Read and Gone

by Allison Brook

  I sat in my car, trembling and gasping as if I’d run a marathon. I’d gone to see John Mathers about Tom Quincy and hadn’t been prepared for a lecture about my father and my love life. What right did he have to tell me how to feel! I didn’t want to take my father’s side in this matter, but what Dylan had done had cut me to the quick.

  No wonder I’d spent most of my post-college years traveling from place to place, never settling down. My dysfunctional family life had left deep scars. I’d learned to avoid emotional entanglements—making solid friendships, falling in love, settling into a community where people cared about me and I cared about them. I’d finally ventured to try that kind of life, and now it was tumbling down!

  Smoky Joe rested his head on my lap, and I stroked his back. He’d grown quite a bit since we’d found each other over a month ago.

  “You’re the one good thing in my life,” I murmured. “You and my job.”

  Smoky Joe purred his agreement.

  The library was bustling at a quarter to eleven as members of the staff entered the building via the back entrance. Angela grabbed my arm. “I have something to tell you.”

  “I have a few things to tell you too.”

  She studied my face. “Girl, I can see from your face, none of them are good.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “John’s right, you know. Your father brings you nothing but grief. Things will get back to normal once he leaves town.”

  “Will they?” I frowned at Angela across our bowls of chili at the Cozy Corner Café. “That awful thug that beat up Jim and scared me half to death is Dylan’s paid snitch. How can I have a relationship with Dylan after the way he betrayed me? Tracking down my father like he did.”

  “You mean, like a common criminal?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “I know, he’s your father.” Angela let out a lungful of exasperation. “You’re stuck with a mental tape playing a worn-out message in your brain: ‘Family above all else’ was drilled into your head. Wipe it out, ASAP.”

  Her angry tone astonished me. “You’re close to your family. What did you have to deal with?”

  “My brother.”

  “You mean—Tommy?”

  “When I was little, he used to pinch me or kick me when my parents weren’t looking. When I squawked, he always lied, with the most innocent expression on his face. One day when we were both in elementary school, he hit me. I told the principal and he called in my parents.”

  “So they finally believed you!”

  “No, they were angry. They said I was wrong to talk about family business to a stranger like my principal. I told them they never believed me when I told them my brother was hurting me. It wasn’t until I asked my aunt if I could come and live with her that they took my complaints seriously.”

  “What did they do?” Angela’s story had shaken me. I always thought she was lucky to have a close-knit, loving family.

  “They took my aunt’s advice and brought Tommy to a psychiatrist. The doc worked wonders. Tommy still got into trouble, but I didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t hurting me.”

  “And now he makes Tarantino-type movies out in Hollywood,” I mused.

  “I love my brother, but I’m glad he’s on the other coast.”

  We finished our chili and coffee in silence. The emotional level of our conversation had exhausted us both. The waitress brought our check. I reached for my wallet.

  “With everything you had to tell me,” Angela said, “I almost forgot to tell you about Mom’s conversation with Mariel Parr.”

  “Oh!” I sank back in my chair.

  “Mom went over to the Parrs’ house yesterday afternoon. Dina wasn’t there, and the few neighbors who had been visiting Mariel soon left. Mariel put away the tea they’d been drinking and asked Mom if she’d like a real drink.” Angela chuckled. “The strongest alcoholic drink my mother imbibes is a glass of red wine at the holidays. But she didn’t say no when Mariel reached for a bottle of scotch.”

  I laughed. “Sounds like she knew Mariel was about to share a secret or two.”

  “Of course. Aside from her own curiosity, she knows I’m trying to help you learn as much as you can about the Parrs.”

  I glanced at my watch. “We’d better get back to work. You can tell me on the way.”

  We paid the cashier and headed back to the library. The temperature was in the low forties, but the bright sun above made walking a pleasant exercise.

  “Mariel downed an entire tumbler of scotch and poured herself a second before she told Mom that things have a way of turning out for the best.”

