A Midwinter's Tail

by Sofie Kelly

“Ask me what?” Georgia said.

  “Tell her about Dayna Chapman being here.”

  Georgia hesitated.

  “It’s okay,” Olivia said with a shrug. “I’m not keeping it a secret any longer. I shouldn’t have done that to begin with.”

  “Liv was scrubbing down that table,” Georgia said, gesturing to the large workspace in front of us. “Mrs. Chapman—I didn’t know who she was then—was standing right about where you are. I heard her say, ‘All you have to do is lie.’”

  Olivia looked at me. “I know it was stupid not to say I knew her from the start. I’ll call Detective Gordon and tell him everything.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” I said.

  * * *

  When I got back to the library, Hercules was still dozing in my chair in a patch of sunshine. I sat on the edge of my desk and leaned over to stroke his fur. He made an inquiring little “murp” sound that I decided to interpret as a question about how my visit with Olivia had gone.

  “Would you believe Olivia told me she knew Dayna Chapman before I had a chance to ask her?”

  The cat tipped his head from one side to the other as though he was pondering the coincidence.

  “Interesting timing,” I said. Before I could say anything else, there was a knock on my door. I turned Hercules to face the window and hurried over to answer it.

  Susan was standing there with a look of exasperation on her face and her updo skewered with two pencils. “Problem,” she said. Her glasses had slipped partway down her nose.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “We plugged in the tree lights, there was a fairly loud popping sound and now none of the outlets are working in the computer room, so obviously none of the computers are working, either.”

  “Is anything on fire?” I asked.

  Susan shook her head. “No, but I did see sparks come out of the outlet.”

  I rubbed the space between my eyebrows. “That’s not good,” I said as I closed the door behind me.

  Susan pushed her glasses up her nose. “Yeah, I didn’t think so, either,” she said.

  The limit of my electrical knowledge was switching the breaker on and off in the basement, and that didn’t fix the problem. I called Lita. She promised she’d have Larry Taylor over before the end of the day.

  “I don’t think those boneheads who worked for Will Redfern wired things right in the first place during the library renovations,” she said in a voice edged with annoyance. “And I can say that because at least two of them are my cousins.”

  I kind of agreed with her. This wasn’t the first time Larry had had to come to fix something Will Redfern’s boys hadn’t done quite right. I thanked Lita and hung up.

  Even without the lights turned on, the tree looked beautiful. Since the building didn’t seem to be in danger of catching on fire, I decided there wasn’t really anything else to do but put a big COMPUTERS TEMPORARILY OUT OF ORDER sign on an easel at the entrance to the computer space, and hope Larry could stop by sooner rather than later.

  And he did. Unfortunately it was just as I was going to take a late lunch and drive Hercules home.

  “I guess you’re going to have to stay for the rest of the day,” I told him. It didn’t seem to bother Hercules at all.

  I kept an “emergency” box of dry cat food, a water dish and a small covered kitty litter pan hidden in a box in the locked closet in my office. The boys had ended up at the library more than once, and even though we had a strict no-pets policy, they seemed to think the rules didn’t apply to them.

  Larry discovered the electrical problem was a faulty set of lights and a breaker that had been recalled by the manufacturer. While he worked in the basement, Abigail began the tedious job of taking the lights off the tree without removing all the ornaments.

  Marcus came into the library about midafternoon. There was a woman with him and as soon as I got a good look at her I realized I knew her. Or more specifically I knew who she was: Leah Webster, the investigating officer in the pawnshop robbery.

  “Everything comes to he who waits,” I said softly.

  “Tolstoy?” asked Susan, who was passing behind me with an empty book cart.

  “Close,” I said. “It was actually Skeletor from He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. Tolstoy said, ‘Everything comes in time to him who knows how to wait.’”

  “Good to have that cleared up,” she said dryly, her lips twitching with amusement.

  Marcus had reached us by then. “Hi, Kathleen,” he said. He was wearing a dark woolen topcoat over his tweed sport coat, with a blue shirt and a blue-and-gray tie. I remembered that he’d had to go to court this morning.

  “Hi,” I said, smiling because any other response would have been extremely inappropriate.

  “This is Detective Webster,” he said.

  I held out my hand. “Hello,” I said. “I’m Kathleen Paulson. Welcome to the library.”

  She smiled back at me as she thanked me and I could see the family resemblance between her and Eddie. They had the same shape mouth and the same smile.

  “Detective Webster came to consult on a case and her car won’t start,” Marcus said. “Thorsten said it looks like she just needs a new battery.”

  “I’m a bit of a history buff,” Leah Webster said. “I’ve heard about your library’s collection of documents. I figured I’d take my chance to take a look at them.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “You have two diaries from when this area was first settled, don’t you?”

  “As well as some correspondence and the personal papers of the town’s first mayor all scanned into our computer system.” I made a face. “Unfortunately our computers aren’t available at the moment.”

  Marcus raised an eyebrow.

