“Let’s go to Charming Books and you can tell me why.”
To my surprise, she nodded. Jo had finally grown tired of running.
Chapter Forty
I dropped my bike off by the garage and took Jo in through the back door of Charming Books. I had texted Grandma Daisy that we were on our way, and she was waiting for us in the kitchen.
“Oh, you poor thing.” Grandma Daisy wrapped her arm around Jo’s shoulders. “We need to find you something to eat. How about cake? Lacey just dropped off a chocolate torte from Le Crepe Jolie.”
Jo sat on the stool by the island. She was so petite her legs couldn’t reach the foot rail below but swung freely back and forth. She sat cross-legged on the stool as if self-conscious about her small stature.
Grandma Daisy cut a large piece and put it in front of Jo. She cut a much smaller piece for herself and for me.
Jo dug into her cake.
“Jo, can you tell me from the beginning how this all started?” I asked.
She swallowed a bite of cake. “I—I take things. That’s how I got into this terrible mess. The stealing started when I was younger. My brother and I were foster kids and we were moved from home to home. We were separated. We didn’t have anything, so I started taking things. It made me feel better at first. I would steal T-shirts and shoes from the mall. I soon moved on to wallets and money. Then I got caught more than once. If I did it again, I would have gone to juvie. I promised myself I wouldn’t, and I didn’t for the rest of high school.”
“But after high school?” I asked.
She nodded. “It started again. There was a petty cash drawer at the college student union where I worked during the school year. No one counted the money out of it. The supervisor just had it in case something was off about the drawer and we had to make up money at the end of the night. I ignored it all my first semester at Springside, but as the classes got harder and my stress increased over working multiple jobs and going to school, I started taking money. At first it was just a couple of dollars. I wanted to test it to see if anyone would notice. No one did, so I took more.” She licked her lips.
“When I was alone in the coffee bar, I wouldn’t report some of my sales in the cash register. I would make the coffee and put the money in this petty money drawer so it always looked like there was money there. It was going so well.” She rubbed her forehead. “I became braver, and started taking other things like I did before.”
Something dawned on me. “Like Bertie’s garnet necklace?”
She nodded. “I took it from her desk when we were in the middle of the meeting about the bike race. After I pocketed the necklace, I thought better of it. I knew Bertie would make a big stink about it being missing, so I left it in the museum on the scaffolding, hoping that it would get back to her.”
“That necklace was Bertie’s?” Grandma Daisy asked. “I never even noticed she wore a garnet necklace.”
I bit my lip.
“Did it get back to her?” Jo asked.
“It did,” I said.
“I’m glad.” She let out a breath. “I should never have taken it and do feel bad if she was upset over it.”
“How is Redding involved? This involves him, doesn’t it?” I watched her face closely as I asked. I knew now that Jo was a gifted liar. How could I believe anything she said? At the same time, I wanted to believe her.
“He had been around campus. He knew that I’d had a class with you, and he would ask me questions about you all the time. I blew him off, but then he was in the coffee shop in the evening. It was a busy night in March. All the students were chased inside because of the awful weather. The girl who was supposed to work with me called off. I was alone and doing lots of sales. It was the perfect night to do my scheme. I remember selling Redding a coffee at some point that night. I was so busy, I honestly don’t know how long he was there after I gave him his drink. Apparently, it was long enough to see what I was up to. When I was locking up at the end of the night, he confronted me.”
Grandma Daisy cut another generous portion of cake and put it on Jo’s plate. “You are going to need it. I can always tell.”
Jo nodded and continued her story. “Redding said he wouldn’t report me if I did him a favor.”
My heart sank. I knew what that favor was. “To spy on me.”
Her eyes went wide, and she nodded. She took another bite of cake. “The more I worked with Redding, the more I enjoyed the private-eye thing. He wasn’t that bad of a guy after a while. He started paying me to report back to him. It was an easy job, and he said I would make a good investigator because no one ever notices me. I’m so small and quiet. I can move easily from place to place without being seen.”
