Chapter Four

Evelyn was waiting for me when I unlocked my office door Monday morning. “How is Dorothy? Is she in pain? Please tell me everything. I need to know how she’s doing.”

I’d never seen Evelyn this agitated—wringing her hands as she paced the short distance between my desk and the one Trish and Susan shared. “Yesterday morning I overheard Sally telling Gayle that she had to spend a few hours working at the reference desk because Dorothy had taken a bad fall and was laid up in the hospital. Later on, when Max was setting up the chairs for the concert, Sally mentioned you’d gone to visit her. What happened, Carrie? How did she end up in the hospital?”

“She’s all right, but it was a bad fall. She has a badly twisted ankle, some cracked ribs, and a bit of a concussion from hitting her head. Nothing fatal, though …”

“Though …” Evelyn urged.

“Dorothy acted kind of strange when her husband came into the room. As though she were afraid of him. She told me he’d pushed her to the ground outside the supermarket … that he wanted her to die.”

To my surprise, Evelyn burst out laughing. “Fred kill her? That’s difficult to imagine. He adores Dorothy, though most people can’t understand why.”

“When I met him in the hospital, he struck me as genuinely thoughtful and caring toward Dorothy. I didn’t pick up any hostile vibes. Still, it’s not like Dorothy to be easily frightened.”

Evelyn nodded in agreement. “It must have been the drugs talking. As I remember, Fred always treated her better than she deserved.”

“But what about her fall?” I asked. “She got pretty banged up from simply falling on some ice.”

Evelyn cocked her head at me. “My dear, people can break all sorts of things when they fall down on ice.”

“She said there was an icy patch,” I said.

“And knowing my niece, she was in a hurry, as usual.” Evelyn tittered. “And she is something of a klutz.”

Clearly, Evelyn’s spirits were much improved, so I ventured to say, “We would have heard by now if Fred had managed to finish her off in the hospital, so it’s safe to assume she’s alive.”

“Let me know how she’s progressing, Carrie,” Evelyn said, frowning to let me know she didn’t appreciate my little joke.

“Will do,” I promised as she vanished from sight.

The phone rang, demanding my attention. It was a patron named Carol Dixon, who had just returned from a trip to Vietnam and Cambodia and wanted to offer a slide show one evening in the library.

“Nice to hear from you, Carol. We’re pretty well booked up for the next few months,” I said.

“Could you check to see if you have a free evening in April or May? My husband and I would love to share our experience with our friends and neighbors.”

I’d learned it was best to take care of calls like this on the spot whenever possible. “I’d be happy to check the calendar. I can call you right back, or you can hold if you prefer.”

“I’ll hold, if that’s okay.”

Carol and Stanley Dixon. Their names sounded familiar, so I knew Trish or Sue must have mentioned them. I riffled through the cards of past presenters and the invaluable comments that Barbara, my predecessor, had left me. There it was: “Well-informed if a bit stuffy. Might be best to limit the next program—and there will be a next program—to an hour.”

Next, I pulled up the schedules for March and April. There was a six o’clock slot available on a Thursday in late April. That meant an hour’s presentation since a craft class was scheduled in that room at seven thirty.

“I can offer you a six o’clock slot for one hour in late April,” I told Carol.

I gave her the date, to which she readily agreed. When she asked for a fee of three hundred dollars, I explained that the library didn’t pay patrons who shared their experiences such as this, and asked her to please fill out the form that she could download from our website and send it to me.

I answered some email and made a few phone calls until Trish joined me, followed by Smoky Joe wanting his mid-morning feeding. Trish’s eyes gleamed with excitement as she hung up her coat.

“War zone in the reading room!” she announced.

“Oh no! Not Jimmy Belco from the shelter again.”

“Yep. He and a pal got bored looking through the same magazines they’ve probably seen one hundred times already. They crumpled up sheets of paper they took from the wastepaper basket and started lobbing them at each other. Patrons got pissed and complained, and things got out of hand.” Trish glanced at me sideways. “Sure you didn’t hear the noise?”

I shook my head. “I think this room is soundproof.”

“Max and Pete came running from wherever they were working and broke it up. Sally called the police. It’s not in our custodians’ job description to break up fights.”

“No, it isn’t,” I agreed. “Did someone come down from the station?”

“Danny Brower arrived just as they got things under control. I figured it was time to stop being a looky-loo and earn my keep.” Trish grinned. “You don’t want your right-hand gal turning into a slacker, do you?”

I chuckled. “Fat chance of that happening.”

I brought Trish up to date on what needed to be done, then left to check on the aftermath of the incident in the reading room.

Patrons milled about in small groups, conversing in low tones. I caught sight of Danny Brower, the police department’s rookie officer, leading Jimmy and another young guy out through the front entrance. As far as I could tell, they weren’t in handcuffs. I was about to enter Sally’s office, when the door swung open, and out walked the older homeless couple who had been with Jimmy Belco the day he’d gotten into a shouting match. Doris and Henry Maris. Henry seemed befuddled, as if he wasn’t sure what was happening. His wife, on the other hand, was clearly upset.

