I laughed. “As though a library would be open at seven in the morning. Did he damage the door?”

  “Not at all, but then, according to his record, breaking into homes and businesses is his specialty.”

  “Do you think he’s involved in the two homicides?”

  “It’s possible. Billy may have told him about the money he stashed away. Now Billy’s dead and the money’s nowhere to be found.” John sighed. “I can’t rule Rawlins out, but I can’t hold him—not for the homicide or for his latest misadventure.”

  I stared at him. “You let Rawlins go? How can that be? You caught him in the Historical Room, about to steal Verity Babcock’s diary.”

  “Actually, he never touched the diary. Max got to him before he broke into the display case. Before he even set foot in the room.”

  “But it’s so obvious what he was after!”

  “I had to let him go, Carrie. I could only charge him with trespassing, and believe me, I did. And I plan to talk to his parole officer. But I’m still trying to figure out why he went after the diary.”

  “It’s centuries old and has historical value, but until we have it evaluated, we have no idea if it’s worth a lot of money. Besides, he’d need a special buyer. And how would he find one?”

  “Which means he might have gone after the diary on someone’s behalf. I got the definite sense that he was hiding something. You’re familiar with the history of the diary, Carrie. Who has shown a special interest in it?”

  I scoffed. “That’s easy enough. Winifred Thompson, Verity’s descendent, tops my list. She thinks the diary should be hers. Check out her letters in the Gazette.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Garrett Grimm. He wants to read the diary. In fact, he stopped by the library yesterday to give me a piece of his mind.”

  “Did he?”

  John’s expression grew dark as I told him about Grimm’s hostile visit. “The guy’s a sleazeball and a trouble maker. I’m sorry he bothered you. I’ll talk to him if you like.”

  “Thanks, John, but he’s turned his focus on Winnie. He’s against Verity Babcock getting pardoned. He claims she murdered his ancestor all those years ago. In fact, he’s been writing letters to the editor in the Gazette.”

  I hesitated. Of course John knew about the Wise Women Circle, but what I told him now was sure to anger him.

  “Go on,” he urged.

  “In today’s paper he all but accused Winifred of leading a witch’s coven that could be responsible for the two homicides.”

  “Did he?” John thundered.

  I shuddered even though his fury wasn’t directed at me.

  “Sorry, Carrie. I didn’t mean to kill the messenger. I see I need to start my mornings by reading the Gazette.”

  He stood and stretched his arms overhead. “I think that about covers what I wanted to run by you. I’ll talk to Fred Rawlins again, see how he reacts to the two names you’ve given me.”

  To my surprise, he stood and, after I retrieved Smoky Joe, escorted me to the main entrance of the precinct. “Feeling nervous?” he asked.

  “About what?”

  John roared with laughter. “Did you forget you’re getting married in a week?”

  I found myself laughing too. “With so much happening around me, I haven’t had time to be nervous.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  John’s comment about my upcoming wedding reminded me that I wanted to stop by Victor’s house to check on the deck lighting and a few other things. I doubted Victor would be home this early, but I knew he wouldn’t mind my stopping by, as he’d told Dylan and me to do so anytime. Still, it was only courteous to call and let him know I was on my way.

  “Hi, Carrie. Nice to hear from you. How are all your plans going?”

  “Fine, as far as I know. I’m on my way to your house to check on outdoor lighting.”

  Victor laughed. “I’m in Manhattan and don’t expect to be home until seven or eight, but be my guest.”

  I smiled, glad to hear him sounding happy. “Thanks, Victor. Talk soon.”

  I disconnected and ran through my wedding to-do list as I drove. Everything had been rented, arranged, and ordered, and I could only hope that everything would arrive exactly as we’d planned. For the first time I wondered if we hadn’t taken on too much. But then I thought about Victor’s beautiful house, and I smiled as I imagined how wonderful it was going to be to have the ceremony in his living room, the cocktail hour on the deck, and the party in the tent on the lawn. The weather report called for clear skies and a temperature in the high sixties the evening of the wedding. Thank goodness, no rain was expected.

