Lark! the Herald Angels Sing

by Donna Andrews

  I opened the door and let the three of them in. The two Shiffleys began shaking off the snow and shedding their boots and coats in the utility room. The woman just stood looking anxious and shivering, with her shoulders hunched and her hands buried in her pockets. She had a nasty half-scabbed laceration on her cheek and several deep scratches on her hands. And she looked like someone who had been sleeping rough for the last few nights.

  “Thanks, Caleb, and, um…”

  “Wayne, ma’am,” the second Shiffley supplied.

  “And Wayne. Why don’t you take our trespasser into the living room while I make you all some hot coffee?”

  “You had no right to drag me in here this way,” the woman said. “And you have no right to keep me here.”

  “Meg Langslow.” I held out my hand, which she ignored. “I live here. You don’t. You’re trespassing. And I’d like to know why.” She flinched slightly, and I felt slightly guilty. “You’re also obviously freezing, you’re clearly not dressed for how cold it is out there now, and the temperature’s dropping further by the minute. Come in, warm up, and we’ll sort this out.” I turned back to Caleb and Wayne. “You hungry? I’ve got some of Michael’s lasagna.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Caleb said.

  “Wouldn’t say no,” Wayne added with a grin.

  “Let me get you settled in the living room and then I’ll get the food started.”

  It had occurred to me that it could be interesting to see how the woman reacted when I led her into the living room where Lark was sleeping.

  She noticed the crib right away, even though she pretended not to. She didn’t take the seat closest to the crib, but she did position herself so she could see it. And then kept her head resolutely turned at an angle where she could pretend she wasn’t looking at the crib but could still dart the occasional glance at Lark when she thought no one was looking.

  I was very pleased that neither Caleb nor Wayne said anything about the baby—either they had uncommon good sense or they’d been briefed well and knew how to follow orders. As I returned to the kitchen I made a mental note to commend them the next time I was talking to Vern or Randall.

  After starting the machine to brew a carafe of coffee, I got out the lasagna and was about to measure out three portions. Then I reminded myself that what seemed like reasonable portions to me would probably look like hors d’oeuvres to hungry young men who had been spending the day out in the freezing woods. And I was a bit peckish myself—I’d hardly eaten anything at dinner, thanks to Dad’s and Grandfather’s appetite-depressing conversation. Even our trespasser might be hungry. So I stuck the rest of the lasagna in the microwave and sent Michael a quick text suggesting that provisions were low and if he planned to bring the boys back with an appetite he might also want to bring back pizza. I grabbed a loaf of Rose Noire’s whole-grain bread and put it on a tray with butter and two kinds of her homemade preserves. When the lasagna and the coffee were ready, I added them to the tray along with the cups, dishes, and silverware, and hauled it out to the living room.

  The woman was still staring straight ahead, although I suspected she was watching Lark in her peripheral vision. Caleb and Wayne had taken out their smartphones and appeared lost in them—although I suspected one false move from the woman would prove they were only pretending not to be watching her. They both jumped up when they saw me and offered to take the tray.

  “Set it on the coffee table,” I said, handing it to Caleb. “And help yourself.”

  I fixed a plate and a cup of coffee for the woman and set them down in front of her. Her glance flicked down at them and then away again.

  “Suit yourself,” I said. “But if you’re planning to make a daring escape before the authorities get here, you might want to fuel up. And warm up.”

  She pursed her lips as if reluctantly acknowledging that I was right. Then she picked up the coffee and took a sip.

  “And while I know you plan to make your visit a brief one, it would be nice if we knew what to call you while you’re here.”

  She looked at me over the coffee cup.

  “Janet,” she said finally.

  Chapter 13

  I waited, hoping Janet would manage to drop a last name to go along with the first. She was looking into the coffee cup.

  Baby steps.

