Two midsized cars stood in the DiSantos’ driveway, so I parked on the street in front of their modest home. The lawn had been mowed recently, and the flowers and shrubs bordering the house looked well cared for. I rang the bell. A woman who appeared to be in her early seventies answered the door. The fragrant aroma of food greeted me. That and the fact that she was wearing an apron told me the DiSantos were about to sit down to an early dinner.
“Hello, can I help you?” Though she was smiling, she appeared bewildered to have found me at her doorstep.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt your dinner preparations. I’m Carrie Singleton. I work at the library—”
“Of course! Two of my friends belong to the knitting and crocheting group that meets on Saturday. I’ve often thought of joining but somehow never managed to get there.”
“Who’s at the door?” a male voice called from another room. As the man approached, I recognized Sal DiSanto, a thin balding man in his mid-seventies. He sometimes read the newspaper in the reading room and occasionally came to the current events group well-known for its heated discussions.
“Oh, hello, Carrie! What brings you to our humble abode?”
Before I could respond, he was waving his hand, inviting me into the house. “Come inside and tell us what’s on your mind.”
“Well, I have Smoky Joe in the car and—”
“Bring the little guy in. We still have some of Muffins’ toys around somewhere, don’t we, Daisy?”
“I suppose we do. In a carton in the back of the coat closet. I’ll go get them.”
“Please don’t bother,” I protested, but Daisy had gone off to look for cat toys and Sal was urging me to get Smoky Joe. “Be right back,” I said and walked quickly to my car.
Minutes later, I found myself accepting the DiSantos’ invitation to dinner. I sat sipping a glass of sangria at the DiSantos’ kitchen table while both Daisy and Sal prepared the finishing touches to our meal. Smoky Joe had scampered off to the living room with a toy mouse that had belonged to the deceased Muffins after gobbling down several cat treats that Daisy said she kept on hand—just in case they had a feline visitor. They were the warmest, most hospitable couple. I could well understand why Evelyn’s brother had been drawn to Sal. He was that unusual person who attended to every word you said, and his comments were always thoughtful and wise.
They wouldn’t let me explain why I’d come to talk to them until we’d finished our antipasto and had started on our eggplant rollatini, one of my favorite dishes.
“So, what brings you here this evening?” Sal finally asked.
I finished chewing what was in my mouth and grinned. “I’ll tell you, but first let me say how much I’m enjoying my dinner. Daisy, you are a fabulous cook!”
Daisy beamed as she patted my hand. “Thank you, Carrie. I love feeding people.”
I looked at Sal. “Do you remember Harold Davis?”
“Of course I do. We were pretty good friends—until he took off and left his family.”
Daisy was nodding. “The two of them used to sit in our den or out on the patio when the weather was good, talking about everything under the sun.”
“Frankly, he was one of the few people who could discuss issues in an intelligent way.” Sal shot me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, but some of those regulars in the library current events group are too pigheaded to be believed. Even after the nonsense they spout is proven wrong, they refuse to see reason.”
I laughed. “Sometimes I can hear you guys going at it from behind my closed office door.”
Sal shook his head. “Then you know what I mean. But why are you asking me about Harold?”
“I know he disappeared fifteen years ago.”
“He did.” Sal set down his knife and fork and eyed me speculatively. A shiver shot up my spine. He knows something!
“The thing is, his daughter Michelle moved back to Clover Ridge about a year ago. She’s not doing very well.”
“Oh, no!” Daisy placed her hand on her heart. “Is she ill?”
“No. Her husband left her, which I imagine brought up the trauma caused when her father abandoned the family. She lost her job and was told she’d have to leave her apartment. The poor girl was despondent when we talked.” Because of the guarded way Sal was now watching me, I decided to omit the fact that Michelle was already doing considerably better.
Daisy opened her mouth to speak but a sharp glance from her husband silenced her.
“Why have you come to tell us this?” Sal asked.
“Because, except for a kind neighbor, Michelle has no one in the world to help her. She remembered that you were her father’s closest friend at the time he disappeared. I was hoping you might know how we could contact him.”
