“So where is this threatening note?” John asked. Though Susan and I had both offered him our chairs, he remained standing.
“Here it is.” I waited while John slipped on a pair of gloves, then handed him the envelope.
“Stop prying or you’re next,” he read aloud. “Where did you find this?”
“Susan found it on the floor outside the office when she arrived.”
John turned to Susan and asked her a barrage of questions: What time had she entered the library? Did anyone rush by her in the parking lot? As she entered the library? Did she notice anyone near the office? Finally satisfied that she couldn’t identify the person who had delivered the note, he told her he’d like to speak to me privately.
“Of course,” Susan said, and left the office.
“So,” John said, settling into the chair she’d just vacated. “A warning from the possible murderer. I’ll have this checked for fingerprints.”
I gave him a half smile. “You have my prints on record. I’ll tell Susan to stop by the precinct to have hers taken.”
“Thanks, Carrie.” He drew a deep breath. “A similar warning was left for Billy Harper at the gym this morning.”
“What did his note say?” I asked.
“Remind your mother that silence is golden.”
“Oh.”
He fixed his gaze on me. “You told no one she was coming to stay with him?”
“Absolutely not.” When John continued to stare at me, I added, “Well, I mentioned it to Angela, but I know she didn’t say a word to anyone. And when Billy called this morning to say his mother would like to see Dylan and me, I invited them to dinner, then called Dylan and Aunt Harriet about dinner Wednesday night.”
John snorted. “Anyone else you care to add to the list?”
I thought a moment before shaking my head. “No one. Though I happened to say I thought there might be a break in the case real soon, which might have left some people with the impression that I knew something.” I gave him a guilty smile. “And I might have said that maybe something or someone would turn up soon. Sorry.”
John leaned across the desk to glare at me. “Which people exactly might have gotten the impression that you know more than you told them?”
I frowned. “Believe me, I had no intention of talking to the movie people about the homicides, but they brought up the subject, and my mother just had to brag about her daughter, the detective. She told them I was most likely working the case, no matter how much I denied it.”
“Which movie people specifically?”
“Let’s see—Charlie Stanton, Tom, Marissa Varig, Serena Harris, and Hattie Fein, the hair and makeup artist. Oh, and Ralph, the sound engineer, was crawling around on the floor, though I don’t know if he heard.”
John whipped out a small notepad and made a note of what I’d just told him. When he finished writing, I said, “I suppose that means one of them is the killer and sent out the warnings.”
“Not necessarily. Any one of them could have mentioned what you said to other people in Firestone Productions. Like the director and the cameraman.” He pursed his lips, a sign that he was angry. “Unfortunately, word leaked out that Patricia Harper aka Sheila Rossetti is coming to the area to visit her son. The person responsible will never make a mistake like that again.”
Did Danny Brower accidentally spill the beans? “I have one more person to add to the list,” I said. “Al Tripp, our mayor, was here in the library at the time this note was delivered,” I said.
John raised his eyebrows. A smile tugged at his lips. I felt myself growing angry.
“Come on, John. You can’t just shrug him off because he’s the mayor. Remember, Alvin Tripp was smitten with Patricia Harper around the time her husband was knifed. And, I might add, except for the rehearsal play reading, I’ve never seen him in the library before. So there!”
To give John credit, he didn’t smile. He didn’t snort. He didn’t frown. “And you’ll remember,” he answered calmly, “he had an airtight alibi for the night Chet Harper was killed. But I’ll talk to Al, along with everyone else you mentioned, and ask him what he was doing in the library.”
Mollified, I nodded. “Since you’re here, I want to run something by you.” I proceeded to tell him my theory regarding Hattie Fein’s barrette and the picture frames in Sheila Rossetti’s living room. “The work is so similar, John. I know it might be no more than a coincidence, but it might be a link.”
“I’ll check it out, Carrie. Now, getting back to this warning. I don’t have to remind you not to do anything that might encourage the killer to take action against you. No sleuthing. Got it?”
“Of course. But as I told you, I invited Billy and his mother to dinner Wednesday night. And Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco, since Aunt Harriet tried to help her all those years ago.”
“That’s fine. Nothing wrong with all of you getting together.”
I suddenly had an idea. “John, you’re planning to have Sheila—we have to start thinking of her as Sheila—come down to the precinct, right?”
