Read and Gone

by Allison Brook

  “At least I can find out if Morgan Fuller’s still alive.”

  “The name of the nursing home is the Hopewell Home for Seniors. It’s in Bantam.”

  “I’ll find out if Morgan’s still a resident there. If he is, I’ll do my best to find the time to pay him a visit.”

  “You’re an angel, Carrie,” she said as she faded.

  I laughed. “I’m far from that, but I’m glad you think so.”

  At lunchtime, I drove Angela to our favorite Indian restaurant on Mercer Street, a few blocks north of the center of town. Though the only other diners were a party of four men who were laughing it up at a front table, I asked to be seated in the semicircular booth in the far corner. Here, no one but the four human-sized statues of Hindu gods and goddesses behind us could hear what I wanted to tell Angela.

  We went up to the buffet and filled our plates with chicken tikka, rice, palak paneer, and other vegetables. As we ate, I explained why Jim would be spending at least a week in South Conn.

  “Wow! The man’s one tough dude! A guy clobbers him, demands to be paid off, and he stays mum.”

  “Angela, please! You’re making him sound like the lead singer of a rock band when he’s a thief after his loot. He’s fifty-eight and acts like a kid who never grew up. He’s so hot on finding those gems, he’s blind to the danger he’s in. Someone may have killed Benton for them.”

  “Who knew about the heist?”

  “My father said he and Benton made a pact not to tell anyone, but somehow that Quincy guy found out.” I frowned. “Maybe Benton told him. He cut my father out of his share, so we know he’s not a man of his word.”

  Angela laughed. “They say there’s no honor among thieves.”

  “Exactly. The other possibility is Benton contacted a fence to sell the gems, and the fence told Quincy.”

  “How do you know Benton hasn’t already sold them?”

  “My father spoke to him the night before he was murdered. He wanted to stop by Benton’s house, but Benton convinced him to come to the store early the following morning. He told Jim he’d hidden the gems where no one would find them.”

  “Okay, so that’s why he went to the store. But why did he stay when he saw Benton had been murdered?”

  “The idiot started searching for the gems. He managed to open the safe before Chris arrived. No gems.”

  “So that’s why the police arrested him! Even with a dead body on the floor, he kept on searching.”

  I frowned at Angela, not liking the admiration in her voice. “It was pretty stupid, if you ask me. John arrested him, and hours later Dylan was at the station questioning him.”

  “Dylan?” Angela’s eyes widened. “Oh, no.”

  “He’d been working a case of stolen gems for months. My father was a suspect but was nowhere to be found. Dylan used me, Angela. That’s why he rented me the cottage and started taking me out. To get to my father and solve his case.”

  To my shame and embarrassment, I burst into tears. Angela reached over to wrap her arms around me.

  “Oh, Carrie, Dylan adores you. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

  “Yeah. I’m the perfect stooge.”

  Angela handed me a napkin, and I blew my nose. The young Indian waiter came dashing over to us.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked nervously.

  “Of course,” Angela said. “My friend just ate a very spicy piece of chicken.”

  Relieved, he left. Angela and I burst out laughing.

  Angela slid back in her seat. “I’m glad to see you’ve regained your sense of humor. What do you plan to do about your father and those gems?”

  “Find them as quickly as I can and hand them over to Dylan or the police to return to their owner. I don’t want Jim to live on stolen goods, and I don’t want to see him back in prison.” I sighed. “When he realizes he can’t get the gems any which way, he’ll probably disappear again, and I won’t see him for another few years.”

  “Won’t you miss him?”

  I shook my head vehemently. “Absolutely not! He’s caused me nothing but grief since he arrived. I can well understand why my mother divorced him.”

  I drove back to the library in better spirits. I was lucky to have Angela as my best friend. She was resourceful and always upbeat, and I could count on her to be straight with me.

  “I suppose you’re going to try to find out who killed Benton,” she said as I turned into the library’s parking lot.