  “Eat up, Janet,” I said. “Unless you’re a vegetarian—I didn’t think to ask. My cousin, who does much of the cooking, is a vegetarian. I’m sure we’ve got a tofu casserole in the fridge.”

  “No thanks.” She wrinkled her nose slightly. “I’m not a big fan of tofu.”

  “You and me both.” I dug into my lasagna. She could eat or not eat; I wasn’t going to worry about her. It had been a long day.

  She relented and took a tiny bite. I could tell she was trying to chew it slowly, but she was obviously starving. She looked up, saw me watching her, and smiled slightly. Then she dug in with as much enthusiasm as the two Shiffleys.

  I followed their example.

  “So,” I said when we’d polished off the lasagna. “You want to tell me why you were sneaking around in the woods behind our house?”

  She tensed again and shook her head slightly.

  “Well, then I’ll tell you. You’re the one who left the baby in the manger at Trinity Episcopal Church earlier today, and you wanted to check to make sure she’s all right before you head out for wherever you’re planning to go without her.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and she closed her eyes as if acknowledging defeat.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry if I caused any trouble, but I had to find someplace safe to leave her. Because she’s not safe at all with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Some bad people are looking for me,” she said.

  “What bad people?”

  “You have to let me go.” She was shaking her head. “If they catch up with me—”

  Light dawned.

  “You’re on the run from Clay County.” It was a statement, not a question—and her expression told me I’d gotten it right. “From Sheriff Dingle and all his merry but ever-so-corrupt men.”

  “I can’t let them find me,” she said. “They might kill me.”

  Caleb and Wayne had been silently watching our conversation. I saw their expressions change when I mentioned Clay County. And now Caleb spoke up.

  “Ma’am, if it’s those Clay County jerks who’re after you, don’t worry. No one here in Caerphilly’s gonna help them catch you.”

  “And there’s a dozen of our cousins still out there in the woods, guarding the perimeter,” Wayne added. “On account of Mayor Shiffley told us to be sure not to let anything happen to Meg or the baby.”

  “Speaking of the baby, Mrs. Caverly,” I said. “Wouldn’t you like to hold her for a while?”

  Instead of answering, she burst into tears. She did manage to nod, so I went over, picked up Lark, and handed her to her mother. Not that I planned to let her or anyone else take the baby until a DNA test confirmed my suspicions—and until both of them were out of danger. But from the expression on her face, I was pretty sure that yes, we’d reunited Lark and her mother.

  “Caverly?” Caleb said. “Haven’t I heard that name before?”

  “Her husband’s the one Clay County’s looking for,” I said, looking at Janet. “Isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know where he is,” she said sharply. “Even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you. But I don’t.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “When—”

  Caleb and Wayne suddenly both straightened up and looked a lot more vigilant. Caleb put down his plate, walked out into the hall, and peered out of one of the windows there. Wayne merely looked alert and stuck his hand in his pocket. I wondered if the two of them were armed. Shiffleys often were, though usually with rifles. Or hunting knives.

  Caleb had already relaxed by the time I heard the approaching car.

  “Chief’s here,” he said.

  Janet tensed again.


  “Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s been doing everything he can not to find your husband. Not officially, anyway, because he knows what could happen to someone locked up in the Clay County Jail.”

  Janet looked only slightly reassured.

  “Let the chief in, will you,” I told Caleb.

  I could see through the front windows that the snow was coming down harder. Caleb opened the door and a blast of cold wind came in with the chief.

  “Merry Christmas, Caleb,” he said as he shed his wraps. “My compliments to your family on this.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Well.” The chief paused in the doorway and surveyed the room. “Merry Christmas, Meg. Good work, Wayne. Mrs. Caverly, I presume.”

  “You have to let me leave,” she said. “They’ll kill me if they catch me. Or worse, they’ll torture me to tell them where Mark is. I don’t know, but they won’t believe me, and—”

  “Relax.” The chief took out his notebook and sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs. “You’re perfectly safe here.” I found his solid, reliable presence reassuring. Surely Janet was exaggerating the danger to her, and maybe even to her husband.

