“It is the right thing to do, Ash. I’ve told you I think it is. But I care about what’s right for you, not them. They’ll fight you for custody, you know. Right after they demand blood tests and insist the department reopen the case, they’ll fight for custody of their only grandchild.”
This time she couldn’t mask her tears. A burst came out as she tried to speak. “I…know…that’s why I’m so scared.”
Feeling eyes on him, Mark surveyed the parking lot while he let Ashlyn pour out the tears she needed to expel. No one was in the vicinity, but he saw Townsend’s old Trans-Am—another one of his midlife-crisis purchases—so it probably had been him. Strange that he hadn’t heard it, though. Tim had souped up the engine by adding mufflers, headers, and a plethora of other aftermarket accessories Mark had no understanding of or desire to know about. He simply took his truck to get an oil change, rotated the tires, and did whatever else the manual called for as routine service.
He returned his attention to Ashlyn, waiting for her crying to subside before he spoke. “Then why are you there?” He took in a breath to soften his words and quickly continued, “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant to say. I don’t have a problem with you visiting your mother. You know I want you and her to get along. But for you to bring up talking to them while you’re away… I just don’t understand. We should be discussing this together…here.”
“It’s just not right that I keep unloading all my troubles on you, Mark. My pregnancy happened before we met, so it’s only fair that I take care of the issue.”
Though she obviously couldn’t see him, he rolled his eyes at her comment. Well, especially because she couldn’t see him. He wouldn’t act so childish in front of her, but how ridiculously childishly was she behaving. They’d had this conversation over and over. “Ashlyn, I asked you to marry me. I set up everything to give you the fairy-tale proposal you deserve. I did it because I love you, all of you, even your problems. Whether your problems are in your past, present, or future, I want your troubles to be my troubles, your heartaches to be my heartaches, and your victories to be my victories. And I want to be the father of your child. Why can’t you understand that?”
“I know you do, Mark. And it was a beautiful proposal. Never in my life had I imagined such a wonderful day. The Poconos were breathtaking, the horse-drawn carriage magical, and the ring… Why did you buy such a gorgeous ring? I never wanted anything that extravagant—”
“‘Never wanted anything that extravagant,’” Mark jumped on her words, “meaning you wanted it.” He hated that his words sounded desperate, but he loved her and refused to let any opportunity slip away. If he had to use his detective skills to read between the lines, so be it. Because the thought that she could doubt for a second whether they should spend the rest of their lives together had knocked him in the gut. He couldn’t see himself with anyone but Ashlyn ever again.
“Of course I want to marry you, dreamed of you proposing. I said yes, accepted your ring. I just realized I had to figure out what to do in my situation before we set a date though. We’ve been so busy these last six months that I’ve ignored reality. And the reality is that he’s their grandson, their only grandson. And even if Devin was a putz, a murderer even, his child is still their grandson.”
Mark exhaled a breath of relief. “Thank you. It just scared me that you ran off. But I understand you need to do what’s best for both of you. I just wish I could be there when you talk to him, but you know I can’t. Devin’s father would recognize me. Just don’t do anything without thinking this through, please.”
“I won’t. I’ll take a couple of days and think about it before I do anything rash.”
“Sorry for worrying so much. I love you, so I care.”
“I know you do. I love you too. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Yeah. I have to go to work. Got a murder case to solve, ya know?”
“Good luck. It has to be easier than my case,” she said, a nervous chuckle seeping through her words.
“Let’s hope!”
Mark clicked end, closed his eyes, and leaned against the leather headrest. He knew Ashlyn should tell them; he just didn’t want her to get hurt. After speaking with Devin Burke’s father when he wanted answers about his son’s death and hearing about the man’s ruthless business tactics, he anticipated Gregory Burke would cause Ashlyn plenty of trouble. Especially when he found out that Ashlyn’s new boyfriend just so happened to be the investigating officer of his son’s death. Not good. Not good at all.
Mark had told Captain Davis what he discovered, even showed him the evidence. Davis had agreed; Devin’s case had been a suicide by train.
