Chapter Seventeen

I spent the next few hours blocking out the May–June edition of our newsletter. The lead article was our Adopt-a-Pet Fair, which would be held on the library’s front lawn the first Saturday in May. Sally had agreed to the fair as long as I only invited three animal rescue agencies that agreed to bring a limited number of dogs and cats to the event. I’d just finished a lengthy conversation, explaining the restrictions to someone from the local animal shelter, when my library phone rang.

“Hello, Carrie. John Mathers here. I received the envelope you sent me.”

My heart pinged. “What envelope are you talking about?”

“Come on, Carrie. I know it’s from you. Who else skulks around the library playing detective?”

“I don’t skulk!”

“Sorry if the word offends you. Where exactly did you find it?”

I let out a humph of exasperation. “Okay, I know you asked me to stay out of the investigation, but I was just trying to be helpful. Anyway, the envelope was taped to the bottom of a reference desk drawer.”

“And you just happened to find it?” John asked, sounding skeptical.

“Everyone on staff has been filling in for Dorothy, taking turns in the reference area. I decided to check out the desk—see if she left anything that might prove of value.”

“And I can only assume you looked at the paper.”

“I happened to glance at it.” And made a copy of it too.

He cleared his throat. “Can you tell me what any of it means?”

John needs my help! I thrust my fist in the air. “Some of it.”

“Oh!” The syllable expressed surprise and resentment. “In that case, I’d like you to stop by the station on your way home from work.”

“Sorry, John, I can’t. Dylan’s on his way home and we—have plans.”

“I understand. In that case, why don’t I come over to the library now, and you can explain how you interpret Dorothy’s code—if it really is hers.”

“It’s Dorothy’s, all right,” I answered, but he’d hung up.

Ten minutes later John was striding into my office. Susan had just arrived. She read his expression and left. He thrust a paper in front of me, which I immediately saw was a copy of the original, and said, “Okay, explain!”

“Why are you so angry?” I asked. “I can’t help it if I found something you and your men missed. You should be glad I found this.”

“Sorry.” He sank into the chair Susan had just vacated and stretched out his long legs. “It’s been a long day.”

Smoky Joe chose that moment to scratch at the door. When I let him in, he flew immediately into John’s lap. As John stroked him, Smoky Joe began to purr. John leaned back and closed his eyes.

“I don’t know if you were aware,” I began, “but Dorothy made a habit of finding out things about people, things they preferred to keep secret.”

“And you know this how?” he asked, his voice relaxed. Smoky Joe was working his charm.

“Angela told me this a few months ago when Dorothy was playing tricks on me.”

“You mean like smashing your car window?”

I stared at him. “I never reported it! Uncle Bosco must have told you.”

“He did. Your uncle knows it’s wise to keep us informed of such activities. People who commit these acts have a tendency to escalate their bad behavior.”

“Or have it turned against them,” I murmured.

“Case in point.”

I told John about Dorothy’s collection of vases and what I thought the initials and sums of money represented.

“So she extorted money from people she knew to buy those vases she had on display in her home.” John shook his head. “Some piece of work, that Dorothy Hawkins.”

I snorted. “I agree wholeheartedly.”

“What can you tell me about the initials? Any of them look familiar?”

I hesitated.

John laughed. “You love playing detective until some of the suspects turn out to be people you know.” He cocked his head. “Or work with.”

“All right. Two sets of initials could be Sally Prescott and Harvey Kirk, but you probably know that. I’ve no idea what Dorothy might have had on either of them, but Sally and Dorothy were once friends. And they argued.” I cleared my throat. “Actually, the day before Dorothy was killed.” I paused. “I know I should have mentioned it to you, but …”

I must have looked pitiful, because John reached over to pat my arm. “But Sally’s your boss and your friend. Don’t worry, Carrie. I won’t mention you when I talk to her and Harvey. And if it will make you feel any better, I figured out those initials and a few others besides. I’ll be having a chat with the people she’d been blackmailing.”

He walked to the door. “Say hello to your boyfriend for me. Tell Dylan I’ll give him a call over the weekend.”

*   *   *

I drove home, singing at the top of my voice along with the radio. I’d picked up enough Indian food for six people. Dylan had texted to say he’d be arriving home around six fifteen and wanted to shower and change his clothes before coming over. I texted back, asking him to bring a bottle of red from his wine collection.

My thoughts were positive as I drove. Soon Dylan would be coming home for good! That meant we’d be able to spend plenty of time together when we weren’t working. John and I were good. I’d told him about Sally’s argument with Dorothy the day before she’d been murdered, and he wasn’t angry with me for snooping around his homicide case. Maybe he’d find Dorothy’s murderer without any further help from me. After all, he had the authority to interview people again and again, while I could only ask the occasional question and hope I wasn’t raising hackles or suspicions.

I also felt much easier about Henry and Doris’s situation now that Uncle Bosco had offered to help them. Life was good and would remain so until I crashed into the next obstacle along the road.

Dylan got to the cottage a little after seven o’clock, freshly shaven and looking sexy in well-worn jeans and a rugby-style polo beneath a gray sweater. He stepped into the hall and grabbed me in a fierce hug, then we kissed for what seemed like minutes before he drew back so he could study me.

