Death Overdue

by Allison Brook

  He examined the last page of both copies. “Terrific. Keep your copy. I’ll leave mine in the folder for Ken to hold. When are you planning to move in?”

  “Saturday morning. I have a few questions, especially since you’re leaving town and I don’t know when you’ll be coming back.”

  Dylan glanced at his watch. A Rolex, I thought, though I couldn’t be sure. “It’s eight fifty-three. How would you like to have a cup of coffee in the Cozy Corner Café and go over whatever’s on your mind?”

  “I’d like that.”

  We drove to the café and managed to park right in front. The place was all but deserted, with only a few booths occupied.

  “The café clears out after dinner,” Dylan said.

  Sal, the bald-headed owner, led us to a corner booth. “I saved you a piece of apple pie,” he told Dylan.

  “Thanks, Sal, but first, I’ll have a cheeseburger with the works. And coffee.”

  “And for you, miss? Know what you’d like?”

  I glanced over at the covered bin of pastries on the counter. “Coffee and a piece of Russian coffee cake, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  When he left, I asked, “Do you always eat dinner this late?”

  “No. Tonight turned out to be more hectic than expected.”

  I forced myself to concentrate on the important questions I needed to ask him.

  “I’m concerned about getting to work during the winter months, when snow covers the road to the cottage. Especially since you won’t be there much of the time.”

  Dylan handed me a folded sheet of paper. “I have a caretaker who looks after the property. Name is Jack Norris. Here are his numbers. Call him day or night, whenever you have a problem—a leaky faucet, the heat won’t work, the road needs plowing. He’s totally reliable.”

  That’s a relief.

  Dylan explained the heating system to me, where the fuse box was located, along with other household matters. He answered my questions calmly and patiently. There was no sign of the grumpy man I’d first spoken to on the phone.

  Sal brought over our coffees, my dessert, and Dylan’s cheeseburger. From the way he devoured it, he must have been ravenously hungry.

  “Sorry,” he apologized. “I forgot to eat lunch. Haven’t had a thing since breakfast.”

  He ate his apple pie more slowly but finished every crumb on his plate. We both welcomed a coffee refill.

  I finished my large piece of cake because it was delicious. I’d better not eat too many sweets at tomorrow’s party. When I looked up, I realized that Dylan had been waiting to tell me something important.

  “Yes?”

  “As I told you, I’m often away for long periods at a time, and I’m usually on the move.” He cocked his head at me. “You did say you were willing to collect my mail twice a week.”

  “Of course. It’s the least I can do, given your generous terms of my lease.”

  “Very good. I’ll give you a key to my house, since the mail is delivered directly through the slot in the front door.”

  Trust a thief’s daughter? “I’ll be happy to send you your mail, but giving me the key to your home is kind of weird. I mean, you hardly know me.”

  Dylan burst out laughing. “Oh, I know you all right, Miss Carolinda Singleton. Though you wrote Carrie on the lease.”

  My cheeks were burning. “I hate that name. I’ve been using Carrie since I was fourteen. Made it my legal name when I turned twenty-one.” I glared at him. “How did you know?”

  “I used to play with your brother, Jordan, when the two of you came to spend summers on the farm.”

  My brother. The farm. That’s why Dylan seemed familiar. Powerful emotions churned up inside me. “Jordan’s dead.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  We sat there quietly. I thought of my older brother, who had been killed in a car accident ten years ago.

  “We met the summer you were four and I was eight,” Dylan said softly. “Jordan and I were playing ball in one of the meadows. You ran over and insisted we had to let you play.”

  “Did you let me?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding? We tried to explain you were too young, which made you mad. Finally, your mom came and took you away.”

  “I don’t . . .” Suddenly I remembered crying as my mother walked me back to the house, promising me a piece of blueberry pie.

  “And that’s why you trust me to take in your mail? Because you met me a few times when we were kids?”

  “And because I’m a good judge of character.”

