Dylan only stayed long enough to inform me that he was going to his new office but would be back in time to pick me up at seven thirty for our dinner reservations.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“A surprise.”
It was difficult to concentrate on work the rest of the afternoon, but Saturday afternoons were laid back in their own weekend way. Except for the one o’clock movie and special events, there were no set programs. I hadn’t considered a Saturday afternoon before, but despite Shirley’s insistence on a morning slot, this might be the perfect time to schedule the knitting and crocheting group.
Five more women and one gentleman joined the list of those interested in the group. With Shirley and her two friends, the twelve that had already signed up, and these six, there were twenty-one patrons. I knew that, as with every other program and event, not everyone would show up or attend every meeting, but twenty-one was a great number to start a craft group,
I checked the schedule for the upcoming months. Sure enough, the small room on the main level was free from one until three on Saturdays. It was a nice setting, with a round table and good lighting. Of course, not everyone who’d indicated interest would be free to attend on a Saturday afternoon, but that was to be expected with every program. I shot off an email to Shirley.
“You got yourself a good-looking boyfriend. And he sure was happy to see you.”
I spun around. Evelyn was in her favorite spot—perched on the corner of Trish and Susan’s desk.
“Oh, Evelyn! I didn’t know you were there.”
“I came by before, but I left when I saw you were otherwise occupied.”
I grinned. “I sure was. Dylan’s home for good now. He’ll be working out of his office in New Haven.”
“He’s a detective, isn’t he?”
The calculating look in her eyes raised my antenna. “You know he’s an investigator. Dylan retrieves stolen artwork and jewelry.”
“Which means he has the skills to help you find out if my niece’s involved in that crooked setup.”
“Evelyn, it’s one thing to ask me to help you, but Dylan’s going to be busy working on his own cases,” I said.
She sank into the chair behind the desk Trish and Susan shared, as downhearted as I’d ever seen her.
“I’m sorry to lay this on you, Carrie, but you’re the only one I can turn to. I’m heartsick that Dorothy’s killer is still wandering around free. My nephew’s in deep with that lying, thieving gang. That leaves Frannie. She doesn’t have the brains her siblings were born with, but I can hope she’s not a thief like them.”
I pursed my lips together. Evelyn was my friend. I had no choice but to help her.
“I’ll speak to Frannie—Francesca next week. Though I can’t promise she’ll tell me the truth.”
Evelyn smiled. “I have faith in you, Carrie. You’ll get her to talk. And even if she won’t tell you what you want to know, you’ll know by her answers how deeply she’s involved—if she is involved.”
* * *
When I got home, I took a nice, leisurely bubble bath and put on one of my favorite sweaters and a pair of slacks. I took pains with my eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara. I slipped on the only pieces of jewelry I owned—the gold earrings my dad had bought me for Christmas and the matching golden heart pendant from Dylan.
“Not bad,” I said, after zipping up my favorite boots and admiring myself in my bedroom mirror. Then I burst into giggles. A year ago my Goth persona wouldn’t have recognized the new me.
“Where are we going?” I asked Dylan an hour later as I buckled myself into his BMW.
“You’ll see.” He leaned over to kiss my cheek. “Did I tell you you look beautiful?”
I grinned. “Yes. Twice.”
“Third time’s the charm.” He put the car into gear and we took off.
“I had a very productive afternoon,” Dylan said, as he drove north on a main road. “But I still have items to buy and need to take care of a few things at the office. Do you feel up to spending the day in New Haven with me?”
“I’d love to. I’m off tomorrow.”
We chatted about work—his and mine. There were a few pressing matters I wanted to discuss with Dylan, but they could wait.
As soon as we arrived at the restaurant, a valet opened the door for me. I stepped out of the car and found myself gawking at the view before me. The restaurant—a masterpiece of modern architecture—stood perched on a rise of land above a lake. Dylan reached for my hand, and we walked up the steps to the entrance. The dining area was shaped like half an octagon and was three tiers high, with each level receding so that every diner could gaze out at the lake through floor-to-ceiling windows that alternated with wooden panels.
“Wow! So this is The Precipice!” I said. “I’ve read about it in the paper. People come from all over to eat here. They’re booked up months in advance.” I cocked my head at Dylan. “How did you manage to get us a reservation?”
Dylan winked. “I have connections.”
A solidly built man in a tuxedo greeted us with a smile and led us up to the third tier below the vaulted ceiling. Though all the tables were occupied, conversation was muted, convincing me even further that whoever designed the restaurant had considered the comfort and privacy of every diner.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” our escort said as he placed large menus on the table and pulled out my chair. “You must pay us a visit when the flowers are out in spring and summer.” He chuckled. “Brides love the view. We have several weddings lined up for the next two years.”
“I can only imagine what they must cost,” I said when he had departed.
Our waiter appeared, and Dylan ordered a bottle of wine, which was swiftly brought to the table, along with two crystal glasses. The waiter uncorked the bottle and poured.
“To us,” Dylan said, raising his glass.
“To us,” I echoed.
We smiled at each other and sipped.
