Read and Gone

by Allison Brook

  “He does?”

  I must have looked frightened, because he placed his hand over mine. “Don’t worry, Caro. There’s no evidence that links me to Benton’s demise. No blood spatter on my clothes. But Dylan put a bug in Mathers’s ear, and now he’s trying to link me to the gem heist, though it happened way out of his jurisdiction. Frankly, I think he’s trying to put the thumbscrews to me to get me to tell him where the gems are so he can collect the reward.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute! John Mathers isn’t that sort of man.”

  “Well, maybe I’m reading into things, but he called to tell me to stop by, and it wasn’t a request.”

  “That can’t be why you’re dressed so nicely.”

  He coughed, a tell when he was feeling guilty. “They’re holding the wake for Benton this afternoon.”

  I gaped at him. “You’re not thinking of going, are you?”

  “Why not? Benton was a friend of sorts, and poor Mariel deserves all the support she can get.”

  “You know Mariel, Benton’s widow?”

  “Knew her when we children. We were sweethearts, in fact. In fifth grade.”

  “I hope you won’t do anything foolish. You’ll be leaving Clover Ridge, but this is my home now.”

  “Don’t worry, Caro. I don’t plan to ask if she knows where her devious husband hid a bagful of stolen gems.”

  I sent him a fierce look. “Don’t tell me you’re still trying to get your hands on them.”

  At which point he stood and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Gotta go.”

  “Where, at this hour? It’s not even eight o’clock.”

  But he was slipping on his jacket and was halfway out the door.

  * * *

  Jim was up to something, I just knew it. I was in worry mode as I drove to work amid the morning rush-hour traffic, hoping he wasn’t about to do something rash. He didn’t have to spell it out for me that he was still determined to find those gems—probably more so now that he no longer had to split them. If he hadn’t killed Benton, and I didn’t think that he had, it was possible that someone else was after them too.

  But maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe Paul Darby killed Benton, and Benton’s murder had nothing to do with the gems at all. As far as I knew, my father and Benton were the only people involved in the theft. Benton had taken the stones and had no intention of splitting them with my father. Somehow my father knew that Benton hadn’t tried to fence them. I snorted. Probably because he knew all the fences.

  Why hadn’t Jim and Benton divided up the gems immediately? Perhaps my father had been in one of his traveling phases and hadn’t had a safe place to keep them. Benton had a safe, but the gems weren’t in it.

  Smoky Joe nestled against my hip. “Sorry I’ve been ignoring you,” I told him as I stroked his back. “You’re getting so big, and your tail’s bushier than ever.”

  He snuggled closer and began to purr.

  I arrived at work fifteen minutes early. I decided to call John Mathers at the station. As my father’s daughter, it was only logical that I’d want to know if he was still considered a suspect. Gracie greeted me warmly and put me right through.

  “Hi, John. It’s Carrie Singleton.”

  “Hello, Carrie. What can I do for you?”

  “My father told me you wanted to talk to him this morning. Do you still consider him a suspect in Benton’s homicide?”

  “He’s still a person of interest since he ran from the murder scene.”

  “I suppose he was frightened you’d see him as a suspect, given that he was in the store and found the body.”

  “Then why didn’t he call us? That’s what an innocent person would do. And Carrie, we found his fingerprints outside the big safe where Benton kept his merchandise.”

  My heart was thudding when I asked, “Was anything taken?”

  “Nothing’s missing, according to Chris Crowley.”

  I hesitated a moment then plunged ahead. “And you didn’t find any jewelry on my father when he was apprehended, right?”

  “That’s true.”

  “And there was no blood on his clothing. So why do you still want to question him?”

  “Your father and Benton did some business together. We’re inquiring into other avenues of their relationship.”

  The heist! “Did you follow up on that man I told you about? I think I now know who he is.”

  “Is that so?” John sounded annoyed. “Carrie, I hope you’re not getting involved in another murder investigation. You almost got killed last time, remember?”

  “I’m worried about my father,” I said, surprised to hear my voice breaking.

  “I hope neither of you does anything stupid. Leave the investigating to me and my men.”

  “The man’s name is Paul Darby.”

  “Yes, we know. Jennifer Darby’s husband.”

  “Oh. So you know about all that.”

  “We do, and I appreciate your telling me what you witnessed.”

  “You thought I was making it up. I’d never do something like that.”

  “I apologize.” His voice softened. “Carrie, I’m sorry you have to deal with all of this. Your father’s a career criminal. I’m sure you love him and want to keep him safe, but he’s done some bad things. Don’t get caught up in his shenanigans. Be well.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes as I disconnected. John Mathers felt sorry for me. Precisely what I’d been running from all these years. The phone rang.

  “Hello!” I said more gruffly than I’d meant to.

  “Carrie, it’s me. Dylan.”

  I set down the receiver and covered my face with my hands, then snatched it up again. I had to get my emotions under control.

  “Hello, Dylan,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “I really can’t talk right now.”

  “Carrie, please don’t shut me out.”

  “How can it be any other way? You’re determined to put my father back in prison.”

