Out of Circulation, page 14
Evelyn thought as she perched on the corner of Trish’s desk. “I can see why you’re concerned.”
“You can?”
“Of course, dear. Why are you so dismissive of what’s obvious when you usually trust your instincts, and rightfully so?”
“I don’t know. I suppose because I can’t believe that Fred Rawlins would go after the diary again so soon after his failed attempt to steal it.” I laughed. “And I hate to think that Leslie Thompson is involved in his plan.”
“You feel sorry for him.”
“I do, and I’m not quite sure why.”
“Perhaps it’s because you’re not too fond of his mother right now, and you think she might be responsible for some of his problems.”
“Am I right to think that she’s responsible for some of his problems?”
Evelyn let out a deep sigh. “I’ve always admired Winifred, and I think she’s a good part of the reason why her two daughters are so successful in their careers and their personal lives. But Leslie was a troublesome child. And while she arranged for tutors and a therapist, she never took the trouble to give him the attention he needed from her, and so he began to act out.”
“What about Winnie’s husband—Leslie’s father?”
“Roger was often away on business and not very involved in the lives of any of his children, though he took to bragging about his daughters once they were out in the work world.”
“Are they divorced? Did he die? I never hear anyone talk about Roger Thompson.”
Evelyn laughed. “None of the above. As far as I know, he and Winnie simply moved apart. Roger lives in Manhattan and comes back to celebrate holidays with his family.”
“I’m not sure what to do about this latest problem. If I should tell John …”
“Which obviously you don’t want to do.”
“I don’t.”
“I don’t see what John can do. Didn’t he just question Leslie?”
I nodded.
“It’s not like John can have someone stand guard and prevent the diary from being stolen.”
“That’s true.” I felt relieved that Evelyn considered my coward’s way out to be the best decision after all.
“Why not tell Max? Explain the situation to him and ask him to keep an eye on the diary.”
“Good idea,” I said. “And I’ll mention it to Sally—but not about my visit to the deli, since I already told her about Leslie driving off with Rawlins yesterday after his encounter with Winnie.”
“Good! Put Sally on the alert.” Evelyn smiled and winked at me. “It’s not your job to safeguard the diary, Carrie, dear. You have other things on your mind.”
* * *
A few minutes past five, I placed Smoky Joe’s carrier in the passenger seat of my car, slid behind the wheel, and set out for the house on Old Willows Road. I thought about Marjorie and Ted living there with their daughter; about the two little ghost girls whom I hoped to help send where they belonged. I looked forward to decorating each room with Dylan and making our house a loving home for our own children and pets in the coming years.
As I pulled into the driveway, I decided to bring Smoky Joe inside with me. After all, this was going to be his home too. He stood in the hall and looked around. Then he moved into the living room and cautiously began to sniff along the wall.
I left him to get acclimated at his own pace and wandered into the kitchen. The sun was streaming in through the windows. I glanced down at the hardwood floor, the shining updated appliances, the cabinets and counters. Nothing here needed attention except the addition of a round table and four chairs in the eating area, and dishes, utensils, and cookware in the cabinets.
I wandered from room to room, more to get a sense of each space than to imagine it filled with furniture, window treatments, and pictures. I’d rather do that with Dylan, I decided. I gazed out of every window, taking in views of the backyard, of the neighboring houses across the road. My new home seemed to welcome me, bestowing warmth that filled me with a definite sense of belonging.
There was no sign of the little girls. I wondered if they were staying away in order to give me privacy as I entered every room and marked it as ours, Dylan’s and mine. I was upstairs in the smallest bedroom when Smoky Joe came scampering into the room. I picked him up and held him tight.
“Welcome to your new home, Smoky Joe.”
Downstairs, I put him in his carrier and walked around the perimeter of the backyard. Bushes and trees formed a natural barrier along the three sides, giving us total privacy. I gazed down at the running water in the brook, at the weeping willow in its full glory. A few rose bushes in bloom grew along one side of the property.
