Dewey Decimated, page 12
I served the beet salad and Dylan opened the bottle of Chardonnay.
Randy held up his glass. “To my kid cousin Carrie and her betrothed. A great couple.”
I was touched as we all clinked glasses, then sipped my wine.
“This is really good,” Randy said as we ate our salad.
I noticed that he’d finished off his plate. “Would you like some more?” I gestured to the salad bowl. “Take what’s left.”
“Are you sure?”
“Go for it,” Dylan said.
Julia laughed. “Well, that’s a surprise. At home the only salad he’ll eat is iceberg lettuce.”
“Why change when you got a good thing going?” Randy said.
Julia helped me clear the salad dishes and bring out the main course. For a while, we were too busy eating and drinking to speak.
“I love Cornish hen,” Julia said, “despite the many small bones.”
“Yeah, you have to watch those small bones,” Randy said.
They looked at each other. I sensed sadness. Julia looked at me. “Mark almost choked on a small bone when he was about Tacey’s age.”
Randy nodded. “We rushed him to the hospital. Thank God a young resident there knew exactly what to do.”
“That’s good,” I said.
“I don’t mean to scare you guys, but raising kids, keeping them safe, is a full-time job.”
“We’re not scared, are we, babe?” Dylan leaned over and rubbed my arm.
“I’m not scared, exactly,” I said. “Just a little nervous about the ways my life is going to change once we get married.”
Randy chortled. “And they say men are the nervous ones.” I thought he was talking about me, but he was staring at Julia, a broad grin on his face. “Two weeks before our wedding, Julia almost called it off.”
“Really?” I stared at her.
Julia shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be nervous? Randy didn’t have a job.”
“I was laid off temporarily,” Randy said. “You knew that.”
“Whatever. I was teaching and didn’t know if I wanted to teach for the rest of my life. I didn’t know if I wanted kids.”
“But you’re a wonderful mother,” I said.
“Thank you.” Julia smiled.
“And so you see, folks, it all worked out,” Randy said giving his wife a smooch on the cheek.
Dylan and I exchanged glances. So, other people have their doubts. Couples have their issues. And Julia and Randy are real and not the perfect couple I imagined them to be. I felt a loosening in my chest I hadn’t known was there.
Over coffee and dessert, we got on the subject of work, and Julia admitted she was worried she’d taken on too much responsibility when she’d agreed to work full-time.
“I told her to tell them she wants to cut back a day,” Randy said, “but Julia’s afraid they’ll fire her.”
“No, I don’t want to let them down,” Julia said. “And the money’s good.”
“Your well-being is more important,” Randy said. “And how it affects the rest of us.”
“We’ll discuss it at home,” Julia said, “and not bore Carrie and Dylan with our problems.”
I chuckled. “Don’t mind us. We’re getting an education.”
We all laughed and moved on to another subject.
Julia and Randy left shortly after, amid hugs and promises to get together soon. The evening had been meaningful to all of us, and I knew Dylan and I would grow even closer to Julia and Randy in the years ahead.
* * *
By Sunday evening, Dylan decided he wanted to meet with the ghost of his uncle, after all.
“I suppose I owe it to Alec to find his killer,” he said while we were eating the pizza we’d brought home for our dinner. “And I’m curious to find out what he was doing in Clover Ridge. For all I know, he and my mother were back on good terms, though I can’t imagine what he could have said or done to heal their relationship.”
“Maybe Alec gave up his cheating and scamming.”
Dylan rolled his eyes. “Let’s not go overboard. I said I’ll talk to him.”
I got up and hugged him. “You’re doing the right thing.”
Dylan agreed to come to the library the following day, which was Monday. I was glad it was finally happening because every time I saw Alec he bombarded me with questions. He sensed I was holding back information, which made him more agitated. And when he was agitated, whole shelves of books went crashing to the ground. I knew he didn’t mean to do it, but his heightened distress sent out an energy force that was beginning to frighten patrons. Finally, I could tell him he’d soon be meeting someone from his past.