  “Looks that way, since Benton and the missing gems are connected. Can I count on your help?”

  She shot me a broad grin. “You sure can! What would you like me to do?”

  “Find out all you can about Mariel and Dina Parr and Chris, Benton’s assistant. Money issues, love affairs, scandals.”

  Angela giggled. “Will do.”

  “Are you at all friendly with Jennifer Darby?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’m going to try talking to her again,” I said. “She might know something about Benton’s business—the legal and the illegal.”

  “I’ll find out what I can about her husband, Paul,” Angela said.

  “Great. I’m planning to attend Benton’s funeral tomorrow morning. Maybe I’ll learn something useful.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The rest of the workday went smoothly. After Trish went home, Sally stopped by with the month’s expense sheets for me to fill out.

  “I know you’re swamped with holiday programs, so don’t worry if you can’t get these back to me till mid-January.”

  “Thanks, Sally.”

  We exchanged smiles, both remembering how two months earlier she’d given me the sheets to fill out within an unreasonably short period of time. To her surprise, I’d handed them back, properly filled out, before her deadline. She had no way of knowing, of course, that Evelyn had helped me. I thought part of Sally’s hostility toward me when I’d first accepted the position as head of P and E was because her friend Dorothy had egged her on. Or perhaps Dorothy had been holding something over Sally. Whichever it was, Sally had changed her mind about me, and now we were good friends.

  Which reminded me. “Dorothy complained that Smoky Joe got hairs all over her clothes. I don’t believe it for a minute. I pick him up all the time and don’t have any gray hairs on me.”

  Sally laughed. “She whined about it to me too. I told her to keep out of his way. Too many patrons are happy to have a library cat to pet and make a fuss over. He’s a big hit with the little ones, of course, and with our retirees who spend hours reading newspapers and magazines in the reading room. Many of them love animals but are unable to keep them at home for various reasons.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed.”

  “There’s something else.” Sally leaned closer to me, though no one could possibly hear her inside my office. “I’ve seen a mouse scampering across the floor near my office. Max is all for setting mousetraps, but I’m afraid the sight of them would put off our patrons.”

  I shuddered. “I agree.”

  “I’m hoping Smoky Joe catches the little varmint. See you later.”

  I thought about mice as I drove home that evening. The idea that we had a few in the library was repugnant, but the idea of my half-grown kitty murdering a little mouse didn’t please me either. I tried to convince myself that catching mice was something cats did naturally, and only managed to stop dwelling on this fact of nature when I remembered something else Sally had said. Smoky Joe had a special affinity for our older patrons. It gave me an idea.

  My evening was busy, almost too busy to think about Dylan. I missed him terribly, especially knowing the weekend was coming and I wouldn’t be spending it with him.

  It’s your own fault! I thought, then remembered how he’d had plenty of time and opportunity to mention that he’d been working on a case that might involve my father and hadn’t bothered to tell me.

  I fed Smoky Joe his dinner and heated up leftovers for mine. Then I called Jim, who
complained about the hospital food. I hung up, relieved that he hadn’t complained about pain, which meant it was probably easing. And thank goodness he hadn’t demanded that I bring him home immediately.

  Time to decorate, I told myself, though the thought of adorning the tree by myself had me feeling lonely and bereft. My father had managed his disappearing act once again. And this time right around the holidays.

  He planned to decorate the tree with you tonight, only he’s in the hospital, you ninny!

  I would not feel sorry for myself! I switched on the radio and found a station with upbeat holiday music and turned up the volume. I spent the next hour hanging every decoration on the tree and spreading the tinsel about the branches in what I liked to consider an artistic manner. I took occasional breaks and danced around the room to the beat of the lively songs.

  Smoky Joe dashed from one decoration to another, sniffing each one and trying to make the balls roll. When that didn’t work, he snagged a section of tinsel in his mouth and tugged until I lured him away with one of his toys. He finally wore himself out and curled up in a furry ball at the base of the tree.