  “I’d like to talk about that. Can we at least meet and discuss it before I fly out?”

  “What’s there to say? We’re on opposite sides.”

  “Your father—”

  “My father’s been a thief all his life, but he’s my father.” I drew a deep breath, hating to say the following words but knowing I had to. “Tell me if you want me to move out of the cottage. I’ll understand.”

  “Of course I don’t want you to move.”

  “I have to go, Dylan.”

  “We’ll talk over the weekend when I’m home again.”

  “Yes. I’ll see you then.” I disconnected.

  The moment I hung up, I longed to call Dylan back to tell him … what? That it was fine for him to question my father about gems he’d been paid to recover? A sense of despair came over me. I’d never be free of Jim Singleton’s legacy. His absence during my growing-up years coupled with the shame of being a felon’s daughter had taken a toll on my confidence and pride. And now he was back in my life, ruining my relationship with the only man I’d cared for in years.

  I leaped from my chair in desperate need of a break. Maybe Angela could spare a few minutes to give me a pep talk. For some reason, I hadn’t told her about Dylan’s part in all of this.

  Smoky Joe came bounding toward me as I crossed the reading room. I petted him absentmindedly and continued on my way to the circulation desk. A line of patrons was waiting to have their books and movies checked out. I waved to Angela, said I’d see her for lunch, and made a beeline for the coffee shop beyond the magazine area. I wanted to speak to Jennifer Darby. My father was a thief, but he wasn’t a murderer. I needed to clear his name of this charge, and to do it, I had to talk to the people closest to Benton Parr.

  The shop was located in an alcove off the reading room. I glanced around the small eating area and behind the counter. There was no sign of Jennifer. I heard the sound of running water and realized there was a tiny back room that might have been part of the kitchen when the libra
ry had been a private home. I eyed the brownies and chocolate chip cookies in the display cases on the counter and told myself that despite my miserable mood I would not buy either one. I sat at one of the small, round tables, glad that no one else was there.

  A minute later, Jennifer appeared, a coffee carafe in hand. She had a girl-next-door vibe about her. A headband held her long brown hair off her face, making her look ten years younger than her actual age. She offered me a wan smile. “Be right with you. I’m making a fresh pot of coffee.”

  “Carrie!” she said, realizing who I was. Her hand trembled and water splashed as she slammed the carafe down on the counter.

  “Hello, Jennifer. I’d like a cup of coffee, please.”

  “What are you doing here? You never come in here.”

  “I thought we might talk.”

  “About what? How you sent the police after my husband? Yesterday they questioned him for hours. And he had to go back to the station again today. I have to find him a good lawyer so he doesn’t go to prison for something he didn’t do!”

  “I’m sorry, but I heard him threatening Benton. I had to tell the police. At the time, I had no idea he was your husband. Turns out they already knew about the incident.”

  “You’re just trying to divert their attention from your father. Chris found him with poor Benton lying dead on the floor. Why don’t the police arrest him? We don’t need any more aggravation in our lives.”

  Jennifer burst out crying, deep wrenching sobs. I wanted to comfort her but knew she didn’t want solace from me. I left the shop and returned to my office. So far, the morning was a total failure.

  Chapter Eight

  I turned on my computer and began answering my email. Most of it required short, straightforward answers—a chef’s question about his upcoming visit; a reminder from Sally about Friday morning’s meeting. Just enough to keep my mind occupied and not dwell on my father or Dylan or how I’d just upset Jennifer Darby, who had enough troubles of her own.

  “Why the glum expression?”

  I glanced up to find Evelyn perched on my desk.

  “So far, everything’s gone wrong today.” I ran down my list of woes. “I need to find out who killed Benton. I need to find those gems.”

  “You’re worried about your father.”

  “Of course I’m worried about him. He could get himself killed, chasing after those gems.”

  Evelyn began pacing the width of my small office. Today she wore the same black pencil skirt, a gray print blouse, and low-heeled black pumps. “Do you think the person who killed Benton was after the stolen gems?”

  “Could be. Or maybe Jennifer Darby’s husband killed him because he was sleeping with his wife! How would I know?”

  “Please calm down, Carrie. You’re not helping matters by getting worked up.”

  I covered my face with my hands. “Jim Singleton’s back in my life and making a mess of it.”

  “Don’t let him.”

  “How can I stop him? This afternoon he’s going to Benton’s wake. I know he’s going there to find out what he can.”

  “Like father, like daughter,” Evelyn murmured.

  “I’m not like him!”

  “I only meant you both want to find the gems.”

  “I want to find them so he can’t get at them. I’ll hand them over, and there’ll be nothing else for him to do but leave town.”

  “And you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You’ll be left drained and exhausted and without the man you love.”

  I slumped into my chair. “I know. But I can’t get past the fact that all this time Dylan was searching for my father. He knew he’d taken the gems.”

  “I wonder how he knew.”

  “Good question.” A thought occurred to me. “What if there was a third partner involved in the heist? Not that Jim said. But what if there was a silent partner who provided information and never got his share? My father’s so secretive, he might only have told me what he thinks I need to know.”

