“I don’t see the problem. Obviously a newsletter needs an editor. That’s why we were so grateful that you volunteered.”
Volunteered? Roped into it would be a more accurate description. If I’d known at the start how time-consuming the job would be, I’d have risked losing a few friends and declined the honor.
“Let me give you an example,” I said. “The very first submission I received was a classic, an announcement for the annual rummage sale put on by the women of the Methodist church. Anyone can donate items for sale, so the text read, Here’s your chance to get rid of the things in your house that are not worth keeping. Bring your husbands.”
She chuckled.
“The husbands, or so I assume, were to come along to help carry the unwanted items, but the very next line made the ad seem even more absurd.”
At home, encountering it for the first time, I’d given a snort of laughter loud enough to startle the cat. To better illustrate for Pam, I set the files on the circulation desk and held up both hands to represent a banner. Then I pretended to read from it.
“We have cast off clothing. Come see us in the church basement every Saturday in August from ten to five.”
Pam blinked at me in confusion.
“There was no hyphen in cast off, meaning the invitation was to come see naked church ladies.”
Never try to explain why something is funny. It always falls flat.
“I trust you fixed the problem.” Pam’s tone was dry.
“Yes, I did. The thing is, there’s a lot more involved in this editing job than finding the odd typo to correct. It took me nearly twenty minutes on the phone to convince the person who submitted the ad that it needed to be revised.”
“I can see why it would be much simpler to explain punctuation when you can see it written down.”
“I tried that, by return e-mail, but instead of giving me the okay to make the correction, the church secretary insisted on trying to talk me out of it. I suppose I should be grateful she didn’t insist on confronting me in person. She was certain, you see, that there was nothing wrong with the ad because she’d written it herself.”
“I’m sure you were very tactful.”
“Don’t look so worried. I can be subtle, you know.” I hadn’t been, but Pam didn’t need to know that. “The thing is, I was perfectly able to verbalize the difference in meaning. She just wouldn’t listen to what I was saying.”
Hearing my own words reminded me of an example of a comma error I’d frequently used when I was teaching. I smiled at the memory.
Pam’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I was just remembering the classic example of how misplaced punctuation can change meaning, only in this case the difference is impossible to misunderstand.”
“Go on. You’re dying to share.” Pam looked resigned.
I obliged. “Let’s eat, Grandma!” I said, and then, in an entirely different tone of voice, added, “Let’s eat Grandma.”
Pam groaned. Handing over the package of files once more, she made little shooing motions. “Not everyone is as picky about such things as you are.”
No, I thought. Some are pickier. Bella Trent came to mind.
Ducking raindrops as I headed for my car, I wondered what would happen if I didn’t correct all those silly errors. Would the Friends of the Library vote to replace me as editor?
I doubted it. No one else wanted the job.
Besides, I didn’t think I had it in me to spot a grammar, punctuation, or usage error and not fix it.
Chapter Twelve
I’d intended to head straight back home, postponing my visit to Darlene until later in the day. I didn’t want to impose on her so close to lunchtime when she wasn’t feeling well. She’d insist on feeding me, and since my stomach had just given an insistent growl, I knew I’d be weak and selfish enough to accept.
There was an alternative. Harriet’s, a café-style restaurant that served breakfast and lunch, was just a bit farther along Main Street, past the gas station and right across from the police department. After I secured the bag full of files in my trunk, I left the car where it was and scurried to the crosswalk. I didn’t bother putting up my umbrella. The windbreaker I was wearing was waterproof and my hat had a brim wide enough to keep raindrops off my glasses.
I expected to find the place packed. Instead, only a few customers occupied the small two- and four-person tables. I’d barely seated myself before Ada Patel popped out of the kitchen to take my order. After a quick look around to make sure no one needed her, she plopped herself down in the chair opposite me.
“Haven’t seen you for a while,” she said in an accent that clearly identified her as a native of New Jersey. Her family might originally have come to the US from India, but there was no trace of that heritage in her voice.
Distinctions in regional speech are subtle, but since I’ve been back in New York State, I’ve been forcibly reminded that people in Sullivan County have their own way of speaking, and that it’s as different from other regional dialects as Bronx is from Brooklyn. The main thing all these speech patterns have in common, in both New York and New Jersey, is an annoying tendency to end sentences with an interrogatory y’know.
Ada didn’t mean her greeting as an accusation, but I felt an instant stab of guilt all the same. For the last couple of years, I’ve fallen into the habit of having lunch at Harriet’s two or three times a week, but for the past month, with the weather so uncomfortably hot and humid, I’d avoided going outside the house during the hottest part of the day. It was both easier and more comfortable to grab a cold drink from my own refrigerator and slap together a sandwich.
From the look of things, Ada’s business was in a slump. I thought that was a bit peculiar. None of the downtown shops, what there were of them, had recently closed its doors, and office workers, as a general rule, like to go out for lunch. If ageing baby boomers could be said to have a hangout in Lenape Hollow, Harriet’s was it, and cops from the police station frequented the place, too, given how conveniently located it was.