“I see,” Sal said. My loquacious host had suddenly become a man of few words.
“Can you tell me where he is? Or what name he’s using now?”
My second question had startled him. Whatever Salvatore DiSanto was privy to, he was reluctant to share it with me.
I leaned closer to him. “Is there a reason why, after all these years, you won’t tell me what you know about Harold? Is he still alive?”
Sal released a deep sigh. “That I can’t say. We lost touch a few years ago.”
Daisy tsk-tsked. “Sal did his best to convince Harold to give himself up, but the poor man was afraid for his life. He didn’t want his family to know where he was going. He figured this way the people he owed money to wouldn’t hurt them.”
“Where did he go?” I asked.
“To Mexico. He had just enough money for the flight. He had a college friend who’d moved down there. Of course, he didn’t fly anywhere near the town where his pal lived. He ended up taking a long bus trip to the place and changed his name.”
“To?” I said.
Sal chuckled. “Lee Kirby. Lee because he always liked the name and hated Harold. Kirby because, like George Kerby, the ghost in the Topper books and movies, he was becoming a ghost, only he changed the spelling. And so Lee Kirby was born.”
“That’s where he is now? In Mexico?”
“He left a year or so later and moved to Texas, then settled down in New Mexico. Eventually found himself a wife and started a new family. Started attending Gamblers Anonymous religiously and got involved in his new wife’s family business. They own a few car dealerships. Was running one of ’em when I last heard from him.”
“Nice guy,” I said.
“I don’t condone what he did,” Sal said, “but Harold never lost the fear that the client he’d stolen from would come after him, even after he’d paid all the money back some years later. I helped him do that.” Sal nodded. “The man’s old now. Still, he was a rough customer so the fear lives on.”
“Then there’s no real reason why Michelle couldn’t contact her father. I bet he’d love to hear from her. And she could really use a parent’s support.”
Sal shrugged. “You can try. Last I heard from him, they were living in Albuquerque.”
“Thanks, Sal. I know Harold must have sworn you to secrecy, but that was fifteen years ago.”
“I never told a soul but Daisy till just now.”
“Tell me one thing. Why did the two of you lose touch?”
Sal’s smile was bittersweet. “Harold didn’t need me any longer.”
Dylan called me as I was driving home from the DiSantos’, mulling over what I’d learned about Michelle’s father.
“Hi, babe. Did you go to the gym after work? I tried the landline, and when you didn’t pick up I figured that’s where you were.”
“I’m on my way home. I ended up having dinner at Daisy and Sal DiSantos’.”
“And they are?”
I laughed. “Sal knew Michelle’s father and kept in touch with him for years after he left Clover Ridge. He told me that Harold changed his name and was living in New Mexico last time he heard from him.”
“That’s terrific! Rosalind can probably find the guy now, unless he changed his name again or croaked. Listen, do we have any plans this weekend?”
“I don’t think so. Aunt Harriet is having a barbecue July Fourth, but that’s next Thursday. Why?”
“I thought it would be nice to take Gary out to dinner Saturday evening. Maybe start out midafternoon, if you’re free, and show him the area.”
“Sure, I’m off Saturday. Though my weeknights are fast filling up, and not with work,” I groused.
“What did you let someone talk you into?” Dylan asked.
“Al Tripp’s out to put me on the town council.”
“Your uncle warned you he’d be calling. Just say no if you want.”
“I will, after our dinner at the Inn on the Green.”
Dylan whistled. “Dinner at the Inn! He’s dead serious about wanting you on the board. Talk to you later. I’m on my way to the gym.”
I was in high spirits when I turned onto the road that led to the Avery estate. Complaining to Dylan about Al wanting me on the town council made me realize something. As Dylan had pointed out, I could have said no. But I hadn’t. Which meant I was interested in finding out more about the position and what was involved. Dylan hadn’t told me what he thought I should do, but respected whatever decision I made.
It meant a lot to me that Dylan wanted me to get to know Gary Winton, the young investigator he’d just hired. Further proof—as if I needed any—that our lives were entwined. Yet we still had our work and our personal space. Our situation suited me just fine.