I’d asked Evelyn to bring Alec to a small room downstairs that I knew would be free from eleven to one. Dylan had a few early morning appointments at his office in New Haven and would then drive back to Clover Ridge in time for our get-together. I felt nervous as I cleared away some paperwork, then wondered what I had to be nervous about. I wasn’t about to meet the ghost of my dead uncle I no longer held in high regard. But of course I wanted the encounter to go smoothly—for Dylan’s sake and for Alec’s.
Dylan took my hand as we entered the small room, and I could feel his racing pulse. He must have been experiencing so many emotions. Encountering two ghosts for the very first time had to be daunting, even for a seasoned investigator. It felt kind of surreal even to me. I’d gotten used to spending time with the two ghosts. In fact, one of them was one of my closest friends. How had I become the ghost whisperer?
Evelyn perched calmly on the edge of the table, much as she did when she visited me in my office, while Alec paced along the side of the room. At least he wasn’t pacing in the air as he sometimes liked to do.
The moment he saw us, he whizzed over, causing quite a stir. “At last! You finally got here! I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
Dylan flinched at the draught of cold air, then stared at the ghost of his Uncle Alec. “Yes, I’m here.” He was able to see and hear Alec, but not Evelyn. I couldn’t explain why this was, but I imagined it had something to do with the different stages they were in.
I held out my hand, gesturing to Evelyn. “Dylan, I’d like you to meet my dear friend Evelyn Havers.”
I was proud of Dylan. He smiled as he nodded in her direction. Only the white knuckles of his clenched hands were proof of the ordeal he was going through. “Nice to meet you, Evelyn. Carrie talks about you often.”
I repeated what Evelyn said: “And I see you recognize Alec. He has a bad case of amnesia and, until recently, didn’t even know his name. But once you heard his name you realized he was your mother’s brother, Alec Dunmore.”
“I did,” Dylan said, not sounding at all happy about it.
“Alec, do you recognize your nephew, Dylan Avery? Does he seem familiar to you?” Evelyn asked.
Alec shrugged. I could tell he was disappointed not to recognize Dylan. “I don’t know. The names Estelle and Dylan seem familiar, but that’s about it.”
Dylan pressed his lips together. “Do you remember visiting us when I was a kid? You used to tell me stories. Homicides and robberies fascinated you. I think that’s partly why I became an investigator.”
“You’re an investigator?”
Dylan nodded. “I am. Until recently, I was recovering high-end art and gems, though now I investigate pretty much anything I’m asked to look into. I leave the homicides to Carrie.”
Alec looked at me. “You’re an investigator too?”
“Not really.”
Evelyn cleared her throat. “I think we’re getting off topic.”
“So we are,” I agreed. “Alec, would you like to ask Dylan something? Anything that comes to mind?”
He made a scoffing sound. “For some reason, I’m suddenly thinking about being at a circus. That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”
“You took me to the circus when I was about twelve,” Dylan said. “You were crazy about the elephants. You told me you once rode an elephant when you were in India.”
“I don’t remember riding an elephant or liking them especially.”
Dylan mentioned their trip to the top of the Empire State Building when he was fifteen, but Alec didn’t remember that, either.
“That was a long time ago. Didn’t we do anything more recently?” Alec asked.
“We hadn’t spent time together in quite some time,” Dylan said.
“What can you tell me about my sister?” Alec asked.
“My parents are gone now. My mother was very fond of you. But then you—” Dylan stopped, not wanting to insult his uncle.
“I what?”
“You were rather carefree and somewhat irresponsible. So my father always said. And then something happened—I’m not sure what exactly—my parents, even my mother, stopped talking to you.”
“Stopped talking,” Alec said. He was sitting in one of the chairs, staring down at his hands. I wondered if he was remembering and pretending he couldn’t. At any rate, he shook his head and looked at us. “Sorry, but I have no idea what that was about.”
