Death Overdue

by Allison Brook

  Miniquiches and pigs in the blanket made my list, along with chips and dips and cut-up veggies and two different red punches I planned to place at either end of the table. Trish and Susan had bought the decorations—with Sally’s approval—and would set them up in the meeting room late Tuesday afternoon.

  The party was scheduled to start at seven and end at nine. Barbara had arranged for the entertainment months ago. A magician would perform for half an hour, and then a storyteller would tell thirty minutes of ghostly, grizzly tales that had taken place in Connecticut. Then we’d have the costume parade and vote for the best male and female costume and the funniest male and female costume.

  I’d planned to buy as much as I could at one of the local warehouse stores that my aunt and uncle belonged to. I’d just gone online to start checking costs before showing my list to Sally when my phone rang.

  “Hi, Carrie. It’s Jared.”

  “Hi. How are you?”

  “Fine. I hope I’m not keeping you from anything important. I wanted to know if you got any vibes or came to any conclusions from what I told you last night.”

  I laughed. “There was so much. I’m still running through everything in my mind. But I’ve learned something new.”

  “What is it?”

  Too late, I realized I’d spoken without thinking. What if Jared asks me how I know what I’m about to tell him? “Nothing solid, but a few people who work at the library told me your family lawyer came to see your mom a few times before she died.”

  “Really? Ken Talbot? He was with us the night Al died. He has gray hair. Wore a three-piece suit.”

  “I remember him. Why did he come?”

  “Ken’s an old family friend as well as our lawyer. Ryan convinced Dad that Ken had to be there in case we could sue Al for slander. I told Dad it was ridiculous, but Ryan’s hysterics won out.”

  “Was he your dad’s friend originally, or your mom’s?”

  Jared laughed. “Actually, Ken is Uncle George’s friend—his college roommate. I wonder why he came to see Mom at the library instead of at his office.”

  I suddenly felt embarrassed. “The two people I spoke to seemed to think your mother and Ken Talbot had some kind of romance going.”

  “Really? Mom and Ken? I mean, they dated when they were very young, but they both married other people. Of course, Ken’s been divorced over twenty years. Still.”

  “Remember what your mom’s friend Helena said that night—that your mother wanted to divorce your father?”

  Jared made a scoffing sound. “I find it difficult to believe anything Helena says, especially since that was the first and only time I’d ever heard that.”

  I exhaled noisily. “I suppose there’s no way we can find out if it’s true or not.”

  “Of course there is. We’ll ask Ken.”

  “Really? Ask him if he had a fling with your mother, his former girlfriend?”

  “Why not? It happened fifteen years ago, if it happened at all. I’ll explain to Ken we’re trying to solve my mother’s murder. I know Ken pretty well. Despite his smooth lawyer veneer, I’ll know if he’s bullshitting me. Or out and out lying.”

  I shivered. Jared and I were about to question one of the very people who might have murdered his mother. “I’m suddenly frightened. What if he’s the killer?”

  “I don’t think we’re in any danger if we let Ken think we’re asking primarily because of what Helena announced in the library before Al died.”

  “Good point. Do you think he’d admit to a romantic involvement?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Jared said.

  “Are older people that open?”

  “It’s worth a try. I’ll give Ken a call, see if we can stop over there on Sunday evening around eight. I thought we’d have dinner before—that is, if you’re free and would like to join me.”

  “I definitely want to—on both counts. I’m working Sunday, but I should be home around five thirty.”

  “In that case, why don’t I pick you up at six thirty?”

  Having our plan to look forward to made me happy enough to hum as I returned my attention to my computer and researching the cost of more Halloween items. When I finished, I walked over to Sally’s office to show her my list.

  Dorothy stormed out of Sally’s office, a furious expression on her face.

  “Hello, Dorothy,” I said.

  She pushed past me, slamming into my shoulder.

  “Ouch!” I complained.

  Sally beckoned me into her office. “I apologize for Dorothy’s rudeness. I had to deliver some unpleasant news, and I’m afraid she took it badly.”

  “Oh,” was all I said, though I was longing to know what the unpleasant news could be. Has a patron complained about Dorothy’s behavior? Is she about to be fired?

  I handed Sally my list. She studied every item, looked at my figures, and asked if I was sure my numbers were accurate.

  “They are. Here are the receipts for the decorations Trish and Susan bought.”

  Sally looked them over, then returned them to me. “Hold onto them.”

  “Will do. I need to buy four prizes. If I don’t see anything today, I’ll buy them over the weekend.”

  “Don’t spend more than twenty dollars on each prize. Why don’t you shop for them after lunch?”

  “That’s what I was planning to do.”

  “If you need the time, take another half hour or forty-five minutes.”

  At noon, I walked over to the Cozy Corner Café and ordered the lunch special—spinach quiche, a salad, and a cup of coffee. As I was paying, I scanned the bulletin board I’d discovered the week before. Most of the notices were from people in need of a contractor, plumber, housekeeper, or babysitter. Workers posted business cards advertising their services. So far, I hadn’t seen ads for apartment rentals, but it didn’t hurt to look.