I wondered how many times this had been true for me. How many times had Jo been following me back and forth to the springs and I had no idea?
Grandma Daisy touched a napkin to the corner of her mouth. “So you’ve explained how you started working for Redding, but why was he killed?”
“Because of something I stole.” She looked at each of us. “And I still have it.”
She set her backpack on the island and opened it. She pulled out a tin box that was encrusted with mud. Grandma Daisy peered more closely at it. “Has this box been dipped in wax?”
Jo nodded. “It’s super old. You can open it.”
Grandma Daisy nodded to me. “Violet, you do the honors.”
I took a breath, having no idea what I would find inside. The lid creaked as I opened it. Inside was a stack of thin paper. I moved the paper aside, and at the bottom of the box was an envelope addressed to Walt Whitman. The return address was the White House.
I stared at the envelope for a long time. This was why Redding had been carrying Leaves of Grass with him. This was the reason the shop had kept putting his poetry in front of me with conflicting passages, and why I hadn’t been able to sort out what those passages meant. It wasn’t the words that the essence wanted me to pay attention to. It was the author. My hands shook, and I set the envelope back into the tin box.
It was then that I saw the similarities between Jo and Walt Whitman. Maybe the shop’s essence all this time had been pointing me toward that connection. Both Jo and Whitman were hard workers when they wanted to be, but they hated to be penned in. They both had dreams of greatness, too. Whitman’s greatness was his poetry. Jo hadn’t discovered hers yet, but I knew she wanted something more.
“Where did you get this?” My voice was hushed.
She pressed her lip together.
I looked at her. “Jo, if this is real, it is priceless. I couldn’t imagine what a letter written in Lincoln’s hand would be worth. It’s made even more valuable because it was addressed to Whitman.”
“Read the letter,” she said.
I took care opening the envelope. I did so slowly. I could only imagine what Renee’s archivist would have said if he saw me touching such an important document with my bare hands.
Dear Mr. Whitman,
I have enjoyed your work Leaves of Grass very much. Your words have been a comfort to both my dear wife and me during the loss of our son, Willie. Especially when you talk about the hereafter.
Even in these difficult times in our nation, I encourage you to pursue your art. We cannot let the war deter us from having a vibrant America, and this includes the arts of which Mrs. Lincoln and I are quite fond.
I have heard of your fine service to the sick and wounded here in Washington. Thank you for your service in the hospitals, tending and reading your great work to our wounded, both from north and south. Both are our sons. The causalities of war pain me. Every life lost in the divine pursuit of preserving the union is precious and not lost in vain.
Truly yours,
A. Lincoln
The letter was brief, but I couldn’t help but think what Whitman would have thought when he opened it. He loved Abraham Lincoln and saw him as the man who would restore peace to the country. He referred to him often in his work and eulogi
zed him in the famous poem “O Captain, My Captain” when Lincoln died. It was, in a word, priceless.
“Jo.” I stared at her. “Where did you get this letter?”
“I can’t tell you that, but you should have it, Daisy, for your museum.”
My grandmother read the letter. “This would be the crown jewel of any museum, but I don’t know if ours is the right place.”
Jo stood up. “I want you to have it. I don’t want it anymore. I thought I could …” She shook head. “It doesn’t matter anymore what I thought. I’m glad that I gave it to you. Even if you don’t keep it, you will know what to do with it.” She turned as if to go.
“Jo, you can’t leave.” I jumped out of my seat. “Whoever killed Redding is still out there.”
She nodded. “I know. This is why you two should keep the letter. It’s not safe with me any longer.” She ran to the back door and was outside in a blink.
By the time I made it to the back door, she’d disappeared into the woods. Again.
Grandma Daisy shook her head. “That girl can really move when she wants too.”
And it seemed to me that she always wanted to.