  My thoughts returned to that morning’s break-in and my conversation with John. How frustrating that although he could arrest Fred Rawlins on a lesser charge, it wasn’t worth the bother because he’d be released soon after. And so he’d only been slapped with a fine.

  John’s theory that someone had probably offered Rawlins money to steal the diary made sense. Even if the diary proved to be worth a lot of money, it was a specialized item, and only a fence that dealt with antiquities would be willing to take it off his hands. Or had a private collector hired him to steal it for his collection?

  Unfortunately, I had the feeling that Fred Rawlins wouldn’t be leaving town any time soon. He was probably hanging around Clover Ridge in hopes of finding the money from the bank robbery. Maybe he figured that Luke Rizzo had murdered Billy and gotten his hands on the money. Then Luke had been murdered, and now his killer had the money. Once Rawlins worked out who the second murderer was, he’d go after him for the loot.

  I realized I was only a few blocks from Winnie Thompson’s street. I slowed down as I approached the left turn that would take me past her house. I wondered if she’d hired Fred Rawlins to steal the diary, and if she’d go so far as to hire another thief to steal what she considered rightfully hers.

  I drove as slowly as I could until I reached the edge of Winnie’s property, which proved to be a good thing. A gray Sentra with a noticeable dent in the right rear door sprawled across the double driveway, as if its driver had pulled up in a hurry. Winnie and a rough-looking character stood confronting each other on the step outside her front door. It was Fred Rawlins, the same guy who had broken into the library.

  I opened the passenger window to hear what they were squabbling about.

  “It’s not my fault the custodian showed up,” Fred said. “I did what we agreed.”

  “You’re lucky you get to keep what I already paid you. And for what? You screwed up.”

  “That’s not how this works. You owe me money. I want it now.”

  Winnie shook her head. “You didn’t get what I want, so you don’t get paid. What about that don’t you understand?”

  Someone inside the house pulled aside the drape covering a bay window on the ground floor. It was Winnie’s son, but neither Winnie nor Rawlins had any idea that Leslie was watching them.

  Rawlins lunged forward until his face was inches from Winnie’s. She drew back.

  “I got in and was about to carry out my job when I got nabbed for my efforts. You swore up and down that the coast would be clear. Only it wasn’t, was it? You should be grateful I didn’t tell the cops who put me up to it.”

  Winnie looked affronted. “I don’t pay for efforts. I pay for results.”

  “Yeah? Well, here are some results.”

  I gasped as Fred Rawlins shoved Winnie to the ground. He grabbed her pocketbook and strode off, cursing as he headed for his car.

  I sat there, too shocked to move. By the time I had the presence of mind to see if Winnie was all right, she’d disappeared inside her house. I considered following her, then realized that was a bad idea. I didn’t want her knowing I’d overheard her conversation with Fred Rawlins. And judging by how fast she’d gotten to her feet, she hadn’t been seriously injured.

  Rawlins was backing out of the driveway when Leslie Thompson raced out of the house and pounded on the car’s roof to get Rawlins’s attention. Was he about to demand that Fred Rawlins return his mother’s pocketbook?

  Rawlins braked and opened the passenger’s window. “Yeah?” he growled.

  He didn’t appear to know Winnie’s son. Or maybe his anger at Winnie had spread to the rest of her family. Leslie Thompson didn’t seem put off by the unfriendly greeting. He stuck his head inside the car and began a conversation. Curious to hear what they were talking about, I lowered the passenger window as far as it would go, but I still couldn’t make out one word. To my surprise, Leslie opened the passenger door, got in, and Rawlins took off.

  My first thought was to let John know what I’d witnessed ASAP. I called his cell phone, which never left his side, even when he was in the office.

  “I see,” he said when I’d finished. “Interesting how you happened to be outside Winnie’s house just as Rawlins was demanding the rest of his payoff.”