The lawn was covered with crabgrass and would no doubt require a good deal of money and attention to get it into shape. I wasn’t a natural gardener, but I intended to learn how to cultivate a small vegetable garden. I’d grow tomatoes and cucumbers and zucchini for starters. But that was something to think about next summer.
Smoky Joe was meowing mournfully from his carrier as I carried him back into the house. “Sorry, boy. Soon as I lock up here, we’re going home.”
I double-locked the front door, then placed the cat carrier inside my car. As I walked around to the driver’s seat, I noticed a gray car passing by on the road below. The damage to the rear passenger door caught my eye. It was Fred Rawlins’s car! Seconds later I was heading in the same direction.
“I’m not doing anything I shouldn’t be doing,” I told Smoky Joe.
He didn’t bother to answer, but curled up in his carrier and went to sleep.
I had no idea where Fred Rawlins was headed, but I decided to follow him. It wasn’t taking me out of my way since we were traveling in the direction of home. There was a car between us, so Rawlins couldn’t have any idea that I was on his tail. Not that I had reason to worry. The only time we had crossed paths was when I’d watched him confront Winnie Thompson from a safe distance, and he’d been much too angry that afternoon to have noticed me.
The car between us turned into a driveway. I hesitated, then closed the gap between Rawlins and me. The light was red when we reached the main road, so I had to pull up right behind him. He turned left into a development of homes, and I did too. Soon he made another left and then a right, finally stopping in front of a ranch-style corner house with lovely pink and purple flowers, set in black mulch that bordered the house.
I drove across the next intersection and continued on a few hundred feet, my eyes never leaving my rearview mirror as I watched Fred Rawlins. Instead of knocking on the front door, he ambled around to the side of the house, unlatched a gate, and entered the backyard. I made a U-turn, circled back, and parked across the street from the gate.
Questions swarmed around in my brain. Who lived here? What was Rawlins doing here? Was he planning to rob the place? From the way he’d avoided the front door and instead walked around to the side of the house that led to the backyard, I had the definite impression that he knew no one was home.
I cut the motor. “Be right back,” I whispered to Smoky Joe, though there was no need to lower my voice. I waited while two boys about twelve years old whizzed by on their bicycles, talking loudly to each other; then I exited the car and crossed the street.
The side of the backyard facing me was bordered by evergreen trees. I glanced from side to side before setting foot in the backyard. There was no sign of Rawlins. A wooden deck a few steps up jutted out from the house. I climbed onto the deck and peered in a window. I could make out the living room and part of the dining room. There were no lights on inside the house, which appeared to be unoccupied.
A covered barbecue was the only item on the deck. There was no outdoor furniture to be seen, which was odd since we were in the middle of June, and the weather had been warm for weeks. The lawn was green with new grass that needed mowing. A white shed occupied the far corner of the yard. Its door stood ajar.
Chapter Eighteen
I paused, aware that I was in a potentially dangerous situation. Because I suddenly knew what Fred Rawlins was after. At least I was pretty sure I was on the right track. There was a good chance that Luke Rizzo had murdered Billy Carpenter and absconded with the loot. He in turn had been murdered by Tino Valdez or Fred Rawlins, as my pen pal wanted me to believe.
But what if Luke Rizzo never told his killer where he’d hidden the money? What if no one knew where it was right now? I felt a rush of adrenaline. That had to be the reason why Fred Rawlins was still hanging around. And he had good reason to think that Luke Rizzo might have hidden the loot in the white shed.
A frisson of terror quickly replaced my sense of excitement. There was no telling what Fred Rawlins would do if he found me here. He was a felon and possibly a killer, dead set on claiming the stolen money. His first instinct would be to get rid of the witness and the spy.
Despite my trepidations, I found myself creeping closer to the shed. I felt the sun’s rays on my bare arms. Children’s voices carried from a nearby backyard. Other sounds of normal activities echoed around me. Of people nearby enjoying the lovely June weather. Surely nothing evil could happen in broad daylight!
