“Be careful, Carrie,” was Rosalind’s advice. “Someone with information about two homicides either knows the victims or the killer or both.”

  “And is afraid to go to the police,” I added.

  “Could be he or she wants you to hand over the information he’s about to give you.”

  “Like the name of the killer,” I said, feeling curiosity building up. “Maybe someone he or she is related to?”

  “That’s a possibility. I’ll tell Dylan. Where is this rendezvous?

  I told her the address. “Please tell Dylan I should be home no later than seven.”

  Not five minutes had passed when Dylan called me. “You’re sure you want to do this?” he asked.

  “I do. It’s the only way to get a break in the case.”

  My beloved released a huge gush of air. “I can leave in time to shadow you.”

  “Dylan—”

  He laughed. “I may not have trained as a detective, but I’ve nabbed my share of thieves. Are you questioning my surveillance skills?”

  “Of course not.” I stopped to think. “In fact, I’d feel so much better knowing you were on the scene.”

  “Then it’s settled. I’ll leave now and meet you where?”

  “At the library.”

  “Be there as soon as I can.”

  I disconnected, thankful that Dylan would be close by when I followed up on this mysterious meeting. My fear that I was in danger was abating. Still, there were too many unknowns for me to be completely relaxed. It was comforting to know that Dylan would have my back, as the saying went.

  He arrived at the library at five fifteen. We decided to have coffee and a bite to eat in the library coffee shop, then have a light dinner at home after I’d met with my mysterious letter writer.

  I hunted down Smoky Joe and found him curled up on a patron’s lap in the reading room. He meowed his displeasure as I lifted him up and disturbed his nap, but he quickly settled against my shoulder as I carried him to my office.

  “Do you realize this is our third caper together?” Dylan said as I put Smoky Joe in his carrier.

  “Right! Last fall we proved that Victor wasn’t a murderer.”

  “And there was the time we traveled by ferry to Long Island so you could interview a woman who was the key to several murders,” Dylan reminisced as he took the carrier from me and we exited the library.

  I wrapped my arm around his free arm. “I do like solving mysteries with you.”

  “Like Mr. and Mrs. North,” he quipped.

  I chuckled. “I loved reading those books! We must watch some of the movies of Nick and Nora solving crimes in old New York.”

  * * *

  At a quarter to six Dylan and I got into our respective cars and drove to the elementary school a mile away. I pulled into the parking lot on the side of the school while Dylan parked in the circular driveway in front of the building. His plan was to walk around to the playing field that stretched out behind the school. If a game was in session, he would pretend to watch it, then slowly make his way to the side near the parking lot.

  We were approaching the middle of June, and the sun was bright above us. Which meant I shouldn’t have been surprised at how much activity was going on. The parking lot was two-thirds full of cars because, I soon realized, a girls’ softball game was in progress. There were spectators in the bleachers, and the playground was filled with younger siblings playing on the monkey bars and swings in the adjacent playground. Did my mysterious friend realize the school grounds would be this active, or was he or she counting on the crowd in hopes of not being noticed?

  At five to six I left my car and walked past the playground and along the playing field. I passed Dylan, who appeared to be watching the game.

  “Any sign of your friend?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  I walked back and slowly circled the parking lot. No one was standing near the door to the gym. I returned to my car and watched for someone to appear. No one did. At five after six I walked back to the field. Dylan ambled over to join me.

  “Not there?”

  “Not yet,” I answered.

  Time moved slowly when you were waiting for someone to show up, I thought as I returned to my car.

  At twenty past six, Dylan came to stand outside my car. “I don’t think your friend is coming.”

  I sighed. “Me neither.”

  Dylan rubbed my cheek. “He or she got spooked.”

  I nodded. “I’ll see you at home.”

  “I’ll stop for pizza on the way,” Dylan said.

  I leaned over to kiss him. “I’m glad I’m marrying you.”

  * * *

  At home, I fed Smoky Joe, then set the table for dinner. Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t help it; I was so bummed out that the person never showed. Was it just a case of bad nerves, or had he or she been shadowing me at the library and seen Dylan leave and follow me to the school? Regardless of the reason, I was feeling pretty low. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been counting on having this person tell me who had killed Billy Carpenter and Luke Rizzo.

  Dylan arrived a few minutes later with pizza and a large salad. As I doled out slices, he opened a bottle of red wine. He knew I was upset but didn’t say anything until I’d finished one slice and was reaching for a second.

  “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been disappointed by what looked like a promising lead only to have it turn cold.”

  I frowned. “I know I shouldn’t be getting so upset, but after thinking the email was phony, then being afraid I was being targeted, I finally decided the writer meant what he said and we’d find out who killed those two men.”

  “It could have been someone pulling your leg. Or the writer got scared. It happens.”

  I scoffed. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  “That too, but I mean it. Don’t be surprised if you hear from your friend again.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tuesday morning I stopped to buy a copy of the Gazette on my way to work. I turned the pages as I walked back to my car, curious to see if there were any letters in the Letters to the Editor section regarding Verity’s diary.