  Dylan reached inside the breast pocket of his blazer and handed me an envelope. “Here’s the key to my front door and some cash to cover mailing charges and envelopes. Call and let me know what’s come in, and I’ll tell you which items to forward and where. You’ll let me know when you run out of cash.”

  I nodded. “How long will you be away?”

  His expression turned grim. “I can’t say, but I’ll come home as soon as I’m no longer needed.”

  “What kind of work do you do?” I asked.

  “I’m an investigator for an insurance firm. I’ve been tracking expensive gems that were stolen years ago and are now coming on the market.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Since I’d be working late on Tuesday night, I didn’t have to be at the library until one thirty. I’d planned to sleep late but woke up at seven ready to start the day. I sang as I showered. Everything in my life seemed as bright as the late October sun shining outside. I had a job I was beginning to love, an event I couldn’t wait to begin, a sort of good friend in Jared, and a wonderful cottage I’d be moving into in four days.

  Aunt Harriet was clearing Uncle Bosco’s breakfast dishes when I joined her in the kitchen. I bussed her cheek. She set a cup of steaming hot coffee before me.

  “That was quite a long lease-signing session last night.” She smiled. “Your uncle and I were fast asleep when you came in.”

  “Dylan and I stopped for coffee at the Cozy Corner Café. He’s leaving on a business trip today and had several things to tell me about the cottage. He has a handyman who plows the road when it snows and makes repairs at the cottage.”

  “That’s a mercy. Would you like cereal or toast this morning?”

  “Two slices of multigrain toast, please, with orange marmalade.”

  “Coming right up.”

  I reached for the newspaper Uncle Bosco had left at the other end of the table. I glanced at the headlines, decided I didn’t want to read about terrorist attacks or the fighting in the Middle East, and put it down.

  “I didn’t realize Dylan and Jordan were friends when they were young.”

  Aunt Harriet set the bottle of marmalade on the table and nodded. “They were the best of friends. Our family was on good terms with the Averys.”

  “So what happened?”

  “A few years of poor crops. The farm not able to carry itself. Your uncle went to the bank to ask for a loan, and Cal Avery wouldn’t give it to him. Told Bosco the Singleton farm hadn’t been paying its way the past three years, and there was no sign from above that it would start doing so anytime soon.”

  “Was the farm not making a profit?”

  Aunt Harriet sighed as she sank into a chair. “We were getting deeper and deeper in debt. Don’t tell your uncle, but I think we were very lucky to get a buyer when we did. The couple who bought it had other ideas about farming, one that included turning my home into a B and B. It hurt at first, but I grew to love this house.”

  “And Uncle Bosco’s as busy as can be, running Clover Ridge affairs.”

  Aunt Harriet laughed. “Without having to get up at five in the morning to see to the livestock and what-have-you.”

  We heard a pop, and I went to get my toast. I was spreading marmalade on the two slices when Aunt Harriet said, “It looks like you have two beaus interested in you, darlin’.”

  The knife clattered to the table. I adored my aunt, but I wasn’t
ready to talk about my personal life.

  “I do not! Jared’s a—a friend.” He certainly isn’t my boyfriend. “And Dylan, if that’s who you mean, is my landlord.”

  “Who buys you coffee and keeps you out till all hours.”

  “Not all hours. I’m sure I was home by eleven.”

  “If you say so.”

  I spent the morning sorting through my clothes and books. Aunt Harriet’s words circled my brain like an earworm as my discard pile grew higher and wider. I didn’t have two beaus, as she’d called them. I liked Jared and enjoyed the time I spent with him going out to dinner and working on our common goal. But some of his reactions made me wonder if he’d ever fully mature. Maybe the horror of his mother’s murder when he was in his teens would keep him a perennial youth.

  As for Dylan, I laughed out loud. No one could accuse Dylan of being anything but a mature man, but he wasn’t interested in me. He was only being nice to me because he’d been my brother’s childhood friend. We had Jordan in common, which was probably the reason he was willing to rent me the cottage dirt cheap.

