“Mark,” she broke him out of his thoughts, “hang on. Let me get to a quieter place.” He heard her labored breaths, and then the noise seemed to lessen as if someone had turned off the volume with a twist of a knob. “I’m fine,” she finally said, and he could hear the echo. She must have gone in the restroom. “You really need to stop worrying about me. Okay?”
“That’s not going to happen anytime soon, Ash. It’s what I do.”
She laughed. “I know. Your mother warned me, said you’ve been worried about her since you were ten.”
“Well, I was the man of the house. It’s what was expected.”
“I’m fine. I just need to clear my head,” she said, touching on the subject she obviously knew really worried him.
They’d been dating for six months, and everything seemed to be going well. Just the last month had been rough. He’d stop by her house and find her crying. When he asked, her answer was always, “nothing.” He’d done some research and chalked it up to hormones until she’d suggested spending the last month of her pregnancy with her mother. Her announcement had floored him. She and her mother fought like cats and dogs. Nothing Ashlyn ever did was good enough for her mother.
“I understand…” he answered her, doing his best not to sound whiny. He hated guys who whined. Though really, he didn’t understand, since everything seemed to go sour after he’d proposed. He thought it was what she wanted. They’d spoken of marriage several times in the last few months. It shouldn’t have blindsided her, but apparently, she wanted to take care of issues created by her ex before she committed to a date. Whereas Mark thought it’d be good to be married before the baby was born. “I just wish you were—”
“Hey, babe,” Ashlyn cut in, “Mom just texted me that she’s pulling in, so I should go. I’ll call you tonight before I go to bed, okay?”
He gulped down his despair, wanting to give her all the space she needed, but also wanting to understand what more she wanted. “Sure. Love you. Oh, and, Ash…make sure she’s not texting while driving.”
“Okay, worrywart.” She laughed. “And I love you too, so stop worrying,” she replied, and then the line went quiet.
Mark closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath, attempting to calm himself before going inside to do his job. The sweet scent of jasmine hit him, and he inhaled again, turning to look for the source. He hadn’t seen the familiar vine around the entrance, and he didn’t suspect that he could smell Mrs. Davis from outside unless she’d suddenly started dousing herself in all sorts of jasmine products.
“Are you the detective?” A soft voice at his six startled him. Rarely was someone able to sneak up behind him.
Mark whipped around to see a stunning redhead at the end of the stone walkway. She was leaning against the wall as if she’d been standing there all morning, just waiting until he finished his phone call.
He thought back to his conversation, wondering if he should be embarrassed about anything he’d said. “Um…yeah. Mark Waters.” He always gave his entire name, which usually prompted the other person to do the same. “And you are…” He left his words dangling, hoping she’d fill in the blank.
“Jay. I volunteer here.”
He should have guessed she was a librarian by the button-to-the-top white blouse and black skirt, her scarlet hair clipped high on top of her head. The only thing that was missing was the glasses. But based on her age—he guessed her to be about twenty-two—she probably didn’t need them yet.
Not knowing where the man had died, he gestured to the front door. “Did you know the deceased?”
She nodded, then released a soft groan. “He was the sweetest old man. We started playing chess about six months ago, but sometimes I’d just listen as he talked about his family. Why would they kill him?”
“That was going to be my next question.” He took a step toward her, thinking she was a good person to start his investigation with, but in response, she stepped away. He stopped his forward momentum and instead mirrored her pose, crossing his arms over his chest. “You said ‘they’? Who’re ‘they’?”
Jay shrugged. “Whoever did this.”
“What was the man’s name?”
“His friends called him Buck.”
“Friends?” Mark uncrossed his arms and sat on the edge of the brick wall, hoping she’d loosen up a bit. Normally when he crossed his arms in reaction to a witness’ pose and then uncrossed them, they’d follow suit. Jay remained where she was, however, her arms folded over her chest to protect her from anyone getting too close. If she were sitting, she’d have her legs crossed too, he suspected. “Did Buck belong to a book club?”