  A woman had written in, saying she believed the library should keep the diary because that way more people had the opportunity to see it. “Besides, who but another relative of Verity Babcock could have donated it to the library since the library has owned it all these years? Perhaps Mrs. Thompson is eager to get her hands on the diary so she can sell it and profit from her ancestor’s misfortune.”

  “Right on!” I thrust my fist in the air.

  I sat behind the wheel and read the other letters on the subject. Two writers were outraged that Verity still hadn’t been pardoned for the ludicrous charge of witchcraft.

  The last was a letter from Garrett Grimm. “It is unfortunate that since the discovery of Verity Babcock’s diary, Winifred Thompson is seeking exoneration for her ancestor who was hung as a witch in the 1600s. Her secret society of like-minded women supports her in this foolish enterprise. Foolish because whether or not she was a witch, Verity Babcock murdered her neighbor, John Whitcomb, who happens to be my ancestor. She got what she deserved.”

  My mouth fell open as I read further. “Mrs. Thompson’s coven of troublemakers meets regularly to create havoc and disaster. I, for one, would not be surprised if the recent murders of two young men are not evidence of their handiwork.”

  Coven? Handiwork? Grimm had referred openly to the Wise Women when everyone knew they preferred anonymity, and he had all but labeled them witches and implied they were responsible for the two unsolved homicides. And once again he had besmirched Verity’s reputation by calling her a murderer. I drove to the library, seething with anger as I mentally composed my response to Grimm’s infuriating letter.

  I pulled into the parking lot and was surprised to see a police car parked near the entrance. I peered through the glass as I drove past but didn’t see anyone. A chill ran up my spine. Why was someone from the police department here before the library had even opened?

  I entered the building cautiously. The lights were on. Nothing seemed amiss. Smoky Joe let out a yowl, reminding me I was still holding his carrier.

  “All right, all right.” I placed the carrier on the floor and set Smoky Joe free, then slowly followed him as he dashed across the reading room and made a beeline for the circulation desk where, despite my strict orders, Angela fed him treats.

  “Carrie!”

  Sally was beckoning to me from the doorway of her office. I went inside and found Danny Brower sitting in one of the visitors’ chairs, munching on what looked like a large piece of cake.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “We’ve had some excitement,” Sally said as she took her seat behind her desk. “Max started work at seven this morning because he was leaving early to watch his granddaughter’s ball game this afternoon. He noticed an unfamiliar car parked near the back door of the new addition and called the police.

  “John told him to wait outside the library, but Max couldn’t resist checking the door, which he knew he’d locked last night. When he found it unlocked and the security system shut off, he walked quietly down the hall and saw a man about to enter the Historical Room. The would-be thief spotted Max and tried to make a run for it. Max tackled him just as John arrived.”

  “Oh no!” I sank into the other visitors’ chair. “Is Max okay? Was the thief after the diary?”

  “Max is fine, and so is the diary,” Sally said.

  Danny swallowed the last of his cake and said, “Don’t worry, Carrie. Max acted so quickly, the perp never got the chance to pry open the case. The loo arrived in time to haul him off to the precinct.”

  I nodded as I tried to absorb what had happened. “Who broke in, Danny? Do you know?”

  “This is the burglar.” Danny held out his cell phone to show me a photo of a young man struggling to free himself of Max’s hold.

  “That’s him!” I said. “That’s the guy who was checking out the back of the display case in the Historical Room yesterday.”

  “The lieutenant said to tell you his name is Fred Rawlins.”

  “Fred Rawlins,” I repeated. “I’ve heard that name. Who is he?”

  “Rawlins was Billy Carpenter’s cellmate in prison,” Danny said.

  “That’s right. Isn’t he a suspect in Billy’s homicide?”

  “Kind of. The lieutenant interviewed him a few times, but since we didn’t find any evidence tying him to the murder, the loo couldn’t hold him.”

  “He’s not from Clover Ridge, but he stuck around anyway. I wonder why.”

  “Good question,” Danny said.

  I shook my head. “What on earth could he want with Verity Babcock’s diary? Sell it, I suppose.”

  “That’s what we’d like to know,” Danny said. He gestured to Sally. “Mrs. Prescott told the lieutenant that you’d seen someone suspicious sniffing around the diary yesterday. He wondered if you’d be kind enough to come down to the precinct later today.”

  “I’d be happy to, but there’s not much I can tell him.”

  “Great. He’ll call to let you know the time. It probably won’t be till later in the day.”

  Danny crumpled up the paper plate and napkin he’d been holding and dropped them in the wastebasket along with the plastic fork. “Looks like everything’s in order, so I’ll be heading back to the precinct. I checked the lock on the case that holds the diary. It’s secure, but you’ll feel a lot more comfortable once it’s hooked up to the security system. And get them to figure out how Rawlins managed to bypass the alarm to get inside the library. Thanks for the snack, Mrs. Prescott.”

  Sally and I said goodbye to Danny. I remained seated when he left, still too shaken to move.

  “I’m sorry, Carrie,” Sally said.

  “For what?”

