by J. H. Croix
I raced through a shower to get ready, relief floating through me that I had something productive to do. Sunshine streamed through the stained glass windows in the library when I arrived, giving it a warmth that made me feel as if I were being welcomed home.
About halfway through the morning, I’d caught up on all my admin, packed away mountains of books waiting on trolleys after the weekend and returned a ton of emails about orders I’d placed and requests I’d gotten before my sudden vacation.
The updated publications I ordered had arrived, and I needed to unpack them, along with boxes of new and donated books. But my computer screen kept beckoning to me. The library kept digital records of a host of documents that I never got the chance to access before everything happened. I was tempted to scour through them now.
Those men removed the physical files on Mr. Lovett’s case from the library, but the digital records should still be there. I didn’t know what to look for, but I figured I could always see what I could find.
Customers came and went, interrupting my search every now and then. In between helping them, including the two older ladies and some of their friends who had a penchant for bodice rippers, I dug into the library’s database.
Uncovering information on Roy Lovett that wasn’t blacked out was a tough task, even in our official records. Yet, a few hours after I got started, I came across a name. Hello, Ken Lyons.
Excitement coursed through me, and I grabbed my phone to text Sonny about my find, but then I realized that might not be the wisest move to make. I’ll wait to tell him in person tonight.
Feeling like I’d achieved something, I got back to work. Nothing had changed around the library while I was gone, so I got back into the swing of things easily.
I labeled the new additions and added them to our inventory, chatted with several customers and selected a box full of fairy tales to send over to the elementary school for a reading day they had scheduled.
I felt more like myself than I had for weeks, driven by purpose and routine. My floral skirt skimmed my ankles when I walked, billowing out behind me as if it were propelling me forward. I loved the sense of busyness.
Keeping my promise to Sonny, I texted him periodically throughout the day.
Karen dropped by about an hour before closing time; her blond hair pulled back into a bouncy ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed from what I assumed was a brisk walk over after work, and her purse bounced against her hip when she marched into the library.
“Welcome back, stranger. It’s good to see you back at work.”
“It’s good to be back,” I admitted, leading Karen to a reading nook near the desk we often chatted in when the library was quiet.
Big red couches and colorful beanbags were scattered around a number of small coffee tables people donated. I set up the reading nook last year, hoping to attract children in particular to the library.
“Catch me up,” Karen said, falling onto a couch and pulling one of the multicolored scatter cushions onto her lap. She loved the idea of my nook when I first told her about it and proceeded to make herself at home every time we sat here, on a personal mission to let people see how comfortable it was so they would hopefully join in. “I can’t believe you’re shacking up with Sonny so soon. Way to go, girl.”
“I’m not shacking up with him.” Was I?
Karen laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re not living in his house anymore?”
“I am.”
“Then you’re shacking up with him.”
Embarrassed, my cheeks heated. “I guess I am. Is that normal?”
Karen lifted a manicured brow. “Moving in with a man a few weeks after you meet him? No, but who wants normal? I prefer your version. It’s like an epic whirlwind romance. They should make a movie about it.”
Me. I wanted normal. At least I used to. “Don’t whirlwinds usually peter out and die?”
“Wow. Miss Optimism for the win.” Karen frowned, shifting the pillow in her lap to lean forward. “Trouble in paradise?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Not at all. It’s just—I’m new to all this.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” she said, her eyes darkening with concern. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, that’s the thing. I really like him, but I’m not sure what I mean to him. At least, I’m pretty sure I mean something to him, but I have no idea what that something is.”
Karen sat back on the couch, her lips twisting with a sigh, her gaze warm and understanding. “Don’t I know that feeling well? Come on, tell me all about it. I’ll see if I can help you figure out what that something might be.”
Chapter Eleven
Sonny
Wind rustled the trees at the outer edges of the cemetery, the longish grass swaying in the breeze. Aside from that, there was no sound or movement as I got out of my truck in the parking area outside the cemetery’s main gate.
Gravel crunched under my boots as I crossed it, the metal gates of the entrance creaking as I pushed them open.
It felt exactly like the first time I came to the cemetery to question Yates, yet so much had happened in the meanwhile. My eyes darted in the direction of the grave I’d seen Maclin falling into after he got shot and a shiver shot up my spine.
I was here hoping to catch Yates and talk to him, a necessary visit, but I sure as hell would rather have been anywhere but here. Unfortunately, here was the only place I could find the one person who had at least some of the answers I needed.
Niki told me a couple of days ago she found reference to a man named Ken Lyons in some of the library’s digital records. Jeremy mentioned that our father had also told him about someone called Ken, and he wanted us to be careful of the guy.
Unless it was the world’s biggest coincidence, I was pretty sure Niki and Jeremy were referring to the same guy. And if anyone, except my father, of course, knew who Ken was, it would be Yates. Which meant I had to try to talk to him again.