I crossed the lawn to the shed, steering clear of the partly open door, and paused in front of a small window. The glass was grimy and looked as though it hadn’t been washed in years, if ever. I peered inside. Rawlins had switched on a naked light bulb that hung from the shed’s ceiling. I watched as he pushed gardening tools aside and knocked items from shelves, laying bare every inch of the shed.
There could be no doubt he was searching for the money from the bank heist. Suddenly, knowing I’d been right about his intent was all I needed at the moment. I had no idea if he’d find it hidden in the shed, or whom the shed belonged to. It was time to make a hasty retreat before Rawlins realized I’d been on his tail. But before I could turn around, my head exploded with the most awful pain. Another blow followed. I crumpled to the ground and blacked out.
* * *
I sat up, holding my hand to my aching head, wondering what I was doing sitting on the lawn in some stranger’s backyard next to a shed. Slowly, my memory returned. I’d been watching Fred Rawlins search for something inside the shed. The bank money. I blinked, suddenly frightened that he would find me sitting here in broad daylight. But the shed’s door was wide open, which meant that he was gone.
I breathed a sigh of relief that Rawlins hadn’t murdered me when he found me lying outside the shed he’d been ransacking. Then I gingerly touched the two lumps on my head. One of them felt sticky. Blood. Oh no! I was getting married in a few days! How could I have my hair done, wear my veil with these awful, painful bumps?
Thoughts of my wedding impelled me to move slowly to my knees. I managed to stand but felt dizzy, so I leaned against the shed until the swaying went away. Almost went away. I felt for my car fob in my skirt pocket. Thank God it was still there!
I walked slowly out of the yard and crossed the street to my car. I slid into the driver’s seat, panting with exhaustion. Smoky Joe opened his eyes and looked at me. “Hi there,” I said.
He yawned and started to groom himself.
I glanced at my watch. Only ten or twelve minutes had passed since I’d parked and gone to see what Fred Rawlins was after. But Rawlins hadn’t struck me. Someone else must have. Someone who had followed him or me and didn’t want me anywhere near that shed.
I made a U-turn and drove past the front of the house. As I’d expected, Fred Rawlins’s car was no longer there. I jotted down the address and called John.
* * *
Dylan was waiting for me at home. I was almost sorry I’d asked John to call him for me because I’d never seen him so upset. “What were you thinking?” he murmured as he held me close.
“I had no idea someone was following him. Or me.”
“A tail is something every self-respecting investigator keeps an eye out for. Here.” He handed me an ice pack.
I held it to my head and walked into the living room.
“Don’t get too comfortable. We’re going to the ER so a doctor can examine your head.”
“Meow,” Smoky Joe complained because I’d neglected to release him from his carrier. I moved to set him free, but Dylan stopped me and bent down to open the door.
“Not the ER,” I said. “We’ll be at the hospital for hours.”
“John called South Conn. They know we’re coming,” Dylan called from the kitchen, where he was getting Smoky Joe’s food from the fridge.
Five minutes later we were in Dylan’s car, heading for the hospital. I leaned back in my seat and sighed.
“Are you okay?” Dylan asked.
I smiled at him. “As okay as can be expected. I’m so glad I have you to look after me.”
Dylan made a sound I couldn’t quite interpret. I closed my eyes and drifted off.
A handsome young doctor with a charming accent examined me almost as soon as we arrived at the hospital. He thought I wasn’t concussed, but he wanted me to have a CT scan, and for that we had to wait. Meanwhile, I had to answer several questions. Had I lost consciousness when I was struck? Yes. Was I dizzy? No, though I was dizzy right after I came to. Did my head hurt now? Yes. How bad was it, on a scale from one to ten? Eight.
Officer Danny Brower showed up and asked me questions too, but his were about my activity prior to being assaulted.