She bit down on her lip, her head lowering in her distress. “No. Buck was homeless. We have many homeless people who loiter around the library, especially as the temperature starts to drop. They stay as late as possible, then usually find a place to sleep for the night, and then are here waiting for us to unlock the doors in the morning.”
“Did you find him?” he asked, even though Davis had said his wife found the man.
“No. Mrs. Davis found him.”
“Do you remember anyone ever arguing with him?” He rephrased the question she’d answered before he’d asked her. Maybe she didn’t think someone would have wanted to kill the man, but maybe she’d seen something she’d forgotten.
She shrugged. “Not really. Only the normal stuff. Homeless people tend to ramble on to no one in particular, so most people don’t pay them any mind. As long as they’re not tarnishing their area. Then there are others like Buck. Buck was a good man; he didn’t belong here.”
Mark nodded, noticing the woman had a soft spot for the homeless community, evidently from the time spent with them. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card, offering it to her. “Here’s my number. Call me—”
The young woman refused the card, shaking her head. “I know how to find you. I don’t have any pockets, so I’d just lose it.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her remark, and though she struggled, her lips edged up for an instant and then fell again. Her amber-colored eyes filled with sorrow. Sad. She was beautiful. And too young to experience this kind of hurt, but he saw it all the time.
Her skin was a creamy ivory color with a flush of pink across her cheeks that counteracted the grief in her eyes. The young woman had a Gaelic look to her as Ashlyn did, except that she was shorter, more soft-spoken. And instead of Ashlyn’s strawberry-blond hair, Jay had fiery red hair, a deep crimson shade that looked as if it might burst into flames at any moment.
Not that he was interested. He loved Ashlyn. But he still recognized a beautiful woman when he saw one. And even if Ashlyn ended their relationship tomorrow, he wouldn’t date a younger woman.
At twenty-three, Ashlyn was only six years younger than he was, but it was the furthest he was going. If Ashlyn were even a couple years older, she probably wouldn’t be thinking so much about setting a wedding date. They were a perfect couple. They enjoyed each other’s company, liked the same things, had similar goals and dreams. Or maybe Mark just thought they wanted the same things in life.
He turned his attention back to the woman in front of him, instead of the one who was hours away. “Can I get your phone number, then, in case I have a question?”
“I live in a dorm and I don’t have a phone.” She pushed herself away from the wall and walked toward the entrance. “As I said, I know where to find you.”
“Okay.” Mark knew better than to press a potential witness in public. Unless she was a suspect—and he had evidence to prove she was a suspect—all he could do was hope that she’d cooperate. Behind closed doors, on the other hand, he’d get them to break, find out what they were hiding. Even if they weren’t guilty, witnesses tended to get scared, especially when it came to a murder investigation.
He watched for a couple of seconds as the young woman walked toward the entrance, and then turning away, lifted his phone to text Ashlyn. He just wanted to make sure she w
asn’t sitting in the train station. Train stations were some of the scariest places for a single young woman to be alone. But being so far along in her pregnancy, she hadn’t wanted to take even the short flight to her mother’s house. At least it was better than a bus.
Ashlyn texted him back immediately: In the car with Mom. Love you, worrywart. :) <3
He sent back a smiley face and heart in response and made his way to the front door again.
“’Bout time,” Captain called, gesturing to the back doors. “Forensics is on the way. Everything good with Ash?”
“Yeah, she’s spending a few weeks with her mother before the baby comes,” Mark said as nonchalantly as he could muster, but Davis and Townsend raised their eyebrows in unison. A shadow of a smile crossed Townsend’s face, but Davis at least had the decency to look concerned.
