Uncle Bosco called us to the table, where our names were written on cards in lovely calligraphy. I silently cheered because my place was between Lieutenant Mathers and Dylan. Julia and I helped Aunt Harriet serve the butternut squash soup. When we were all seated, Uncle Bosco led us in a short prayer of thanksgiving. Then he asked us to say what we were thankful for. The kids giggled as they mentioned toys they’d received. The adults appreciated their good health, their families, or having the opportunity to share this Thanksgiving with dear friends.
“I’m thankful I had the good sense to come home to Clover Ridge,” I said, suddenly all choked up.
“We’re so glad you did.” Aunt Harriet beamed at me across the table.
I finished my soup and looked at Dylan. He was trying his best to hold a conversation with Ruth Claymont, so I turned to Lieutenant Mathers. “Nice to see you here today, Lieutenant.”
“Since today’s a holiday, why don’t you call me John?” His smile transformed his face. It struck me that he was a good-looking man.
“Certainly. If you’ll call me Carrie.”
“Will do.” After a moment, he asked, “Are you enjoying your job at the library?”
“I love it.”
“I hope you and Jared Foster have given up playing detective.” A touch of his old seriousness returned.
“I think we’ve exhausted all our leads. Though I have something for you.”
“Really? What is it?”
I retrieved the envelope with Laura’s pages from the tote bag I’d brought and handed it to him. “It’s kind of a journal Laura Foster wrote before she died. She hid it in the library attic.”
I barely suppressed the giggles rising like bubbles when I caught his look of total amazement.
He held the envelope on his lap and glanced at the pages. “How the hell did you find this?”
I shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”
John started to say something when Sylvia asked him a question.
Dylan was watching me, an amused expression on his face. “What have you been up to?”
“Later.”
Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco left the table to bring in the rest of the meal. Julia and I collected the soup dishes and carried them into the kitchen. When I sat down again, John asked, “Do you have any idea who L is?”
My pleasure knew no bounds! Lieutenant Mathers of the Clover Ridge Police Department was asking my opinion about the murders.
“There are three possibilities,” I said in a low voice. “Laura’s neighbor Lou Devon; Helena’s late husband, Lloyd Koppel; and Laura’s old friend Harold Lonnigan.”
John stroked his chin. “We’ll talk later.” He pushed the pages back into the envelope and placed it under his chair.
I put a little of everything on my plate—cranberry relish, turkey, green beans, stuffing, and sweet potato casserole. It all tasted heavenly. I’d hardly made a dent in my food when I realized I was full. Still, I kept on eating. When I’d finished all I could manage, I looked up and saw dazed expressions on the faces around me. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who had overeaten.
Julia, Sylvia, and I cleared the table. Aunt Harriet put away the leftovers while I loaded the dishwasher. We all agreed dessert would have to wait and returned to the dining room while the men wandered into the den to watch the football game.
Somehow we managed to consume a goodly amount of dessert as well. I ate a piece of the apple cake Julia had made, a nice-sized wedge of pecan pie, and a scoop of ice cream Sylvia and John had brought. I passed over my brownies, which I could always make. I was pleased to see Dylan take a brownie and hear Uncle Bosco praise them. After dessert, the men returned to the football game. Mark and Tacey ran around the living room until Julia told them to stop. Tacey began to cry and went to sit on her mother’s lap. We cleared the dessert dishes, and Aunt Harriet insisted that everyone take home what was left of their desserts, or else she’d eat herself into a coma.
Too soon, it was over. The Claymonts said a general good-bye and took their leave. I hugged Randy, Julia, and Tacey good-bye. Mark shook my hand again. Sylvia and I went into the den, where the three remaining men were watching the game.
“Time to go, honey,” she said to John.
He rose slowly from the sofa, his eyes still on the TV.
Dylan and I nodded to one another as though agreeing with Sylvia. We hadn’t said much to one another all evening, but I was constantly aware of his presence.
“We’ll be leaving too, Uncle Bosco.” I leaned over to kiss his forehead. “Great dinner.”
“Made especially wonderful because you were here.”
Sylvia hugged me good-bye.
John gave me a solemn look. “We’ll talk. Meanwhile, don’t do anything foolish.”
“Of course not.”
I went into the kitchen to say good-bye to Aunt Harriet. She’d filled several containers of food for me to take home.
“This was the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.” I grabbed her in a bear hug.
“Oh, honey, you’ve made it special for your uncle and me.” Then she turned to Dylan, who’d been standing behind me. “I’m so glad you were able to come.”
“Spending Thanksgiving with you meant more to me than you can imagine.”
His words surprised me, but not as much as seeing him and Aunt Harriet embrace.
We carried the packages of food out to the car and started for home. Coming here, I’d felt both exhilarated and shy riding next to Dylan. Now I felt relaxed and comfortable in his presence.
“What were you and John Mathers talking about right after he and Sylvia arrived?” I asked.
“He asked about my latest case. And I wanted to know how the investigation into Al Buckley’s homicide was progressing.”
“Did you know Al?”
Dylan nodded. “Al’s a major reason I became an investigator. We had a few good conversations after I graduated from college without the slightest idea what to do with my life. He was a great guy. Must have been a hell of a detective before he started drinking.”
“I liked him too, though we’d only spoken briefly the night he died.”
“Freakish, that—a retired detective poisoned in our local library.”
“What did John have to say?”
“Not much. Seems they hadn’t found anything conclusive pointing to any one person.”
“I gave John a sort of journal Laura kept before she died. I found it in the library attic.”
Dylan’s body stiffened. “Carrie, I hope you haven’t told anyone else what you’ve found.”
“I was going to tell Jared, but—”
“Don’t tell Jared or anyone else in that family!” Dylan swerved to the edge of the road and stopped the car. He grabbed me by both shoulders. “Promise me you won’t.”
“Okay, I won’t. But why the alarm all of a sudden? I’ve met his family a number of times. I’ve never felt threatened by any of them.”
Dylan leaned back and exhaled loudly. “This was told to me in the strictest of confidences, so keep it to yourself: John is convinced the killer is a member of the family. He can’t move on it because he only has the testimony of one witness and no clear evidence.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Surely he doesn’t think Jared murdered his mother. He’s so intent on finding the person who killed her and Al. Now, his brother Ryan’s a hothead, but even so, I can’t see him as a killer.”
“Did Jared tell you about the time he spent in a psychiatric hospital?”
“No. When was this?”
“A month or so after Laura’s murder. He became violent, worse than his brother. Got into fights in school. Beat up a kid so badly, he almost lost an eye. Bryce couldn’t control him and had him committed. He stayed in the hospital for a couple of months.”
“It’s hard to believe. Jared seems fine now. He has a job. I’ve never seen him angry, even when Ryan goads him.”
“He’s good as long as he takes his meds.”
Dylan put the car in gear and edged back onto the road. As we headed for home, he said, “I know you guys are dating, and it’s not my place to tell you not to see him, but steer clear of discussing the murders—with Jared and the rest of the Fosters.”
“We’re not dating.”
Dylan had turned on the radio, and a blast of rock music drowned out my words.
When he pulled up in front of the cottage, I opened the bag that held the tin of brownies Aunt Harriet had returned to me.
“Why don’t you take these, since you like them so much?”
Dylan grinned. “I won’t say no.”
“Thanks for driving me,” I said.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
He surprised me by kissing my cheek. “Be careful, Carrie. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”