TWENTY-TWO
David waved as Tricia pulled out of the driveway and started for home. But after parking her car in the municipal lot, she decided to divert to the Dog-Eared Page. Tricia knew Ian McDonald often spent evenings sitting in the pub, nursing a beer and watching or playing darts. Its Celtic charm reminded him of home.
The crowd wasn’t exactly boisterous on that chilly October evening. Still, lively music issued from the pub’s sound system, and Tricia saw Ian sitting alone at a table reading a book. She walked up to him and cleared her throat. “Is this seat taken?”
McDonald looked up. “Tricia, what brings you out and about on this fine evening?” Before she could answer, he plowed on. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
At least he didn’t emphasize the word boy. But Tricia considered answering with a lie because the truth would only validate McDonald’s—and everyone else’s—opinion that she was robbing the cradle. Still…“He’s studying. He’ll get his graduate degree in library science in the spring.” She indicated the empty seat across from him. “Well?”
“Where are my manners,” McDonald said, rose from his chair, and pulled one out for Tricia. “What would you like to drink?”
“Nothing for me, thanks.” She glanced at the book on the table. “Hey, are you a Grisham fan?”
McDonald’s mouth quirked in a smile. “Sometimes fiction is a good way to learn the ways of a country new to one.”
“Well, he does write about the law,” Tricia agreed. But she wasn’t interested in talking about fiction just then. “I wanted to ask what you think about John Mason’s arrest.”
McDonald reclaimed his seat and scowled. “Probably the same as you. It’s a waste of taxpayer’s money to process him into and then out of the penal system. This country should do more for those with nowhere to go and no one to look out for them.”
Tricia thought of Hank Curtis, a navy veteran living rough in a tent on the outskirts of the village just the year before. Angelica had helped the man get back on his feet by giving him a job managing the Brookview Inn, at which, thanks to his military training, he’d excelled. Tricia didn’t mention it, though. There were other things on her mind.
“What do you think will happen to Mason?” she asked.
McDonald shrugged. “They’ll fail to find a corroborating witness who can place him in Stoneham on that night or find someone in Nashua who can place him there. My guess is he’ll be released either tomorrow or the next day. Meanwhile, my team is still chasing up some real leads.”
Tricia bit her tongue so as not to refute him. “Has the medical examiner come up with a cause of death?”
“A pretty cut-and-dried case of manual strangulation,” Ian replied, as Tricia had suspected. “I’m curious: Who do you suspect is responsible for Ms. Barker’s death?”
Tricia’s gaze dipped to the wood tabletop. “I don’t have a guess. But…” She hesitated. “I’m pretty sure I’ve identified the man Lauren spoke to at the library not long before she was found dead.”
McDonald’s eyes widened. “Go on.”
“I saw him again yesterday, walking north on Main Street. I’m pretty sure it was Brian Woodward, the artist who illustrated Lauren’s Cuddly Chameleon books.”
“Why didn’t you mention this before now?” McDonald demanded.
“I should have,” Tricia admitted, “Except…”
“What?” McDonald asked.
“It might be my word against his.”
“Maybe not. We should have the contents of Ms. Barker’s phone and text messages in the next day or so.”
“It’s taken more than a week to get it?”
“Sometimes it takes even longer.” He retrieved a small notebook and a pen from his jacket pocket. “And who was the artist?”
Tricia repeated what she’d already told him and how she’d tracked down the information on Woodward. “Why do you think Woodward would hang around the village?”
McDonald shrugged. “If he’s innocent, he might be doing the same as you—poking around to see what he can dig up on Lauren’s death. If he’s the perpetrator…sometimes they just like to return to the scene of the crime.”
“Other people in the village must have seen him. You might want to show Alexa Kozlov his picture. I saw him in the early afternoon. I suppose he could have had lunch right here in this pub.”
McDonald pulled out his phone and searched online for a picture of the artist. When he found what he was looking for, he passed the phone to Tricia. “Is this the man?”