  I gripped Angela’s arm. “Did she mean Benton? The fact that he was murdered?”

  “Sounded that way to me—and it did to Mom too.”

  “Which makes me wonder if Mariel killed him.”

  Angela laughed. “She didn’t say that, so don’t go assuming things.”

  “How did your mother respond?”

  “Tactfully. As you know, I didn’t inherit the tactful gene from Mom. She was very sympathetic. Said she gathered that Mariel hadn’t been very happy being married to Benton these past few years. Mariel readily agreed.”

  “That’s what she told Jim when they spoke briefly at the wake. Did Mariel mention anything about the jewelry store?”

  “She said it hasn’t been making enough money these past few years.” Angela lowered her voice, though no one was in hearing range. “And that’s why she didn’t file for divorce.”

  “Ah!” I thought a moment. “Did she know that Benton was carrying on with Jennifer Darby?”

  “She alluded to ‘one or two dalliances.’”

  I laughed. “Very proper, isn’t she?”

  “Always,” Angela agreed. “Mariel told Mom that she planned to sell the jewelry store. It’s in a desirable location and can be used to house a variety of retail businesses. This way she can sell the merchandise separately and at least have some money to live on.”

  I nodded. “Dina was upset about that. She was hoping to manage the store.”

  “Mariel had plenty to say about Dina after she downed her second scotch and poured herself a third.”

  My eyes widened. “Wow! She was really letting loose. I hope your mother didn’t match her drink for drink.”

  “Not my mom—not Rosemary Vecchio! And Mariel didn’t seem to notice she was drinking alone. Mom said the words poured out of her. She thought Mariel had bottled up her feelings for a very long time and simply had to tell someone.”

  “Dina,” I reminded Angela.

  “It turns out Mariel’s very disappointed with her daughter. She’s twenty-three and still doesn’t have her degree. She takes no pride in her appearance. She’s not like her brother, who has a family and a good job.”

  “And doesn’t speak to his mother.” I said. “But getting back to Dina—why did she agree to move back home?”

  “Mariel said she’ll continue to pay for Dina’s college education, but not for her apartment. And she’d only pay for her tuition if she stopped seeing Chris Crowley.”

  “Manipulative, isn’t she?” I was beginning to thoroughly dislike Mariel Parr.

  “Mariel told my mother the Crowleys come from the other side of the tracks. Chris’s father was a drunkard and his mother cleaned houses, and if Dina didn’t have such an inferiority complex, she’d realize that she and Chris came from two different worlds, and she never would have gone out with him in the first place.”

  “‘The other side of the tracks,’” I repeated. “Do people actually use that expression in the twenty-first century?”

  “Mariel does.”

  I tried to absorb everything Angela had told me as we crossed the library parking lot. I pulled open the back door and was about to enter the building, when Angela touched my arm.

  “One last thing. Though she was three sheets to the wind, Mariel was very cagey when she told Mom she hoped to come into some money. She’d hired a man to track down some merchandise Be
nton had hidden away.”

  “The gems!” we both exclaimed.

  Then it hit me. “Oh, no! Mariel hired Quincy to find them.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I unlocked my office door and found Trish feeding Smoky Joe. Happiness coursed through me when he left his dish to greet me with a head butt. The little devil was everyone’s favorite, but he knew I was his mama.

  “He’s had quite a time while you were gone,” Trish said. “Dashed through the reading room to chase after a mouse. Caused quite an uproar.”

  “Oh, no! Maybe someone will complain to Sally, and she’ll decide that having a library cat isn’t a good idea after all.”

  Trish dismissed that worry with a wave of her hand. “Sally adores Smoky Joe. Besides, didn’t she say she’s glad we have a mouse catcher on the premises?”

  “Does the library often get mice? I know they tend to move into buildings when the weather turns cold.”