Evelyn, who hadn’t said much so far, said, “I don’t think there’s any point in trying to press Alec to remember specific events. I’m no neurologist, but I think it would be best to leave it for now. Maybe bringing up some of these past experiences will jar his memory and they’ll start coming back to him in a day or two.”
I told Dylan what Evelyn had said.
“I sure hope so,” he said, clearly eager to leave. “I’m glad we gave it a shot. I’m willing to try again, but right now I have to get back to the office.”
He started for the door when Alec said, “I’m sorry, Dylan.”
Dylan stopped in his tracks.
“I may not remember much, but from what you’ve told me and what you’re not telling me, I get the definite feeling that things between your family and me haven’t been great.”
“That about sums it up.”
“Talk to you later,” I said to Evelyn and Alec and left the room with Dylan.
“Well, that had to be the creepiest experience of my life,” Dylan said.
“I can understand.”
He looked searchingly at me. “I could see Alec all right, a kind of a transparent, washed out image of himself, but not Evelyn. You really can see her and hear her?”
“I can.”
“Amazing.”
“How did Alec seem to you?”
“I recognized him, all right, though he’s aged. There was none of the charm and charisma I always associated with my uncle. Now he just seems anxious and sad.”
“That might be because of his present predicament—stuck in a strange place, a ghost of himself. Or maybe life wore him down. Or this is how he often was when he wasn’t performing for his nephew.”
We climbed the stairs to the main level in silence.
“I wish I could have helped him recover his memory,” Dylan said.
“Maybe you did more good than we know,” I said, hoping that was true.
Chapter Sixteen
Dylan left and I answered a few emails until noon, when I drove to the Cozy Corner Café with Angela. After lunch we planned to stop in at the new Pet Warehouse that was a five-minute drive outside of town. I was running low on cat food and kitty litter, and the warehouse had some wonderful sales going to introduce themselves to the community.
Angela was eager to visit the pet store section of the warehouse to check out the dogs. She and Steve had decided they wanted to buy a small designer dog, but they couldn’t decide on which new breed to get. They were torn between a Shih-Poo and a Yorkipoo.
“I think you’re crazy,” I told her as I pulled into the parking lot that was three-quarters filled. “You could save yourself a lot of money if you went to a shelter. There are so many dogs in need of a home. I’m sure you would find one that would make a wonderful pet.”
Angela scoffed. “That’s what you know about the subject! Choosing a pet requires research. You have to look into the various breeds, then check out breeders. Just because you let the first cat that crossed your path share your life doesn’t mean I should do the same thing with a dog.”
We exited the car and walked to the back entrance of the warehouse. “How can you say that about Smoky Joe?” I demanded. “He’s the sweetest, most lovable cat. And you have to admit he’s the perfect library cat.” I sniffed. “I thought you liked him.”
“Of course I do—I love Smoky Joe. All I’m saying is, Steve and I want to choose the breed we feel will suit us best, and pick the best puppy of that breed. A puppy that’s playful but not crazy wild, affectionate, and easy to train.”
“A designer dog is very expensive,” I mumbled, seriously annoyed with my best friend.
She didn’t bother to respond.
Inside the warehouse, I snagged a cart and told Angela I’d meet her at the exit in fifteen minutes. I wandered down the food aisle, marveling at all the wonderful brands the warehouse offered. Smoky Joe liked whatever I fed him, but maybe I should upgrade to a healthier brand.
I was reaching for a can of food I’d seen advertised on TV when a woman behind me said, “So this is where the famous Carrie Singleton shops for the Clover Ridge Library cat.”
I swung around, into the grinning face of Julie Theron.
“Not really,” I managed. “I thought I’d check out the warehouse. Their prices are good.”
“Exactly what I’m doing.”
I glanced into her cart. It was piled high with cartons of canned cat food and a giant bag of cat kibble. “You have a cat.”