I sensed this meal was meant to be a celebration, so when our waiter returned, I ordered filet mignon, something I wouldn’t ordinarily order. Dylan ordered haddock, and we decided to share a salad. That accomplished, we sank back into our comfy chairs and grinned at each other.
“Here I am, back home again, yet I feel as though I’m starting a brand new chapter of my life,” Dylan said.
“It will be different, having your own office,” I said.
He reached for my hand. “The best thing about coming back to Clover Ridge is knowing that you’re close by. I have to admit, I’m relieved that you’ve finally stopped sleuthing. You sure took a chance, spying on Pfeiffer and his pals the other night.”
“I know. Ken scolded me for doing it. And they mean business. Fred Hawkins is in the hospital with a concussion and broken ribs. Ernie Pfeiffer put him there.”
“Really.” Dylan’s face took on a stern expression.
“Fred changed his mind about being part of that group.”
Dylan laughed. “Backing out of a crooked deal comes with serious consequences.”
“Fred’s afraid to report what Ernie Pfeiffer did to him.”
“And you know this how?”
I cleared my throat. “When I heard Fred was in the hospital, I paid him a visit.”
“So much for not sleuthing,” Dylan said dryly.
Our salad arrived just in time for me to change the subject. I asked Dylan what he wanted to shop for the next day, and he was happy to reel off his list. I smothered a gasp when our waiter brought out our main course. The portions were huge. I ate what I could and asked to have the rest of it wrapped to take home, though I managed to find room to share a slice of pecan pie with Dylan over a cup of coffee.
I was feeling sleepy and rather full when it was time to leave. Dylan withdrew a charge card from his wallet. Our waiter returned a few minutes later and handed back his card.
“The boss says it’s on the house.”
“Thanks, but that’s not neces
sary,” Dylan said. “You can tell Mr. Stavros I appreciate his fitting us in on such short notice.”
“You can tell him yourself!” a booming voice answered. “And it’s Pete, Dylan. I’ve told you that already.”
A short, beefy man with a round bald head and a luxurious moustache approached our table, his right hand extended. Dylan stood and shook it warmly. The man pulled him close and embraced him.
“How was everything? Okay?”
“Delicious. Really great, Pete,” Dylan said.
Pete beamed down at me. “And this is your young lady, I assume.”
“Carrie, meet Pete Stavros. He owns The Precipice.”
Pete laughed as he shook my hand. “Me and my brother and two cousins.”
“This is the most beautiful restaurant I’ve ever been in,” I said.
“Is that a fact? In which case, I hope you return real soon.”
Pete put his arm around Dylan’s shoulder and led him a few feet away, where they conversed in undertones. Pete was looking more serious when they returned to the table.
“Nice meeting you, Carrie.” To Dylan he said, “Call me as soon as you find out anything,” and then took off.
Dylan put away his charge card and left a generous tip for the waiter.
I waited until we were driving home to ask questions.
“Is Pete a client of yours?”
“My very first in the new office. John recommended me.”
“Did someone steal his wife’s jewelry or his coin collection?” I asked.
Dylan shook his head. “Neither. Pete’s family owns five restaurants besides The Precipice. Two more in Connecticut, one in Manhattan, and two on Long Island. Pete thinks one of his cousins in skimming money from them all.”
“Why did you take on a case like this when your specialty is art and jewelry?” I asked.
“Because Mac and I agreed I need to handle more types of jobs if we’re going to make this office take off. It’s not every day we’re called on to find an art treasure or recover gems from a heist.”
Suddenly butterflies were fluttering around in my chest. “I wonder if Pete’s cousin carries a gun.”
“Why? Are you afraid he might shoot me?”
“Well, if he’s a thief, he’ll want to protect what he’s taken. And if he finds out you’re checking his accounts …”
We stopped at a light. Dylan turned to meet my gaze. “There’s always the possibility of danger in investigative work, but you knew that.”
“I did—in theory. It sounded exciting and, I must admit, somewhat romantic. But now all I can think is that I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Dylan began to laugh—a real belly laugh that ended in a coughing fit. “Carrie, my love, I appreciate the fact that you care about my welfare. But do you see how funny this is? You go off spying on homicide suspects. You question everyone and anyone connected to a murder and give little thought that they might be dangerous. Or consider that someone who loves you will worry about you.”
I bit my lip. “I never thought of it that way. The fact is, I’m not used to people worrying about me. I get a hunch and I follow it up. But,” I quickly added, “I have no more hunches, so there’s no need to worry about me.”
“Good to know,” Dylan said. We drove on a bit, then he said. “You know, I didn’t become an investigator overnight. I studied art, took courses in gemology and jewelry, and trained in martial arts and other fields I won’t go into. I prepared for what I do. Then I went to work for Mac, and he taught me tricks of the trade that an experienced investigator learns over the years.”
“I’m relieved,” I said. “Somewhat.”
“I’m relieved that you’re somewhat relieved.” Dylan chuckled. “And touched that you care.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sunday morning we started out early for New Haven. Dylan wanted to hit the stores and buy everything he needed to begin work on Monday. I found myself talking about Haven House.