The first thing I did when I got to my office Tuesday morning was call Rosalind to tell her that Harold Davis now called himself Lee Kirby, and was quite possibly living in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
“And he’s about—how old would you say?” she asked.
“Anywhere between mid-fifties and mid-sixties. I could call Michelle to find out.”
“Please do that,” Rosalind said. “And find out the color of his hair and eyes. I can do some photo research, though given his history, he might shy away from photos.”
I called Michelle’s cell phone. She was out of breath when she answered.
“Hi, Michelle. It’s Carrie. I’ve got some news for you.”
“Oh, Carrie! I’m on my way to the interview for that job I told you about.”
“Sorry. I won’t keep you, but I wanted to tell you I saw the DiSantos. Sal told me your father changed his name and might be living in New Mexico.”
“Really? So he kept up with Sal but not with his own family except to send Mom money twice.” She sounded hurt and angry. I couldn’t blame her.
“Michelle, a description of your father would help. What color eyes does he have?”
“Brown.”
“And his hair?”
She laughed. “Brown—what there was of it. Could be gray by now.”
“Balding and brown or gray hair. Did he wear glasses?”
“Yes. Tried contacts once but hated putting them in his eyes.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know when I get results. Good luck with the job.”
“Thank you, Carrie.”
Evelyn must have been lurking around my office because she appeared the moment I ended my call to her niece.
“Sounds like you’re hot on Harold’s trail.”
“So it would seem.” I speed-dialed Dylan’s office. “I’m calling Rosalind to give her your brother’s description now.”
Rosalind said she’d get back to me ASAP, but that might not be till the afternoon because there was some office work that she had to take care of first.
“Of course. I understand,” I said and relayed what she’d told me to Evelyn.
“In that case, I’ll be back later,” Evelyn said as she disappeared.
I looked in on the programs in progress, then answered a few emails and phone calls. Trish arrived, bubbling over with news about her children, who had started day camp the day before.
“Let’s work on the August–September newsletter. I’d like to have it ready to go to the printers on Friday,” I said. “Most of the layout is done, and we have more than enough of Susan’s sketches to choose from.”
Trish grimaced. “We’re still waiting for articles from the usual procrastinators.”
“Don’t I know it. I’ll walk over and give Marion a gentle prod and text Harvey a reminder.”
Trish smiled. “I’ll tackle Harvey for you.”
“Thanks. Much appreciated.”
“In fact, I’ll go right now.”
I watched Trish close the office door behind her, thanking my lucky stars that I had her and Susan as my part-time assistants. Trish was ultra-efficient and Susan was artistic, and I made great use of both their talents. Harvey Kirk, the head of the library’s computer department, was acerbic and not very sociable. What’s more, he was the only one of my colleagues who had a gripe against me because I’d once suspected him of having murdered a fellow librarian. What’s more, he probably also resented the fact that I knew about his gambling problem and that he sometimes used library time to check out gambling sites and place bets online.
I walked over to the children’s section, where Marion was involved in an activity with a group of preschoolers. I found Gayle, her assistant, in their office and told her I needed their report ASAP. That accomplished, I returned to my office.
The library phone was ringing. “Hello, this is Carrie Singleton, head of programs and events.”
“Hi, Carrie. This is Angela’s cousin, Donna. I know it’s short notice, but I’d like to talk to you. Is there any chance I can treat you to lunch today?”
Why does everyone want to feed me? “Sure, that should work. I usually have lunch with Angela at noon but she’s still away on her honeymoon.”
“Would it be possible to make it one o’clock instead? I’m running errands and don’t think I can get to Clover Ridge until then.”
“All right. Where shall we meet?”
“Have you eaten at Tea and Crumpets?”
“Not yet,” I said. The new bakery-restaurant was located on the west side of the Green, the side that had been neglected by developers until recently.
“The food is scrumptious. They have excellent sandwiches, quiches, and salads.”
“So I’ve heard. But you don’t have to—”
“Don’t be silly. It’s my pleasure. See you at one.”
I stared at the phone, the click of her hang-up echoing in my ear. Donna Harrington didn’t sound like a woman who had just lost her husband.