Tricia studied the face. “Definitely.”
McDonald nodded. “I’ll ask the crew before I leave tonight and try to catch the day staff tomorrow.”
Tricia nodded.
“Anything else?” McDonald asked.
“I guess not,” Tricia said, but didn’t immediately leave her seat. “What’s happening with Dan Reed?”
“I’m not at liberty to say just now. But stay tuned.”
McDonald’s words had intrigued her, but Tricia wanted to know what McDonald had found out during his inquiries yet knew better than to inquire further, especially in a public place.
“I’d better get going,” she said at last.
“Would you like me to walk you home?” McDonald said.
Tricia shook her head. She only had to cross the street and walk another twenty or so feet along the well-lit sidewalk. Tricia vacated her seat. “Perhaps we’ll talk again soon.”
“Perhaps,” McDonald said, and stood.
Tricia nodded and turned to leave. The door opened as she approached the exit, and Becca Dickson-Chandler charged in. She stopped abruptly upon encountering Tricia. “Oh. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Why?”
“Oh, it’s just…I didn’t think someone who was with someone would come to a bar alone.” She said it as though Tricia might be trolling for a one-night stand.
“I came to speak with Chief McDonald.” Tricia looked over her shoulder where McDonald was looking at the women’s encounter with what seemed like interest.
“About Lauren’s murder, no doubt,” Becca said with more than a hint of disdain.
“Yes.”
Becca nodded.
“You’ll solve this yet,” Becca chirped. “Don’t you always?”
Tricia felt heat rise up her neck to color her cheeks. “Gotta go,” she said with false bravado. “Have a good evening.”
“I sure hope I do,” Becca said, and again charged forward.
Tricia left the bar but didn’t immediately cross the street. Instead, she walked past Booked for Lunch before she pivoted and backtracked. Looking through the Dog-Eared Page’s front window, Tricia saw that Becca had settled in the chair she’d only a minute or so vacated and was gazing into Ian McDonald’s green eyes.
Tricia turned and, looking both ways, crossed the street. Why was she bothered that Becca had come to see McDonald? It wasn’t her business…but for some reason, it bothered her, and she didn’t want to probe too deeply to discover why.
With nothing much to occupy her time, Tricia worked on the article about the Harvicks’ bees for the next Chamber newsletter. She wrote a rather stream-of-consciousness story, printed it out, and retreated to the reading nook in her master suite to edit it. Once it was trimmed to a little over seven hundred words, she closed her laptop and got ready for bed.
The next morning, she reread the article, tweaked it, and printed out a clean copy, folded it, and placed it in an envelope to drop off at the Bee’s Knees that morning for correction and approval by Larry Harvick. But first, she took her morning walk. Once again, she turned down Maple Avenue and again encountered Lois Kerr, the former Stoneham Library director, raking leaves. “Good morning,” Tricia called as she approached.
“Good morning, Tricia,” Lois said, paused in her efforts, and leaned against her bamboo rake. “What’s new?”
“Not much,” Tricia admitted. “Although…”
“Out with it, girl,” Lois barked. It seemed like a commandment.
“I was just wondering about why you hired David Price.”
Lois scrutinized Tricia’s face. “He’s your beau, isn’t he?”
“Well, yes. We are together,” Tricia sheepishly admitted.
“Good for you! Enjoy your life with anyone who makes you happy because, believe you me, those opportunities don’t come around all that often. Even if it doesn’t last, you can at least say you had one helluva good time.”
Tricia got the distinct impression that Lois had had an opportunity at love and had missed it. She didn’t want to ask why.
“To answer your question,” Lois continued, “I thought he was wiser than his years, and I put him in a situation with a couple of children to see how he’d react. He connected with a little girl, made her giggle, and found some books that she seemed thrilled about. And then I had him react with a teen who wasn’t all that keen on the written word. He found a way to connect with that young man, as well. That’s what I wanted—someone who could inspire children to read. Too often, schools assign kids to read books that don’t interest them—especially older ones. If you don’t catch a child when they’re young, they may never become a lifelong reader, limiting their entire existence. I wanted someone who could connect with kids of all ages, and that’s why I picked David, even though he hadn’t quite finished his education.”
