by Mary Feliz
His voice didn’t change as he shifted from talking about the attorney to giving directions and I nearly missed the turn before I registered what he’d said.
When I pulled to the curb in front of his house, we stared at it. I couldn’t quite believe that it had been only twenty-four hours since we’d found Sarah’s body. A piece of police tape attached to the front door had become detached at one end and flapped in the breeze like an advertising banner at a used-car showroom. It was tawdry and grim, and I wanted to run up and rip it off, as if that would bring Sarah back and restore normalcy to our lives.
I frowned. Linc turned toward me with an equally dour face. He shook his head. “I guess there’s no way around this except through it,” he said, and I nodded. It was one of those statements that made no sense and perfect sense at the same time.
“Thanks, Maggie, for everything.” His eyes grew damp and he rubbed them with his hands. “Thank you isn’t enough. I can’t begin—”
“Linc, it’s fine. Please don’t worry. I understand.”
He climbed quickly from the car, waited for Newton to climb out, and shut the door gently, patting his jacket for his keys. I held my breath until he pulled a huge key ring from his pocket. I wondered how he knew which key was which when he couldn’t remember where he’d left the key ring.
Linc turned around with a look of desolation on his face. He bent to the passenger window. “Maggie, what have they done with my car? Where is it?”
I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath. I was late to meet Paolo as it was. I didn’t have time to deal with the professor’s inability to keep track of his belongings nor with the possibility that Detective Awful had seized Linc’s car.
Linc stood on the sidewalk in front of his house, staring at his driveway as if it would make his car appear. Newton bounced about, bowing playfully and nipping at Linc’s pant leg.
I turned off the engine and got out to help Linc stare at his empty driveway. I felt like I should be looking for tire tracks with a magnifying glass.
“Do you think you should call the police?” I asked him. “To see if they collected it? Or to report it stolen?”
Linc stood with his shoulders hunched, shaking his head and shifting his gaze from his driveway to the street in front of the house. Solving this problem was beyond him this morning.
And then I remembered. I put my hand to my forehead and smiled. I thought I had the solution to both this problem and one of the nagging questions that had bothered me yesterday.
I grasped Linc’s arm gently. “Yesterday, you arrived here on your bicycle,” I told him. “Do you remember?” He moved his head in what might have been agreement or denial. I couldn’t be sure.
“You said you’d gone out in the middle of the night because you had an idea you wanted to test out at the lab. But it was pouring buckets on Sunday night. And the wind was howling. Why did you take your bicycle?”
Linc turned toward me and I was relieved to see a little life returning to his glazed expression. “Because it’s not that far, and I can pull up in front.” He shook his head. “No, you’re right. I looked for my car and didn’t see it. So I took the bike. And passed by my car where I’d left it in the parking lot. I was freezing when I got to campus, but there’s a shower in the basement and I had a change of clothes.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Linc’s explanation was so indicative of the logical workings of his mind: He needed to get to campus. His car wasn’t there. His bicycle was. Never mind that it was raining. And, of course he had a change of clothes on campus, because he’d done this sort of thing before. Or because he’d played basketball after work one day and left his work clothes there. It didn’t matter. We’d solved the riddle.
Linc looked at me sheepishly and asked, “Would you mind?”
I shook my head. It wouldn’t take more than five minutes to drop him at the university.
“Hop in.”
* * *
Once Linc’s immediate problem was solved, I headed back to the middle school and parked in the shade. Normally, Belle hopped into the driver’s seat as soon as I left the car, rested her chin on the steering wheel, and snoozed happily until I returned. Today something was bothering her. She grabbed her leash in her mouth and pushed through the door as I was closing it. In a conspicuous show of obedience training, she sat on my left. She hadn’t made a sound, but I had the distinct impression she’d clicked her heels like a soldier coming to attention. She looked up and smiled hopefully at me . . . with a touch of guilt.
I couldn’t help but smile. Today, I wanted the comfort of her company and she wanted mine. I hoped that April and Paolo would understand that and allow her to accompany me. If not, I could always give her a short walk and bring her back to the car.
I attached her leash and she trotted beside me in a perfect heel all the way to the library. The door was locked, but I knocked and Paolo opened it.
“Thanks, Maggie,” he said quickly at the same time I said, “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“I’m sorry about last night,” he said at the same time I said, “How can I help?”
We each stopped, took a deep breath, and waited for the other to speak. April bustled over, dressed in deep green this morning, head to toe. A feather dangled from her ponytail in a way that made me think of Peter Pan or Robin Hood. I didn’t think the look was accidental. The April I knew thought of herself as Robin Hood: Bending the rules if necessary to help those at risk of falling through the cracks. In that way, she was like Sarah—and I realized, a lot like the way Elaine had described Boots. I tugged my attention away from Sherwood Forest and back to the matter at hand.
“Do you mind if Belle stays?” I asked April. “And would you mind putting off our meeting until after I help Paolo?”
