by Donna Doyle
The new pastor, the Reverend Dalton Meachem, surveyed the crowded tables with satisfaction. The all-day breakfast had been his idea, the planning in the works well before the Groundhog Day murder that cast a shadow over the beginning of Lent. People needed something to bring them together, he said.
Kelly agreed. She was pleased that the event was going well so far. As chairperson of the Community Outreach Committee, she had seen too many of the enthusiastic minister’s ideas fizzle for lack of support from a congregation that was reluctant to try something not previously sanctioned by their former pastor, who had served in the position thirty years before retiring to North Carolina.
“I see the Starks are here,” Rev. Meachem’s gaze swept over the tables. “It’s nice that they’re supporting another church’s event.”
Kelly wasn’t going to admit that she already saw more than enough of Lois Stark in her role as library board president. “I heard that she’s been named the new church treasurer, since Mrs. Knesbit’s death.”
“It’s fortunate that she can step up so quickly into the position. I suppose that, as a businesswoman, she’s suited. She’s president of the library board, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
The minister smiled sympathetically, as if he understood without words the reasons for Kelly’s reticence. He probably did; Pastor Dal perceived a lot more than was obvious. She thought he would be good for the church. Not everyone agreed. Maybe the Shrove Tuesday community breakfast would convince a few doubting Thomases.
“I’m heading over to the high-rise,” he said. “A few of our members have asked for take-out breakfasts.”
“I wish they’d come over here and eat with other people, instead of staying by themselves,” Kelly said.
“Maybe next year.”
Kelly went back into the kitchen to get the dishwasher started. Rev. Dal had had a tough time convincing everyone that it was better to use real dishes rather than paper plates. Kelly wanted to make sure that the process went smoothly; sometimes the big, commercial dishwasher had fits of temper.
As she went into the kitchen, she passed the table where the donation basket had been artfully placed: close enough to the kitchen so that the crew could keep an eye on it, but mid-way enough so that everyone eating breakfast would pass it on their way to the food tables.
“Looks like they like your cooking,” she praised Noah Griffin, the young culinary student who had been coaxed into putting his talents to practical use for the breakfast. “The donation basket is full. And not just with ones, either.”
Noah smiled as he stirred pancake batter for the next batch. “It would be nice if we make a little profit,” he said. “Seed money for the next one.”
“Or money to pay the gas bill,” supplied Arlene Mengali, the finance secretary. “This winter has been brutal on the budget.”
Kelly and Noah shared a smile. It was the ongoing tension in a church, but Arlene’s words weren’t acrimonious. She was a hard worker who always showed up to help for any event.
She hadn’t eaten yet, but when she saw Troy enter the fellowship hall, she told the kitchen crew she’d be taking a break, as they all did, when friends or family members showed up.
Troy, who had just sat down with a plate that he thought was ambitious even as hungry as he was, shook his head when he saw Kelly’s. “I guess it’s a ‘Hungry Man’s Breakfast’ everywhere you go.”
“Did you notice who’s at the table across the aisle from us?”
“If you mean Chief Stark, yes, I noticed, and I’d rather concentrate on my pancakes. And my dining companion,” he added with a smile.
“I’ve been thinking . . .”
“You’re always thinking. I suppose it’s about the murder? These pancakes are great.”
“I’ll tell Noah. He’s going to culinary school so he might have some secret techniques. What if the Starks have something to do with Lyola Knesbit’s murder?”
“Why would they?”
“Lois Stark has been made treasurer at LifeLight, now that Lyola is dead.”
“Kelly, that’s kind of a reach, isn’t it? You’re saying she had the former treasurer whacked? Is that typical for a church?”
“I’m just wondering if they’re laundering drug money.”
Troy shook his head. “Unless churches take in a lot more than I thought, there’s no comparison. Drug money is a lot to launder.”
Kelly accepted this evaluation of the Stark connection to drug money laundering and their conversation turned to other topics. When she finished eating, she couldn’t linger to talk because it was time to run the dishwasher again. But she had no sooner left than—
“Mind if I sit here?”
“Mrs. Hammond! Hi, good to see you. Go ahead, please sit down. Do you want me to go get a plate for you?”
Mrs. Hammond, he saw, was now using a walker rather than a cane. She smiled in gratitude. “Oh, if you would, that would save me some steps.”
“What would you like? I’ll see if Kelly left any food on the tables.”
Mrs. Hammond’s requests were for a much lighter plate than Kelly had filled for herself. When he put the plate in front of her, she smiled happily. “I don’t get out much in winter, but I wanted to come today. This is such a good idea. I believe Kelly and the new minister put it together.”
He hadn’t known that. He realized that he didn’t really know a lot about Kelly’s life outside of the library. He should have known, he thought to himself. If they could ever talk about anything but murder, maybe he’d know more.
“How have you been?”
“Oh, not too bad. I’ll be glad when winter is over. I don’t like being cooped up and I don’t like having my windows closed. I’ve been thinking about moving to the high-rise. I have friends there, and there’s an elevator.”
“That might be a good idea,” he agreed.
“But I’m not so sure. My friends tell me that there are young people showing up in the parking lot. Strangers. At night,” she added meaningfully.