  On impulse I called Jim. As the phone rang, I glanced at the clock and saw it was past ten o’clock. I hadn’t realized it was that late. I was about to disconnect, when he picked up, sounding groggy.

  “Sorry I woke you up.”

  “Caro? Don’t give it a thought. I can sleep anytime.”

  “I just wanted to tell you I finished decorating the tree.”

  “Good girl. I’ll see it when they let me out of this place.” I heard a female voice in the background. “Have to go now. My nurse wants to take my vitals.”

  “See you in the morning,” I said.

  “Sleep well, dream sweet dreams,” he signed off, the way he used to when Jordan and I were little.

  * * *

  Thank goodness the following day was another late day for me at the library, and I didn’t have to take time off from work to attend Benton’s funeral. I woke up early and drove to South Conn, arriving as Dr. Brodsky was finishing his examination of my father. The two men were engaged in a friendly conversation. I gave my father a peck on his smooth cheek. A nurse must have shaved him. He looked rested.

  “How’s he doing?” I asked Dr. Brodsky.

  “Coming along.” He glanced at Jim. “His vitals are good. He’s getting CTs this afternoon to check the internal bleeding and the skull hematoma.”

  When the doctor left, Jim asked, “Did you find out anything? Do you know who has the gems?”

  I burst out laughing. “I was working all day yesterday, but I’m going to Benton’s funeral this morning.”

  His expression turned grim. “Let me know if Quincy shows up there. He’s short, has gray hair and the face of a boxer who’s lost too many fights. I want to know if he’s still hanging around Clover Ridge.”

  So he wasn’t feeling that kindly, after all, toward the man who had sent him to the hospital. “I’ll let you know,” I said and changed the subject.

  I left shortly after and drove to the large Congregational Church. I remembered when the old church had been located on the Green, a few doors down from the library. The membership must have grown too large for the seventeenth-century building, and some time in the many years I hadn’t been back to Clover Ridge, a new church had been erected on Elm Street, a few blocks north of the town center.

  I arrived early and took a seat a few rows back from the front of the church, amid the fifteen or so mourners, and waited. The ceremony wouldn’t begin for twenty minutes. Hopefully, I’d have the opportunity to talk to the few people who’d been closest to Benton.

  But the opportunity didn’t present itself. Ten minutes later I spotted Mariel in the hall, who had just arrived with her son, Richard, and his wife and Dina. They disappeared into the small adjoining room. The seats began to fill up. When Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco arrived, I called them over to sit beside me.

  “How’s your father?” Aunt Harriet asked.

  “He has a ruptured spleen and a concussion, but he’s improving.”

  Harriet tsk-tsked and Uncle Bosco frowned. “Your father—always finding himself in a mess of trouble. Will he ever grow up? I wonder.”

  I giggled. “My thoughts exactly.”

  Uncle Bosco reached over to pinch my cheek. “Thank God you turned out fine.”

  I tried to catch some of the comments being whispered around me, but all I could make out was “poor Mariel” and “not doing well.” Were they speaking about the jewelry store or Benton’s widow?

  The organist began playing a doleful hymn. Like everyone present, I turned to watch the procession walk down the center aisle—first the minister, then the pallbearers wheeling the coffin, then Mariel and her children bringing up the rear.

  Knowing what I did about Benton Parr, I was surprised to see the rows behind me were filled with Clover Ridge residents wanting to show their respect. Or was it the titillating fact that Benton had been murdered? Sally was sitting across the aisle, here no doubt to represent the library. A few rows behind her, Chris Crowley whispered to an older woman—possibly his mother. I wondered if he and Dina were good friends, dating, or had been simply kidding around the night of Benton’s library presentation because they were working together.

  The minister gave his blessing and the page number of the first hymn the mourners would sing. As the organist struck a chord, I glanced back and noticed John Mathers standing in the rear. Was he hoping Benton’s murderer would show up wearing a guilty expression on his or her face?