  “What if Sheriff Dingle’s officers show up and try to arrest me?” Janet didn’t seem reassured.

  “I will inform them that you are already in my custody, and that I will consider any request for extradition they may care to make once our charges against you have been dealt with.”

  “Charges? What charges?” Janet looked indignant.

  “I’m sure we could prevail upon Meg to file trespassing charges,” the chief said. “That should be sufficient to keep you out of their hands for the time being—especially if I drop a hint to the commonwealth attorney that here’s no need to rush. If you were to resist arrest, that would give me additional grounds to detain you in the relative safety of Caerphilly. We can talk about it later. At the moment, I think it’s much more urgent for you to tell me why you’re on the run in the first place, so we can see what we can do to rescue your husband.”

  “Rescue him?” Janet sounded surprised. “You mean you believe our side of the story?”

  “Since I haven’t actually heard your side of the story yet, I can’t say whether I believe it or not.” The chief sounded slightly testy. I watched as he took a deep breath and let go of some of his irritation. “I can promise you that I will listen to it, and weigh it carefully.”

  “Oh, and you’re going to take my word over the Clay County sheriff’s.” Janet sounded bitter.

  I could see the chief was struggling for a way to convey his deep distrust of anything having to do with Clay County without saying anything directly critical of someone who was, after all, a fellow law enforcement officer, however unworthy. I decided to help him out.

  “The chief’s much too polite to say this,” I said. “But Clay County and Caerphilly are like the Hatfields and the McCoys. The fact that they don’t like you doesn’t automatically mean we will, but it does make us just a little bit inclined to be biased in your favor.”

  “A little?” Caleb said softly, and he and Wayne laughed.

  “Ms. Waterston is correct,” the chief said. “There has always been a great deal of ill will between the counties. And while I myself am a relative newcomer to the area, and try to remain unbiased, I cannot deny that I have often had grave concerns over how Clay County conducts its affairs.”

  We all watched her consider it—even the chief.

  “If you’re honest, maybe you can help us,” she said. “And if you’re in league with them, I’m already dead, so what does it matter? So I might as well tell you.”

  “Good.” The chief nodded. “Caleb, Wayne—can you go out and make sure no one barges in to interrupt us? Apart from my officers or any returning members of Ms. Langslow’s family, of course.”

  “Yes, sir,” they said in unison. They both picked up their plates, utensils, and coffee cups and carried them out to the kitchen. I nodded with approval. Somebody had raised them right.

  “Could you use some coffee?” I asked the chief.

  “I could indeed,” he said. “It’s a bitter night out there. And Mrs. Caverly might like a refill.”

  I took Janet’s cup and went into the kitchen. Caleb and Wayne were just slipping out the back door. I locked up behind them, and poured the coffee.

  I returned to the living room, resigned to the fact that the chief would probably chase me out when he started interviewing Janet. But to my surprise, he didn’t.

  “Thank you. And could you stay and take a few notes, just until one of my officers gets here? Assuming that’s acceptable to you, Mrs. Caverly.”

  She nodded.

  I was puzzled, but I made sure not to show it. Maybe the chief thought Janet would find my presence reassuring. Maybe he wanted a witness to whatever she said. After all, just because Clay County was after her didn’t automatically make her innocent. Even Clay County occasionally caught a few real crooks. I took my notebook out of my tote bag and assumed what I hoped was a discreet and professional expression.

  Chapter 14

  “So, Mrs. Caverly,” the chief began. “I assume you and your husband are relative newcomers to Clay County.”

  “Well, Mark is,” she said. “He took a job there. Assistant treasurer. The pay wasn’t that great, but we figured living in the country would be cheap, and it would be a nice, quiet, healthy place to bring up a family, and the title would look good on his résumé.”

  “When was this?”