It wasn’t as though Townsend and Mark hung out. The middle-aged man just liked to hear stories, and men in relationships didn’t talk about their women the way single men did. When a man loves a woman, he doesn’t share sweet or juicy details. The last thing a man wants is for another man to think about his woman in that way. Not that men wouldn’t anyway. He couldn’t imagine there was a man alive who would look at Ashlyn and not instantly fantasize about her.
With her long legs, perfectly proportioned curves, and flowing strawberry-blond hair, she was a walking pin-up girl. The kind of woman magazines hired to advertise crotch rockets and muscle cars. Not pregnant of course, but he hadn’t seen any fewer heads turn after she started showing. If anything, he swore she got more attention.
Mark shot a glance around the library for Jay, but she must have gone straight to work. Oh well, she didn’t sound as if she was ready to talk even if she did know something. He’d give her a couple of days and then show up unannounced. Mark followed the group out the rear doors to the patio area.
Although bits of mortar were yellowish and crumbling, the vine-covered brick wall surrounding the area stood tall and sturdy. And he found the source of the jasmine. For a moment, he’d wondered if it had been Jay’s perfume.
Only one exit existed on the far-right side of the courtyard. The shiny black-iron gate appeared to have recently received a fresh coat of spray paint and looked solid, so they must have left it unlocked.
He quickened his pace to catch up with Mrs. Davis. When he placed his hand on her forearm, she jumped. But the moment she made eye contact with him, she looked as though she wanted to collapse in his arms. Her eyes were bloodshot, but a gentle smile creased the corners of her lips and eyes.
“Markey,” she said through a sigh, giving him a sideways hug. “I don’t see enough of you, young man.”
He smiled at the woman and her sweet nickname for him. Few people called a six-four cop ‘Markey’ and got away with it, but she always would. He’d never understood why a woman like Margaret Davis had married Captain Davis. She was so mild mannered, and Davis had all the gentleness of a bull. Though, not around her. When Davis was with his wife, he was a different man, as though her kindness slew the wild beast.
“I know, Mrs. Davis. I just can’t seem to fit story time into my schedule. I miss it though.” He inhaled deeply, thankful the cool September morning had preserved the dead guy enough that he hadn’t begun to smell yet.
Her smile grew. “I told you that you’d never forget. It’s calming, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Mark agreed. “The scent takes me back. I can almost hear you reading James and the Giant Peach. I think I was seven at the time, but I can still recall the voices you used for each insect.”
Obviously remembering why he was here, Mrs. Davis leaned against him as they approached the homeless man.
Mark focused his eyes on the closed gate again, then scanned the rest of the patio. “Is the gate locked?”
“Yes. We usually open it in the morning and then lock it before we leave. That’s what I was coming out to do when I saw him.”
“But it was locked when you got here?”
Covering her mouth, she nodded her answer.
“And according to your husband, there’s a security system attached to all the doors and windows, but not the patio gate, right?”
“Yes,” she choked out.
“Is it possible someone locked two people out here, they fought, and then one slipped by you this morning?”
Mrs. Davis quickly moved her head back and forth. “I checked, Markey. I locked up last night, and I opened this morning. I may seem old, since you were a child when I read to you, but I’m only fifty-three, young man,” she tapped her temple, “and my mind is as sharp as it was when I was twenty-three. No one was on the patio either time.”
Mark inspected the walls again. Ten feet, he’d guess. Some people could scale them, but… Mark scrutinized the man on the ground. He appeared to be in his seventies. Long tattered overcoat, shabby work boots. His hands were tanned dark with years of dirt embedded under his fingernails. But there were no scratches on his hands from the vine, no dust from the crumbling brick.
He couldn’t envision this seventy-year-old homeless guy climbing the wall. Why would he? The patio held nothing special, no salvation from the elements, no fire pit to keep warm.
The brick-lined courtyard just had a few picnic tables and shrubbery. Marble chess pieces sat on a painted chessboard atop one of the concrete tables. That must have been where Jay and the old man had played chess.