But Mr. Burke would insist that the captain reopen the case, would drag Ashlyn through a court battle she couldn’t afford, and generally just make their lives a nightmare. Yes, it was the right thing to do, but what was the right thing for Ashlyn and her unborn son?
He’d be willing to bet Ashlyn’s mother couldn’t care less about doing the right thing. Her only concern was that Ashlyn’s son was the only living heir to one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in Pennsylvania.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mark made his slow way into the station, taking the civilians’ corridor to the visitors’ area coffee station, instead of the employees’ lounge. Not that it mattered. Tim would pummel him for information in their office just as much as he would in the break room. The difference was that Mark would have a distraction behind his computer, and Tim wouldn’t have an audience.
After pouring soot-colored muck into his chrome mug—since he hadn’t had time to make his normal stop for drinkable coffee again—he headed down the back corridor. He’d bypass the employees’ lounge, but he’d have to walk past the captain’s office. More than likely he wouldn’t have made it into work yet, though.
A woman’s sobbing caught his attention, and he slowed his gait.
“Mark,” Captain Davis called, gesturing him inside.
Mark stepped inside the lavishly furnished space, as opposed to his six-by-six cubicle, and put a hand on Mrs. Davis’ shoulder. “You okay?” He sat down in the leather chair beside her.
Captain Davis pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to his wife. “Honey, no one is sabotaging the library. It was probably just a bunch of kids.”
The older woman shook her head. “But how did they get inside? I double checked every window and door after what happened yesterday.” She dropped her head. “I thought since the library was in the historical register that it would be the end of the greedy developers, but I guess it can have uses for something other than a library and still fit their plans of commercializing the area into a massive outdoor mall. As though we need another shopping center.”
Davis shook his head. “Honey, do you honestly think someone would murder a man in order to close the library? That’s a little drastic.”
Her head snapped up at her husband’s remark. “Yes, I do. When it comes to money, I wouldn’t put anything past those greedy developers, especially since most of them look at the homeless community as worthless anyway.” Her eyes darted to Mark. “What have you found? Do you know who murdered that poor old man?”
Surprised at her sudden shift to him, Mark quickly shook his head. “Um, no, ma’am. Not yet, but I’ll do my best.”
Captain Davis stood and walked around his desk. “Mark, I want you to follow Margaret and check out the scene.” Davis knelt down in front of his wife. “Mark is the best we have, honey. He’ll figure out what’s going on. I promise.” Davis glanced up at Mark, assuring him that he’d better prove him right.
Per the captain’s orders, Mark drove Mrs. Davis to the library in her vehicle. Davis had assured him that he’d send Tim to pick him up as soon as he was finished going over the area.
Since nothing was missing, and no one had been murdered—inside—Mrs. Davis begged him not to tear apart her library looking for evidence and fingerprints. But to just do his best.
T
ypical, Mark thought, find the ‘bad guy’, but don’t interfere with my life. Again, he’d kept his comments to himself, especially since he had all the respect for the woman who’d spent most of her life serving the public.
As soon as they stepped inside, Mrs. Davis escorted Mark to the reference area of the enormous building. Jay stood at the railing of the second floor, her blazing-red hair causing her to stand out like a beacon even inside the shadowy building. Her intense glower as she spoke to a vagrant indicated that she was upset about something. The man didn’t as much as offer a nod in response; he just stared blankly at the books on the shelves. No doubt the man was homeless based on his ragged overcoat and shabby appearance. He was cleaner than most, though, so he must be newly down on his luck.
Mark studied the man’s face, committing it to memory. More than likely Jay recognized the man as one of Buck’s friends and wanted to question him. Civilians always wanted to do the detective’s job. He’d have to find out what she knew or thought she knew.
Retracting her eyes from the man for a brief second, Jay glanced downward and offered Mark a soft smile and a friendly wave as he passed beneath her.
