by Sofie Kelly
“Before I forget, I’m going to miss class tonight,” I said.
“Are you trying to get out of Push Hands?” she teased.
I shook my head. “No. I have to help Simon with something. Getting out of Push Hands is just a bonus.”
Mags laughed. “We’ll miss you.” She made a tiny notation on the drawing of the wall she’d just made. “You’d make a great mom,” she said.
I frowned at her. “How did you get from Push Hands to I’d make a great mom?”
“You’re trying to figure out who killed Simon’s father because you care about Mia. You’ve gotten really close with her.”
I nodded. “I have. Leo and her father were all she had. Now all she has is Simon. My parents may have been a little out there but I always had them and Sara and Ethan. I can’t imagine life without them.”
Maggie folded the piece of paper. “That’s because you’ve always had them. You’d miss your mother telling you to follow your heart but stand up straight while you’re doing it. You’d miss your dad as the dancing raisin no matter how embarrassing it was.”
Maggie’s father had died when she was four. She almost never talked about him. She smiled. “It’s good that Mia has you to talk to.”
“You wouldn’t believe the things she knows,” I said. “It’s like her head is a giant encyclopedia.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. And I wouldn’t have any experience with someone like that.”
I got to the hotel just before five thirty. Simon was waiting for me just inside the lobby. Melanie Davis was at the front desk and lifted a hand in hello. We’d originally met just a few weeks after she’d taken the manager’s job, when I’d had to collect an intoxicated Burtis and Marcus’s father from the bar, where they were entertaining the customers with their vocal skills.
It was quiet in the bar. Simon chose a table near the windows. He ordered club soda with lime and I had the same. We’d been seated about five minutes when Celia Hunter arrived. She wore a long two-tone charcoal-and-dove-gray cardigan with a matching charcoal sweater underneath and black trousers. She seemed to hesitate for a moment but then she crossed the room to join us.
Simon got to his feet. “Mrs. Hunter, I’m Simon Janes,” he said. “You already know Kathleen.”
Celia took the hand he offered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She turned to me and dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Hello, Kathleen,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“I asked her to join us,” Simon said smoothly, holding a chair for the older woman. He had lovely manners. “I thought you’d feel more comfortable since we’re strangers.” He smiled.
“Well . . . thank you,” Celia said. She took the seat and set a black leather purse on the table. Simon sat down as well. I’d brought Celia’s scarf with me and I handed it across the table to her. “Thank you,” she said. “I intended to get to the library yesterday but the day got away from me.”
She set the scarf next to her purse and turned to Simon. “As I told you on the phone, I don’t want to cause you any more grief, but this is probably one of the last letters your mother wrote and . . . and I thought you might like to see it.”
Simon’s face was unreadable. “I appreciate that,” he said.
Celia opened her purse and pulled out a pale pink envelope. The paper had faded and the side folds were almost worn through. Even hidden behind the wall for so many years, time had taken its toll. The top of the envelope had been slit with a letter opener. Simon pulled out two sheets of folded paper and unfolded them. Silently he read what was written and then handed the two pages to me without a word.
I handled the paper carefully. It was dry and a little brittle, especially the right edge of the second page. I could see how the pages hadn’t been folded evenly. The right edge of the second page hadn’t lined up behind the first and because of the slit in the side of the envelope the edge was more faded and brittle than the rest of the paper.
Dear Celia,
I hope you don’t throw this letter away as soon as you see it’s from me. You probably hate me for what I’ve done, but you couldn’t hate me more than I hate myself. Victor and Leo may look the same but they’re very different men. I thought Victor was exciting, and he seemed to know what I was thinking in a way Leo didn’t, as if he could see into my heart somehow.
I love him. I will see you soon.
Love, Merry
My chest hurt. Nowhere in the letter was there a mention of Simon. I wasn’t so sure this had been a good idea.
I handed the letter back to Simon, who returned it to the envelope and handed that across the table to Celia. “Thank you,” he said.
The older woman pressed her lips together for a moment. She seemed to be struggling with some kind of emotion—sadness, perhaps—coupled with a bit of loyalty to an old friend. “She loved you very much,” she said. “Please don’t doubt that.”
“Have a safe trip home,” Simon said.
She had been dismissed and realized it. She got to her feet, nodded at both of us and made her way to the exit.
Simon turned to me. “Pizza?” he asked. A waiter was already making his way toward us.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“You couldn’t have had time to have dinner before you got here. You must be hungry.” He was all business. “So how about pizza?”
“Umm, all right. Yes,” I said.
Simon gave our order to the waiter. Once the young man was on his way to the kitchen Simon turned his attention to me. “I know you’re worried that . . .” He paused. “I’m all right, Kathleen. That letter didn’t change my opinion of Victor or my mother. It changes nothing.”
