by Hillary Avis
Officer Lee sat forward in her chair. Allison looked at her sharply and she slumped back down and hurriedly flipped the pages of her magazine.
Lilian chuckled. “Oh, he had everyone going. He must have had ten girls thinking he was their boyfriend. He borrowed a little cash from each of them every month to pay the car note. Of course, I didn’t give him any, because I was his real girlfriend. I didn’t have to.”
“What about Gertrude—did she give him money?”
This time, Officer Lee sat up and didn’t bother to hide that she was listening.
Lilian suddenly became very interested in her oatmeal. She spooned a large bite into her mouth and took a long time chewing it. Then she carefully blew on her hot tea and took a sip, and then another.
“Well?” Officer Lee demanded impatiently.
Lilian blinked, her face blank and innocent. “What, now?”
“Answer the question, ma’am,” Officer Lee said, her voice strained.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember what you asked,” Lilian said sweetly, and resumed eating her oats.
“I was just asking about Harman and Gertrude,” Allison explained.
Lilian shook her head. “Poor Gertrude. Did you hear she was killed? I don’t know what happened, though. They won’t tell me. Do you know?”
Officer Lee sighed with exasperation and then shot a suspicious look at Allison. She jerked her head toward the door. “Will you step out with me a moment? I’d like to have a little chat.”
Chapter 10
Allison followed Officer Lee out of the room and waited until the door closed behind them to ask, “What is it?” She hoped the wobble in her voice was undetectable.
Officer Lee leaned in and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “What do you know about Lilian’s relationship with Gertrude? It seems their conflict dates back further than I realized.”
“They dated the same boy in high school,” Allison said, relief washing over her. “And then Gertrude married him.”
“Seems like a good reason to hate someone,” Officer Lee said thoughtfully.
“You grow up in a town this small, you get used to dating other people’s exes. It’s not like you can avoid it. You just have to be careful that they’re not your cousin.” Allison chuckled at her own joke. Officer Lee’s eyes bulged momentarily, and Allison grinned and waved her hand. “Just kidding, of course. Everybody knows their cousins around here. I just meant that if we all hated the girl who married our high school boyfriend, none of us in Remembrance would have any friends.”
The cop regained her composure. “But Gertrude did steal Lilian’s boyfriend, right? Sounds like motive to me.”
“Sure—way back in May 1958.”
Officer Lee coughed disbelievingly. “You know the exact date?”
Allison crossed her arms, her heart pounding as she scrambled to come up with an explanation. Stupid. First full day on the job as guardian of the library, and she was already blabbing information and making people suspicious. “I talked to her sister last night. She told me about it.”
“Why were you talking to Hedy Frank?” Officer Lee narrowed her eyes. Apparently, Hedy was already on her radar.
Allison’s jaw dropped open. “Why shouldn’t I talk to her? This is a free country and I can talk to whoever I want, especially in the town where I live!” Her voice unintentionally raised at the end of her sentence.
Myra looked up from the other side of the room and made a beeline toward them, her jaw set. Pogo trailed her on the leash, looking reluctant to leave the huddle of residents who’d been petting him. When Myra reached them, she put her hands on her hips.
“What in the world do you think you’re doing?!” she whispered fiercely. “You’re going to give all these nice people indigestion with your carrying on.”
Allison sighed. “Sorry. Officer Lee here was just accusing me of something, although I’m not sure what.” Pogo squeezed between her feet and stood there staring at the policewoman. A faint, low growl emanated from his throat.
“Kara.” Officer Lee stood up straight and cleared her throat, eyeing Pogo warily. “Call me Kara, please.”
“Fine. Kara thinks I shouldn’t take flowers to Gertrude’s bereaved sister,” Allison snapped. “Somehow that’s a problem.” Pogo gave a sharp warning bark, mimicking Allison’s tone, and she scooped him up, feeling a bit sheepish and guilty. She was supposed to be helping him get ready for a new home, not teaching him to hate cops.
Myra raised her eyebrows disbelievingly at Kara. “Are you serious?”