  “Faulty breaker,” I said. “Larry Taylor is here.” I turned back to Leah Webster. “But we also have most of the information loaded on the hard drive of a new computer that we’re going to use just for genealogical research. If you don’t mind being upstairs in our very messy workroom, you could look through what we’ve downloaded so far.”

  “I don’t want to put you out,” she said.

  “You wouldn’t be. We usually don’t have patrons up on the second floor, but since you’re a police officer I think we can make an exception.”

  “I appreciate this,” Marcus said, and the gleam in his blue eyes told me the words were more than just a social nicety.

  “I do, too,” Detective Webster said, her enthusiasm obvious in the wide smile she gave me. “I had no idea you had such an extensive collection.”

  I nodded. “From what I’ve been told, it was the pet project of the head librarian two librarians ago. We have a student intern who’s been photographing everything, bit by bit, and putting the images on a series of CDs and now on this new computer. The idea is that people will be able to see the documents without necessarily having to handle them. Eventually, we may be able to work out online access.”

  I held up a hand. “I’m sorry. This has kind of become my pet project, too.”

  Detective Webster shook her head. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s nice to meet someone else who has a love of history.”

  I gestured toward the stairs. “I’ll get you set up.”

  “I’ll call you when I know more about your car,” Marcus said.

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  I took the detective up to the workroom, turned on the computer and showed her the simple cataloging system Mia and I were using to keep track of the images.

  “I’ll poke my head in later,” I said. “If you have any problems I’ll either be in my office, which is the first door at the top of the stairs, or I’ll be downstairs. And any of the other staff members can help you.”

  She smiled again. “Thank you so much, Kathleen.”

  “You and Eddie Sweeney are cousins, aren’t you?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, we are. How did you know?”

  “I saw a photograph of you with him somewhere. A
nd you have the same smile.”

  The smile got larger. “I’m guessing you know Roma Davidson, then,” she said.

  “She’s one of my closest friends.”

  Her gaze was already being pulled to the waiting computer screen. “Everyone who knows Eddie is hoping for a happily-ever-after ending there,” she said.

  I nodded. “So is pretty much everyone who knows Roma.” I gestured at the computer. “I’ll let you get started.”

  Marcus was waiting for me downstairs. “Susan said you had a problem with the lights on the tree,” he said.

  “A short, which is how we found out about the defective circuit breaker,” I said. I had the urge to reach over and straighten his tie, but there were a lot of people around, so I put my hands in my pockets instead. “Detective Webster seems nice.”

  He smiled, shaking his head at the same time. “I know you know who she is, Kathleen.”

  “Did she help you?”

  “No comment,” he said, adjusting the scarf at his neck. “I need to get going. Promise me you won’t question her.”

  I held up three fingers. “I promise I won’t question her,” I said solemnly. “Librarian’s honor.”

  “There’s no such thing as librarian’s honor,” he said, fastening the buttons of his coat.

  “Yes, there is,” I said, trying not to grin too widely at him. “It’s part of our oath along with promising to shush people and to read a book a day.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll see you later.”

  I waggled my fingers good-bye at him.

  Lita called about half an hour later. “Did Larry make it yet?” she asked.

  “He did, thank you,” I said. “He’s almost finished.”

  “Great,” she said. “Do you have a minute to talk about Reading Buddies?”

  “I do,” I said, perching on the edge of my desk because Hercules still had my desk chair.

  “You know I sent all the refund checks out.”

  “I do. And I know you got some of them back.”

  “All of them,” Lita said.

  “What?” I asked. I had to have heard her wrong.

  “Every single one of them has been returned, several with a second check as a donation.”

  I had to swallow the lump at the back of my throat before I could speak. “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” I said.

  On the other end of the phone, Lita laughed. “I do,” she said. “I’m really glad you decided to stay.” She gave me the total so far. “Can you make the program work with that?”

  “Yes,” I said. It would be tight after we’d paid the expenses from the fundraiser, but Abigail and I could be creative.

  “I’ll let Everett know,” she said. “Good job, Kathleen.”

  I hung up the phone and looked over at Hercules. “I love this place,” I said.

  “Mrrr,” he agreed before going back to his nap.

  I went back downstairs and did a quick tour of the main floor. Abigail and I had put together half a dozen different exhibits about rare books—including our predictions on which current bestsellers we thought might be collectors’ items one day—and we’d decided to leave them out for a few more days. Oren Kenyon came in as I was rubbing fingerprints off the front of a display case with the edge of my sweater.

  “Hello, Kathleen,” he said, pulling off his heavy woolen hat, which made his gray-blond hair stand up all over his head. He reached in the pocket of his jacket and handed me a folded chamois. “Try this.”

  I took the square of sheepskin and made quick work of the smudges on the glass-fronted case. “Thanks,” I said, handing it back.

  He tucked the chamois in his pocket again. Then he looked around the space, and a smile spread across his face. “I spent a lot of time here when I was a boy. It’s one of my favorite places in town.”

  “Me too,” I said, smiling at him.

  “I’m glad that children still come here. I’m glad that you came up with the Reading Buddies program. So, this is for you.” He put his hand in his other jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope and held it out to me.