  “Mark started in July. I stayed back in Philadelphia with my parents. I wanted to have the baby there with the obstetrician I knew. So Mark came down here alone, and I was going to move down as soon as he found a place. And he wasn’t having any luck—at least I thought that’s what was happening. I should have realized it wasn’t going well—I just thought he was sounding negative because he was lonely and the job was turning out to be harder than he expected and the housing market was impossible. But now I know he wanted us to stay with my parents. Where it was safe.”

  She stared into space for a few moments.

  “What happened?” the chief prompted.

  “Mark started acting really weird for a few weeks,” she said. “And then he finally told me why, two weeks ago when I came down for a visit. When he was hired, Mayor Dingle told him the county finances were in bad shape, and they needed a whiz to straighten them out. It turns out what they wanted was someone to figure out how to launder the profits of their illegal moonshine and marijuana business.”

  The chief nodded slightly, as if this confirmed some suspicions of his own.

  “He wanted to just quit, but they’d already sort of threatened him,” she said. “Told him that he knew too much, and that if he changed his mind about working with them, it wouldn’t be healthy. But we could already see that they would never totally trust him. At least I could. I told him that as soon as he set up the money laundering scheme for them, they’d decide they didn’t need him anymore, and they’d get rid of him. And I don’t mean by firing him.”

  “Did he consider going to the DEA or the ATF?” the chief asked.

  She paused. I had the feeling she was deciding whether to trust us with something.

  “He tried,” she said finally. “I think the Dingles found out he’d done it. Maybe someone at one of the agencies was careless. Or maybe Mark wasn’t as good an actor as he thought he was. Maybe they were just paranoid. Anyway, we were lucky. Someone we knew warned us that they were going to knock off someone the Dingles didn’t like and frame Mark for murder.”

  “Who’s they, the ones you suspect of planning the murder?” the chief asked. “And who warned you?”

  “One of Sheriff Dingle’s men committed the murder,” she said. “Not sure who, and it doesn’t really matter—he’s behind it. And I’m not going to tell you who warned us.” She set her jaw in a stubborn expression. “It’s one thing for me to trust you with my life, but I don’t know you we
ll enough yet to give away someone else’s secrets. Someone who was in a position to know. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Maybe that was what she was hiding.

  “Fair enough,” the chief said. “So the plan was to murder Lucius Plunket and frame your husband for it.”

  “They called Mark and asked him—ordered him—to show up at a meeting at the courthouse,” she said. “At eleven at night. I was visiting again. We had a bad feeling about it. I said we should just take off—go back to Philadelphia. Mark was afraid they’d hunt him down and kill us all. So he decided to take off—he was going to try to drive down to the DEA office in Richmond and turn himself in. Ask for protection as a whistleblower. But just in case, he told me to take Andrea back to Philadelphia and lie low until he was sure it was safe.”

  “Andrea?”

  “Our daughter.”

  “We thought she was named Lark,” the chief said.

  “Lark? Why would you think that?” Her expression added, “What kind of crazy person names a baby Lark?”

  “It was written on the back of your note.”

  She shook her head as if puzzled, so I pulled out my phone and called up the pictures I’d taken of the note. The front, with her note to Rob. And the back, with the handwritten name.

  “Oh, that.” She laughed and shook her head. “That’s not Lark. I guess my handwriting’s worse than I thought. It’s Hark. As in ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.’ Before everything went to hell, I was making a list of Christmas carols I wanted to add to the holiday playlist on my phone—well, not so much an organized list as just jotting the title down on the nearest piece of paper when I heard one I liked on the radio. It all seems so long ago. I guess I cut the note out of one of those pieces of paper. So you’ve been calling her Lark.”

  “And maybe we should keep on calling her that until any danger is past,” I suggested. “I’m not sure even the Dingles are warped enough to hurt a four-month-old baby, but if they are, they’ll be looking for an Andrea, not a Lark. Let’s play it safe.”