Chapter Forty-One
When Rainwater walked into Charming Books ten minutes later, his expression was thunderous. Grandma Daisy’s eyes went wide. “Yikes, you’d better talk to him, Violet.”
“Me? He’s not mad at you. You should be the one to talk him down.” I pushed her in front of me.
“I can hear you,” Rainwater said in an irritated voice. He folded his arms and leaned against the sale counter. He looked to me. “You let Jo get away again?”
I grimaced. “I’m sorry, but I honestly thought she would stay this time. She left something with us. Something very important, if it is authentic.”
“It’s authentic,” Grandma Daisy said. “I can feel it in my bones.” She placed the tin box on the sales counter. “Read it.”
Rainwater sighed and read the letter. His eyes widened. “Is this real?”
“We will have to have it authenticated,” I said. “But I think it might very well be real. David, what if the box the letter was in was found near the foundation of the village hall? It’s encrusted with dirt and it clearly was protected from the elements by dipping it in wax. What if Whitman lost it here in the village? Whitman visited Cascade Springs on his second trip to Niagara Falls late in life. He even visited this shop. There’s proof of it in the college archives. Also proof that Mayor Hodge didn’t care for him in the least. What if Hodge had the box with the letter buried in the foundation of the village hall?”
Rainwater’s eyes went wide. “There are a lot of ifs in there.”
“Maybe there are, but if I’m right”—I took a breath—“I think I know who the killer is.”
Rainwater cocked his head. “Did the shop tell you who it was?”
Grandma Daisy clapped her hands. “Oh! You told him. I was so wishing you would.” She hugged Rainwater. “This is wonderful!”
I frowned. You would have thought I’d told her Rainwater and I were getting married by the way she reacted.
“Hear me out,” I said, ignoring my grandmother’s outburst.
“All right,” he said.
“I think it’s Vaughn.”
“Vaughn! No, never!” Grandma Daisy cried. “He’s been working so hard on the museum. He’s there every day.”
“Right, so he would have an opportunity to put the garnet necklace that I found back on Bertie’s desk. He was the last person I saw when I had the necklace. He must have stolen it from my pocket and put it back on Bertie’s desk.”
Grandma Daisy opened her mouth, as if she were about to protest.
“I know it doesn’t seem to be connected, but he would know his sister. He would know she was the one who took it because of her history of shoplifting. But moreover, he’s working with the hall’s foundation. He would be the one who found the letter. What if she stole the letter from him, and he thought she was going to give it to Redding?”
Rainwater frowned. “It’s a loose theory, but it’s worth bringing Vaughn to the station to talk it over. At the very least, we can say it has to do with his sister. We’ve already talked to him a number of times since her disappearance. He’s been upset, to say the least, that we haven’t found her.”
“Was he upset you hadn’t found Jo or that letter?” I asked. I knew I was right. “It has to be him. Who else would she protect other than her brother?”
“Okay, you have me convinced that we should talk to him.” He pushed off the counter and removed his cell phone from his belt. “Clipton, I want you and Wheaton to track down Vaughn Fitzgerald and bring him in … yes, again … I think he might know more about the case than he’s leading on. Check his home, office, and the village hall. Right.” He ended the call.
“I’m ready to go,” I said.
Rainwater shook his head. “You aren’t going anywhere. I want you and Daisy to stay here in case Jo comes back, and I can’t take the letter just yet. Keep it safe for me.”
“Of course,” Grandma Daisy said.
He looked at me again and said, “Stay here. Please.”
I wanted to promise him I would, but I couldn’t manage to say the actual words. “You will keep us in the loop?”
“If that keeps you here, I will,” he said.
“It’s your best shot.” Grandma Daisy smiled at him.
Rainwater sighed and left the shop.
The rest of the afternoon dragged on, and I didn’t hear anything from the police chief. The entire time, I was a ball of nerves. What if I was wrong and Vaughn wasn’t the killer? Would I be just like my accusers all those years ago when Colleen died? I didn’t want to be like that.