  Still, I couldn’t help remembering how warm and friendly he’d been the night before after his abrupt manner the first time we spoke. Which was the real Dylan? He was an investigator for an insurance company, a job that took him all over the country—all over the world, for all I knew. It sounded exciting . . . and romantic.

  I told myself to stop fantasizing and look at the facts. Sure, Dylan was handsome and lived in an amazing house. His job was probably dangerous, since he dealt with criminals. Criminals use guns and other weapons. I shook my head to keep from going off on that tangent.

  I needed some cartons for my books and discards, so I went looking for Aunt Harriet.

  She led me into the garage. “Let me know if you need linens or towels.”

  “I will, but I think the cottage has everything. Except for food, of course. I’m going food shopping with Jared after he helps me move in.”

  “Jared’s turning out to be a very good friend.”

  I ignored her broad grin and carried the cartons to my room.

  I packed my books in two of the cartons and filled the others with my Goth clothes. I’d have to buy more jeans and leggings and tunics that didn’t have skulls and crossbones on them. I giggled to realize I was changing my style, and it didn’t bother me one bit.

  That done, I gathered up my Sherlock Holmes costume: the oversized magnifying glass I’d ordered online, Uncle Bosco’s plaid deerstalker cap, Aunt Harriet’s green cape, the meerschaum pipe I’d borrowed from Angela’s boyfriend, and of course, my own wonderful new boots!

  At twelve thirty, I grabbed a quick lunch and then dressed for the Halloween party. I stuck the pipe in my mouth and went to find Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco. They were watching television in the den.

  “You look wonderful!” Uncle Bosco said. “Just like Basil Rathbone.”

  “Who?”

  My aunt and uncle burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “Basil Rathbone played Holmes in several movies around the time of World War Two,” Aunt Harriet explained.

  “That was a long time ago,” I said. “The only Sherlocks I know are Benedict Cumberbatch and Johnny Lee Miller.”

  “Both television series portraying a modern Sherlock,” Uncle Bosco scoffed.

  “Robert Downey Jr. played Sherlock in two movies,” I pointed out. “Will you be stopping by the library tonight?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Uncle Bosco leaned forward so I could kiss his forehead.

  I drove to the library parking lot and walked toward the back entrance. I felt the Halloween spirit all around me as I entered the building. My e-mails had worked! Every librarian and aide I greeted was in costume. And what a variety there was. Marion Marshall, the children’s librarian, was a beautiful Snow White. Scott Thompson, our electronic specialist, made a dashing Captain Jack Sparrow. I spotted Alice in Wonderland, Superman, and several princesses.

  “Your hard work paid off, Carrie. This is the best Halloween celebration we’ve had in ages.” Evelyn was keeping pace beside me.

  I stifled a giggle when I saw she had on a long black dress and a pointy witch’s hat instead of her usual conservative apparel.

  Unfortunately, she noticed. “What’s so funny? Halloween’s one of my favorite holidays. I always loved dressing up.” Her eyes took on a dreamy look. “When we were younger, my husband and I hosted a Halloween costume party every year.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m going to walk around to check out the costumes.” Evelyn took off.

  Several e-mails waited for me on my computer. Most were from presenters wanting to do a library program. Two wanted to make changes to their existing programs. Sally had instructed me to find out about changes well beforehand so I could post a bulletin in hopes of avoiding complaints from disgruntled patrons.

  The last e-mail was from Sally. “See me” was all it said. I locked my door and went to her office.

  Sally wasn’t there, so I stopped by the circulation desk to say hello to Angela. I laughed when I saw her getup. She was dressed the way I used to look: a wig of purple spiky hair, earrings brushing her shoulders, a black tunic with a skull and crossbones over black velvet tights and clunky brown boots. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’d rummaged through the cartons I’d just filled with my throwaways.

  “Look familiar?” She winked.

  “Very.”

  We both laughed.