  An advertisement that hadn’t been up when I’d eaten here last caught my attention: “Cottage for rent. Reasonable rate for the right person.” Reasonable rate for the right person? What kind of weird ad is this? I jotted down the phone number and walked back to the library.

  I dialed the number as soon as I got to my office. It rang several times. I was about to disconnect when a male voice repeated the number to me.

  “Yes, hello. I’m calling about the advertisement you posted on the Cozy Corner Café bulletin board.”

  There was a pause, and then the voice asked, “Can you come by to see the cottage this afternoon?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t leave work, but I can stop by tomorrow morning.”

  “As long as you can be here by ten thirty the latest.”

  “I suppose I can.”

  He rattled off the name of a road that didn’t include numbers and asked if I knew where that was.

  “If I remember correctly, it’s a few miles north of Clover Ridge.”

  “Correct.” He proceeded to give me directions to his home. “Any questions?”

  “No, I know exactly where you are.”

  “If you say so. Please call if you get lost. I need to leave here no later than noon.”

  “I won’t get—” I began, but he’d already clicked off.

  Chapter Eight

  Exhilaration surged through me as I drove the five blocks to the supermarket on Mercer Street. Instead of mentally running down the list of items I planned to buy, I daydreamed about the cottage I’d be looking at the next morning. Of course, it was bound to be too expensive for me to rent, but it sounded like a fairy tale come true. The landlord was seriously rude, but I needn’t have anything to do with him except send him the rent once a month. The rent! A dose of reality reminded me that visiting the cottage was about all I could look forward to, but I could give my imagination free rein until then.

  The supermarket wasn’t very busy, and I was able to collect everything I’d planned to buy for the Halloween party. As I wheeled my wagon up and down the aisles, I considered what would make good prizes for the win
ners of the costume contest. Wine was one possibility, but not everyone drank wine. Gift certificates were another possibility. If only there were electronic gadgets for twenty dollars. I’d have to check that out online.

  When I returned to the library, I rang for a custodian to help me carry in the bags of party refreshments.

  Max was a big, burly man in his fifties. He had a round, bald head and wore glasses. “I’ll get the wagon and bring everything inside,” he told me. “Are you keeping it all downstairs in the utility room?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes. I’ll set the bags on the big table. You can sort it all later.” He gave me a broad grin, showing the gap between his two front teeth. “I’m sure looking forward to this party. So is my missus.”

  I grinned back at him. “What are you coming as?”

  “Not telling. Let it be a surprise.”

  As usual, Max was good to his word. I found the six bags of groceries on the table in the utility room, which was off to the side of the meeting room. I placed the perishables in the refrigerator and small freezer. By the time I finished, they were so solidly packed, not another item could fit in either one.

  The room had no cupboards or pantry, so I left the nonperishable items in the bags. Now that I was involved in many events that included food, I couldn’t wait for the library’s expansion to begin. We were getting a good-sized kitchen with new appliances and a much larger meeting room, among other improvements. Uncle Bosco was largely responsible for the expansion and had worked diligently to push the vote through. Of course, he’d contributed a lot of his own money to sweeten the deal. I didn’t look forward to the actual construction, but the results would be wonderful.

  “What’s all this?”

  Startled, I looked up as Dorothy Hawkins stepped into the room.

  “Is this for the Halloween party?” She peered into a paper bag.

  “Yes.” I moved closer to the table so she had to step back. “Why do you ask?”

  Dorothy shrugged. “Just curious.”

  “I hope you know better than to touch anything I’ve bought for the party.”

  She sniffed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She turned on her heels and left.

  What was she doing down here? Would she sabotage the party?

  I went upstairs to tell Sally I’d bought the supplies for the party and that they were in the utility room. I handed her the receipt.

  “Very good.” She scrutinized it and returned it to me. “You spent less than we’d figured.”

  “The candy and a few other items were on sale. Er . . . do we have a key to the utility room? With so much food down there, I think we should lock the door.”

  Sally laughed. “This isn’t the big city, Carrie. No one’s going to steal our party refreshments. Close the door and forget about it.”

  “I closed the door, but I’d feel better if it were locked.”

  Sally sighed. “The truth is, we lost the key a few years ago and never bothered to fit the door with a new lock. We’ve never had a problem with theft.” She turned her chair, a sign it was time for me to leave.

  I was desperate. I didn’t trust Dorothy. I felt certain she’d do something spiteful to ruin the party. If anything happened to the refreshments, no patron would eat another morsel of food in the Clover Ridge Public Library.

  “Dorothy was down there as I was leaving. She wanted to know if the supplies were for the Halloween party.”

  Sally’s face hardened as she turned to glare at me. “And you’re suggesting that Dorothy Hawkins, who has worked at this library for twelve years, is going to do something nasty to the party refreshments?”

  I swallowed. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know. Well, I know Dorothy would never do anything to jeopardize the reputation of our library. So if there’s nothing more you want to say, I have work to do.”

  I woke up early Saturday morning; showered; put on jeans, one of my new sweaters, and my new boots; and hurried downstairs. On weekends, Aunt Harriet usually made pancakes. This morning, they were apple-and-walnut multigrain pancakes topped with cheddar cheese and maple syrup that her sister had collected from her trees in Vermont.