Troy didn’t want to feed any geriatric fears, but it did seem strange that the parking lot of a senior citizen residence unit would suddenly host nocturnal young strangers.
“I can drive by a few times when I’m on patrol,” he offered.
“Would you? That would be very reassuring for my friends. Doesn’t it seem odd to you that people would be in the parking lot at night?”
It seemed very odd. He guessed that the residents were inside at night, maybe sleeping or watching television, but vigilant when it came to knowing what was going on outside their windows.
“What are you thinking, Mrs. Hammond?”
“I’m thinking that now that Daffodil Alley has a history, they’re finding other places for selling drugs,” the old lady said frankly.
He couldn’t dispute her theory. Drugs didn’t go away just because a dealer was arrested and put in prison. The senior citizen high-rise was in a quiet part of town, a few blocks from the commercial center of Settler Springs, a location that was somewhat out of the way of traffic. A parking lot seemed a lot more public than an alley if drugs were being sold, but maybe the dealer figured that nothing went on in a high-rise. Troy knew, from his Jefferson Avenue neighbors, that older people noticed everything, but before he moved there, he wouldn’t have made that assessment.
“I’ll drive around a few times,” he promised. “Maybe it’s nothing. But if it is, having a police presence might help.”
10
Changes at the Library
When Kelly arrived at the library the next day, she was surprised to see that lights were on already, even though it was half an hour before the library was scheduled to open.
When she went inside, her surprise increased. Mrs. Stark was sitting at the circulation desk.
“We had a meeting of the Executive Board yesterday,” Lois Stark said without preamble. “We decided that it’s not a good idea for the library to have someone on staff who’s suspected of
being a murderer.”
Kelly put down her purse and took off her coat. “Meaning what?”
“I sent Carmela home. She’ll be on leave until the murder is solved.”
“You did this without consulting me? I’m the director; I’m in charge of staff.”
“These are extraordinary circumstances. I’m hearing a lot of talk about Carmela and her disagreements with Mrs. Knesbitt. If Carmela was in any way involved in this unfortunate dilemma,” Mrs. Stark said delicately, “it’s better for her if she’s not in contact with the public until her reputation is restored.”
Not for the first time, Kelly was glad that she’d kept her car and life insurance policies with her former agent, rather than switching to Mrs. Stark’s company upon being hired by the library.
“I don’t agree,” she said hotly. “What does the rest of the board say?”
“It will be discussed at the regular meeting at the end of the month.”
“Then it’s fortunate that February is a short month!” Kelly said as she turned into the office.
“In order to help you, since you’ll be busier now, working on your own, I’ll be handling the finances,” Mrs. Stark continued, standing in the entry to Kelly’s office.
“There’s no need,” Kelly said. “I’m the director. Library directors handle the finances.”
“In normal times, of course. But these are not normal times. I’ll set up a little work area for myself over here by the copier. I’ll be out of your way,” Mrs. Stark smiled, evoking to Kelly’s mind a malevolent Cheshire cat. “And you’ll be able to perform your duties as expected. We’ll add a few hours to Chloe’s schedule so that you can maintain the same schedule.”
“Carmela needs her paycheck,” Kelly said. “All she has is a small pension from her dead husband. She’s too young to collect social security; she’s not old enough to retire yet. And Chloe goes to class; she’s not able to just change her schedule on a whim.”
“I’m sure Carmela has something saved; she’s very attentive to finances, isn’t she? That’s my understanding as far as the issues with the bus trip go. Chloe will surely be able to help in the evening when you’ve opened the library; she’s a student and will be glad to earn a little extra money.”
The two women’s gazes locked. “The bus trip issues have nothing to do with Carmela’s work performance.”
“I don’t agree. I was at your church breakfast yesterday and I was asked by several people about Carmela’s connection to the Groundhog Day murder of Lyola Knesbit.”
Are they the same people who ask about your connection to your son, who’s in prison for murder? Kelly wondered. But she held onto her temper, knowing that Mrs. Stark could not retaliate against words that had not been spoken.
“It was a very nice breakfast, by the way,” Mrs. Stark said as she turned from Kelly’s office. “I must suggest something similar to our pastor, now that I’m the church treasurer at LifeLight.”
Keep your greedy hands off Shrove Tuesday, Kelly thought. It was a silly response, she knew, but it was visceral. She and the library board president had a civil, although not warm relationship. This episode with Carmela wasn’t going to warm up the chill any time soon.
Mrs. Stark said that she would go to lunch at noon so that Kelly could take her lunch at one. As soon as Kelly saw Mrs. Stark’s car leave its parking space, she texted Troy.
Mrs. Stark put Carmela on leave because of the murder.
His response came quickly. Can she do that?
Not really, but she did. The officers kowtow to her. The rest of the board doesn’t, but she did this in executive session. It’ll be discussed at the monthly meeting at the end of the month. I’ll check on Carmela after the library closes. She’s got to be devastated by this and she probably thinks I knew about it. She did it when I took yesterday off to help with the church breakfast.
Do you want me to stop by Carmela’s and check on her?
