Dewey Decimated, page 1
Dewey Decimated
A HAUNTED LIBRARY MYSTERY
Allison Brook
For my grandson Jack Andrew Levinson who is learning to read: you have a lifetime of reading wonderful books before you!
Chapter One
“Thanks, Aunt Harriet. Dinner was delicious as always,” I said.
“You’re most welcome, Carrie dear. You know I’m always delighted to have your company. While I’m glad your Uncle Bosco is civic-minded, I wish so many of his meetings weren’t scheduled at dinnertime.”
I stood to bring my dishes to the sink, but my great-aunt put her hand on my shoulder. “I’ll do that. Sit down and relax a few minutes before you head home. You must be tired after putting in a full day at the library.” She started loading the dishwasher.
I didn’t mean to, but a huge sigh escaped my lips.
Aunt Harriet turned around, a look of distress on her face. “Is something worrying you? You’ve been quiet all evening.”
“I suppose being here reminds me of how simple my life was a year ago when I was living with you and Uncle Bosco.”
That brought on a roar of laughter. “Carrie, love, you’ve forgotten how miserable you were last September—doing little more than shelving books in the library and having no social life to speak of. Look at all you’ve accomplished in the past year—a satisfying job, many friends. And best of all, you’re engaged to a wonderful fella.”
“Right.”
Even to my ears, my answer sounded glum. Aunt Harriet lifted my chin so she could peer into my eyes. “Are you and Dylan having problems?” She looked anxious. My aunt cared about Dylan almost as much as she loved me.
Impulsively, I hugged her. “Don’t worry. Dylan and I are fine. It’s just …”
“I know.” She stroked my back. “Getting engaged, agreeing to join the town council. It takes a lot of adjusting.”
I shrugged, longing to open up yet reluctant to talk about what was troubling me. Best simply to agree.
“I suppose that’s it. I’m feeling nervous about all the new things in my life, though Dylan promised not to pressure me about setting a wedding date.”
“And I’m doing my best to keep your Uncle Bosco from doing the same.”
Her kindness touched me, and I found myself spilling out what had been bothering me for some time now.
“I love Dylan. I want to spend the rest of my life with him, but there’s something that I didn’t think much about until we got engaged. Then it began to loom larger and larger.”
I paused to draw in a deep breath. I’d never uttered aloud what I was about to say to Aunt Harriet—not to Dylan or to my newly wedded best friend Angela—but it was time I got it off my chest.
“Whenever I ask Dylan something about his parents, he brushes me off. I’ve tried several times. He shuts up like a clam, and if I persist he turns distant. Curt. The way he was that first time I went to look at the cottage.”
I stared into Aunt Harriet’s eyes and held fast so she wouldn’t try to evade my questions. “You and Uncle Bosco knew Dylan’s parents. In fact, you ended up selling them the Singleton Farm because you couldn’t afford to keep it and resented that the Averys took advantage of your situation and bought it at a low price.”
“And if you’ll remember, I once told you that selling when we did turned out to be for the best. The farm had stopped paying for itself and Bosco and I were getting too old to run it. Yes, Cal and Estelle offered us less than we’d asked for, but I urged your uncle to take it. The Averys updated and expanded the farmhouse, sold it, and now it’s a successful B and B. Lucky for us, your uncle and I were able to bid on this house as soon as it came on the market. The opportunity to buy a house on the Green is as rare as hen’s teeth.”
“Getting back to Cal and Estelle, did they do something awful, something Dylan’s afraid or ashamed to tell me?”
It was Aunt Harriet’s turn to exhale a loud gush of air. “Not that I know of, but I’m afraid they weren’t the most congenial people. Oh, they were sociable enough—throwing large parties once or twice a year and inviting everyone to their big house. Bosco and I went to a few of their shindigs.
“Cal was cordial enough when you took care of bank business. He played the role of bank vice president just right—asking about your health, the health of your spouse. Until you asked for a loan. Then he was tough as nails.” Aunt Harriet chuckled. “And how Estelle loved to play her role of wealthy lady about town. She and Cal owned buildings here and in New Haven. They had other businesses, too. They thrived on buying and selling properties. Making investments.
“As for Dylan, I’m not aware of anything either of them ever did to harm him intentionally, but they didn’t spend much time with him, either. The poor child was pretty much left to himself while his parents worked and socialized. I used to invite him over when you and Jordan came to stay with us. As you know, he and Jordan became fast friends.”
I smiled when she mentioned my older brother, whom we’d lost eight years ago. Not a day passed that he wasn’t in my thoughts.
“Dylan continued to come to the farm even after you and Jordan went home to the city. Your uncle gave him chores to do, which he seemed to like, and he sometimes had dinner with us.”
“Dylan never said,” I murmured. “He doesn’t talk much about his life before we met, except to tell me about some of his investigations, chasing after stolen artwork and gems all over the world.” I was already dating Dylan when his boss, Mac, made him a partner in the company. Then Dylan had opened the office in New Haven and began handling more local and less exotic cases.