Mark waved back, hoping he hadn’t conveyed interest in her yesterday. She hadn’t seemed attracted to him, but now she was smiling and waving. Stupid man, Mark thought, she’s just being nice. Just because a young woman smiles at you, doesn’t mean she’s interested.
The problem was he tended to be too nice. He had a hard time telling people ‘no’, especially women. Already, Ashlyn was jealous because he’d helped Anna, a woman in forensics, put in a water heater. Anna was beautiful, no doubt, but Ashlyn had no reason to be jealous. He had no desire for any woman but Ashlyn. But he’d made the mistake of telling her he had a fondness for redheads, especially strawberry blondes, thinking Ashlyn would realize he was talking about her, not other women. But Anna had strawberry-blond hair too, and he had to work with her, which had made Ashlyn question if he was attracted to her. Mark could have slapped himself for telling Ashlyn about his affair with the police dispatcher. Pregnant women, he realized, tended to get jealous easily.
“Only signs of vandalism are in here,” Mrs. Davis said, pulling him from his personal thoughts. She gestured around the windowless room strewn with papers, folders, and books of every size, shape, and color. “I’m sure they were looking for something from zoning, anything to find a reason to shut us down.”
Mark nodded, even though he felt the same as Captain Davis. Why would anyone think trashing a place would cause the city to close the library? And he couldn’t imagine that some land developer would go so far as murdering someone because they wanted a piece of commercial property.
Mark pointed to a filing cabinet with rows and rows of boxes about three inches wide. The drawer stood open, but it didn’t look as though anything had been disturbed. “What’s that?” he asked as he approached the beige seven-drawer cabinet.
Mrs. Davis walked up beside him. “It has been a while, Markey. You’ve never used microfilm?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Google all the way.”
She closed the drawer. “Well, they didn’t mess with those, thank goodness. That would have been a mess.” Mrs. Davis squeezed his arm. “Please find out who did this. I don’t want to be afraid to come to the place that has always been my sanctuary.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Davis. I promise I’ll do my best.”
She patted his arm and walked off.
Mark’s eyes raked over the room. Where the heck would he start?
Not that it mattered, since she’d put her hands everywhere, and hundreds of other hands had been here before him, but he pulled on his latex gloves and went to work. He decided to start from one wall and work his way across the entire room, looking for anything the thief might have been searching for, checking to see if anything had been torn or removed from any of the books. More than likely, the destruction was a coverup.
Every shelf had been cleared in the fifty-by-fifty space. He spent hours sifting through encyclopedias, medical reference books, and dictionaries, wondering why they still kept the relics. The information was so outdated it couldn’t possibly be of any use.
Three hours later, Mark came full circle to the only thing in the room that hadn’t been touched. The cabinet filled with microfilm. If kids did this, or someone who just wanted to cause a mess for them to clean up, why not scatter this information too?
He pulled out the drawer and ran his finger down the row of white boxes housing the microfilm. He picked up a few and read off the contents. Old newspapers dating back to the early 1900s.
“Did you find something?” The same soft voice from yesterday, coupled with the familiar hint of jasmine, penetrated his contemplations.
Mark turned and leaned against the cabinet. “Not yet. Just so happens to be the only thing not touched.” He held up the white box he’d been reading. “Do you know how to use these?”
“No, but Mrs. Davis does. I keep to the fiction. I always was a sucker for epic novels, the stories where the heroine beats the odds, masters the game of life, and then lives happily ever after. Too bad that rarely happens.”
Not sure how to interpret her comment, he simply nodded in response and moved toward questioning her again, “Did you think of anything else?”
“No, but I’ll let you know if I do.” Jay walked off, silencing his attempt at digging deeper as she’d done yesterday. He’d give her another day at most, but then he’d push her to come down to the station. He couldn’t force her, of course. Unless someone agrees to take the witness stand in court, everyone has the right to remain silent. Mark loved how TV shows always showed a detective dragging a suspect or witness in for questioning. He could ask all the questions he wanted, but…suspect or witness, it didn’t matter; they didn’t have to breathe a word.