As if she’d read my mind, Ada sighed. “New competition just down the street.” She looked glum. “Salad bar and all-you-can-eat buffet for five bucks.”
“Cheer up. A deal like that won’t last long. Either the prices will go up or the business will go bankrupt.”
She didn’t look convinced and wasn’t inclined to continue the conversation. She heaved herself to her feet, using the table for support, and removed the order pad she carried tucked in her apron pocket. “So what’ll it be?”
I’m attempting to break myself of the habit of always ordering the same thing—a cheeseburger and fries. I glanced at the chalkboard behind the cash register and decided to live a little. “I’ll try the special.”
That’s all it said—TODAY’S SPECIAL, $4.99. It could be absolutely anything. Ada doesn’t go in for fancy cuisine, but she does like to experiment. Fortunately, the results are always tasty.
“Coming right up,” she promised.
Before she could dash off, I asked, “Are you on your own today?”
“Today and just about every day. Young Spring took a job for the summer at some fancy resort on Cape Cod. Her father’s not too happy about that.” Her lips twitched as she added, “He doesn’t like not knowing what his baby girl is up to.”
“I expect she can take care of herself.”
Joe Ramirez would have made sure of it. I have only a slight acquaintance with Spring, but I’ve been friends with her father for some time. He owns the gas station across from the elementary school and sits on the village of Lenape Hollow’s board of trustees. He’s also active in the chamber of commerce and an all-around nice guy.
While Ada was dishing up my mystery meal in the kitchen, I found myself remembering what I’d been like at Spring’s age. Pitifully naïve pretty much sums it up. It’s probably a good thing that I attended a college that still had all sorts of rules and regulations in place to prevent students, especiall
y young women from sheltered backgrounds, from running wild.
A few minutes later, Ada plunked a plate down in front of me. The aroma rising from hot, shredded meat generously piled on a kaiser roll was enough by itself to send me into a state of bliss. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would be neater to eat the sandwich with a knife and fork, before deciding that would take all the fun out of it. Seizing Ada’s creation with both hands, I bit into it. The first delectable tidbit of what turned out to be pork all but melted in my mouth.
“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” I said as soon as I’d swallowed. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share the recipe?”
Ada laughed. “Not on your life. I want to keep you coming back for more. Besides, I mostly make it up as I go along. I don’t write anything down.”
Why didn’t that surprise me?
She left me alone long enough to make change for two departing customers. When she returned, she sat down opposite me again and leaned across the small table, her eyes bright with anticipation. “So? When’s the wedding?”
I stopped eating to stare at her. “What wedding? I mean, whose wedding?”
It certainly wasn’t mine. I have no desire to marry again. I wed my best friend right after we both graduated from college. After so many excellent years with James, I’m convinced there’s no way I could win the marital lottery a second time. Besides, I have better things to do with my time than plunge back into the dating pool.
“Have you seen your cousin and his lady friend lately?” Ada asked. “They can’t take their eyes off each other.”
She looked ready for a good gossip, but I had nothing to offer. Luke Darbee is my second cousin thrice removed. We met when he decided to climb the Greenleigh family tree and came to Lenape Hollow in pursuit of our mutual ancestors. To my surprise, he decided to settle down in my hometown. For the last year and more, he’d been dating Ellen Blume, the Lenape Hollow police officer who came to my rescue and dealt with Bella Trent. I’d suspected for some time that they were in an intimate relationship, but as far as I knew, they weren’t living together, let alone talking about marriage.
“If you think there’s a wedding in the offing,” I told Ada, “then you know more than I do, and I see Luke at least once a week.”
“Pity,” she said. “It would have livened things up, especially if they hired me to do the catering. This summer is the slowest I can remember in years. Whatever happened to that boost in tourism we were supposed to get from all those businesses that opened up near the new casino?”
She didn’t expect an answer and before I could mount an attempt to cheer her up by regaling her with some of my recent adventures, the couple seated at a table in front of the plate-glass window facing Main Street got up to leave. By the time they paid their bill and Ada returned, I’d decided against making her my confidante. She isn’t precisely a gossip, but I’m not the only person with whom she shares juicy stories she’s picked up while waiting on customers.
People talk about all sorts of things when they’re out in public, even intimate matters that would be better discussed in private, and Ada has excellent hearing. It’s a good thing she only repeats what she overhears to a select few. While I polished off my lunch, she shared a story she knew I’d appreciate.
“Had a bunch of Lenape Hollow’s movers and shakers in here yesterday,” she informed me. “Mrs. North was one of them. Dressed all in white. Pretty suit. Probably cost her a fortune.”
I pasted a polite smile on my face at the mention of my high school nemesis. All these years later, Ronnie North and I have declared a truce, but it would be stretching the truth to call us friends.
“Must have been some sort of emergency,” Ada continued, her dark eyes twinkling. “Police car took off from across the street, siren blaring. Startled everyone in here, but she was the only one holding a cup of coffee at the time. Spilled the entire thing right down the front of that fancy white suit.”