  My ears grew warm. “I was on my way to Victor’s to check out a couple of things, and took a detour.”

  “Hmm. Did you notice the direction Rawlins was heading when he drove off?”

  “Sorry, no. But isn’t it weird how Winnie’s son went off with him? I saw Leslie when I was at the Wise Women’s meeting the other evening, and thought he looked kinda out of it.”

  “If you ask me, Leslie’s a lost soul who would do himself a favor by getting out from under his mother’s thumb. He’s Winnie’s youngest and never left home—not that they get along. He works in the local deli. Far from a high achiever like his two sisters.”

  “Has he ever been arrested?”

  “We’ve pulled him in for a few DUIs. Joyriding when he was younger.”

  “Was he friendly with Billy Carpenter and his pals?” I asked.

  “Couldn’t say, though they’re all around the same age.”

  “What could he possibly want with Fred Rawlins?” I mused.

  “Hey, are you suddenly on the payroll of the Clover Ridge Police Department?”

  “John, I just want—”

  “Sorry to be abrupt, but I need some information right now, and I don’t have the time to chat about Leslie Thompson. What kind of car was Rawlins driving? Did you catch his license plate number?”

  “It’s an old gray Sentra with a dent on the rear right door. But I was too far away to see the license plate.” Though I should have made a point of seeing it. Something to remember next time.

  “Thanks, Carrie. Tell me you’re not on his tail as we speak.”

  “Of course not.” He’s too far gone by now. “I called to let you know what I’d seen.”

  “Smart move. We’ll talk later,” John said and disconnected.

  I made a U-turn and headed back to the main road and on to Victor’s house. Coming upon Rawlins and Winnie arguing about his failed attempt at stealing the diary proved that my suspicions were right. Winnie wanted the diary badly enough to hire someone to steal it, and Rawlins had taken the job to earn himself some money. I chuckled as it occurred to me that I hadn’t even considered chasing after him. That was something for the police to take care of. No doubt, John would talk to Winnie and maybe even arrest her for hiring someone to steal the diary.

  But Rawlins hadn’t succeeded in stealing it, and Winnie would probably deny the entire transaction. Except she’d paid him half the agreed-upon amount. And if the sum had been large enough, she’d needed to withdraw the money from a bank account, something the police could check. I shook my head, refusing to speculate further. I’d only driven by Winnie Thompson’s house because I was certain she’d been involved in that morning’s attempt to steal the diary. I had been proven right and was only too happy to pass along what I’d seen to John and have him take it for there. After all, he was the law.

  I called Dylan to fill him in on my afternoon.

  “I’m glad you didn’t go chasing after Fred Rawlins,” he said when I was done.

  “So is John. Those days are over, my love.”

  “I should be getting home by seven.”

  “I’m on my way to Victor’s. I want to check out a few things.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s have something light for dinner. I ate a big lunch.”

  “That’s easy enough. See you later.”

  I pulled into Victor’s circular driveway and unlocked the front door. The house was cool. I was surprised when Rasputin, Victor’s beautiful Borzoi pranced over to me and nuzzled my hand.

  “Raspi, how did you get here?” I asked. Because Victor worked long hours, he brought Rasputin to a doggie day care, where he was adored and pampered.

  “Hey, Carrie. I’m in the kitchen,” Babette called.

  I followed the whir of the blender and found Babette at the counter, adding olive oil to the ingredients in the glass jar before starting the blender up again.

  “I decided to make gazpacho for our dinner tonight, so I picked up a few ingredients and brought Raspie home. I’m making it now so it will be nicely chilled by the time Victor comes home. Would you like some?”

  “No thanks. I only stopped by to check out a few other things.”

  “Yes, Victor told me.” Babette blended the ingredients another minute, then poured the gazpacho into a large bowl that she covered and placed in the fridge. “Anything I can help you with?”