At least it appeared that Jay hadn’t been flirting with him. He’d hate to be rude. Mark shoved the container back in its spot and closed the cabinet. He had to agree with the captain—kids.
As he headed for the door, the lights flickered behind him. He turned to see the drawer standing open again. Walking toward it guardedly, as if it were a snake, he gulped and peered at the tracking, testing the drawer’s weight. It didn’t slide easily and was actually rather heavy. He didn’t like things opening on their own, though. He pushed the drawer back in and checked the catch. It held firmly.
He walked toward the door again, and the lights flickered a second time. “Oh, God. No…” he mumbled. Swallowing a mouthful of air, he turned back to the cabinet. He about dropped to his knees when it opened in front of his eyes. “What the hell? Am I a Ghost Buster now?”
Mark stormed toward the cabinet, shoving his hands against the drawer, but it didn’t budge. “I’m not doing this again,” he said through his teeth. “I need facts. Hard facts. I can’t go to my boss with the excuse that a ghost did it.” The drawer slammed closed beneath his hands and then popped open, mocking him.
His anger mounting, Mark pulled his fist to his mouth and bit down on his hand to keep from screaming. How was it possible? He didn’t believe in ghosts; rather, he didn’t want to believe in ghosts. After The Depot and his friend Gino’s experience at The Pit Stop, however, he wasn’t sure what to believe.
He threw up his hands. “Fine! I take it I’m supposed to go through every one of these. You realize that will take forever, right? Could you be a sport and point out which one you want me to search?”
“Markey?” Mrs. Davis’ tone held all the concern it should have. “Do you need me to find something for you?”
He reeled and faced her, forcing a wide grin on his face that he hoped masked the terror in his chest. “Hi, Mrs. Davis. Don’t worry about me. It’s what detectives do. We ask questions.”
She smiled sweetly, but added a nervous chuckle. “Oh. I understand. I talk to myself all the time. Though, I don’t usually ask myself to do anything.”
He laughed. “Yeah, well, I just realized I nee
d to go through some of these old boxes of microfilm and wasn’t sure where to start.”
“Really?” she asked, stepping closer, evidently confident that he was the same old Markey and hadn’t turned loony on her. “What could you possibly find from old newspapers? I doubt there’s anything interesting. I don’t even know why we keep them. No one ever looks at them anymore. I even got rid of all but one machine.”
Mark shrugged and gazed up at the ceiling as if the ghost would be hovering over him, waiting to provide the answer. “Well, it’s the only thing in the room that hasn’t been touched. So I thought, what if someone was trying to tell us where to look by knocking everything else out of the way?”
“Clever.” Mrs. Davis grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. “I always loved a good mystery. But it’s late. Why don’t I set up the scanner and we can go through them tomorrow?”
Mark wasn’t sure if that was acceptable or not. He stepped forward and closed the drawer, which closed easily, of course. So, the entity only wanted to show off around him, or a more logical explanation was that he was losing his mind.
He took Mrs. Davis’ arm and escorted her out of the reference room, glancing back to make certain that the lights and drawer behaved. Nothing moved. So either he was plain mental or the poltergeist only wanted to speak to him. He wasn’t sure which thought made him more uncomfortable.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ashlyn sat at the breakfast table and gazed at the backyard of her mother’s beautiful property. The house was ancient, but it held a special place in her heart. The Victorian house had charm that no modern-day home could possibly imitate. Her ancestors had been in this part of Pennsylvania for so long that the road even bore the family name.
She twisted a strand of her hair, then draped it across her face as she’d done when she was a child.
“Ashlyn,” her mother admonished. “How many times—”
Ashlyn jerked her head up at her mother, halting her words in their tracks. “I wasn’t chewing on my hair, Mother. I was simply—” She stopped defending herself, another habit she’d been doing her entire life, and stood up with her coffee cup. Hiding, Ashlyn thought. She’d been trying to hide behind her curtain of hair. Then—and even now. Why? Why did she still let her mother affect her? She pushed open the patio door. “I’m going for a walk.”
The Library: Where Life Checks Out Page 7