“Are you going to keep investigating?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I didn’t kill my father. And I’m going to find out who did.”
chapter 12
Harry showed up at the house about five to eight the next morning. He was going to do some repairs to Rebecca’s gazebo and the raised flower beds at the back of my yard. One of the perks of my job at the library was my little farmhouse. Since Everett owned the property all the yard work was taken care of as well.
I’d pulled my truck out in front of the house so Harry could use the driveway.
“Thanks for letting me park here,” he said. “Oren is still working at Rebecca’s and I’d like to stay out of his way if I can.”
Mariah came around the side of the house carrying a long extension cord and a tool box with a denim backpack that I recognized as being the same one she’d had with her at her grandfather’s over her shoulder. “Hey, Kathleen,” she said.
The high school kids had a day off due to teachers’ meetings.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I said to Harry.
“I’m good, thanks,” he said.
I looked at Mariah. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
She nodded. “Please.”
“C’mon in,” I said beckoning at her. In the kitchen I got one of my stainless-steel travel mugs from the cupboard and poured her a cup. Then I indicated the cream and sugar so she could fix her coffee just the way she liked it.
She added three spoonfuls of sugar. “Dad got me up at six thirty,” she said by way of explanation.
“Owen got me up at six thirty, too,” I said.
Mariah smiled at me over the top of the mug as she took a drink. “Did he tell you getting up early builds character?”
“No,” I said. “I’m pretty sure all he was interested in was breakfast.”
She laughed and held up the cup. “Thank you. I’ll make sure I bring this back,” she said, and headed outside.
I’d just poured myself another cup of coffee when Owen came from the living room, walked purposefully through the kitchen and stopped in front of the door. He meowed loudly. I went over and opened it. He headed
for the back door. I knew he wanted to see what Harry was doing. Both cats liked the gazebo. “Stay out of the way,” I reminded him as I let him into the backyard.
“Mrr,” he said, and then he was gone across the grass.
I stood for a moment on the steps, where I could see into Rebecca’s backyard. Mariah had set her coffee on the gazebo railing and stowed her backpack on the seat below it. I watched as she unrolled the long yellow extension cord and went to plug it into the outside outlet.
When I stepped back into the porch I found Hercules sitting on the bench looking out the window. He followed me into the kitchen and I found myself telling him about the letter from Simon’s mother as I gathered up the laundry. “I don’t know what I was hoping for,” I said. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there is no connection between Meredith Janes’s accident and Leo’s death.”
About ten thirty I walked my way across the kitchen floor to the back door. Hercules and I moved outside to sit on the steps, me with a cup of coffee—and him with a sardine cracker. We’d been sitting there about five minutes when I saw Owen coming across the grass. He had something in his mouth. What were the chances he hadn’t taken something that belonged to Harry?
I held out my hand as he came up the stairs and Owen dropped what looked to be a tiny piece of molded plastic in my hand. He looked at me with a very self-satisfied look on his face.
“What did you do?” I said.
“Merow,” he replied. He leaned over and nudged the small piece of orange plastic with his nose then looked at me.
Hercules leaned down and looked at my hand then looked at his brother. I’d had moments where it almost seemed like they could communicate without making a sound, and this was one of those times.
After a long moment, Hercules, like his brother, looked expectantly at me.
“Okay, you furry little kleptomaniac, what am I supposed to see here?” I picked up the piece of orange plastic by one end and held it up to study it. It was eight or nine inches long and at first I’d thought it was a disposable knife, but now I realized it wasn’t.
“It looks like an airplane propeller,” I said. I looked from Hercules to Owen, who both seemed to be waiting for me to make a connection.
A small airplane propeller.
Harry wasn’t a model maker as far as I knew. I turned the strip of plastic over in my fingers. Owen continued to stare unblinkingly at me and one of his ears twitched. He was getting annoyed that it was taking me so long to make the connection.
“All I see is a little propeller for a little airplane.” As I said the words aloud the last piece fell into place in my head. I looked from one cat to the other. “A drone is a little airplane.”
Owen sat down on the step, seemingly satisfied that I’d figured things out.
I looked across the yard. I could see Harry and Mariah working on the gazebo steps. What had he said more than once about his daughter? “She’s good with anything mechanical.”
I knew there was no way Harry had a drone, but could Mariah have one? Could she be the person who’d been following cars on the highway? And if she was, why was she doing it?
I sat there trying to make sense of everything when Harry came across the yard. “I’m just heading to the lumberyard for another one-by-six,” he said. “We’re just about finished with the gazebo and then we’ll start on the end of that raised bed of yours.”
“Thanks,” I said. I waited until I heard his truck pull out of the driveway and then I started across the backyard. Owen came with me. Hercules stayed on the steps.
Mariah was sweeping up sawdust inside the gazebo. “Hi, Kathleen,” she said. “Dad just went to get a couple of boards. He should be right back.”
“I saw him,” I said. “I wanted to ask you something.” I held out the orange propeller. “Is this yours?”