“Has he ever mentioned any relatives?” Aunt Harriet asked.
“No. When we got engaged in July, I asked Dylan if he was planning to call family members to tell them our news. He said there was really no one to call. That he liked my relatives and was happy to share them with me.”
“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” Aunt Harriet said. “I suggest you talk to Dylan, let him know what’s on your mind.”
“And if he continues to avoid talking about it?”
“Then I suggest you be patient. Knowing the kind of relationship you two have, I’m sure he’ll share everything in time.”
I stood and hugged her. Though she hadn’t told me much more than I already knew, Aunt Harriet had succeeded in making me feel better. I took her unspoken message to be that while there might be mysteries in Dylan’s past, they neither reflected badly on Dylan nor would they have a negative impact on our future together.
I scooped up Smoky Joe, who had wandered into the kitchen to join us. My furry feline had appeared one morning last fall as I was about to drive to work. He was probably one of the barn cats from the farm on the other side of the woods from my cottage. Half-grown, he’d jumped into my car, and I had no choice but to bring him into the library, where he instantly became the library cat. He had proven to be a most sociable creature and was a favorite of patrons young and old.
Smoky Joe started purring and reached up to lick my nose.
“Time to put you in your carrier, boy, and drive us home. It’s been a long day.”
* * *
Dylan called me as I was pulling in front of the cottage. It was situated on the Avery property about a quarter of a mile past the large house I thought of as the manor. I’d rented the cottage from Dylan almost a year ago, and now we spent most of our time here together. He’d worked late tonight, which was one of the reasons I’d accepted Aunt Harriet’s dinner invitation.
“Hi, babe, have a good home-cooked dinner?”
“I sure did, though I make home-cooked dinners all the time.”
Dylan laughed. “I don’t think bringing home takeout from the Gourmet Market is considered home cooked.”
“Did you eat?”
“Gary ran out to the deli down the block and got us a few sandwiches.” Gary was Dylan’s new assistant who was helping him with new cases. He seemed to be settling in well.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Ten minutes from home. I need to stop by the house to check my mail and pick up a few things. Want me to come over, or is it too late?”
“Sure, come on over. It’s only eight thirty.”
Once inside the cottage I released Smoky Joe from his carrier and he dashed over to his bowl. I poured in some kibble along with a few treats the way he liked it and filled his water dish. After I changed into jeans and a T-shirt, I returned to the kitchen to see what I had in the fridge.
Dylan arrived a few minutes later. As I suspected, when asked if he’d like a small snack, he was all for it. I heated up the leftover chicken parm from the Gourmet Market that he liked so much and served it with some cold pasta salad. While Dylan ate, we chatted about our days, then moved on to the living room to watch TV.
We cuddled on the couch and caught a segment of the news. When a commercial came on, I clicked off the TV. Dylan cast me a questioning glance.
I swallowed. “I wanted to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows shot up.
I felt nervous but forced myself to continue. “Dylan, I don’t want us to have any secrets from each other.”
I hadn’t meant to blurt it out that way, but Dylan didn’t seem to mind. He grinned. “Do you think I’m seeing someone else when I stay late at the office? Because believe me, the cases are piling up. I’m happy to work as hard as I can for us.”
I stroked his arm. “It’s not that. I want our life together to be one of sharing. And one of the things we share are the people we love. You know everyone important to me. You know my friends. My family.” I paused. “And I know so little about your parents. About when you were little.”
I felt his muscles tense. “There’s not much to tell. My parents weren’t the warmest people. In fact, they probably never should have had children, given the way they raised me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m happy to share your family—Jim and Merry, Bosco and Harriet. Your cousin Randy and his family.”
“And my mother?” I asked with a smile.
Dylan grimaced. “Can’t leave out Linda, difficult as she is.”
“But your parents—were they really that awful?”
Dylan frowned. “Let’s put it this way: they didn’t beat me or forget to feed me. But they weren’t there for me like other parents are for their kids. Usually,” he added when he caught my expression.
My father had spent a good deal of time away from home during my growing-up years, either in prison for one of his heists or just … away. My mother was self-centered and not at all maternal. My older brother, Jordan, had been my one constant, and he’d lost his life in his mid-twenties in an automobile accident.
“I’m not saying they were the worst parents,” Dylan went on. “They just weren’t parental. They were completely wrapped up in work and in themselves. As I got older, my resentment grew, and after high school I chose to cut myself off from them.” He gave a little laugh. “I went away to college, spending a year in England, and rarely came home during vacations. They didn’t seem to notice.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Your childhood was as bad as mine. At least I had Jordan.”
“Jordan,” Dylan echoed. “Those summers you guys came to visit are my best memories. And after you went back to the city I kept on visiting your aunt and uncle.”
“Aunt Harriet told me.”
“They were always so kind to me.” He sniffed. “I used to pretend they were my aunt and uncle, too.”
“And now they are,” I whispered and held him in my arms. “You must have aunts and uncles and cousins,” I said a minute later.