  “Interesting possibility,” Evelyn said. “You’re thinking this partner might have assumed both your father and Benton were double-dealing, so he ratted on them?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. The problem with that is neither the police nor Dylan seemed to suspect that Benton was involved.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Evelyn grinned. “You could ask Dylan if he’d ever questioned Benton about the heist.”

  “I don’t want to ask Dylan anything.”

  “He’s been trying to explain matters, but you’re refusing to listen.” When I didn’t answer, she said, “Don’t make the mistake of backing the wrong horse.”

  I glared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean? I shouldn’t care about my father?”

  “Of course, care about him, but Jim Singleton isn’t part of your world. Once he finds what’s he’s after, he’ll disappear from your life again. Don’t lose Dylan in the process.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, none too graciously.

  “Good.” She faded and disappeared.

  * * *

  Trish arrived a few minutes later. We discussed the day’s schedule. I asked her to visit all the programs in progress, to check if any of the instructors needed anything and to make sure all was running smoothly. At twelve thirty, Angela and I walked over to the Cozy Corner Café, where she bestowed on me a dose of cheerful common sense as we chowed down on sandwiches and coffee. I drove home, ruminating over her and Evelyn’s advice, and promised myself I wouldn’t do anything drastic, either about my father or for his sake. As for Dylan … I wasn’t ready to tackle that problem yet.

  Jim must have heard me drive up to the cottage, because the front door swung open as Smoky Joe and I exited the car.

  “What’s all this?” I asked, staring at the wreath on the door. Once inside, I breathed in the lovely aroma of pine even before I caught sight of the tree in the far corner of the living room. It stood at least seven feet tall.

  “Christmas is practically at our doorstep, and here you are in your new home with none of the trimmings. I decided we needed to get in the holiday spirit.”

  Smoky Joe scampered over to sniff the lower branches. I opened my mouth to say I thought he had no money, then shut it. I didn’t want to know anything about his financial state.

  Jim pointed to the four boxes lying beside the tree. “I bought a few ornaments and tinsel. We can trim the tree tomorrow.”

  “All right, or we can start on it later tonight,” I said.

  Jim clapped his hands. “What are we doing about dinner? I see you still have plenty of cold cuts left over from your birthday party, but I was hoping for something a bit more along the lines of home cooking.”

  I laughed. “In that case, you’ve come to the wrong place. But I have some prepared Indian dinners in the freezer. They take minutes in the microwave. And I’ll cut up a salad.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  I fed Smoky Joe then chopped up lettuce, tomato, cucumber, and carrots for our salad. I prepped our Indian meals for the microwave and made up a salad dressing. Then I took an open bottle of Chardonnay from the refrigerator.

  “Care for some wine?” I called to my father, who was watching the news on TV.

  “Sure, honey.”

  I brought him a glass of wine and poured one for myself. “Dinner will be ready in five minutes.”

  I hummed as I nuked the two Indian dinners and set the table. A few minutes later, Jim joined me in the kitchen and poured himself another glass of wine. The microwave beeped. I spooned the heated food onto plates, and we sat down to our dinner.

  My father took a bite of his chicken tikka masala and shot me a look of surprise. “This is great!”

  “Glad you like it. I used to eat it a lot before I moved to Clover Ridge.”

  He scoffed down a few more forkfuls, then started in on his salad. “This is real nice, the two o
f us having dinner together.”

  “It is,” I agreed. “Too bad we didn’t do this when Jordan and I were growing up.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m truly sorry.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “It’s the truth. I think about all the time I lost away from my family. It was stupid of me to get involved in things the way I did.” He sighed. “But now my life is as it is, and there’s not much I can do to change it.”

  And the less I know about that life, the better. “What happened at the wake?”

  “The usual. I signed the book, offered my condolences to Mariel and her kids, hung around a bit, then left.”

  “See any people you know?”

  “Of course. I lived here once upon a time, remember?”

  “Were Uncle Bosco and Aunt Harriet there?”

  “They were.”

  I grimaced. My father was acting cagey again—like a CIA agent refusing to discuss top secrets. “How did Mariel react when she saw you?”

  A big smile wreathed his face. “She sure was happy I’d come. We talked a bit. She let on that things between her and Benton had been strained for some time.”

  I stared at him, wondering if he was pulling my leg. “Really? After not seeing you all these years, she suddenly opens up and tells you about her marital problems at her husband’s wake?”

  Jim shrugged. “What can I say? We go back a long time, and maybe there’s no one else she can share this with. Anyway, we only had a few minutes to talk. A young woman showed up and went straight to the coffin. She stayed there, sobbing into the casket. People began to notice. Mariel’s son went over to her and told her to leave. At first she resisted. Then someone from the funeral home came over and escorted her out. She left in tears.”

  “Oh, no! That must have been Jennifer Darby.”

  “The girlfriend?” Jim asked.

  “She works in the library’s coffee shop. I tried to talk to her this morning, but she was terribly upset, so I left. She was angry because I’d told the police about her husband’s altercation with Benton the night before he was killed.”

  “You did the right thing, telling them what you heard. Otherwise, Mathers might still be liking me for Benton’s murder.”