The only other person who might know who this Ken character was, was Tyson. Though I told him about the murder, and he arranged to have that investigation conducted way above my head, I was hesitant to talk to him too much about my efforts to dig into Dad’s case.
He knew looking into it was what led to my witnessing the murder, but I downplayed that angle some in favor of sticking to what made me suspicious enough of Maclin to follow him. The truth of it was that Tyson and I were on okay terms, and for that, I was relieved. I loved him, but when it came to our father, there would always be a wedge between us.
A massive, rock hard wedge Tyson had driven in between us when he agreed to be part of the team that prosecuted our father. I was trying my best, but I was still bitter about it, and I doubted that would ever totally go away.
I knew Tyson saw the world in terms of black and white, right and wrong. There was no gray with him, no “yes, but” wiggle room. The way he saw it, our father committed a crime and had to be prosecuted the way every other criminal was.
To him, being part of the prosecution against his own father was never even a question—not that I knew of. Tyson was a prosecutor for the district in which the crime was committed, that was all there was to it for him.
I begged him back then to use that legal brain of his to our father’s advantage, but he wouldn’t budge. He wouldn’t even talk about it. He insisted on being a prosecutor and told me to drop it. It stung then just as it stung now.
Going to visit my father to ask about Ken was something I’d briefly considered before deciding against it. Jeremy tried to ask, more than once apparently, and Dad shut him down. It was possible Jeremy was right, that Dad wasn’t sure if their conversations at the prison were private and was hesitant to talk about it as a result.
On the chance that was the case, I didn’t want to risk my father’s safety by making him talk when he didn’t feel comfortable with it. Dad never did anything just for the heck of it. If it came down to it, I would consider going to the penitentiary to talk to him, but un
til then, I would do everything in my power to keep him out of it for now.
Both to guard against getting his hopes up and to protect him against having to say anything in prison if the walls really did have ears. There was also my personal issue with going to see him there. I still hadn’t been.
It wasn’t because I was still pissed at him, or because I was afraid of prisons. It was because my father used to be my hero. Deep down inside, he still was. Seeing him like that, in a jumpsuit surrounded by bars, would break my damn heart all over again.
Especially since I wasn’t convinced he was guilty. Maybe that was the only reason I started digging into his case in the first place—because I couldn’t accept my hero could’ve done what he allegedly did.
I would have to schedule a session with a damn therapist if I wanted to get to the bottom of what motivated me in the beginning, but that didn’t matter so much to me anymore. Everything I found out in the meantime proved something was up.
Fuck, Maclin had been murdered over whatever was going on. If that wasn’t proof of there being something way more sinister going on, I didn’t know what was.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans, jingling a few coins at the bottom as I walked. I’d made a loop around almost the whole cemetery, but there was still no sign of Yates.
The movement in the corner caught my eye. I stopped, squinting my eyes to see if it was my imagination, or if I finally tracked down the creepy old groundskeeper.
“Yates?” I called out.
The figure hesitated, then lifted a hand in a brief wave. Yates.
He was hidden behind a small shed on the very edge of the cemetery’s property, the damn pitchfork in his hand again. “Fuck.”
Was it really too much to ask that he not lug around gardening equipment? I couldn’t shake the sight of him shoveling dirt over Maclin’s body.
I stopped by my mother’s grave, noticing that my wandering around had led me right to her. Her headstone was small and understated. Dad said she would’ve hated something ostentatious.
Mary Ellen Lovett. Loving mother, wife, daughter and sister. Forever in our hearts.
The thing read like any of the hundreds of others in here, yet this one still gave me the chills every time I saw it. It was hard to believe sometimes this was all that was left of her. A chunk of granite.
A bouquet of fresh flowers lay at the juncture of her headstone and the granite slab that covered her grave. I wondered which one of my brothers brought it over. My money was on Jeremy and Marie.
We didn’t usually come out here without each other, but I knew Marie asked Jeremy once if she could come here. She also said she wanted to leave her with a little beauty since the cemetery was always so dreary.
The stubble on my face stung my palms as I rubbed them across it, blinking down at the little bit of color. It lifted my mood. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one thinking about her.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard grass crunch right behind me. I whirled around at the sound, followed by Yates’s gravelly voice. “Those won’t last long. You should bring some more often.”
“Jesus!” My heart pounded, but Yates didn’t look fussed. His gray tufts of hair had bits of dirt in it, and there was mud smeared across his chin. “I didn’t hear you coming up.”
He lifted his foot as if offering an explanation. “I don’t like to disturb mourners, learned to walk as quietly as the ghosts.”
“The ghosts?” My brows knotted. This guy had a couple of screws loose.
Yates nodded. “They’re all around. Most choose to ignore them.”
“Sure.” The hairs on the back of my neck rose, but debating the existence of the paranormal wasn’t why I was here. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you why you warned me to be careful last time I was here, and why you said my girlfriend had to be careful.” I attempted to sound casual about it as if I hadn’t come here looking for him.