And Tricia was so grateful for the trust Lois had put in David. Still, she didn’t think she could verbalize her gratitude. It would only sound self-serving.
“And what about Amelia Doyle?”
Lois nodded. “The board searched for almost a year, interviewing more than a dozen candidates for the job.”
“And?”
“Amelia had a good résumé.” Lois said the words with a level tone, one devoid of acceptance.
“Did you feel she wasn’t right for the job?”
“Her credentials were absolutely perfect.”
“But?” Tricia asked.
Lois shook her head. “After I retired, I ran into Stella Kraft.”
“Oh, yes. I know her.”
“We’d been acquaintances for years,” Lois elaborated. “I would coordinate what her class was reading in case her students couldn’t afford to buy the books she assigned in class.”
“And?” Tricia asked.
Lois frowned. “Well, as part of her application, Amelia included a glowing recommendation from Stella.”
“And?” Tricia pressed.
Lois scowled. “Stella told me she’d written no such recommendation. Not that she wouldn’t have done so, because she remembered Amelia as an acceptable pupil, but that she hadn’t been asked to do so.”
“Did you report that to the library board?” Tricia asked, aghast.
Lois shook her head. “I quickly found out that once I was no longer a part of the library system my opinion was no longer valued,” she said bitterly.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks to people like Dan Reed and his ilk, who are actively advocating for book bans and more from the library system, there are far too many people who believe as he does and want to keep young and old people from exploring facts that might not align with their cynical view of the world.”
“It’s so sad,” Tricia lamented. She dealt with mystery fiction, but the genre could and was used to expand critical thinking on the part of the reader. That some might encourage the dumbing down of children and adults was a frightening scenario. Inspired by her beloved grandmother, Tricia had always had a thirst for knowledge and found it in books, magazines, and musical entertainers. She felt those various sources of expression made her a more well-rounded person. That some wanted to curtail that experience was sad, and a source of smoldering anger.
Lois looked around her yard littered with leaves. Tricia asked why she was again raking when so many of them were still on the trees.
“Exercise. Besides, I’ve got nothing better to do.” Lois sounded sad.
“Have you thought about doing some volunteer work? I know the Stoneham Food Shelf is always looking for helpers.”
“I’ve thought about it. I might look into it after the holidays,” Lois said, but Tricia could tell her heart wasn’t into it.
“How about throwing in your hand for a spot on the library board?”
Lois shook her head. “As I mentioned, my voice isn’t one they want to hear. They’re looking for input from a younger generation.”
How sad to reject all the knowledge Lois possessed. Someone should point that out to them. It probably shouldn’t come from Tricia, as people tended to think of her as a meddling busybody. But if she put a bug in Antonio’s ear, perhaps the Stoneham Weekly News could run an opinion piece on that subject.
Tricia nodded. “Well, I won’t keep you from your work any longer. It was nice speaking with you again.”
Lois laughed and looked at the tree canopies above. “I’ll probably see you again soon if you walk this way.”
Tricia grinned. “Then I’ll plan on it.” She waved good-bye and continued on her walk, her thoughts returning to what Lois had told her. Why would Amelia fudge a job recommendation? Was it because she needed to reestablish some local connection and figured no one would check?
Tricia continued on her way, again passing the Morrison Mansion, wondering when the large Persian rug would be delivered. She’d seen the picture of it on David’s phone, but the small screen couldn’t do it justice when it came to size.
Upon reaching Main Street, Tricia headed straight for the Bee’s Knees. It wasn’t yet open, so she slipped the envelope with her story through the mail slot and continued on to Haven’t Got a Clue.
The October days were waning. The lack of sunshine, which had been so rare that season, seemed to have leached the joy from the village. But—rain or shine—the tourists who’d booked travel months before kept showing up.