring in food more often than not.”
“It’s time you started making your own dinners, my girl. Which is why I’ve printed up the recipes of some of your favorite dishes with easy, fail-safe directions.”
She handed me a pack of five-by-seven cards, each neatly printed in her careful handwriting. I flipped through them: meatballs, chicken dishes, various soups and vegetable dishes. Even her apple-walnut pancakes.
“I left out desserts,” Aunt Harriet said. “Figured you could come here for those. Or I could make enough for you to take home with you.”
I had trouble swallowing the lump in my throat. “Thank you. This is the nicest present I’ve ever received.”
“A packet of recipes? Pshaw.” Harriet waved her hand to make light of it, but I could see how happy she was that I appreciated her gift. “They’re usually handed down from mother to daughter.”
“Not my mother,” I said. “I don’t think she ever made us a meal that wasn’t frozen or didn’t come out of a can.”
Harriet sank into a kitchen chair. “Have you heard from her lately?”
“Nope.” I looked at her, wondering why she was asking. My aunt and uncle knew I hated talking about my parents. “Haven’t spoken to Brianna, as she likes to be called now, since I called asking if I could stay with her and Tom and was told their Hollywood life was too hectic for me to come.”
“And your dad?”
I shrugged. “He sent me a card last Christmas. I have no idea where he is.”
“A pity. They should know you’re here in Clover Ridge working at a wonderful job.”
The faint sound of my cell phone playing its jingle saved me from commenting. I took the stairs two at a time and managed to pull my phone out of my pocketbook on the fourth ring.
“Hello?” I said breathlessly, wondering if Jared had learned something new about the murders.
“I was about to give up,” a male voice said. “Sorry I made you run to answer your phone.”
“Who is this?” I asked. My heartbeat sped up, because suddenly I knew.
“Dylan Avery, your landlord.”
The touch of humor in his voice made me smile. “Hello, Dylan. How are you?”
“Fine. I just found out I’m flying out west on business tomorrow. I’d like to go over a few items—have you sign the lease and give you the key to the cottage—before I leave. Could you meet me this evening or tomorrow morning? I know you work, but if you prefer tomorrow, I could make it as early as six thirty.”
A thrill surged through my body. Dylan Avery wanted to see me! I shook my head to clear it of fanciful thoughts. We were getting together to take care of business, nothing else.
“Tonight will be fine,” I said. “Where do you suggest we meet?”
“My lawyer’s office is a few blocks from your aunt and uncle’s house. Why don’t I pick you up in, say, fifteen, twenty minutes?”
“Sounds good.”
“And Carrie, no need to bring your checkbook. I won’t be taking a security deposit from you.”
“That’s a relief.” I hadn’t given it much thought.
I put on fresh lipstick and a bit of blue eye shadow and mascara and then changed into a pair of new black leggings and a red velour tunic. Then I went downstairs to the den to tell my aunt and uncle I’d be going out.
“You look lovely,” Aunt Harriet said. “Where are you off to?”
“To sign my lease. Dylan is leaving town tomorrow and wants to give me the keys to the cottage, et cetera.”
“Now’s a strange time to sign a lease,” Uncle Bosco grumbled.
“Good night. Sleep well.” I blew them each a kiss.
I shrugged into my jacket, glad I’d soon be living in my own place. As much as I loved my aunt and uncle, I was beginning to feel smothered by their comments and questions.
I waited in the kitchen almost half an hour until a black BMW pulled in front of the house. I hurried out into the chill October air and down the concrete stairs to the street. Dylan reached across the seat to open the passenger door for me.
“Nice wheels,” I said as I stepped inside.
We took off swiftly and smoothly.
“Sorry for the delay. Last-minute business calls took more time than I thought.”
We drove along Main Street and turned left on Walnut. Dylan pulled into the driveway and parked in the rear of a yellow-brick four-story building with a large oval window on the top floor. The parking lot was empty except for two other cars.
“Ken’s not here, but he lets me use his office when I need to set up a business meeting at odd times.”
“Ken? Is your lawyer Ken Talbot?”
“You know him?”
The surprise in his voice made me smile. I had a feeling very little surprised Dylan Avery. “I do.”
“Of course,” he said wryly. “All Clover Ridge residents tend to know one another.”
I was about to point out that I wasn’t a Clover Ridge resident but realized that was no longer true.
We climbed out of the car. Dylan unlocked the rear door of the building and led me to an office on the top floor. It was the one with the large window.
“This is lovely,” I said as I studied the few pieces of antique Chinese furniture and the paintings on the walls.
“So you’ve never been here before?” Dylan asked.
“No. I’ve only been to Ken’s house.”
“Really?” was his dry comment.
“Really.”
I didn’t know why I was playing at being mysterious—except that I was enjoying myself. Probably because from the little I knew of him, Dylan Avery was used to having all the answers.
He led me into a smaller room with leather chairs around an oval table, which was bare except for a manila folder and a few pens. Dylan picked up the folder and skimmed the papers inside.
“Ah, here it is. All in order. Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair beside the one in front of the folder.
“This is your lease.” He handed me one of the two stapled packets of pages. “It states your monthly rent, the fact that you can break the lease at any time, and your financial obligations if you deliberately damage anything in the cottage.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed. “I’ll be very careful with everything.”
“The lease states ‘deliberate,’ not ‘accidental.’”
“And you’d know the difference?”
“Of course.”