  A finger poked my shoulder. “Did you get my e-mail?”

  I spun around. Sally’s blazing face was as red as her Orphan Annie mop of curls.

  “Yes, I went to your office, but you weren’t there.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you to return to your office so I’d know where to find you?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I . . .”

  Sally strode off with me in tow.

  What’s the problem now?

  It turned out there wasn’t any problem. Just Sally letting off steam. By the time we were sitting across from one another in her office, she’d calmed down.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “There was a situation with some teenagers outside the library. They had spray paint and were about to deface the front of the building when a police officer happened to pass by.”

  I waited.

  “Actually, I wanted to tell you how nice it is to see the staff in costume. I know it was your doing, along with the terrific decorations throughout the library.”

  I heaved a big sigh of relief. “Thanks. Trish and Susan worked hard on this event.”

  “And your financial report’s in amazingly good shape.” She gave a little laugh. “Much better than what people who have been here for years have been handing in.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Sally gave me one of her rare smiles. “Everyone’s looking forward to the party tonight. A reporter from the local paper will be coming to write an article about it.”

  “Really?”

  She placed both hands on her desk. “That’s about it. See you later, Carrie.”

  I shouldn’t have, but as I left Sally’s office, I couldn’t resist glancing across the room at the reference desk. Dorothy, in her Wonder Woman costume, was staring at me, a malicious grin on her face.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Trish and Susan arrived at five. We oohed and ahhed over each other’s costumes. Trish came as a flapper, no doubt inspired by Downton Abbey, and Susan wore an elegant green gown and wig of beautiful brown hair.

  “Scarlett O’Hara!” Trish and I shouted at the same time.

  Susan blushed with delight. The girl was surprising me in more ways than one.

  We carried the bags of Halloween paper plates, cups, napkins, and plastic cutlery down to the meeting room. The custodians had arranged the chairs in rows facing the front of the room as I’d requested.

  “The decorations look awesome,” I said. “You gals did a terrific
job—here and upstairs. Sally sang your praises.”

  Which she had, in a way.

  They grinned and high-fived each other. Their happiness made me glad, and I realized how important it was to let my assistants know I valued them and counted on their support. I’d never thought about this, but then, I’d never been charge of anyone before.

  We listened to the CDs of spooky music that Trish had brought and chose our favorites to play during the two hours of the party. We included the CDs of “Danse Macabre” and “Night on Bald Mountain” I’d borrowed from the library’s collection.

  We set out the paper goods and some of the refreshments on the long table along the back wall. I thought we’d wait until a little before seven before turning on the oven for the hors d’oeuvres that required heating. I filled the enormous coffeemaker with coffee and water. Max and Pete, our two custodians, came downstairs to see what help we needed. I told them I needed boiled water for tea and asked them to please put a large garbage pail at each end of the table.

  The magician and the storyteller arrived, talking up a storm. They knew one another and had often performed in tandem. The magician was a bit upset because he didn’t have a room of his own where he could set up his props. I told him the utility room was his to use as long as he understood we’d be coming in and out as needed. He agreed reluctantly and went to unload his suitcases. Trish winked at me. I grinned back at her.

  I’m doing it! I’m becoming a department head in the full sense of the term.

  At six forty-five, I joined Sally at the door and greeted patrons as she checked off names. A few people tried to fake their way in, but Sally was adamant. “Sorry, but if your name isn’t on the list, I’m afraid you can’t join the party.”

  When it happened a third time and a husband tried to join his wife, I added, “We’re expanding the library next year, which means more people will be able to attend our events.”

  Sally shot me a dirty look. But when the fourth person tried to enter without a ticket, she quoted the line. I turned away so she wouldn’t see my grin.

  I’m learning the tricks of my job.

  At ten after seven, I introduced the magician. Though he wasn’t very tall and was rather chubby, he had such presence, a silence fell over the crowd. While his routine was run-of-the-mill, he performed every minute of his half hour and then took his bows.