Kara stuck out her chin defensively. “She can visit anybody she wants. I just don’t like it when people have information about a crime and don’t share it with law enforcement. All this history between Gertrude and Lilian is relevant to the case, and this is the first I’ve heard of it!”
“What history? They’ve only been roommates since Gertrude moved in a couple months ago.” Myra frowned deeply. “I knew they weren’t getting along, but I figured they’d work it out. Most people here do if you give them a little time.”
Allison sighed. “Hedy told me they had a falling out in high school. They were best friends until Gertrude stole Lilian’s boyfriend at the junior-senior prom and went on to marry him that summer.”
“They were fighting over Harman Winter?!” Myra guffawed. “That old bag of bones?”
“It was over sixty years ago,” Allison said, shooting a look at Kara. “Lilian wouldn’t hold onto a grudge that long.”
“I think she did,” Kara said thoughtfully. “I think it must have festered. Only someone who really hated Gertrude could have killed her with such force. Those knitting needles went right through her. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Well, Ms. Lilian is a lamb,” Myra said. “Anyway, she didn’t have a drop of blood on her nightclothes. How are you going to stab someone and then not have a drop of blood on you?”
Kara shrugged. “Luck. And puncture wounds don’t always bleed a lot. There’s no other explanation for what happened.”
Guilt blossomed in Allison’s stomach. She knew there was another explanation—an unknown person could have entered the room through the window that night, killed Gertrude with the knitting needles, and slipped out again. But so far, the only evidence Allison had gathered was that Lilian’s dislike of her roommate stretched back far further than anyone had realized. Pogo yelped, and she realized that she’d been squeezing him too tightly.
“Sorry,” she murmured reflexively, relaxing her grip. Pogo grumbled at her.
Kara laughed, her eyes twinkling, giving Allison a glimpse of what she must be like on her off-hours. “I’m glad I’m not the only one he has a problem with. I was starting to get a complex!”
“He’s opinionated, but he’s a good dog,” Allison said, stroking Pogo’s head. “I know he’ll make a good companion for the right person. He only growls at you because he thinks you’re trying to hurt us.”
Kara frowned and took a step back. “I don’t know where he’d get that idea.”
“You haven’t exactly been friendly,” Allison muttered under her breath.
“I—I’m trying.” Kara shook her head. “It’s not easy to fit in around here. Everywhere I go in, people shut me out. Restaurant? Nobody sits by me at the counter. Grocery store? Checker won’t even look me in the eye. And investigating Gertrude’s murder? Forget it...nobody knows anything, saw anything, remembers anything—nothing. I don’t know if it’s being a cop from out of town, my ethnicity, or what...but everybody in Remembrance seems bent on making my job as tough as possible.”
“They just don’t know you yet, so they don’t trust you,” Myra said gently. “Especially since you’re investigating a beloved member of the community.”
The corner of Allison’s mouth twitched. Beloved was an overstatement. Nobody loved Gertrude, as far as she knew. But she was known. She belonged here.
Kara looked up, her eyes blazing. “Then they need to get over themselves. A woman
was killed! Don’t they care about getting justice for her?”
Allison swallowed and stared at the floor, any amusement she’d felt a moment before completely vanished.
Myra said quietly, “I guess maybe they don’t want the hurt spread around. Ms. Lilian may have killed Ms. Gertrude, but she’s a confused, elderly lady. Dragging her up and down Main Street won’t fix anything.”
“Protecting a murderer won’t fix anything either,” Kara said stubbornly. She turned to Allison, her look pointed. “The sooner you realize that, the better. Hiding information from the police is a crime! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to do my job.” She whirled around, stepped back into Lilian’s room, and slammed the door behind her, jarring the entire activity room into silence.
Allison felt a weight pressing down on her shoulders. Kara Lee didn’t know the secrets Allison kept, but somehow she sensed that Allison was withholding information. Of course, Kara probably thought she was protecting Lilian. She had no idea that Allison was also protecting the library—and, she had to admit, herself.