  “Oren, what is this?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew. I recognized the envelope. It had come from the bank down the street.

  “Open it please,” he said.

  The flap of the envelope wasn’t sealed, so it only took a moment to pull out the check I’d guessed was inside. “Oh my word,” I said softly when I saw the amount.

  “Before you say you can’t take it, you should know I wouldn’t have that money if it weren’t for you.”

  I looked blankly at him.

  Oren shifted from one foot to the other. “Kathleen, do you remember the party for the library’s one hundredth birthday?”

  I nodded. It had been a gorgeous, warm day this past spring. The entire town had turned out to celebrate the renovations to the one-hundred-year-old Carnegie Library.

  “What does the library’s centennial have to do with this check?” I asked.

  “My father’s sculptures were on display here.”

  Oren’s late father, Karl Kenyon, had been a jack-of-all-trades, just like his son, but what he’d really wanted to be was an artist. Karl had created some incredible metal sculptures. I’d seen them for the first time in Oren’s workshop, just a few months after I arrived in Mayville Heights, and I’d been awestruck at the man’s talent. Oren had agreed to let us showcase some of his father’s pieces during the celebrations at the library. People had been amazed at the huge metal eagle, with a wingspan of over six feet, soaring over the computer room. I smiled at the memory. That had been a good day.

  “The curator of the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago was here the day after the celebration. She was on vacation with her family. She wants to put two of my father’s sculptures in an exhibit in the spring.”

  “Oren, that’s wonderful,” I said, grinning at him. I would have hugged him, but we weren’t those kind of friends and I didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already seemed.

  “That check is the deposit on what they’re going to pay me.” His fingers played with the knitted hat in his hands. “I want it to go to the Reading Buddies program, Kathleen. My father’s art wouldn’t be getting seen by people if you hadn’t convinced me to let you put it on display here.” He looked around again. “And who knows what would have happened to this building and all the other programs if you hadn’t been here?”

  I’d been hired to supervise the renovation and upgrading of the library for its hundredth birthday. A few months ago I’d signed a new contract with the library board to stay on as head librarian. Even though I’d ended up in town because I was running away from my life in Boston, Mayville Heights had become home.

  “Oren, if I hadn’t taken the job, someone else would have,” I said. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  I looked at the check again. It was a lot of money. It could buy a lot of books for the Reading Buddies program. Still, I felt uncomfortable taking so much money from Oren. It wasn’t as if he was a wealthy man.

  “You came to Mayville Heights, Kathleen,” Oren said. “You made all of this happen. Please take the money.”

  I could tell how determined he was by the set of his jaw and the conviction in his voice. If I said no, I suspected, Oren would just take the money over to Everett’s office.

  I folded the check in half again. “All right,” I said, smiling at him again. “Thank you. You made my day.”

  Oren smiled back at me. “You’re welcome.” He looked at his watch. “I have to get over to the hotel.”

  I nodded and after a second’s hesitation reached over and gave his arm a squeeze. “This means a lot.”

  He ducked his head. “I’m glad I can do it,” he said. Then he turned and headed for the main doors.

  Reading Buddies could expand. I had more than enough money now to cover the expenses. I had the urge to jump up and down and clap my hands, but I settled for going to find Abigail so I could share
the news. Finally, something was going right.

  * * *

  Leah Webster spent an hour and a half looking through the photographs, fortified with a cup of coffee and a date square, before Thorsten arrived with her car. I didn’t ask her a single question about the pawnshop robbery or the shooting of Nic Sutton’s father. I was beginning to think it didn’t have anything to do with Dayna’s death after all.

  I gave Leah my e-mail address in case she had any questions and wished her a safe drive back to Minneapolis. I was about to head back up to my office when Simon Janes, Mia’s father, came through the front door. He smiled and headed toward me. His walk had a bit of a swagger that matched his personality.

  He didn’t waste any time on social niceties. “This is for you,” he said, handing me a heavy buff-colored envelope.

  “What is it?” I asked uncertainly. It seemed to be my day for people handing me envelopes.

  “Why don’t you look and find out?” he said.

  I slit the end of the envelope. The check inside fell to the floor. I bent to pick it up and couldn’t quite believe my eyes. It was made out to the Reading Buddies program and the amount would keep us going for the next two years. In just a day I’d gone from thinking I might have to cut back the program to being able to make every one of my plans happen.

  I looked at him, speechless, for a moment. “I, uh . . . thank you,” I finally managed to get out.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “But you really should thank Mia.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “It’s enough to expand your program and keep it running for a while?”

  I nodded.

  “Your fundraiser was a disaster,” he said bluntly. “When I said that to Mia she called me an ass.”

  I wanted to laugh at Mia’s accurate assessment of her father, but given the fact that I was holding a very large check with his signature on it, I didn’t.

  “She’s not really an assertive person,” Simon said with a smile. “The only rebellious thing she does is dye her hair outlandish colors. After she called me an ass she told me I could easily fund your program and I should. I decided she was right.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said.

  I still thought Simon Janes was a bit obnoxious, but the check in my hand was softening my opinion of him.