Though we’d never spoken, Doris must have known that I worked in the library, because she latched onto my arm. “Please help us!”

“I don’t know how I can.”

Her grip grew tighter. “Sally says Jimmy can’t come back here, but you have to help make her understand. Jimmy’s a fine young man and doesn’t mean to start trouble. He promised to behave, only he has a short attention span—”

“I’m sorry, but I’m sure Sally explained the situation,” I said, cutting short her plea. “The library’s for patrons who want to read or take part in our programs. Jimmy’s been upsetting the other patrons.”

“It’s because we brought Trevor,” her husband said. “We promise not to bring Trevor here again,”

“Yes, Henry, that’s right!” Doris said. “It was a mistake letting Trevor come with us.” She turned to me. “But he had nowhere to go today, and Jimmy swore they’d behave.”

I wanted to hug them both and tell them everything would be all right. Only nothing in their lives was all right. “I wish I could help, but there’s nothing I can do.”

I ducked into Sally’s office, leaving Doris and Henry murmuring to each other.

Sally was sitting at her desk, holding her head. “I need an aspirin.”

“Where is Danny taking them?”

“I have no idea,” Sally said as she rummaged through her drawers. She pulled out a bottle of aspirin and swallowed two without the benefit of water. “I feel sorry for all of them—having no home to call their own—but they’re not welcome to hang out in the library if they can’t behave.”

“Were they all once Clover Ridge residents?” I asked.

“I don’t know about Trevor, but Jimmy and the Marises were. Jimmy has a bad case of ADHD. He had trouble getting through high school, then holding down a job. He moved to Florida with his parents a few years ago but eventually came back here, working occasionally and sleeping in the shelter.”

She shook her head. “Doris and Henry are as middle class as you and me. At least, they were until Henry’s decline, when they lost their store and had to sell their home for a song because they couldn’t pay their mortgage. They went to live with their son, but that didn’t work out. And suddenly they had nowhere to go.”

I nodded. “So I’ve heard.”

Sally let out a deep sigh. “It must be so humiliating, having to live the way they do now. In that awful place, with no sense of privacy. People who were their neighbors staring at them.” Sally closed her eyes and grimaced. When she opened them, she sent me a meaningful glance.

“How did your visit go yesterday?” She gave a little laugh. “I promise you, when I asked you to be our Sunshine Delegate, I had no idea that Dorothy would be your first case.”

“It went okay. She’s in pain from her cracked ribs and twisted ankle. And her head aches. I met Dorothy’s sister and Fred, Dorothy’s husband.” I decided to omit Dorothy’s wild accusations. “I think she’ll be staying in the hospital a few more days. Are you thinking of visiting her? I’m sure she’d like to have more visitors.”

I’d said it mostly as a joke since I knew the two women weren’t as friendly as they’d once been. Still, I was surprised when Sally reared back in her chair as if I’d asked if she planned to come to the library tomorrow dressed in a bikini.

“I’d visit her in a shot, except I have tons of work to wade through in the next few weeks. And you did say she’s on the road to recovery.”

“Looks like she is,” I said, though I knew nothing of the kind.

“It sounds like Dorothy will be well enough to come back to work in a week or so. I’ll send her a get-well card, of course.” Sally stood.

My cue to leave. I exited Sally’s office, puzzled by her reaction. It struck me that she intended to avoid direct contact with Dorothy. Not that anyone else on the library staff had offered to visit Dorothy. Still, Sally was the director. Our boss. I shrugged. At any rate, I’d fulfilled my duty as Sunshine Delegate where Dorothy Hawkins was concerned. I’d paid a visit and dropped off a basket of goodies. Surely, I wasn’t expected to call her or visit her again. I’d see Dorothy Hawkins soon enough, when she was back at work and up to her usual tricks.

*   *   *

My office phone rang the following morning just as I was coming in from setting up coffee for the new political discussion group.

“Hi, Carrie. It’s Dorothy.”

“Oh. Hi.” I drew in a deep breath. “How are you feeling?”

“Lousy. My ribs hurt when I take a deep breath. Good thing I don’t find anything funny around this place. Laughing would be agony.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I said nothing.

“I called to thank you for bringing me the basket and the Sue Grafton mystery. I was too zonked out on Sunday to even notice them.”

“Well, enjoy them,” I said.

“Thanks. I will.” Dorothy sighed. “I’d love to get out of this place. It’s driving me bonkers.”

“When can you leave?”

“Not for a few days. After that, I have to stay home until the doctor decides I can put weight on my bad ankle. I dread having to sit around the house with nothing to do.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said in my Sunshine Delegate voice.

“I hope you’ll stop by the house and maybe bring me another mystery. Something by Anne Perry or Krista Davis. Or both.”

“Of course.”

“I have to go. I’ll call you when I’m home.”

So … apparently disconnecting from Dorothy, the wounded, was not going to be as quick and easy as I’d thought.