“Where’s John?” I asked after I’d answered Danny’s third question.
“Looking for your assailant.”
“But we don’t know who that is.”
“The loo has a pretty good idea who attacked you,” Danny said grimly.
“Tino Valdez.”
“Who else?”
I hesitated, then said, “Of course there’s the slight chance it might have been Leslie Thompson. I saw him at the library earlier today, though I’d never seen him there before.” And I saw him at the deli where he works. “Yesterday he drove off with Fred Rawlins after Rawlins came to his house demanding that Winnie pay him the money he felt she owed him.”
Danny scratched his neck. “Yeah, the loo told me about that. But why would Leslie follow you when you left the library? Did he catch you watching him yesterday at his house?”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t.”
“Still, he probably knows you’re our local Nancy Drew, and might have been curious to see where you were going, especially if he’s planning something with Rawlins, who he has to know is a murder suspect and therefore on your radar.”
I shook my head, which I quickly regretted. “Leslie strikes me as flaky and not one for making connections. He’d met me at his mother’s house once, but didn’t seem to recognize me when he waited on me at the deli where he works.”
“And Fred Rawlins doesn’t know you,” Danny said.
“We’ve never met.”
“We’ll continue to look for Rawlins, and I’ll swing by the Thompson house to talk to Leslie.”
“I’m glad you’re covering all bases,” Dylan said.
Danny left and I was called in to have my CT scan. Finally, we were free to go. “You’re not concussed,” the cute doctor said with a smile.
“Thank God,” Dylan said. No smile.
We stopped for something to eat on the way home. I had scrambled eggs. Everything seemed surreal, as if Dylan and I were part of a dream. I was certain it was very late, like four in the morning, and was surprised to learn it was only a bit past nine thirty when we returned home. I was suddenly exhausted. I changed into my pajamas and got into bed.
* * *
Dylan was asleep when I awoke the next morning a little past six o’clock. My head ached but I was thinking clearly and, if not exactly energetic, at least feeling more like myself. I was getting married in two days, and today was my last day of work before our wedding.
Dylan must have set his brain to react to any movement I made, because he was instantly awake. “Where are you going?” he asked as I sat up.
“Where do you think? To take a shower and get dressed for work.”
“Carrie, I called Sally last night and told her what happened. She said you don’t have to go to work today.”
“But I want to. I’m feeling better.”
“John wants to talk to you. I invited him over for breakfast at eight fifteen.” He glanced at the clock. “That gives us a few more hours of sleep.”
“Not if we have a guest for breakfast,” I grumbled. As fond as I was of John, I wasn’t up for company, much less in the mood for one of his “interviews” that consisted of going over the same questions again and again.
“John’s bringing bagels and croissants. I’m making coffee,” Dylan mumbled as he turned over and went back to sleep.
Smoky Joe chose that moment to leap on the bed. “Come, boy. I’ll feed you your breakfast.”
My furry feline trotted after me. I felt fine but a bit wobbly after bending down to place his food and water dish on the floor. I decided that going back to bed wasn’t a bad idea and slept until Dylan woke me at seven thirty.
John showed up at eight fifteen with fresh bagels and croissants. He was kind enough to ask how I was feeling and not give me a lecture on how I had no business chasing after a known criminal. Dylan served the coffee he’d made. He’d already put the butter, jams, and cheeses on the kitchen table, so there was nothing for me to do but sit down and enjoy my repast.
When the three of us had eaten our fill and were on our second cup of coffee, John pushed his chair away from the table and stretched out his legs. Dylan took an ice pack from the freezer and handed it to me.
“Carrie, you were in the backyard of the home belonging to Gloria and Ralph Rizzo when your assailant struck you,” John said.
“Luke’s parents?” I asked as I applied the ice pack to my head.
“That’s right. They’re away visiting their married daughter.”
“So Fred Rawlins assumed that Luke Rizzo hid the money in his parents’ shed,” I said.