  “I don’t remember the library having a problem with mice in past years. Could be Jennifer’s not keeping the coffee shop as clean as she should. I’ve seen debris left on tables quite a few times in the past month. Once someone left a plastic container with some tuna in it. She tossed it when she caught me staring at it. I didn’t comment or anything, just ordered my coffee, but still.”

  “Ugh! Remind me not to eat anything there,” I said.

  Trish opened the door for an impatient Smoky Joe. How he loved the patrons’ attention! “I’m off to man the hospitality desk,” she said, following him out.

  “I’ll relieve you at three thirty,” I said. “I’ll introduce the choral singers at two and stay awhile to listen and take photos.”

  “They’re really wonderful. We’ve been lucky to have them these past three years.”

  “And you were smart enough to remind me to book them for next December.”

  Trish grinned. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I said.

  “Yeah. Right,” she joshed and was gone.

  I went through the list of phone calls Trish had answered that required a callback, then glanced through my emails. So many matters to attend to! I had no time to dwell on John and Angela’s comments about my relationships with Jim and Dylan or to analyze what I’d learned about Mariel, Dina, and Chris in the past two days. I shuddered to think that Mariel had hired Tom Quincy to find the gems. It meant he’d be back in Clover Ridge, regardless of Dylan’s instructions.

  “And what are you daydreaming about, pray tell?”

  I gave a start. “Hello, Evelyn.”

  “That’s not a very welcoming greeting.” She perched on the edge of Trish’s desk. Today she wore a white silk blouse under a red cardigan, a gray skirt, and sensible black shoes. Christmas tree earrings dangled from her earlobes.

  “I’ve often wondered—where do you keep all your many outfits?” I asked.

  “No need to concern yourself about my clothes. They’re in a safe place. Now tell me, how did your visit with Morgan go?”

  Once again, the queen of deflection ducks my questions. “We got along fine. He sends you his greetings and didn’t seem at all surprised that you’re haunting the library.”

  Evelyn smiled. “Such a lovely man. Thank you so much for paying him a visit.”

  “I’m going back to the Carlton Manor tomorrow night. Morgan’s asked me to deliver a very large check to Stella and Chris Crowley.”

  “Did he? Bert Crowley started the fire that burned down his shop. Tragic. Morgan was never the same after that.”

  “Morgan feels awful for the way he treated Bert Crowley. He feels responsible for his early death.”

  Evelyn frowned. “Bert Crowley was a weak, sniveling excuse of a man. Morgan gave him a job and training that offered the promise of a good future. And what did he do? Continued to drink and disregarded Morgan’s no-smoking rule.”

  I stared at her, taken aback by her vehement tone. I’d never seen Evelyn so angry. “I told Morgan that his lawyer could just as easily send them a check, but he wants the gift to have a personal touch. Of course I agreed to do it. I’m afraid he doesn’t have much time left.”

  “That’s what I sensed,” Evelyn said softly. She treated me to a tender smile. “You’re a good girl, Carrie.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her manner became brisk as she leaned toward me. “Now tell me what’s been happening in your life.”

  I grimaced. “I never realized what a peaceful life I’d been leading until Jim came to town.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s improving and should be leaving the hospital soon. But the man who attacked him followed me into town on Saturday and gave me a message for my father.”

  “Oh no! Did you tell John Mathers?”

  “I did. The man’s name is Tom Quincy. He’s a criminal and he’s Dylan’s snitch.”

  “Oh.” Evelyn nodded her head. “Could be that’s how Dylan knew your father and Benton had stolen those stones. Are you back on good terms with Dylan?”

  “I’d rather not talk about Dylan. What do you know about Mariel Parr?”

  “I knew her mother better. Mariel always struck me as a cold fish. Someone who cares too much about appearances. Why do you ask? Do you think she might have killed Benton?”

  “I’m beginning to wonder,” I said. “According to Angela’s mother, Mariel was fed up with Benton and his affairs. Somehow she found out about the stolen gems.”

  “Really? Clever Mariel.”