  “I’m wondering if we should rent lighting for the deck, and I need to decide on the best location for the outdoor bathrooms.” I smiled at Babette. “I’d appreciate having your artist’s eye on this.”

  We stepped out onto the deck, where we were having the cocktail hour before dining and dancing under the tent. Raspie followed and stayed close to us. Babette turned on all the lights and suggested that a string of lights hanging from one end of the deck to the other would be a nice touch.

  Next, I went to stand on the lawn where the opening of the tent would be. “We’re renting three portable toilets. They need to be visible without being too obvious,” I said. “Where’s a good spot for them?”

  Babette pointed to the right. “Against the trees over there. Your guests will notice the bathrooms as they file into the tent and hopefully remember their location when they need to use one. At the same time they’re far enough away. I recommend renting six pole lamps to light the way.”

  “I’ll get on that tomorrow, along with the string of lights for the deck. And of course we’ll make an announcement that guests are to use the portable toilets and not the bathrooms in the house,” I said.

  “It sounds like you have everything under control.”

  “I hope so, now that you’ve mentioned the pole lamps. I’m so afraid we’re going to forget something important.” I sighed. “I’m thrilled that Victor is letting us hold our wedding here, but if I’d realized how much planning and arranging it required, we might have gone with a hall after all.”

  “Are you kidding? This way your wedding is going to be exactly how you and Dylan want it to be. And your guests will have the chance to wander outside and look up at the stars.”

  I smiled at Babette. “You’re right. Besides, I really didn’t like any of those places.”

  “Victor and I will make sure that everything goes just as you planned it, Carrie.”

  I hugged her. “Thanks, Babette. I know you will.” I paused then added, “I’m glad we’re friends.”

  “Me too,” she said as we headed back toward the house.

  I started to walk around the side of the house to my car, when Babette stopped me. “Come into the kitchen.”

  “Okay.”

  Inside, she opened the refrigerator and handed me the bowl of gazpacho. “Here—you and Dylan have this for your dinner.”

  “No, I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can. I bought too many ingredients. I’ll mix up another batch for Victor and me.”

  Babette’s expression told me I had no choice but to take the bowl. “Thank you. Dylan and I both love gazpacho.”

  She was already bisecting a tomato on the cutting board. “Talk to you soon.”

  * * *

  Dylan loved the gazpacho. When he’d finished his second helping, he said, “I could eat this every night through the summer. Make sure you get Babette’s recipe.”

  “I will.”

  I filled two dessert dishes with ice cream. “Let’s have this out on the patio.”

  “Good idea.”

  We walked through the den and onto the brick patio. Jack Norris, the handyman for the Avery property, had brought out and arranged the summer furniture weeks ago, but until tonight, life had been too hectic to even consider spending time out here.

  We sat down on two cushioned chairs at the wrought iron table. Dylan started eating his ice cream while I gazed beyond the lawn, to the river that ran along this part of the property.

  “I’m going to miss this,” I said.

  Dylan laughed. “When was the last time we sat out here?” He cocked his head. “Did we ever sit out here?”

  “Maybe not, but I love the cottage. I’m going to miss it.”

  “Are you sorry we’ll be moving to the house on Old Willows Road?”

  I shook my head. “No, but this is where I was living when we fell in love.”

  “We can always keep it, you know.”

  I took Dylan’s hand in both of mine. “Maybe for a while.”

  We’d just finished our ice cream when I heard the jingle of my cell phone. I hurried into the house to find out who was calling. It was John.

  “I just spoke to Winifred Thompson,” he said.

  “And?” I asked, excited to hear what Winnie had to say for herself.

  “She came into the precinct to complain that some young thug stole her pocketbook.”

  “That’s interesting. And where did she say this theft took place?”

  “In the parking lot behind the shops that face the Green.”

  “Really?”

  “Oddly enough, someone had already found it and brought it in to the precinct. Winnie claimed the only thing missing were the few hundred dollars that were in her wallet.”

  “I’m sure you asked her if she knew Fred Rawlins.”