How could someone have murdered the man inside the enclosure and then disappeared? More than likely, Mrs. Davis had been mistaken about locking someone out here, but Mark would never challenge her assertion.
CHAPTER TWO
Jay went to the patio as she did every night after everyone else left, but she wouldn’t be playing chess with Buck anymore. The thought choked her up more than all the other secrets she’d carried. Instead of leaving though, she huddled in a corner of the courtyard and waited. Not sure what she’d hear or what she could do, but somehow, she needed to end all the secrets forever.
Her only friend other than Buck had told her that Detective Mark Waters was the key. If he could find out what happened, he could fix everything, she was sure. She just wasn’t certain how to go about telling him what she’d found.
The familiar creak of the gate opening made her smile. The maintenance men hadn’t thought to fix the eerie squeal when they’d given the iron a new coat of paint. If anything, it stuck even more, sending a shrill through the area.
Since the weather was still nice in September, the homeless community liked coming here. They enjoyed the minimal privacy of being able to talk amongst each other without business owners shooing them away for loitering.
Buck had always kept everyone in line, made sure they were all gone before the sun came up. And then, when the nights turned colder, his band of misfits, as he called them, would head out to an abandoned mill Buck had found for them.
Buck didn’t belong here, but he’d made the degenerates of society—the people no one else wanted—his family. She was happy to sit back and watch the mismatched group interact, and she’d always get one game of chess out of the old man before he fell asleep.
Murmurs echoed within the bricked-in area, but Jay remained hidden in her spot. She knew what they were discussing, knew they wanted justice, but also knew they wouldn’t get it. Only one person had any knowledge of who killed Buck, but unfortunately, that person was dead.
CHAPTER THREE
Mark rolled into the police station’s parking area, but didn’t get out of his vehicle. He’d sent Ashlyn a text at the last stoplight, and she answered him, but then he’d caught every green light on the way to work. Aggravating how when you want a red light, you get all green lights. If he were running lights and siren on the other hand, every one of the five lights on his route into work would have been bright red.
In the privacy of his car, he huffed out a breath at their discussion. Once he got inside the department, he couldn’t reveal any more of his personal life than he alrea
dy had. They should be having this conversation in person…or at least over the phone. But since her mother was hovering over her, she didn’t want to talk where she could hear.
Screw it, he thought. He touched her name on his favorites screen.
“Mark…” she complained as soon as she answered.
“Go outside, please. Our conversation is none of your mother’s business. And I know she thinks it’s none of mine, but she’s wrong.” He inhaled a deep breath before he said his next words, the words he’d been contemplating all night. “Unless I’m wrong. If we’re over, if you’ve decided to turn down my marriage proposal and break it off completely, then I guess this isn’t my business.”
“Hang on,” she said on a long drawn-out breath.
He wasn’t sure if it was because she was aggravated with him or because she was tired from the trip. It couldn’t be easy traveling all day when you’re that far along. Her mother muttered something, but it sounded muffled, so Ashlyn must have cupped the phone.
“Okay.” She let out another extended breath. “Let me just get to the bench. It’s tiring walking and talking.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” he offered. “I’m not trying to give you a hard time. I’m just—”
“I know, Mark,” she cut in. “And, no, I don’t want to break up. I can’t believe you asked me that.” She pulled in a deep breath and then a small whimper escaped he was sure she hadn’t wanted him to hear.
“Oh, Ashlyn, please don’t cry. God, I hate to hear you cry. I just want to talk about this, and I hate that you’re not here.”
“I’m not crying because of you. I know you only want what’s best. Mom thinks—insists—that I tell them. That it’s the right thing to do.”
Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. It was the right thing to do—is the right thing—and he knew it. He just didn’t want her to do it, and her mother couldn’t care less if it was the right thing to do. She just wanted the notoriety she thought it’d bring, not caring how the situation would affect Ashlyn and her unborn child.
The Library: Where Life Checks Out Page 6