“Of course I want to interview her, since her husband’s murder was never solved, but I can’t order her to come in. And I understand she’s—shall we say—rather delicate.”
“She is nervous and easily upset,” I agreed. “It must have been very difficult for her to decide to come back here.”
“Billy read the threatening note to his mother over the phone. She refused to cancel her visit. She said it was high time she took a stand for Daphne’s sake and his.”
“I suppose that means she’ll head over to the station to tell you what she knows as soon as she arrives.”
John exhaled noisily. “Not necessarily. She’s already taking a big step by returning to Clover Ridge. Giving up this person is something else. Sheila Rossetti will decide when and where to talk to me.”
“John, what if you and Sylvia came to dinner Wednesday night too? I needn’t introduce you as the police chief—at least, not at first. Or do you think Sheila will be overwhelmed by so many of us?”
“Run it by Billy, and I’ll ask Sylvia what she thinks. She’s better at situations like this than I am.”
I called Billy’s cell phone and got his voice mail, so I left a message. When I disconnected, Evelyn reappeared.
“Twice in one day,” I said. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“I happened to overhear your conversation with John Mathers,” she said.
“Happened to?” I grinned.
She sent me a frosty look. “Carrie dear, you did ask me to stay informed about ongoing cases we’re investigating.”
Were we investigating these homicides? I smiled, not wanting to get into an argument with my friendly ghost. “So I did. I’m happy to see you, Evelyn.”
“I think inviting John and Sylvia to your dinner with Billy and his mother is an excellent idea. It might be easier for her to talk to the police chief about what’s been terrifying her till now in a friendly environment rather than down at the station.”
“I was thinking the same thing. I’m so glad today’s warning didn’t scare her off.”
“Don’t forget for one minute that you’ve received your own warning,” Evelyn said firmly.
“Don’t worry. I’m not planning to raise suspicions by questioning anyone, but I did start to research the movie people online—something I should have done right after Ilana was murdered.” I let out a sigh of frustration. “Though I don’t expect to uncover anything in their bios and press releases that will reveal murderous tendencies. I’ve already checked out Hattie Fein and learned nothing worthwhile.”
“Why don’t we do that right now, unless you have some library work to take care of this afternoon?” Evelyn said.
“I have to call two presenters regarding upcoming programs; then I’m all yours.”
“Great! This way we can discuss anything that sets off warning bells. After all, two heads are better than one.”
Ten minutes later, I turned to my computer and typed in Dirk Franklin. “So many listings,” I mumbled. I felt a chill as Evelyn glanced over my shoulder. “I’ll read them out to you,” I said quickly.
“Oh, sorry,” she apologized as she stepped back. “When I visit the library, I sometimes forget I’m no longer in my earthly form.”
I read parts of Dirk’s bio aloud—the schools he attended, several plays he acted in and directed. He’d been married twice. “How sad. His first child, a boy, was afflicted with a rare disease. He died at age ten.”
Evelyn tsk-tsked her sympathy.
I checked out a few articles about Dirk. “There’s nothing here that’s helpful regarding the murders. We know Dirk visited Clover Ridge when he was younger, and he was here around the time Chet Harper was murdered.”
“And he’s here now,” Evelyn said, “when the two recent murders were committed.”
“John questioned him and never charged him,” I said.
“That doesn’t mean he’s innocent,” Evelyn pointed out. “Just that there’s no evidence linking him to the crimes.”
“I believe John’s still waiting for some tests to come back, but the internet’s no help where Dirk is concerned.”
“Don’t be discouraged. On to the next,” Evelyn said.
“Charlie Stanton,” I said, clicking away on the keys.
I read to myself about Charlie’s early years growing up in Montana, where his parents owned a ranch. His entry into movies and TV. His bout with alcoholism and two failed marriages.
“Anything of interest?” Evelyn asked.
“A list of his movies and TV shows and guest appearances,” I said. “He was drinking heavily in his early forties. Oh my God!”
“What is it?”
For a moment I couldn’t speak because I was hyperventilating. “Charlie was driving drunk when he struck a woman and her child. They both survived with injuries. Charles Stanton was fined fifty thousand dollars and spent four months in jail. He swore never to touch another drop of liquor as long as he lived.”
“He’s lucky he didn’t kill them,” Evelyn said.
I read further. “Charlie Stanton has contributed part of every film he’s made since then to MADD—Mothers Against Drunk Driving.”