April stooped to pat Belle and Belle responded by licking April’s face. “I feel like I should say something clever about how Belle is the Disney character that loves libraries and books,” April said. “But I can’t quite pull a pithy statement from my brain. Of course she can stay.” She turned toward Paolo. “What do you want us to do?”
Paolo looked around the library. “To get a handle on Sarah’s death I need to understand her life. You’ve both spent a lot of time here with Sarah. I want you to look at the room and tell me if anything strikes you as different from the norm or if you see anything that looks out of place or that could be a clue to what happened.”
April scanned the room, then stood and walked past the rows of library tables, touching each one. She turned when she reached the opposite end and looked back at us.
“Normally, when I was in here, I’d be observing the kids or getting to know them better, seeing how I could help out,” she said. “I left it to Sarah and Maggie to pay attention to the nuts and bolts. With the kids gone, there’s not much I can tell you.”
She looked pensive and stood resting her hand on Sarah’s computer. She patted it. “We can get you access to her records, if that would be useful. Or, we took pictures of the library last year for a fund-raising brochure. Would that help with any anomalies?”
Paolo shrugged. “It’s worth a look.”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t here when the pictures were taken, but I remember Sarah looking around the room one day and snorting with laughter. There were kids sprawled everywhere. Some were asleep on their books and some lounged on the floor working on a project. She said that it wasn’t picture-perfect, but that every inch of the library was being used and she liked that. She told me about the photo shoot, and how it was all staged and clean and the kids were all nicely dressed. She guessed that the fund-raising team knew what they were doing, but said she never wanted her library to look that stiff and clean ever again. I don’t know if comparing the way it is now to the way it was for the photo shoot would do any good.”
Paolo stood and then turned to me. “Okay, then, Maggie. You’ve seen this room more recently. Take a look and see what it tells you about Sarah.”
> I walked to Sarah’s desk, spun her chair around, sat in it, and surveyed the library.
“It looks . . . like Sarah was behind in her work.”
I pointed to the cart of books waiting to be shelved. “There are too many books here. The cart isn’t organized. Sarah liked to have the books where students could find them. Shelving books gave her an excuse to move around the room and check on the kids. If she didn’t have time to keep up with it, she would have asked a volunteer or a student for help.”
I gathered scattered mail and catalogues into a neat pile. “She normally organized her desk before she went home—especially on Friday afternoons. It made her feel ahead of the game when she walked in the door on Monday mornings.”
I moved to the front door of the library, trying to remember mornings when I’d arrived earlier than Sarah and watched her walk in.
“If there were any kids here, the first thing she’d do would be to greet them. If there were only one or two, she’d walk right up to them to say good morning, touch them on the shoulder, and ask how things were going.” I walked to where April was sitting at one of the tables and I acted out part of Sarah’s routine. “The regulars were kids who didn’t have computers at home and needed to do their homework here before and after school. She always checked to see if they needed help—not just with the computers but general support. Particularly if they needed funding for school projects or trips. She has—I mean, she had—a team of people she called if these kids needed anything. Those adult helpers are mostly people who needed extra support when they were in school. They want to give back.”
I stopped and rapped on the table with my hand. “The custodian. Valentin Diaz. He was part of that team. He also knows everyone’s secrets from emptying out wastebaskets and tidying their rooms. He and Sarah were friends and he often stopped by in the afternoon to talk to her.”
Paolo typed the name into his iPad and looked up at April.
“He’s helping out at one of the elementary schools this morning, but he’ll be back this afternoon,” she said. “His kids all graduated from here. He used to run the hardware store downtown, but he turned it over to one of his sons a few years ago. Here, he works shorter hours. It’s a pay cut for him, but he’s got good benefits and it’s his way of giving back to the community that helped him launch his kids. They’ve all got advanced degrees, I think. When his wife was ill and their kids were young, parents and teachers stepped in and helped out. Ask him about it. It’s a great story.”
While April was talking, I opened the refrigerator under Sarah’s desk. Sarah brought her lunch every day, along with fruit, cheese, and crackers. If kids came in before school or at lunchtime, Sarah would feed them.
I pulled out two paper lunch sacks and held them up. “Linc probably packed these. When Sarah packed her own lunch, it went in her purple Gore-Tex lunch bag. Linc wasn’t organized enough for reusable bags, but he was a whiz at packing lunches. He generally packed twice what Sarah needed, but that gave her more to share with the kids.”
April looked at her watch and stood. “I need to get back to the front office,” she said. “I have a meeting with a parent. Please, let me know if you need anything. I want to help.” Paolo thanked her and she went to the door, opened it, and paused. “Maggie, I still need to talk to you about finding a way to keep the library open for the kids.”
I grimaced. “I’m sorry, April. I really want to help, but if you’re asking me to take over Sarah’s hours, or increase my own, I’ve decided I just can’t swing any more volunteer hours or even paid ones that take me away from launching my business. I’d actually talked to Sarah last week about cutting back.”
April stared at me, frowning. “I was counting on your help. You’re one of the good guys.”