Myra patted her on the back. “She’s just frustrated. Don’t take it personally.”
Allison nodded and forced a smile. Pogo wriggled and tried to lick the underside of her chin, so she gently set him down on the floor. “Come on, buddy—let’s go see Paul.”
They found him near the bookshelves. He held a thriller novel on his lap, open to the first page, but he wasn’t reading it. He closed the book and smiled at the dog as they approached.
“May I pet your dog?” he asked.
Allison nodded mutely. Paul reached down and stroked Pogo’s back, causing the dog’s tiny tail to wiggle.
“I had a dog like this one, once.” Paul beamed at her.
“Tiny!” she said eagerly, sitting down in the chair beside him.
His whole body tensed. “Yes—how did you know that?”
“Lucky guess.” She took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. Stay in the moment, Allison. Don’t push too hard. But she couldn’t help pushing, just a little. “Tell me about him.”
“There isn’t much to say. He was a dog and liked dog things.”
“Such as?” she prompted. But Paul just opened the book in his lap again, the universal signal that a conversation was finished.
She sat there for a few more minutes, petting Pogo and hoping to draw Paul’s attention to the cute little terrier again, but as the seconds ticked by, her hope drained away. Maybe she’d exhausted all the possibilities with the dog. It seemed like Paul hit a wall any time his memories bumped up against their life together.
She sighed. It was time to find Pogo a new home. She stood to go, but as she did so, someone caught her eye. An elderly man in a white cowboy hat and tight jeans had just entered the building. Allison had seen him around town—he’d even been to the bakery a few times—but now she recognized him from Lilian’s memory of the prom. It was Harman Winter, plus sixty years. Right away, he drew Myra’s ire. She marched over to him and stood with her back to Allison and her hands on her hips. Allison couldn’t hear what Myra was saying, but her voice was raised. Allison drew closer and caught a few words.
“Don’t come in here and make a scene!” Myra snapped.
Harman put up his hands. “I’m not tryin’ to, Miss Myra.”
“Don’t you Miss Myra me! You can call me Mrs. Mitchell, or you can call me goodbye!”
“What’s going on?” Allison asked, stepping between the two of them and addressing Myra. She ignored Harman but was conscious of him looking her up and down. A familiar, spicy cologne drifted into her nostrils. It was definitely the smell that Lilian had been so eager to be rid of.
Myra blew out her breath in a huff. “He thinks he can just waltz in and harass Ms. Lilian whenever he pleases. That’s not how this works.”
“That’s not how introductions work, either. Harman Winter. Call me Harman.” The man stuck out his hand for Allison to shake and smiled at her, exposing several gold teeth. “I just came to pay my respects to Lilian. I’m sure she’s shook up.”
“Nobody pays respects to someone who killed their wife!” Myra said crossly. “You can’t pull the wool over my eyes.”
“Ex-wife,” Harman said smoothly. “Gertrude divorced me in ’86. Anyway, Lilian is an old friend. I’m just concerned for her wellbeing. Aren’t you?” He gave a look that took in both of them.
“Of course we are,” Allison said.
“Then you understand.” He smiled ingratiatingly at her and checked her out again, his gaze pausing on her left hand. “And who are you, Miss—?”
“Allison.” She shifted the leash to her right hand and fiddled with her plain gold wedding band, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny. “You can call me Mrs. Rye. My husband Paul is right over there.”
He took off his hat and held it to his chest. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” he said, and winked.
Allison’s mouth dropped open, and Myra swatted Harman on the arm. “Shut your mouth, you dirty old man! Nobody wants a piece of your dried-out old beef jerky rear end.”
He grinned, unperturbed by the insult, and put his hat back on. He nodded toward Lilian’s room. “Is she in there?”
“She sure is.”
“May I pretty please pay her a visit?” Harman showed his gold teeth again.
Myra pursed her lips. “I suppose since she’s under police supervision, it can’t hurt. She could use some company. Just behave yourself.”
Harman’s eyes widened in surprise. “She’s got a cop in there?”
