Evelyn pressed her lips together as she thought. “There’s a sense of urgency about it all.”

  I nodded. “I get that feeling too. Almost as though Tino’s driven to locate the money from the bank heist ASAP. But why the sudden pressure?

  Evelyn stood. “That’s the million-dollar question. Answer that and you’ll know what’s troubling Albi.”

  I expected Evelyn to make a fast getaway, as she always did after delivering her words of wisdom. Instead, she came to stand beside my chair, beaming at me in the most loving way. I tried not to shudder from the chill of her close presence.

  “My dear, I wish I could hug you as I offer my heartfelt best wishes on your upcoming nuptials. You and Dylan were so wise to choose each other as lifelong partners. I know you will be a very happy couple. You’re well suited and complement each other in every important way.”

  “Thank you, Evelyn. That means a lot to me. I wish you could attend our wedding.”

  “Oh, so do I.” She sounded so sad, I longed to put my arms around her. “Carrie, you are the daughter Robert and I never had. The daughter I wish we’d had. I’m so proud of you and all you’ve accomplished in the short time I’ve known you. You will achieve much more in future years. I’m not talking about amassing a fortune, but doing kind deeds and looking after people who do a poor job of taking care of themselves.”

  “Like Tino Valdez?” I said, partly to lighten her mood.

  “Ah, Tino and Albi. You will help them as best you can, and solve this mystery surrounding them.”

  On impulse, I lifted my arms and wrapped them around her transparent form. I shivered with cold, but I continued to squeeze tight until I felt a core of warmth that I knew was the essence of Evelyn Havers.

  “Ah, Carrie. I love you so much. We’ll meet again when you’re back from your honeymoon.”

  I watched her disappear from sight, my heart considerably lighter because I knew how much she cared.

  Chapter Twenty

  Of course now I was too agitated and pent up with emotion to get any work done. Not that Sally expected me to be productive today, my last workday before my wedding. When Trish returned from her stint at the hospitality desk, we went over everything I wanted her to keep up to date during the two and a half weeks that I’d be away. Finally, she hugged me and said she’d see me on Saturday at my wedding, then left for the day.

  I walked over to the circulation desk to tell Angela about my visit from Tino Valdez’s brother, as well as about Evelyn’s heartfelt good wishes. As I was crossing the reading room, the sound of quarreling emanated from Sally’s office. Despite all the excitement I’d had for one day, I slowed down in case Sally needed my assistance. A shout reverberated, loud enough to cause nearby patrons to stare at the office door. It suddenly swung open, and a red-faced Winnie Thompson stormed out.

  “And I’ll never forgive you for accusing Leslie of stealing my ancestor’s diary!”

  “All evidence points in that direction,” Sally answered.

  “You have no proof! Some money-hungry thief managed to steal it because you didn’t care enough to keep it safe. When my investigator finds the diary—and he will—I’m taking you to court to gain possession. Verity’s diary will be mine, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “Over my dead body!” Sally retorted, and slammed her door with a bang.

  I exchanged glances with Marion Marshall, who had come to stand beside me.

  “Winnie Thompson’s gone crazy over that diary,” Marion murmured. “And we’ve no idea where it is.”

  “She hired someone to steal it, but that didn’t work. I’m pretty sure it was her son who took it last night.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  I stared at Marion. “Because they’re Verity’s descendants?”

  “Because Winnie is desperate for money. She made some reckless investments and remortgaged her home. I heard she’s about to lose it, poor thing.”

  “And she thinks she’ll get a windfall is she sells the diary?” I shook my head. “We have no idea what it’s worth, which is why we’re having it evaluated.”

  Marion shot me a puzzled look. “What I don’t understand is, if Leslie took it, why has Winnie come here pretending some unknown person stole it? Wouldn’t he have stolen it for his mother?”

  “That’s the one genuine part of her complaint—she’s offended that Leslie’s considered a suspect. I think Leslie stole it in cahoots with someone else, with the intention of selling it. He has no intention of handing it over to Winnie.”

  “Interesting. They never did get on.” Marion cocked her head “Regarding Smoky Joe—is Saturday morning still a good time for me to pick him up?”

  I grimaced. Marion and I had discussed this earlier, but I hated the thought of being apart from my feline companion for almost three weeks. But whoever heard of someone bringing a cat along on her honeymoon?

  “Yes. I appreciate your taking care of him while Dylan and I are away. I’ll have everything ready for you—his food and toys and kitty litter.” And a list of instructions, I thought but didn’t mention.

  “Forget the litter box, litter, and treats. I saved all of that from when I had Mittens,” Marion said. “Just in case I adopt another kitty.”

  “And you’ll need his carrier.”

  “Of course, since I’ll be bringing him to work with me.”

  I nodded, suddenly too choked up to speak. Marion put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Carrie. Smoky Joe will be fine. He knows me, and he’ll be spending his days in the library as usual. And I promise not to give him too many treats.”

  Marion returned to the children’s section, and I decided to check on Sally after her shouting match with Winnie. I found her speaking to someone on the phone.

  “Okay … I see … Well, that’s good to know. Thanks … Yes, I’ll have someone do that.”