“When I was ten we went to a family reunion in Pennsylvania. My parents left me with the other kids and went to join the adults. Even though they were different ages, from six to fifteen, the cousins all knew one another. I was very shy in those days. I finally got up the courage to approach a boy who looked to be my age but he turned away. They soon broke up into small groups and took off in different directions. I went inside and stayed in the kitchen till my parents came looking for me hours later. At least the woman whose house we were in was kindhearted and didn’t try to make me go out and play with the other kids.”
He scoffed. “My parents didn’t even ask what I’d been doing all afternoon or if I had a good time. They spent the entire drive home tearing apart the people at the reunion—all relatives, but you’d never know it, judging by their comments:
“‘I had to stop myself from grabbing Doris’s hand when she reached for another cookie. Clearly, she hasn’t seen herself in a mirror in years or she’d tape her mouth shut when they brought out the desserts.’
“‘Your cousin Jimmy never stopped bragging about his new Cadillac. His brother-in-law told me Jimmy’s already behind making payments.’
“Riding home that evening, I told myself that as soon as I was old enough, I would create my own life and have nothing to do with my parents ever again.”
Chapter Two
The following morning I drove to the library on autopilot as I mulled over what Dylan had told me about his early life. I’d had no idea that his parents were the way he’d described them. Sure, I knew there had to be a good reason why he hadn’t wanted to talk about them, but their selfish self-absorption and their greed to make more and more money was shocking. They had virtually ignored their child and his needs as if he were no more than a piece of furniture in their elegant home. I believed the term was benign neglect.
And all the time we’d been dating, I hadn’t had an inkling of what Dylan had lived through. I smiled, remembering how supportive he’d been when I’d faced rough patches with each of my parents. How had he acquired the compassion and understanding to see me through those difficult times when he hadn’t been given such care and attention while he was growing up? Tears welled up in my eyes and I promised myself I’d give Dylan the same support when he needed it.
Though we had barely touched on the extent of the damage Cal and Estelle had wrought, I decided to drop the subject for now. I’d leave it to Dylan to tell me more about his parents, but only when he was ready to do so.
My mind had been so completely occupied with Dylan, I’d all but forgotten that the work on the library’s new addition was scheduled to begin today, the second Wednesday in September. This fact was rudely brought to my attention when I found myself driving around the library’s parking lot in search of a spot. Though it was only five to nine and the library had yet to open, I finally managed to snag the last available spot in the lot.
The reason soon became obvious. The workers had removed the fence separating the library parking lot from the lot of the adjacent building soon to become part of the library. Now their many trucks and large pieces of machinery sprawled across half if not more of our lot.
Seriously? In addition to the noise and disturbance, we’re expected to do without half our parking spaces for the months of construction ahead of us? I don’t think so.
As I exited my car, I heard raised voices coming from the other lot. I hurried over to investigate and managed to get close enough to observe what was going on. In the midst of trucks and equipment, Sally Prescott, the library director, stood arguing with a large, burly man who appeared to be in charge while four or five workers watched in amusement as if it were a Netflix show.
“Yes. Go ahead and call Sean Powell,” Sally said. “I made it very clear to him that our parking area was not to be used to store your equipment.”
“Will do,” the foreman said, “but I know what he’s going to say.”
I wouldn’t bet on it, I thought, knowing Sally’s capabilities, and returned to my car to get Smoky Joe. As soon as I entered the library, I released him from his carrier and off he zoomed, bushy tail in the air, ready to greet his many fans when they arrived while I headed for my office.
I had two part-time assistants who were as different as any two assistants could be. Trish Templeton was a short, round brunette—a dynamo of a worker I could count on to carry out any plan or project I came up with and then some. Trish came in at ten or ten thirty Monday through Friday and stayed for five hours.
Susan Roberts worked late afternoons and evenings. When I’d become head of programs and events last October, I had found Susan to be passive and lackadaisical. But asking for her suggestions regarding the library’s Halloween party had been like turning on a flood light, and I quickly discovered just how talented and creative she really was. Now Susan’s crafts and posters were in evidence all around the library, and her drawings graced our newsletter. The Gallery on the Green soon became aware of her talent and started selling her artwork for more money than she had ever dreamed of making.
I glanced through my email, responded to those that needed answers, and was about to stop by the programs that had just begun to make sure they were running smoothly when Sally called and asked me to stop by her office.
“I saw their equipment in our parking lot,” I said as I sat in one of the chairs facing her desk. Sally’s face was blotchy with emotion and she appeared frazzled, so unlike her usually calm demeanor.
“I came in early today just as they were filling up half our lot with their monster machines. This, after Sean told me they wouldn’t be infringing on our parking space.” She sighed. “We don’t have enough parking spots for patrons as it is.”
“Isn’t there enough room in the parking lot behind the other building?” I asked.
“They claim it’s full of ruts and bad for the machinery. I told them to park their trucks in the street that runs behind that parking lot, but they didn’t go for that idea. They said our patrons could park on the street. I said no way, José. The foreman called Sean Powell and he showed up right away.”