Kelly hesitated. She needed to go to Carmela herself and assure the older woman that it wasn’t a library conspiracy against her.
No. I doubt if Carmela wants her neighbors to see a policeman on her doorstep. But thanks for offering.
Dinner tonight?
Definitely. Let me check on Carmela first and then I’ll meet you at Sloppy Joe’s.
Sloppy Joe’s? The new sandwich place that just opened out outside of Warren?
Yes. I’ll text you when I leave Carmela’s.
Troy put his phone down, frowning. It looked as though Mrs. Stark was painting Carmela as a suspect before the state police had even finished their investigation. He wondered if Kelly’s instincts that the Starks were somehow involved in the murder could possibly be accurate. It didn’t seem likely, but how likely was it that the son of the Settler Springs police chief would have been dealing drugs?
He let Arlo out and then got in his car, driving out past the senior citizen high-rise. The parking lot had a few cars; probably some of the residents still drove, although many, he knew, no longer did. He knew from his Jefferson Avenue neighbors with friends in the high-rise that they often chauffeured people to doctor visits and the grocery store. Giving up driving was hard on the elderly in a small town with no system of public transportation, but friendships forged over half a century remained strong, and those who still drove and lived in their own homes seemed willing to lend a hand.
Nothing seemed amiss. The benches in front of the building were empty but in warmer weather, people would be sitting out, enjoying the sunshine and conversation. He took note of the cars in the lot. It might be worthwhile to drive by tonight and see if there were any new cars showing up.
He stopped by the police station. Kyle, of course, was already out, making his rounds. Leo was in his office, staring down at his desk.
“Hey,” Troy said.
Leo looked up. A haggard smile came to his face. “Hey, Troy. You’re not on duty yet.”
“I know. I was just running a few errands and I thought I’d stop by. Everything okay?”
“Fine, fine.”
“The kids okay?”
Leo’s mask faded. “The kids are fine. But I’ve heard from my daughter. Her ex-husband—he’s out of prison now—he wants visitation.”
“Can he get it?”
“He’s going to push for it. It’ll take a while for a court date. He wants her to just let him take the kids out to McDonald’s.”
“You think he’ll take them and leave?”
“He’d be crazy to do that. He’s on probation. If he pulled a stunt like that, he’d be back in. But he’s crazy enough to do it. Supposedly he’s cleaned up his act. That’s what he’s telling Mia, anyway.”
“Mia?” Troy repeated, not sure if he’d heard right, and if he had, then what did it mean? Was Leo’s daughter another link to the murder, just as the Punxsutawney police wondered?
“My daughter. She’s out of rehab. A lot of people in town don’t even know she’s back. She looks different now. Tattoos,” Leo said awkwardly, although Troy suspected that, if Mia had been a drug addict, the change in appearance was more than skin art. “She’s trying really hard to get her life together. We have custody of the kids. When she visits, one of us stays there. It’s what’s required; there are rules, but she understands that. She’s going to church now, and volunteering. She doesn’t have a job yet. People aren’t eager to hire someone fresh out of rehab. We’ve been helping her out.”
Kelly had been sympathetic toward Mia Shaw, Troy recalled. Maybe Kelly was a soft touch when it came to parents getting library books for their kids, or maybe Kelly was intuitive. He hoped so; if Mia couldn’t make it work, a lot of other lives would be hurt. Her kids, her parents . . . they were all depending on her to pull it together.
“It sounds like she’s doing everything she can,” Troy said.
“Yeah, but there’s a lot against her. That jerk of an ex-husband, he’s out of prison at exactly the wrong time. And this murder, and her being part of the trip .
. . we gave her the money to go, we thought it would be good for her. Now look at what’s happened.”
“Leo, you’re taking care of her kids. They’re loved and they’re safe. That has to be a relief to her, especially if the ex-husband is an ex-con.”
Leo’s mouth was set in a hard, bitter line. “There’s no ex-con about it. Even if he’s out of prison. Travis Shaw is always going to be a con. Mia wouldn’t listen; she was using then. We didn’t realize it at the time, or maybe we did, and we just refused to see. He was her supplier. She married him; they had kids.” Leo shook his head. “It was bad from the start and it never got better. He went in for drug dealing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in for something worse the next time. And there will be a next time, mark my words.”
11
Accomplices?
Kelly was worried that Carmela would suspect that she had been part of Mrs. Stark’s executive session conspiracy to force Carmela out, but she had no sooner stepped onto Carmela’s porch than the door opened.
“I didn’t kill her, Kelly. I swear to God I didn’t. I never even would have thought of doing that.”
“I believe you, Carmela. I don’t know what’s going on. I went into the library this morning to open and Mrs. Stark was there. She told me you were on leave and she’d be taking care of the finances since I’d be working on my own. That’s the first I heard of any of this.”
“I figured she planned it for a time when she knew you’d be off,” Carmela said. “Come in.”
Carmela’s house was neat and orderly, rather than cozy. But she offered Kelly tea, which Kelly accepted, and they sat down in the living room. Carmela turned off the television.
“I’m tired of hearing about the murder,” she said. “I didn’t do it and every time I look at someone or I see someone looking at me, I feel like they think I’m guilty.”