“As he should,” Evelyn declared.
I looked at her. “I had no idea that Dirk had lost a child and Charlie is a reformed drunk.”
“Why should you?” Evelyn replied. “You hardly know them. They aren’t your friends. What about Tom, your mother’s husband?”
“Tom? What could he have done that was out of the ordinary except marry my mother?”
I looked up Thomas Randall Farrell, which was Tom’s full name. I read a bit, then said, “He did well in school and was a success in finance until he moved on to acting. Oh!”
“What is it?” Evelyn asked.
I released a deep sigh. “Tom’s father killed his wife when Tom was three years old. He was tried and sent to prison.”
“How awful!” Evelyn said.
We stared at each other.
“Poor Tom,” I said. “My mother never told me anything about Tom’s life or his family.”
“I wonder if his father is still in prison. I wonder if he’s still alive,” Evelyn said.
“I have no idea.” I thought a moment. “That means Tom was brought up by a relative.”
“Or he was adopted,” Evelyn said. “Or raised in foster homes.”
I looked at Evelyn, knowing my face bore an expression as sad as hers. “Poor Tom. I suppose it explains why my mother is so protective of him.”
“Everyone is walloped by some trauma or tragedy when they least expect it. The way we cope helps form the people we become,” Evelyn said.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Take you, for example, Miss Carrie Singleton. You had plenty of rough patches in your life, with your father a thief, your parents’ divorce, and poor Jordan’s early demise. But you rallied, and you’re leading a well-rounded, productive life.”
“Well, thank you, Mrs. Havers.” My face grew warm as I blushed from her praise. “I’ll look up Ronnie Rodriguez and hope I don’t find anything too awful that happened to him.”
A few minutes later I read aloud, “Ronaldo Rodriguez immigrated to the United States with his family from Mexico. Okay, this article mentions a few of the movies he worked on. Two of them Charlie was in.”
“So they know each other from previous jobs,” Evelyn said.
“And I remember Charlie saying he and Serena had been in a few indie movies together and that he had parts in two or three of Dirk’s earlier movies.”
“Interesting.”
Her tone had me perking up my ears. “Why interesting?” I asked.
“Making movies involves long hours of people working together in close quarters. A breeding ground for strong friendships, affairs, animosities, and romance.”
“Isn’t that the truth? Look how quickly Ilana and Tom rekindled their relationship.”
“But even if someone in the cast or crew had it in for Ilana, it doesn’t account for Daphne’s murder or the killer’s fear that Pattie Harper will reveal his identity.”
“I know,” I said. “We’re back to square one. I can’t see a connection between Ilana’s murder and Chet Harper’s twenty years ago.”
“Hopefully, his widow will provide some information or insight into the case,” Evelyn said, and promptly disappeared.
Billy called a few minutes later. When I asked him if he thought his mother would mind having the police chief at dinner Wednesday night, he offered to phone her ASAP to find out. Fifteen minutes later he called back with good news.
“Mom says that will be fine, since she was planning to talk to Lieutenant Mathers and thinks it will be easier to talk to him in your home.”
“Of course! They can talk privately for as long as they like.”
I called Dylan to give him an update on everything I’d learned since I’d arrived at the library that morning.
“Wow!” he exclaimed when I’d finished. “Lots has been happening. I’m glad Sheila Rossetti is okay with John and Sylvia coming to dinner. It should make for an interesting evening.”
He’d no sooner hung up than the phone rang. I smiled when I heard Sylvia Mathers’s voice. She was warm and forthright. We shared a special bond because she’d known Aunt Harriet since she was a little girl.
“Hello, Carrie. I understand we’ll be coming to dinner Wednesday evening—if your guest of honor approves.”
“She’s already given her okay, so if you and John are free, I’d love to have you join us. Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco will be coming too.”
“I’m looking forward to it! It’s been too long since we’ve seen them. That goes for you and Dylan as well. How is your handsome boyfriend?”
“Busy in his new office.”
“I know you’re at work, so I won’t keep you,” Sylvia said. “How about I bring a cheese-and-veggie dish? I just bought some asparagus and zucchini and make a mean casserole.”
“I’d love it! I’m serving barbecued chickens, and your casserole will be a great addition. Of course Aunt Harriet is bringing a dessert or two.”
“Of course she is,” Sylvia said. And we both laughed.
“See you Wednesday night,” I said, still smiling as I disconnected.