Her face flooded with color. “I, umm, I don’t know,” she said. She couldn’t quite keep her eyes on mine.
“It’s a propeller,” I said. “I’m pretty sure it’s for a drone.” I gestured at her backpack still lying on the wooden gazebo seat. “I’m sorry, I think Owen took it.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Are you going to tell my dad?”
“Mariah, have you been following cars out on the highway and down by the marina with it?”
“A few . . . maybe,” she said.
“That’s really dangerous.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not, because I didn’t do it when there was a lot of traffic and I didn’t get that close to the cars.”
“But you were a distraction,” I said, moving my hands around in frustration. “Those drivers were all paying attention to your drone, not the road. Someone could have been hurt.”
She swallowed hard. “I never thought about that.”
“What were you doing anyway?”
“I’m making a movie for my media studies class. There’s a camera attached to the drone.”
I suddenly knew why Mariah hadn’t mentioned the power was off at the library. “You were out filming the other night when I had supper with your dad and your grandfather. You weren’t at the library.”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t.”
“How many other times?”
She listed off five other days.
“Where exactly were you filming?” I asked, an idea buzzing in the back of my brain.
“One time I was down by the marina. The others I was on the highway.” She wrapped her arms around her body, hugging herself. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”
I nodded. “I’m pretty sure you are, but it might not be as bad as you think.”
When Harry came back Mariah confessed what she’d been doing. She didn’t make any excuses. Harry pulled off his Twins caps and smoothed a hand over his scalp. “You could have caused an accident,” he said. “What were you thinking? Somebody could have been hurt. Somebody could have been killed.”
“I know,” she said in a small voice, swallowing back tears that were threatening to fall.
“Mariah might be able to help someone with that footage she shot,” I said.
Harry looked at me, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
I explained about Simon driving around the night his father had been killed. “Mariah was flying her drone, filming up on the highway that night. I know it’s a long shot, but she might have filmed Simon’s car. She might be able to prove that he had nothing to do with Leo’s death.”
Harry looked at his daughter. “Do you have all the stuff you filmed?”
She nodded. “On my computer.”
He turned to me. “Kathleen, would you call Marcus and see if he can meet us at the police station in”—he looked at his watch—“about forty-five minutes?”
“I will,” I said.
“Let’s get things cleaned up here,” he said to his daughter. “Then we’re going home to get your computer.”
A chastened Mariah picked up the broom again. Owen had been sitting on the railing listening to the entire conversation. Now he tipped his head to one side, looked inquiringly at Mariah and meowed softly. “I said you could lie on my backpack, not go through it,” she muttered.
Owen hung his head.
“It’s not your fault,” she said, her expression softening. “It’s mine. I’m going to be grounded for the rest of my life.”
“Or longer,” Harry said darkly.
I picked up Owen and headed home to call Marcus.
• • •
Mary had an expression she’d use when it seemed like everything was going wrong at the library: “Some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you.” This turned out to be one of those times when we ate the bear. The camera Mariah had attached to the drone produced excellent-quality video, and she was a skilled flyer. About a third of the way through the video she had shot the night Leo was kil
led she picked up Simon’s car. The time stamp made it clear that he couldn’t have been at the apartment killing his father.
“He’s in the clear,” Marcus said when he called me at the library. “What made you think Mariah might have video of his car in the first place?”
“I remembered Simon saying that he’d seen a drone flying over a field. I figured there was a chance he was on the same stretch of highway where Eddie had been followed. It was a long shot, but it was plausible.”
I was sitting at my desk and I swiveled around so I could see out the window. Watching the water helped me focus my thoughts. “I’m sorry I ruined your case.”
“Hey, don’t apologize,” Marcus said. “I don’t want to arrest an innocent man. I want to catch the person who really killed Leo Janes.”
“Any idea who that might be?” I asked.
Marcus exhaled softly. “I think I’ll just say ‘No comment’ for now.”
We said good-bye and I went downstairs to give Mary a break at the circulation desk. I had a quick meeting with Lita over at Henderson Holdings at two thirty. I told her about Maggie’s idea to frame the photos from the post office for display along with some of the mail that had been found. Maggie was confident that at least some of the recipients would loan whatever card or letter they had received for our exhibit.
“I don’t see why the board would have any problem with you doing that,” Lita said.
“We’re hoping to get the display done early in December,” I said. “We have more people come into the library then anyway.”
Lita and I spent another fifteen minutes on library business and then I bundled up to walk back to the library. The wind off the water was cold and very quickly I began to regret my decision not to bring the truck. When I came level with Eric’s Place I decided to duck inside for a cup of coffee to go.
“I put on a fresh pot,” Claire said. “It’ll just be a couple of minutes.”
“I don’t mind,” I said. I sat on a stool with my back to the counter. I was happy to have a chance to warm my hands. I’d left my gloves back at the library.