“Look, maybe we can get together later in the week and brainstorm ways to get grant money or interns from the library program at Stanford . . .” I stopped talking, because April’s face had gone from dour to expressionless. I hadn’t known her for long, but I knew she was very angry.
“Do you still want to meet after this?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t see much point. Do you?”
She left the library without waiting for an answer and let the door swing shut behind her.
I swallowed hard, feeling guilty. I was sorry to disappoint her and felt that in some way I’d disappointed Sarah too. But Max was right. I couldn’t do everything. I focused on how happy he would be to know that I had stood up for my own schedule, instead of turning myself into a pretzel to accommodate someone else’s. Maybe that vision of a happy Max would keep me from running after April to tell her I’d changed my mind.
Paolo cleared his throat and I yanked my attention back to the matter at hand. I opened one of Sarah’s lunch bags and unpacked it, pulling out a big sandwich on homemade bread with cheese, tahini, and cucumbers: Sarah’s favorite. The bag also contained a giant oatmeal cookie, a container of pomegranate seeds with a spoon, and a napkin on which Linc had drawn a heart with a red marker.
“I’m not sure why she wouldn’t have eaten this. Or given it to a student.” I checked her calendar to see if she’d gone out to lunch or had a meeting, but there were no meetings written in during the previous week—although there was a question mark penciled lightly on Wednesday, and a small circle drawn in Friday’s box.
Paolo leaned over the front of the desk and spun the calendar around. He pointed to the marks and turned the pages, looking for similar marks or notes on other pages. “What do you think they mean?”
“I’m not sure. It could be a private code of Sarah’s for a calendar that wasn’t particularly private.”
“Why did she have a calendar, anyway?” Paolo said. “Isn’t one of the files you won’t give me her iCalendar?”
“Yes, but she was transitioning to it. So was Linc. It’s common for someone her age who grew up using a physical calendar to prefer using that—it’s the ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ school of thought. I encourage clients to go as green as possible, but if they’ve got a system that’s working for them, I don’t try to change it.”
I opened the bottom desk drawer where most workingwomen stash their purses or backpacks. It was empty, as expected. But where was her purse? I hadn’t seen it at Linc’s house. And for that matter, where was her car? How had she arrived at Linc’s house? I could see now why Paolo was trying to piece together details of Sarah’s life and her movements over the past few days. There was so much we didn’t know.
The upper drawer was carefully organized with separate slots for pens, pencils, stapler, rubber bands, tape, small bandages for paper cuts, and other supplies essential for a school librarian. It also held her hairbrush, which was full of hair. I picked it up and stared at it.
“Paolo, this is odd,” I said.
“A hairbrush?”
“Not the brush, but all the hair in it. Sarah was one of those people who freaks out over stray hairs—on her clothes, in her face. I often wondered why she wanted a kitten. She always wore her hair in a ponytail at work to keep it out of her eyes. She had a lint roller in her purse and her car. It seems odd that she’d leave her brush full of stray hairs. There’s—I don’t know—maybe a week’s worth of hair here.” I put the brush back in the drawer and closed it. “That might be someone else you want to talk to. Her hairdresser. Women tell secrets to their hairdressers.”
Paolo typed another note into his iPad and looked up. I gave him the name of the hairdresser Sarah went to in Orchard View. Lily Takahashi cut the hair of most of the women I knew, and Sarah had been after me to make an appointment with her.
I opened the last drawer, the center drawer of the desk, where most people keep odds and ends, and sweep clutter when they don’t have time to tidy up properly.
The drawer was empty except for a letter. I picked it up and held it out to Paolo. He nodded. I wasn’t sure what that meant. But, since Paolo didn’t take the envelope from me, I opened it.
“It’s from her gynecologist,” I said after scanning it for a moment. “And it’s bad.”
Chapter 6
When you are worried, stressed, or afraid, talk to some- one you trust. Spinning your wheels, hesitating out of fear or making the wrong decisions due to a lack of information, is never efficient. Most of the things we worry about will never happen. Most of the friends we fear are angry, aren’t. A good friend, a wise coworker, or a trained professional can help you sort through your roadblocks faster than you may be able to do by yourself.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald,
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Tuesday, November 4, 9:30 a.m.
I felt my skin flush with embarrassment and quickly handed the letter off to Paolo. “Um, it’s private, medical. Maybe I shouldn’t have read it.” But, as Paolo stared at it, I realized a young man might need more clarification about what the brief note implied. Sarah was gone and her whole life was going to be examined in excruciating detail, including her medical history. Privacy was no longer possible.
“Something’s wrong with her mammogram or Pap smear or some other test,” I said. “They’re asking her to call immediately. They tried to call and couldn’t reach her.”
Paolo scanned the page and looked up. “The letter doesn’t say that at all,” he said, reading aloud: “We’d like to redo your tests. Please call at your earliest convenience.”
“That’s code,” I told him. “They don’t like to scare people. But if there’s anything weird, the office generally calls so they can explain and reassure and schedule immediately. They squeeze you in and find a time that the gynecologist and the oncologist too, if necessary, can see you right away. At least, that’s what my doctors have always done.”