  Uncle Bosco glanced up from the sports section he’d been frowning at to ask me what plans I had for the day.

  “I thought I’d look at a few more apartments.” I remained deliberately vague. Though they would never pressure me, I knew Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco wanted me to continue living with them—at least for another few months.

  I picked up the classified ads section. The same ads from the past two weeks were there. No takers, of course. Who would want them? I felt a pang when I noticed the ad for the cottage.

  “Interested in renting a country cottage with every convenience?”

  Every convenience? The ad in the café hadn’t said that. Nor had it mentioned that it stood on a property of ten acres and had views of the river. This ad didn’t say the rent was reasonable for the right person, but the phone number was the same one I’d called. My heart plummeted to my boots. Someone was bound to grab this jewel—someone who could afford it.

  “Well, I’m off.” Uncle Bosco stood and kissed Aunt Harriet’s cheek. “I have a council meeting this morning, but I’ll be home no later than two.”

  “Make sure that you are,” Aunt Harriet said. “You’ll need to nap before we go over to Randy and Julia’s.” She turned to me. “It’s both their children’s birthdays, so we’re celebrating with an early dinner at five.” She shot me a meaningful look. “You were invited.”

  “I know. Sorry, I have work to do, but thank them for me.”

  Uncle Bosco fixed his gaze on me. “You’re twenty-nine now, Carrie. Time to get past your cousin’s teasing when you were kids.”

  Teasing? Was that a euphemism for torturing a younger cousin going through the worst time of her life? It was the summer I’d turned seven. My father had taken off “to work,” and I hadn’t seen him in months. My mother had to stay in the city to work, and she’d kept Jordan with her for some reason. Of course, I cried a lot and moped around. Randy, who lived a few miles from the farm and was there practically every day, never missed an opportunity to call me “crybaby,” “mopey dopey,” and worse.

  “Off you go,” Aunt Harriet said to Uncle Bosco. “Remember, you’ve had your breakfast and don’t have room for another.”

  “Yes, dear,” he said meekly, but all three of us knew he’d probably have more than a cup of coffee at the council meeting.

  We heard the front door close.

  “Maybe you’ll come with us another time.” Aunt Harriet set a plate of three huge pancakes before me.

  “Maybe.”

  I poured syrup over the pancakes and then proceeded to devour them. I downed the last of my coffee and set out for my ten thirty appointment.

  It was another sunny late October day. I drove slowly out of town, drinking in the sight of trees arrayed in yellow, gold, and brown. Soon all the leaves would fall to the ground, but for now, they created a scene more beautiful than any painting.

  I obeyed the woman in my GPS and drove north on the main road for eight miles, then turned as directed onto a long driveway bordered by evergreens. I gasped when I pulled in front of the white house. House! It was a three-story mansion with a screened-in porch on one side, a three-car garage on the other, and green shutters on every window.

  I was still gaping when someone said, “Hello, I’m Dylan Avery. I assume you’re here to see the cottage.”

  The man beside my car window was in his midthirties. Tall and well-muscled in his forest-green rugby shirt and khakis, he would have been handsome if not for his grim expression.

  “You startled me! Yes, I’ve come to see the cottage. My name’s Carrie Singleton.”

  He backed up as I stepped out of the car. As we shook hands, I gazed up at his unsmiling face and into his gray eyes. He had a cowlick over the center of his forehead tha
t he’d almost succeeded in forcing into submission. He seemed to be studying me too, and not the way men usually did, but as if I were a horse or a dog he was considering buying.

  “Shall we?” He gestured to the path that continued past the mansion, cutting through a meadow as it veered to the right. He walked so fast, I found myself running to keep up.

  “Could you please slow down?”

  He spun around, and we almost collided. “Of course, if that’s what you want.”

  If that’s what I want? I was a potential renter breaking in new boots, not a cantering pony.

  We walked side by side without speaking. Had this once been farmland? The path stopped in front of a cottage.

  “Oh!” I quickly covered my mouth. Too late, I remembered the first rule of negotiation: don’t act too interested or you’ll give the seller an edge.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” Dylan said.

  Nice didn’t cover it any which way. The cottage was a one-story replica of the mansion, without the garage or the screened-in porch.

  He unlocked the front door, and I followed him into the small hall. The place had a musty odor, as if no one had lived here in many months.

  “It could use a good airing,” he mumbled as though to himself. “Look around. The furniture can remain or be removed. It’s up to the renter.”

  The kitchen was to the right of the hall. I was pleased to see the appliances looked new. I stared out of the large picture window. Twenty feet from the sweep of unkempt lawn was the river.

  “It is close to the river,” I said.

  “Of course. I put that in the ad. One ad, anyway.” His amused expression surprised me.

  I crossed the hall to peer in at the dining room, which was large enough to hold a breakfront and a table with six chairs. “In my experience,” I told him, “most people exaggerate or lie outright when describing the place they want to rent.”

  “I never lie. Ahead is the living room.”

  It was furnished with a contemporary sofa, a lounge chair, and an upholstered chair, all in muted gold and blues. The chairs faced a large flat-screen TV. The three large windows faced the river.