“You look wonderful, Carrie. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Me too.” I ran my hand along the side of his face.

Dylan sniffed. “Ah, Indian food! Smells delicious.”

“Tandoori chicken and shrimp tikka masala and saag paneer and—” I stopped because he’d made a beeline for the kitchen.

I placed the heated dishes on the table so Dylan could choose whichever and as much as he liked. From the way he grinned at the many selections, I gathered I’d made the right choices.

“Ah! Potato and onion kulcha! My favorite.” He bit into the bread and chewed. I laughed to see his delight.

We filled our plates and ate everything on them, then refilled them. Dylan asked me for an update on Dorothy’s homicide investigation, and I told him about John’s visit earlier that afternoon. Since he had no idea that a ghost was one of my best buds, I didn’t mention that Evelyn had shown me where Dorothy had hidden her ledger. If and when we grew closer, I’d tell him about Evelyn and hope he didn’t think I was delusional.

“By the way, John sends his regards. He said he’ll be calling you over the weekend.”

“Good,” Dylan said. “I want to talk to him.”

“About setting up your office in town?”

“He knows a few operators I might want to hire part time. And of a case or two that might interest me.” He started to fill his plate again.

“Leave room for dessert,” I advised him.

Dylan managed to polish off a serving each of rice kheer—Indian rice pudding—and ladoos—sweet balls of heaven. I couldn’t eat another morsel, so I refrigerated the leftovers and started stacking the dishwasher.

We had our coffee in the living room, sitting side by side on the sofa. I brought Dylan’s mug into the kitchen for a coffee refill. When I returned, he was fast asleep and gently snoring. I laughed as I covered him with an afghan. He awoke half an hour later and saw me reading in the corner lounge chair. Hand outstretched, he walked over to me and led me into the bedroom.

*   *   *

I awoke on Saturday morning to a furry face butting against mine and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Minutes later, I joined Dylan in the kitchen.

“I made a big carafe of coffee and fed the feline,” he said, pouring me a mugful. “I thought I’d let you decide what we eat for breakfast.”

“How do scrambled eggs and English muffins sound?” I said.

“With sausages?”

“Of course with sausages.”

I set the eggs, butter, and sausages on the counter, and the two frying pans on the range, and got to work.

“Mmm, delicious,” Dylan said, taking his first bite a few minutes later. This is a treat—not having to make my own breakfast or grab something in a coffee shop.”

“Where did you make your own breakfast?” I asked, suddenly on the alert.

“In my apartment. In Atlanta.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize you had an apartment there.”

Dylan shot me a quizzical look. “I never mentioned it? It’s only a studio apartment the company owns.”

“Yes, but I thought you were always off investigating cases.”

“Sure, but the company’s headquarters are in Atlanta. I often had meetings and interviews to attend to, and since I hate living out of a suitcase in a hotel room, Mac offered me an apartment.”

The butterflies batted against my chest. “Do you still have it—the apartment?”

Dylan sipped his coffee. “I’ve been so busy with this latest case, I haven’t had time to pack up all my stuff.”

“But you plan to, right?”

“Of course. When I’m back in Atlanta.”

“Back in Atlanta?” Had I misunderstood everything? No, I hadn’t. “Dylan, I thought, except for going back to tie up loose ends of that last case Mac had you investigate, you were planning to open an office in town.”

Dylan bit his lip. “Yes, that was the plan. Only … two days ago, Mac offered to make me a partner in the company. I thought it over till yesterday afternoon, when I gave him my decision.”

The butterflies’ wings beat against my ribs in their desperation to escape. “You’re staying with the company?”

“I am. I’ll be opening a branch in Connecticut and dealing with cases in the tri-state area and New England. Mac and I thought New Haven would be a good place to set up an office.”

“And not in Clover Ridge?” I knew I sounded like a little girl being told she wasn’t going to Disneyland after all, but I couldn’t help it.

“Carrie, my love, New Haven’s a half hour’s drive from here, an easy trip into Manhattan if I need to meet a client there.”

My dreams of having Dylan working in town were no more than a fantasy. “I had no idea you were considering staying with the company. When is all this supposed to happen?”

He looked shamefaced when he said, “In the next few weeks. I’m flying back to Atlanta on Monday and working seven days a week to get everything in order. I should be home for good by the middle of February. Just in time for Valentine’s Day.”

Who cares about Valentine’s Day! “That means you won’t be here next weekend.”

“I’m afraid not. What’s happening next weekend?”

“I told you, I joined a group that’s setting up a daycare center for homeless people. They’re having a fundraising dinner dance next Saturday night at the Clover Ridge Country Club.”

“I’m sorry I can’t make it, Carrie, but I’m happy to contribute to the cause.”

I forced myself to smile. “I’ll take you up on that.” I got up to carry my coffee mug to the sink. He reached for my hand, stopping me.

“Carrie, I’m sorry you’re upset. I should have told you about the change in plans right away, but I wanted our first evening to be about us.” He smiled. “Just think—a few weeks from now I’ll be living at home and working in Connecticut.”