  “She hired Tom Quincy to find them.”

  Evelyn laughed. “Not very clever, after all.”

  “I wonder if she knew about Jennifer and Benton,” I mused.

  “One morning about two months ago, I happened to overhear two women talking in the coffee shop,” Evelyn said. “The tone of the conversation struck me as strange at the time, so I hovered about for a few minutes. Mariel was asking Jennifer question after question, about nothing more important than coffee and where she bought supplies for the shop. Jennifer answered so softly, I could hardly hear her. That very afternoon Benton showed up at the coffee shop. I listened to that conversation and put two and two together.”

  “So, Mariel knew about the affair early on,” I said. “She could have been planning Benton’s murder all this time.”

  “Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Evelyn said.

  “Or course not. We need proof. Evidence.” And I have to find those gems!

  I glanced at my watch. “The choral group’s due to arrive soon. I have to hand out programs and make the introduction.”

  “Mustn’t be late,” Evelyn agreed and began to fade.

  I thought about what she’d just told me as I started down the stairs to the meeting room. Since Evelyn was invisible to everyone but little Tacey and me, she could listen in on any conversation in the library. Was it possible she’d seen or heard other conversations relevant to Benton’s murder?

  My cell phone pinged when I was halfway down the stairs. A text! My heart leaped to my throat as I retrieved my phone from my pocket. I hoped it wasn’t from Dylan.

  It was.

  Leaving 4 the airport. Back in CR the 24. Sorry u r upset. Let’s talk when I’m home. I care about you.

  He cares about me! Exhilaration swept over me because, for once, someone worthwhile, someone I cared for, wanted me enough to pursue me after I’d told him off. Then I remembered he’d been tracking my father for months and hadn’t had the decency to tell me. But maybe—

  “Hello, Carrie. Quite a crowd today! I bet every seat will be taken.”

  I smiled at Doris Johnson, a white-haired woman in her early eighties, and her friend Tessie Williamson. They always arrived at programs extra early in order to nab front-row seats. “Sure looks that way. I’m glad you both could make it.”

  “Oh, we wouldn’t miss the choral group!” Tessie said.

  I stood outside the entrance and handed out copies of the afternoon�
��s musical program. The room was quickly filling up. I greeted the singers gathered in our small utility room and gave each a bottle of water. At two o’clock I walked to the front of the room and greeted the audience. They settled down in their seats in quiet anticipation. The chorale entered the room. I introduced Roger Leighton, the music director, and then presented the group of twenty singers, saying how happy we were to have them return to our library. The audience gave them a rousing round of applause. I stood to the side and snapped a few photos before taking my seat.

  Their voices and harmonies were truly beautiful as they offered up renditions of old English Christmas carols and popular holiday songs, including a few in French and German. The melodies stirred up memories of past Christmas seasons—shopping in the mall with friends; the one year Jim drove Jordan, my mother, and me into Manhattan on Christmas Eve to see the tree in Rockefeller Center and then have dinner in a French restaurant.

  I chatted with patrons during the break, then went upstairs to relieve Trish at the hospitality desk so she could listen to the rest of the concert. Smoky Joe came bounding toward me as I walked through the reading room.

  “And what have you been up to?” I picked him up and held him in my arms. He licked my nose, then struggled to be free and ran to my office, so I knew either he was hungry or needed to use his litter box. Turned out he wanted both.

  I enjoyed the time I spent at the hospitality desk. Mostly, I collected checks for programs and trips, though I often found myself giving advice and recommendations regarding movies and books. I liked chatting with the library’s patrons—getting to know about their lives and their families, which programs they loved and which they didn’t much care for. When I glanced at my watch, I was surprised to see it was already twenty to five.

  This is my home! No matter what happens with Jim or with Dylan, Clover Ridge is where I live and work, where I have my roots and my people.

  I reached for my cell phone and speed-dialed Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco’s number. Aunt Harriet answered. “Carrie, dear, we were just talking about you.”