  “For asking you to write an article about the diary for the Gazette. All the publicity led to angry letters in the paper, and now someone actually tried to steal the diary.”

  I released a gush of air. “What kind of security system did we install that Rawlins managed to bypass it so easily?”

  Sally grimaced. “John said Rawlins is a crackerjack at breaking in and disabling alarms. I’m going to insist that the security company send over its top engineer to look over our system to make sure it doesn’t happen again. After all, we hold art shows here, and some of the artwork is very valuable. Not to mention Verity’s diary.”

  “I’ll feel a lot better when the Historical Room is armed and the diary is safe,” I said. “At least John hauled Rawlins off to jail, so we don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

  “The diary has become our top priority. In fact, I’m going to speak to the board about having the security system extended to all the windows.”

  “A good idea,” I said. “I wish it weren’t necessary, but it is.” I thought a minute. “By the way, where did you get that piece of cake Danny was scarfing down? The coffee shop’s closed.”

  Sally turned away but not before I caught her guilty expression. “He said he missed breakfast because John told him to get to the library ASAP. What could I do but find him something to eat? Danny’s a growing boy. Katie won’t mind.”

  No, kindhearted Katie Rollins who managed the coffee shop and made many of the items she sold wouldn’t mind at all that Sally had raided her pantry. The image of Danny Brower stuffing his face came to mind, and I started to laugh. Sally joined in. We were still laughing when Marion entered Sally’s office.

  “I just heard what happened! Why are you laughing?”

  Sally and I exchanged glances and burst out laughing again.

  “Nervous energy, I suppose,” I said feeling considerably better as I headed for my own office, to start the day.

  I sat down at my computer and read through my emails, then went to check on the programs in progress. Evelyn appeared at my side as I was returning to my office. I told her that Billy Carpenter’s cellmate had tried to steal Verity’s diary early that morning.

  “That diary has become very popular” was her comment. “What did you find out from the person who emailed you?”

  “He never showed,” I said as I unlocked my office door.

  “That’s too bad. This murder investigation is going nowhere. It’s in desperate need of a witness.”

  “And you think the person who contacted me witnessed the murders?”

  “One of them—and perhaps both, which is why he or she is terrified and was too frightened to meet you yesterday.”

  “I guess.” I slumped down in my chair.

  “But this person wants to do the right thing. I think you’ll be hearing from him or her soon.”

  Evelyn left me as suddenly as she’d arrived. I never knew if her proclamations of future events were based on knowledge she had access to or were simply the results of her intuition. Regardless, they rarely disappointed me, so I was feeling positive as I focused on my library duties.

  I decided not to write a letter to the editor in response to Garrett Grimm’s diatribe. There was no point in stirring things up further. The man was spiteful and malicious. He was angry at Winnie for wanting to exonerate Verity, and so he besmirched the Wise Women, going so far as to call them murderers. Retaliating in print would get me nowhere and only turn his bile against the library and me.

  An hour later, Sally called me, sounding excited. “I called the security system company and told them about our break-in—how the intruder had bypassed the new back entrance they’d installed a few months ago. They agreed to arm all the windows and provide CCTV for a very low fee. But they can’t get to it until next week, when they come to arm the Historical Room.”

  “That’s great,” I agreed. “After all, who would dare to steal the diary so soon after Rawlins tried and failed?”

  * * *

  It wasn’t until four thirty that John called to ask me to stop by the police station. I told Sally I was leaving early and went in search of Smoky Joe. I found him in the coffee shop, being fussed over by two girls who couldn’t have been more than fifteen. From their nervous giggles and the crumbs on Smoky Joe’s whiskers, I knew they’d been feeding him.

  “We’re off to the police station,” I told him as I helped him into his carrier.

  Five minutes later I was parking in the precinct’s lot. Since I had no idea how long I would be, I brought Smoky Joe inside with me.

  Gracie Venditto greeted me from her seat behind the glass barrier. “Hi there, Carrie. And hello, Smoky Joe! We don’t get to see you here very often.” Gracie was a cat lover with three of her own.

  Smoky Joe must have sensed it because he rubbed his cheek against the door of his carrier and began to purr.

  “Care to park your furry friend with me while you talk to John?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? I’d love it after the morning we’ve had. Go right on in. He’s expecting you.”

  I walked down the narrow hall to John’s office. He was on the phone, sounding harried with the person on the other end. He hung up a minute later. I waited while he drank deeply from his coffee cup.

  “Ah, Carrie. Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Of course.” I sat down in one of the two visitors’ chairs.

  “Sally told me yesterday you noticed a guy checking out the back of the display case containing the diary. He took off when he saw you.”

  “That’s right. Danny said the guy you arrested is Fred Rawlins. He showed me his photo. It was the same guy I saw yesterday.”

  “So Danny told me,” John said.

  “Good thing Max happened to come to work early and noticed the car and the unlocked door. Max and Pete would never leave a door unlocked when they left for the night. How did Rawlins disarm the security system?”

  “I’ve no idea.” John grimaced. “He swears he found the door unlocked—not that I believe him—and wandered inside, not realizing how early it was.”