Weird, I thought but nodded in agreement. “I’d like to read through this, if you don’t mind.”
“Certainly. I’ll be in the next room. Please sign both copies and tell me when you’re done.” His cell phone was ringing as he got to his feet.
There were only four pages, so I had no problem getting through them in a matter of minutes. I signed both copies, saw that Dylan had already done so, and went to find him. He was standing in a corner of the other room with his back to me, engrossed in conversation.
“I want to examine them, make sure they’re authentic, before we act. Not a word to anyone, including your cop friends, or you’ll scare them off.” Silence. “You heard me: no police.” Another silence, then, “My ETA’s twelve fifty-three PM. You can meet me at the airport or wait till I catch a cab to your office. We’ll talk then.”
Dylan spun around so quickly, I jumped back in alarm.
“Sorry to have frightened you. I had to take that call. Now I’m shutting off my phone so we’ll have no more disturbances tonight.”
He shot me a smile so tender, all I could do was nod. Dylan Avery was a man of many moods. I was intrigued by his mysterious phone call, but he owed me no explanation.
“All read and signed?” he asked as we returned to the room where I’d left the copies of the lease.
“Read and signed.”
He examined the last page of both copies. “Terrific. Keep your copy. I’ll leave mine in the folder for Ken to hold. When are you planning to move in?”
“Saturday morning. I have a few questions, especially since you’re leaving town and I don’t know when you’ll be coming back.”
Dylan glanced at his watch. A Rolex, I thought, though I couldn’t be sure. “It’s eight fifty-three. How would you like to have a cup of coffee in the Cozy Corner Café and go over whatever’s on your mind?”
“I’d like that.”
We drove to the café and managed to park right in front. The place was all but deserted, with only a few booths occupied.
“The café clears out after dinner,” Dylan said.
Sal, the bald-headed owner, led us to a corner booth. “I saved you a piece of apple pie,” he told Dylan.
“Thanks, Sal, but first, I’ll have a cheeseburger with the works. And coffee.”
“And for you, miss? Know what you’d like?”
I glanced over at the covered bin of pastries on the counter. “Coffee and a piece of Russian coffee cake, please.”
“Coming right up.”
When he left, I asked, “Do you always eat dinner this late?”
“No. Tonight turned out to be more hectic than expected.”
I forced myself to concentrate on the important questions I needed to ask him.
“I’m concerned about getting to work during the winter months, when snow covers the road to the cottage. Especially since you won’t be there much of the time.”
Dylan handed me a folded sheet of paper. “I have a caretaker who looks after the property. Name is Jack Norris. Here are his numbers. Call him day or night, whenever you have a problem—a leaky faucet, the heat won’t work, the road needs plowing. He’s totally reliable.”
That’s a relief.
Dylan explained the heating system to me, where the fuse box was located, along with other household matters. He answered my questions calmly and patiently. There was no sign of the grumpy man I’d first spoken to on the phone.
Sal brought over our coffees, my dessert, and Dylan’s cheeseburger. From the way he devoured it, he must have been ravenously hungry.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I forgot to eat lunch. Haven’t had a thing since breakfast.”
He ate his apple pie more slowly but finished every crumb on his plate. We both welcomed a coffee refill.
I finished my large piece of cake because it was delicious. I’d better not eat too many sweets at tomorrow’s party. When I looked up, I realized that Dylan had been waiting to tell me something important.
“Yes?”
“As I told you, I’m often away for long periods at a time, and I’m usually on the move.” He cocked his head at me. “You did say you were willing to collect my mail twice a week.”
“Of course. It’s the least I can do, given your generous terms of my lease.”
“Very good. I’ll give you a key to my house, since the mail is delivered directly through the slot in the front door.”
Trust a thief’s daughter? “I’ll be happy to send you your mail, but giving me the key to your home is kind of weird. I mean, you hardly know me.”
Dylan burst out laughing. “Oh, I know you all right, Miss Carolinda Singleton. Though you wrote Carrie on the lease.”
My cheeks were burning. “I hate that name. I’ve been using Carrie since I was fourteen. Made it my legal name when I turned twenty-one.” I glared at him. “How did you know?”
“I used to play with your brother, Jordan, when the two of you came to spend summers on the farm.”
My brother. The farm. That’s why Dylan seemed familiar. Powerful emotions churned up inside me. “Jordan’s dead.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
We sat there quietly. I thought of my older brother, who had been killed in a car accident ten years ago.
“We met the summer you were four and I was eight,” Dylan said softly. “Jordan and I were playing ball in one of the meadows. You ran over and insisted we had to let you play.”
“Did you let me?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? We tried to explain you were too young, which made you mad. Finally, your mom came and took you away.”
“I don’t . . .” Suddenly I remembered crying as my mother walked me back to the house, promising me a piece of blueberry pie.
“And that’s why you trust me to take in your mail? Because you met me a few times when we were kids?”
“And because I’m a good judge of character.”
Dylan reached inside the breast pocket of his blazer and handed me an envelope. “Here’s the key to my front door and some cash to cover mailing charges and envelopes. Call and let me know what’s come in, and I’ll tell you which items to forward and where. You’ll let me know when you run out of cash.”
I nodded. “How long will you be away?”
His expression turned grim. “I can’t say, but I’ll come home as soon as I’m no longer needed.”
“What kind of work do you do?” I asked.
“I’m an investigator for an insurance firm. I’ve been tracking expensive gems that were stolen years ago and are now coming on the market.”