“It’s such a great project for the homeless people who have no place to go during the day,” I said. “Too bad Ernie Pfeiffer decided to use it as a moneymaker.”
“They’ll get caught sooner or later and land a nice sentence in jail.”
I thought of Evelyn’s concern for Francesca. “Do you think spouses will be charged too? I mean, how can the police know if a wife was in on the deception if she was, say, only involved as a volunteer?”
“They have ways of finding out. Why?” Dylan shot me a piercing look. “Did you have someone in mind?”
“Francesca Benning, Dorothy’s sister. Her husband Gerald is one of the ringleaders. I have no idea if she’s involved in their dirty shenanigans or if she’s willfully blind and simply refuses to believe he’d do anything illegal.”
“Have you become friends with her?”
I laughed. “With Francesca—or should I say Frances? She’s a shallow social climber. Not exactly my type.”
“Then why are you concerned about her? Because I can tell that you are.”
I swallowed. Having a boyfriend who was an investigator had its downsides. Like picking up tells I had no intention of revealing. “I might as well tell you now, since I have to tell you sooner or later. Her aunt is worried about her.”
“And?”
How did he know there was more to the story? “Frances’s Aunt Evelyn used to work in the library. She died some years ago but still visits the place. I’m the only person besides my little cousin who can see her.”
The car swerved to the right, missing the bushes growing along the edge of the road by inches.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, but you asked and I had to share this with you eventually. No one knows about Evelyn. Dorothy did, but she’s dead.”
“This is for real?” Dylan said when he found his voice. “You’re not pulling my leg? You’re not hallucinating?”
“Yes, no, and no,” I answered. “I first met Evelyn the morning Sally offered me a job. I was about to turn it down when Evelyn told me not to be a fool, but to tell Sally I’d think it over and give her my answer the following day.”
“And no one else in the library can see her?”
“None of the librarians can. Only my little cousin Tacey. She tries to give Evelyn cookies. Tacey’s mom is concerned that she has an imaginary friend.”
“Has this … Evelyn helped you solve mysteries?”
“Sometimes. She eventually told me where Dorothy had hidden her list of blackmail victims. But Evelyn’s not always as helpful as I’d like. She keeps plenty of her own secrets.”
“I bet.” Dylan let out a long exhale.
He drove on silently, shaking his head occasionally.
“Are you upset? Angry?” I asked.
“Not angry, but this is hard to swallow. And no one else in the library knows about this … Evelyn? Not Sally or Angela?”
“No one. Smoky Joe hisses when she gets too close to him, though I think he’s getting used to her sudden comings and goings. I never know when she’s going to appear.”
Dylan let out a deep exhalation. “You’ll have to forgive me, but it’s going to take awhile for this to sink in.”
I was glad to see we were approaching New Haven. Dylan concentrated on maneuvering through the buildup of traffic, and we drove the rest of the way to his office in silence.
Had I been wrong to tell him about Evelyn? I didn’t want to keep secrets like that from him, and yet I didn’t want to drive him away by giving the impression I was crazy or hallucinating. Dylan pulled into the parking spot assigned to him in the building’s underground parking area. We waited for the elevator in silence. When the door opened, we stepped inside and began speaking at the same time.
“I’m sorry I told you while—” I said.
“I’m not angry, Carrie, just stunned.”
Dylan wrapped his arms around me and held me close as the elevator doors closed behind us and carried us to the seventh floor.
T
he rest of the day was ordinary, thank goodness. The paint job and new furniture gave the office a fresh, appealing appearance. Dylan seemed to have shaken off the shock of my revelation as he walked me through the waiting room, office, and bathroom, pointing out everything that had been done since my last visit. He pulled out a list of items that he wanted to buy, and five minutes later we were back in the car on our way to the nearest mall to shop. Afterward, we stopped for lunch, then dropped off our purchases at the office and headed back to Clover Ridge.
My cell phone jingled when we were halfway home. It was Angela. “Steve and I were wondering if you’d like to go out for dinner with us tonight. Nothing fancy—just burgers at this place Steve loves. I know it’s last minute, so don’t feel bad about saying ‘some other time.’”
“Er—just a minute. I’ll check with Dylan.”
I turned to Dylan and covered the phone. “It’s Angela, asking if we want to have burgers with Steve and her tonight.”
He bit his lip as he thought it over. I was certain he was about to say no. The guys weren’t as social as us gals. That is, they might be social but preferred spending time with their own pals. Besides, Steve was in construction. He and Dylan traveled in different circles. The only thing they had in common was that Angela and I were friends.
“You don’t have to—” I began, when he said, “Sure, I’d love to.”
“Dylan said okay,” I told Angela.
“I heard,” she said. “Why don’t you meet us at MacGregor’s. Six thirty all right?”
“Six thirty?” I asked Dylan.
“Sure. Get the address.”
When I disconnected the call, I saw that he was grinning. “You expected me to say I didn’t want to go.”
I shrugged. “Guess so. All this is new to me. I don’t want to push you into something you’d rather not do.”
Dylan patted my knee. “Carrie, I know how much Angela means to you. I expect we’ll be going out occasionally with your friends and occasionally with mine.”
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