“Three.”
Was that supposed to make us sisters of some sort? Was I expected to feel inferior because she had three times the number of felines to care for? I started up the aisle.
“Carrie, I’d like us to sit down and have a serious talk,” Julie said.
I stared at her. “About what?”
“The fact that the dead man is your fiancé’s uncle.”
I gaped at her. That was fast, but I should have expected it.
“Yes, Alec Dunmore was Dylan’s mother’s brother. Surprised I figured that out?”
How I longed to wipe that grin off her face. Instead, I shrugged and said, “Not really. You are an investigative reporter.”
“But I’m more interested in the larger picture, which is where you come in.”
“Me? I didn’t know Dylan’s uncle. I had no idea Dylan even had an uncle.”
“Dylan Avery is a respected investigator. He won’t give me the time of day if I ask him about Alec Dunmore. But you’re another story. Now that the murder victim turned out to be a close relative of your fiancé, you’ll want to solve the crime, of course.”
She grinned. “You can get Dylan to fill you in on his uncle and what he was doing in Clover Ridge—the visit that cost him his life.”
I clamped my lips shut, not wanting her to see how close she’d come to accurately assessing the situation—at least about my wanting to solve the crime. “This is a matter best left to the police.”
Julie snorted. “Admit it. You have a knack for solving murders, many of them cold cases. There’s no way you’re going to let this one pass you by.”
I knew better than to protest, so I remained silent, wondering where Julie was going with this.
“I’ve analyzed your previous cases,” she said. “You’re going to figure out what Alec Dunmore was doing in Clover Ridge the day he was murdered, who murdered him, and why.”
She analyzed my cases? It was unnerving to hear that Julie Theron had studied me like a bug under a microscope. But judging by the way she gripped the handle of her cart full of cat food, this was an emotional time for her too.
“What exactly are you after?” I asked.
“I plan to tag along as your Watson and report the biggest story of my life!”
* * *
“That woman has some nerve!” Angela said as I gunned the car out of the parking lot.
“I told her to stay out of my life. That I had no plans to solve a murder or be part of her story. She smirked and told me to have a good day. I know this isn’t the end of it, Ange. She’s going to hound me.”
Angela laughed. “Can you imagine the story Julie Theron would write if she knew that Alec Dunmore is haunting the Clover Ridge Library and has no idea who killed him?”
I grimaced. “Yeah. That would be a disaster.”
Angie spent the rest of our ride back to the library telling me how cute the little Maltipoo she’d seen was.
“That’s a …”
“Combination of a Maltese and a poodle,” she said glibly. “An adorable new breed. They come in three sizes—teacup, toy, and mini, depending on the size of the poodle parent. The woman I spoke to said the tan puppy I was playing with is a miniature. She said Maltipoos can be barkers, but they’re easy to potty train.”
“Train?” I said. “They’re so little. You mean train them to make outside? Where you walk them in the rain and the snow?”
Angela made a face. “First they go on puppy pads in the house, then outside.”
“I’m glad I don’t have to walk Smoky Joe. Ever.”
“Well, he’s a cat. What do you expect?”
I wasn’t quite sure how to take that.
Back in my office, I found myself wondering if Julie Theron had somehow found out I was planning to visit the new Pet Warehouse and had made it her business to waylay me in her latest attempt to join me in solving the mystery surrounding Alec Dunmore. Impossible, I decided. I was just being paranoid. It had to be a coincidence. But the woman was persistent. She was determined to investigate the case with me despite my denials and protestations.
I shut Julie out of my thoughts and focused on what I planned to say at the three o’clock meeting regarding the auditorium situation, which was a far cry from the recommended changes. I had told Sally that going with less expensive seats would allow us to keep the original number of seats as well as the stadium-seating plan. I wasn’t sure what she thought of my suggestion or how the others would respond. While I expected opposition to my plan, being on the town council had taught me how to deflect contrary opinions and to stand up for my own.