“Violet,” my grandmother said. “If you pace anymore, you’re going to march right through those floorboards and be in the basement, and we all know how you feel about that.”
I stopped pacing. The basement in Charming Books was a dirt floor, dank and dusty. I avoided going down there as much as possible.
“You aren’t going to settle down until you do something. Let’s go to Le Crepe Jolie for an early dinner.”
“It four thirty.”
“Then think of it as a late lunch. Did you eat anything other than that chocolate cake today?”
I tried to remember. “The shop doesn’t close for a half hour. Maybe we should wait until shop hours are officially over.”
“And let you fall into the basement? I don’t think so.” She shook her head.
“What about the letter? Should we be here to guard it?”
“I hid it in the perfect spot. No one could possibly find it.”
“Where’s that?”
“If I told you, then you might find it.”
“Are you asking me to go to Le Crepe Jolie because it’s next to the village hall and that might be where Vaughn is?” I narrowed my eyes.
She shrugged. “Would your grandmother do something like that?”
The short answer was yes.
In the end, I followed my grandmother out of the shop and we walked to Le Crepe Jolie. We passed the village hall. It stood quiet and resolute.
“He must not have been here,” Grandma Daisy said. “I’m guessing that David already took him to the station for questioning. I’m sure everything will be settled soon.” She sighed. “I still can’t believe that Vaughn is responsible.”
I nodded, starting to think she was right. My theory had been pretty farfetched. I prayed I hadn’t accused an innocent man.
“Violet! Daisy!” Lacey cried as we walked into Le Crepe Jolie. “This is a fun surprise for you to stop by so early. Take your usual table by the window.”
Grandma Daisy and I sat, and as we did, I spotted Richard and Renee at a table in the far corner of the dining room. Renee waved me over to their table.
I walked over with a smile, despite all my worries over Jo and Vaughn.
“Violet,” Renee said. “It’s nice to see you.”
Richard fumbled with his knife and fork.
“It’s nice to see the two of you, too. Enjoying a late lunch?”
“Just coffee.” She pointed at the cup in front of her. “Richard asked me out on a coffee date. Isn’t that sweet?” She smiled at Richard.
“Very sweet,” I agreed.
Richard swallowed hard. “I knew Renee and I both had a fondness for coffee. We’ve had a very nice conversation on books.”
“I’m sure you have.”
Renee winked at me. I smiled back. It seemed that Richard had finally gotten up the nerve to ask her out. I was glad to see something happy on such a difficult day.
I backed away. “I will leave you two to it.”
Renee held up her hand. “Wait, Violet.”
I stopped and turned around.
She pressed her lips together, and her excitement of finally being on a real date with Richard seemed to fall away. “I was planning to stop by Charming Books after Richard and I were done here.”
“Something up?” I asked.
“After you left the library, the next time I saw the archivist, I asked him about Whitman’s visit to Cascade Springs. He was more than excited to talk about it, and he talked and he talked and he talked. I swear the man could wax on about dryer lint. Finally, when I had a chance to get a word in, I asked him if anyone had been in the archives recently to ask about Whitman. I don’t always know who the archivist meets with, especially in the summer when the library has odd hours.” She took a breath. “He said that over the last month he’d actually spoken to two different men about it on two different occasions. He was quite excited to tell me about. I know that it can get pretty boring down there alone with all those old papers and books.”
Richard cleared his throat. “I would be happy to go down and visit with the archivist from time to time to keep him company. Now that I have heard about the village’s connection to Whitman, I am curious about the rest of our literary history. It might be the good start of a book for me, perhaps a nonfiction book as well as a fiction book.”
Renee smiled at him. “Thank you, Richard. I’m sure the archivist would appreciate that. There is nothing that he loves more than for the archives to be used for publications. Although I wouldn’t tell him you were writing fiction. He doesn’t see much value in that.”
Verse and Vengeance Page 23