Yates started moving, walking slowly to the gates. I followed, glad to be getting closer to leaving this place. “Just trying to help.”
“Help who? Why?” I asked.
Yates said little as he walked. “I told you once boy, best to look out for yourself.”
“Thanks, but I don’t see why I would have to.”
He shrugged, stopping when he came to the exit. Meeting my gaze head on for the first time since we started talking, his faded eyes were haunted. “You should always look out for yourself. Be careful. Your girlfriend too.”
Another bullshit, vague warning. The same he gave me before. Deciding it was time to change tactics from my casual conversation approach, I called him out on it directly. “Why Yates? Am I in danger? Is my girlfriend? What do you know?”
Shaking his head, he dropped his gaze from mine and started walking away from you. “I can’t say. I’ve already said too much.”
“Can’t or won’t?” I bit out, but he didn’t turn around. “That’s it? You’re going to refuse to keep talking to me?”
He still didn’t turn. Didn’t say another word as he strolled along the boundary fence with his head hanging.
I kicked a clump of grass, frustration boiling over. “What a fucking bust!”
Chapter Twelve
Niki
“There you go.” I plucked an adventure novel from the shelf and handed it to the gangly teenage boy standing beside me. “If you’re looking for spies and submarines and all those things you asked about, I think that will do it.”
The boy flipped the book over to read the back cover, a smile stretching across his face. “It looks awesome.”
I returned his smile, always happy to help introduce people to new authors in their favorite genres. “Have a look around on this shelf. You might find a few more like it. Let me know if you need anything else?”
“I will. Thank you.” He began scanning the books, pulling out a few more by the author and making a stack on a nearby trolley to read their covers.
Friday afternoons were usually a busy time at the library, with people coming in to pick their escape for the weekends or to find something to keep their little ones busy while they weren’t at school. I helped a few more customers and couldn’t stop smiling when I walked back to my desk.
My first week back at work had gone exceptionally well. No visits from scary, menacing strangers, no men in suits. Business as usual.
I looked up toward the door as I walked around my desk, my stomach dropping as I did. Uh-oh. Shouldn’t have jinxed it.
One of the men who came by before to take the files was here, his dark beady eyes locked onto me. He marched in like he owned the place, making a beeline for the desk. “You’re back.”
“I am.” My knees felt numb under the weight of his intimidating stare. He didn’t blink. Who doesn’t blink?
Maybe I just missed it because his eyes were so dark and narrowed. He cracked his knuckles. “You should be careful.”
My stupid knees threatened to give. I was kind of freaking out inside, and I knew it, but I did my best to stay calm. “I have nothing to hide.”
That much was true. Sonny protected me from knowing too much, so I genuinely didn’t know anything. Being kept in the dark was frustrating at times, but it didn’t take me long to figure out he was shielding me from knowledge that could put me at risk.
“So you say,” the man said, eyes still on mine. “Even so, it never hurts to be careful.”
I frowned, wondering what the hell he meant. I knew he was threatening me somehow; he was just being super cryptic about it.
Without another word, he gave me a swift nod and walked off. Had he really come in here only to give me a vague warning? That was absurd.
Yet, he left the library without looking back and without making any sort of detour inside to give the impression he was here looking for anything or anyone else.
My pulse pounded in my temples, my blood creeping from my face. He wa
s a seriously scary dude. No one in their right mind would mess with him, or ignore his warnings.
So why am I? The question nagged me, prodding at me until I was forced to confront it.
The only reason I was not following the man’s advice to stay out of it and be careful was because of Sonny. For the hundredth time, perhaps the thousandth, I questioned whether I was crazy to be getting involved with him.
But that only led me to the logical next question. Did it even matter anymore if it was crazy? I already had feelings for Sonny, lots and lots of feelings. Aside from wondering if I was getting tangled up in something dangerous, I also wasn’t too experienced with relationships. I didn’t know if the intensity of the feelings I had for him made any sense.
Karen stopped by at the end of the day as if she’d been sent by the universe itself. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
She looked surprised, her brows pulling together. “Okay. I’m glad I’m here too then, but what’s going on?”
“Do you want to go get a drink?”
Her chin dropped, and her eyes bugged. “Miss I-have-plans-at-home is asking me if I want to go get a drink?”
I nodded, already gathering my things. Karen said she would always be there for me if I needed her, and I really needed to talk. I was going to drive myself insane with all these questions rattling around inside my head. Unlike me, she actually knew a thing or two about relationships.
“I need you to teach me.”
“Teach you what?” she asked, eyeing how frantically I was chucking my stuff into my purse. “How to pack your phone, lip gloss and keys somewhere you can easily find them again without having to dump out your entire bag?”
I laughed, taking her point under advisement. “Apparently, that too. But no, it’s about relationships.”
“Ooohhh. We’re definitely going to need drinks then. Come, young grasshopper. I shall teach you all I know.” She linked her arm with mine and waited for me to lock up before we took off to a bar nearby.