Myra nodded. “She’s in protective custody for now. At least until charges are brought and they decide what to do with her.”
“Ah.” His eyes darted around the room. “Well. I guess it can wait. See you later, Mrs. Mitchell. You too, Miss Allison.” He tipped his hat at the last words and left before Allison could remind him that her name was Mrs. Rye.
Chapter 11
“What in the world is he up to?” Myra muttered to herself.
“Do you think he came to ask her what happened?” Allison asked.
Myra’s expression turned dark as she shook her head. “Looking for revenge, most likely. Why else?”
“You think? He didn’t seem angry. And he said himself, he and Gertrude have been divorced since the Eighties.”
“He still visited her every week, though,” Myra said. “Marriage is strange—it binds you forever. It lasts beyond all kinds of things. Think about you and Paul. You all are as married as can be, even though he doesn’t remember a thing about you. So I guess a little divorce can’t stop any—” She broke off, spying Allison’s tearful expression. “Oh, baby girl. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—oh, honey.”
Allison tried to smile, but her mouth twisted and a sob erupted from her chest. She choked on her words as she tried to suppress the tears. “Sorry. I just hoped that he’d—he’d remember something new today. The last two times I brought Pogo, he did, but this time”—she hiccupped—“nothing.”
“Hey, now.” Myra pulled Allison into a bear hug. “Don’t listen to me. What do I know?”
Allison scrubbed away her tears with the back of her hand as Myra released her from the hug. “It’s OK,” she said, putting on a brave face even though her insides felt made of Jell-O. “I’m trying to stay in the moment and just love Paul as he is—that’s what they taught us in the caregiver support group. But it’s hard, Myra, I’m not going to lie. I don’t want to say goodbye to him little by little. It’s too much sadness.”
Myra put both hands on Allison’s shoulders and squeezed as she stared her straight in the eyes. “So don’t say goodbye. You keep trying, you hear? If this little dog isn’t doing it, try something else. You just keep coming back until you get what you want.” Myra punctuated her words by giving Allison’s shoulders a gentle shake.
Something about Myra’s phrasing made Allison pause. Keep coming back until you get what you want. Like how Harman Winter kept coming to visit Gertrude eve
n though they’d been divorced for decades and her dementia made it unlikely they’d be able to rekindle a relationship. What was he trying to get out of her? “Just out of curiosity—why do you think Harman visited Gertrude so often?”
Myra shrugged. “Who knows. That crusty cowboy would give himself fleas just so people would come and watch the circus.”
Allison giggled at the image of a flea circus performing on the brim of Harman Winter’s white Stetson. Myra’s assessment lined up with Lilian’s memories of Harman from the prom. Lilian thought that he had left the dance with Gertrude purely for the attention from his classmates. And today, Lilian had explained that Harman had lots of girlfriends so they’d help pay for his car. Maybe he still had a car note to cover.
“Do you think Gertrude gave Harman money? When he visited her here?” Allison asked.
Myra shrugged again. “I wasn’t in the room. I try to give people their space when they have visitors. They don’t get a lot of privacy around here.”
Allison nodded, her mind whirring. Myra hadn’t been in the room—but Lilian had. Maybe she heard or saw something happen between Harman and Gertrude when he visited on Monday. That could explain why Harman was so eager to talk to Lilian, but reluctant to do so when a cop was with her. Was he there to threaten Lilian? Or had Harman and Lilian conspired together against Gertrude?
Either way, Lilian probably couldn’t or wouldn’t tell Allison, even if she remembered. But her memory of the visit still existed in the library—if Allison could find it, anyway.
“I should get going,” Allison said abruptly. Myra, who had already slipped back into nurse-mode and was helping a nearby resident find her glasses, nodded absentmindedly.
Allison led Pogo straight back home. As she mounted the front steps, her stomach growled, but she pushed her hunger away as she unlocked the front door and breathed in the even more appetizing smell of old books. There were more important things to attend to than groceries, and the first order of business was finding Lilian’s memory of Harman’s visit with Gertrude on Monday. Where could it be?