It was a good thing I wasn’t taking a sip of my own drink just then! I tried not to laugh. I really did. But the mental image of Ronnie drenched in coffee, wet brown liquid staining her pricey outfit from collar to crotch, struck me as hilarious.
“How embarrassing,” I sputtered. “I wish I’d been here to see it.”
It wouldn’t have made up for all the mean tricks she played on me when we were girls, but I’d have enjoyed the spectacle. Petty of me, I know, but everyone is entitled to a few flaws.
After lunch, I drove to Darlene’s house. Frank was home, since the intermittent downpours had spoiled his plan to spend yet another day playing golf. He took the files I’d picked up at the library and promised to give them to Darlene as soon as she woke up from a nap.
“Her knees were really bothering her last night,” he said in a quiet voice. “She doesn’t like to sleep during the day, but sometimes she just has to catch up on lost sleep.”
“The new pills aren’t helping?”
“She won’t take them. She says there’s too much risk of becoming addicted.”
I couldn’t argue with that, but my heart went out to her, and to her husband. Getting older isn’t for wimps. I thanked my lucky stars that, so far, I haven’t had to deal with any debilitating or, worse, life-threatening, diseases. Even losing a husband was easier on me than on many of my acquaintances. I missed James every day, but we’d both been spared the agony of a lingering illness. I rather hope that when my time comes, I’ll go just as quickly.
Enough of that! I told myself as I said goodbye to Frank and headed home. It does no one any good to dwell on their own mortality.
Focusing on someone else’s death, especially one classified as an unsolved murder, is another matter altogether. That thought brought me back to the diaries and as I traveled the short distance between the Uberman house and my own, I considered what my next step should be in my search for them. I intended to resume the hunt first thing in the morning.
Maybe, I thought, if I can’t locate them on my own, I should recruit Luke and Ellen to help me.
Aside from a desire to satisfy my curiosity about the current state of their relationship, I was motivated by a very practical reason. Physically, I may not be as bad off as Darlene, and I can kneel without much difficulty, say to peer under a bed, but getting up again is a bit of a struggle. Luke is barely thirty and Ellen is a couple of years younger. They’re clever and resourceful, but most of all they are considerably more agile than I am.
I resolved to get in touch with my cousin within the next day or two, whether I’d found the diaries by then or not.
Chapter Thirteen
Later that day, I caught myself staring out my office window at the rain instead of concentrating on my work. Really, it was most annoying, and most unlike me to be so distracted. My late husband would have joked that I was experiencing early senility. Unfortunately, that quip becomes much less amusing as the years go by!
With a sigh, I focused on the words on the screen and typed a note into the comments section: “The earthy smell of dirt” is redundant. Find a better sensory image.
Five minutes later, my mind had gone wandering again. It’s just that I hate unfinished business, I told myself. I wanted to find those diaries and get on with the task of transcribing and editing them. If I happened to discover more about the mystery of Rosanna Swarthout’s death in the process, that would just be icing on the cake.
Despite that morning’s visit from Jonathan Hazlett, I don’t often have visitors drop by during the week. My friends know I work at home and are good about not disturbing me. UPS and FedEx have my okay to leave packages on the porch, out of sight behind the wicker sofa. That’s why it came as something of a surprise to hear my doorbell ring again around three in the afternoon. Given how little progress I’d made, I can’t say I minded the interruption.
I saved my work, closed the laptop, and trotted downstairs. By the time I turned off my security system and opened the door, the young man who’d come calling
had given up. Sheltering under a large black umbrella, he was halfway down the porch steps when I hailed him.
“Hello! Did you want to speak to me?”
Startled, he tripped over his own feet. For a moment, I thought he was going to take a tumble, but by dropping the umbrella, he was able to regain his balance. He retrieved it and returned to the porch, somewhat wetter for the interlude.
“Ms. Lincoln? Ms. Michelle Lincoln?”
“That’s right. And you are?”
“Jason Coleman. I’m Mr. Featherstone’s assistant.” He stood a little straighter as he identified himself, squaring his narrow shoulders and meeting my eyes. The business suit he wore supported his claim, as did the expensive leather briefcase he carried.
That being said, Leland Featherstone’s “young” assistant was a good deal older than I’d been led to expect, somewhere between thirty and forty with a lean build, dark brown hair, mild gray eyes, and the pale complexion of someone who doesn’t get out of the office much. His face was long and thin, narrowing even more toward the chin. He had thin lips, too, and if laugh lines or the lack of them are anything to go by, he didn’t smile much.
“I’ve been trying to reach your boss,” I said. “He hasn’t returned any of my calls.”
“He’s a very busy man. He doesn’t have time to mess around with—that is, he—” He colored slightly, but soldiered on. “What I mean to say is that he has a very heavy caseload, being the head of the firm and all. But he hasn’t forgotten about you. In fact, he sent me here to deliver some documents he hopes you’ll find useful.”
“To do with Tessa Swarthout’s estate?” I opened the screen door. “You’d better come in, then. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
My invitation seemed to surprise him. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just leave the packet Mr. Featherstone sent and be on my way.”
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