  The minister began his elegy, praising Benton for having been a good citizen and member of the church, and expressing his fervent wish that his murderer would soon be apprehended. When he finished, he asked if anyone would like to speak.

  Richard Parr, a slender, good-looking guy about my age, stood at the podium and talked about the wonderful father Benton had been when he was young—teaching him to pitch and catch a ball when he was seven, and how the two of them had gone fishing together when Richard was in junior high. Nothing about the present, I noticed. Had they been estranged? If so, for how long? And why?

  I’d gotten so engrossed in my speculations, I’d missed Dina’s opening comments and only caught her last words, stating she hoped the police caught her father’s murderer very soon. She sat down, and for a minute or two no one stirred. Then Uncle Bosco went up to the podium to say Benton had been a valuable member of the library board and would be sadly missed.

  Sally stood to say pretty much the same thing. A few friends and neighbors mentioned the times Benton had helped them out. I felt a twinge of sympathy for Jennifer Darby when I recalled what Jim had told me of her reception at the wake.

  Then it was over. We rose to exit the church. Aunt Harriet kissed my cheek. “Don’t be a stranger. Come for dinner soon. Any night that suits. We miss you.”

  I smiled, remembering the seven months I’d lived with her and Uncle Bosco after I’d arrived at Clover Ridge last May. “Will do,” I promised as I hugged her.

  It was slow moving up the center aisle, with people from both sides joining the exodus. I found myself walking beside Chris Crowley.

  “Hi, Chris. How are you?”

  “Still recovering from finding Benton lying dead on the floor. I’d never seen a dead person before.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. “Will you still have a job at the jewelry store?”

  “Are you kidding? Mariel can’t wait to sell it to the first person that makes a decent offer.”

  “I imagine she doesn’t know much about the jewelry business,” I said, “since she didn’t work there.”

  He snorted. “That’s for sure. She only knows how to wear it.”

  “What about Dina?” I asked. “Is she interested in jewelry? I mean interested enough to run the store? She told me she’d been working at the store for years.”

  A speculative gleam came into his eyes. “She might be if her mother gave her half a chance.
But money’s tight and Mariel’s out to get it ASAP any way she can.”

  So finances were tight in the Parr household, and neither Chris nor Dina’s opinion of Mariel jived with the sweet, kindly facade she presented to her neighbors.

  Chris stepped up his pace. Clearly he wanted to end the conversation, but as far as I was concerned, it was just getting interesting.

  “Are you and Dina good friends?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “When I saw you two together last week, you seemed to get along so well. I got the idea you were dating.”

  He hesitated, then said, “We were, but Mariel doesn’t think I’m good enough for her daughter. Gotta go.”

  He scooted around a small group of people who had stopped to chat and were holding up traffic.

  That was interesting, I thought, glancing at my watch. I had just enough time to stop in the supermarket and pet store and then drive back to the cottage for Smoky Joe before beginning our workday.

  “Playing detective again, Carrie?”

  Startled, I looked up into John Mathers’s eyes. He neither looked nor sounded amused. “I most certainly am not. Benton had just presented a program at the library, so I thought I’d pay my respects.”

  “Sure you’re not after something?”

  “Of course not. I’m leaving the detecting to you.”

  I joined the line of people offering their condolences to Benton’s family. “I’m so sorry,” I said to Mariel, Dina, Richard, and his wife in turn and received their words of appreciation for having attended the service. Now was not the time to raise questions.

  I headed for my car, which I’d left on the street, and stopped when I saw Jennifer Darby in a car parked two spaces in front of mine. She was sobbing. I knocked on the driver’s window. At first she didn’t hear me. When she looked up, I saw devastation in her face.

  “Jennifer, I’m so sorry.”

  She rolled down the window. “I missed Benton’s funeral. Mariel left instructions that I wasn’t allowed to enter the church.”

  “My father told me what happened at the wake.” I reached inside my pocketbook and handed her a tissue.