  She sighed as she put down the receiver. “That was Ted Ramisson, the library’s lawyer. He was kind enough to alert antiquarians who buy and sell old books, pamphlets, and papers, in a fifty-mile radius, to be on the lookout for Verity’s diary.”

  “That’s helpful unless there’s a private buyer interested in the diary,” I said.

  “In which case there’s not much we can do. But I don’t think either Fred Rawlins or Leslie Thompson would have a lead on that.”

  “No, but Dylan might,” I said.

  “Good to know,” Sally said. “Ted also reminded me that we are the legitimate owners of Verity Babcock’s diary, though we can’t stop Winnie from suing us if that’s what she decides to do. She might just be talking out of her hat, because suing the town will no doubt cost a good deal of money, money Winnie doesn’t have.”

  “So there’s nothing to worry about,” I said.

  “Ted suggested we search through our papers to try to find out who donated the diary. I’m going to ask Trish to sort through the letters and pamphlets in the Historical Room, though there’s a good chance there’s nothing there for her to find. People don’t necessarily include a note with their donation.”

  “Besides, we have no idea how long the diary’s been in the library,” I said.

  “True. We don’t have to prove that a relative of Verity’s gave us the diary, but I thought the suggestion was a good idea to follow up on. Anyway, this is a moot issue until we get the diary back.”

  If we get the diary back, I thought but didn’t say. I was sick at heart that two mercenary thieves had managed to steal it from under our noses.

  Sally stood and walked around her desk. “Carrie, I know how much you care about Verity and her diary, but please put them out of your head. You have a wedding ahead of you and out-of-town relatives about to descend on you and Dylan.”

  I laughed. “You’re right. My father and Merry are flying in later today; my mother and Tom will arrive tomorrow. Neither couple is staying with us.”

  Sally hugged me. “Go home, Carrie, and enjoy a few hours of peace while you can.”

  “Thanks, Sally. I will.”

  “We’ll see you Saturday night.”

  * * *

  I heard familiar voices as I unlocked the front door to the cottage. My father and Merry were here! I put down Smoky Joe’s carrier and set him free. A moment later I was in Jim’s arms, holding him close and feeling like a little girl again.

  “I’m so glad to see you!” I said. To my amazement, I burst out crying.

  “What’s wrong, Caro?” My father stroked my head, which made me sob harder.

  “Just pre-wedding jitters,” Merry said as she joined us.

  I nodded. “She’s right. I’m just so happy.” I took the tissue she offered, wiped my eyes, then hugged her.

  “When did you get here?” I asked.

  “Fifteen minutes ago,” Jim said. “Dylan said to have our driver drop us off at the cottage instead of at the motel.”

  Dylan handed me a glass of chardonnay. “Take a sip.”

  I drank more than a sip, then followed them back to the living room, where Dylan had been entertaining my father and Merry. I noticed he’d brought out cheese and crackers.

  “I didn’t know you’d be coming home early,” Dylan said.

  “Sally sent me home to relax. It’s been a very hectic day: first, learning the diary was stolen, and then Winifred Thompson coming in and squabbling with Sally about it. She’s hired an investigator to find it; when it’s found she plans to sue us for it.” I scoffed. “And she refuses to believe her own son might very well have taken it.”

  “That woman won’t give up,” Dylan said.

  “Dylan’s been telling us about the house you’re buying,” Jim said. “I don’t suppose we could go over and see it now.”

  “Why not? I have the key.”

  “Then we can stop by Bosco and Harriet’s house and all go out for dinner,” my father said. “My treat.”

  “It’s kind of early for dinner. Besides, we don’t know what plans they might already have,” I said.

  Merry burst out laughing. “Your father is starving. We didn’t have a proper lunch.”

  I exchanged glances with Dylan. He shrugged. I decided to go with the flow. “All right. Whatever you say.”

  “And we’ll stop by our motel on the way so we can check in and drop off our suitcases,” Jim said.

  We took my car since it was roomier, stopped at the motel where Jim and Merry were staying, and then drove to our new house.

  “So many memories,” my father said as we passed the B&B that was once the Singleton Farm.

  I pulled into the driveway and unlocked the front door, wondering if the girl ghosts would make themselves known. But they were nowhere in sight as Jim scrutinized every room, shooting out questions about insulation and the quality of the water supply, subjects I had no idea he knew anything about. But then again, working with Mac in Atlanta and being married to Merry had done a lot to make my father the man I wish he’d been when I was growing up.

  “A wonderful house!” my father declared when we’d finished the inside and outside tour. “You two will be happy here.”

  I called Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco to let them know we were on our way to visit them and take them out to dinner. I wasn’t too surprised when Aunt Harriet insisted that we eat there since she’d made too much food, as usual. And so, we had her wonderful meatloaf and a few other dishes I’m sure she’d pulled out of the freezer and put in the microwave as soon as she’d hung up the phone.

  It warmed my heart to see my father and Uncle Bosco deep in conversation. Uncle Bosco hadn’t always had a high opinion of his brother’s son, who had spent time in prison. But those days were past, and now they enjoyed a good relationship.

  I was telling Aunt Harriet and Merry about Winifred’s outburst that afternoon, when my father interrupted his conversation with Dylan and Bosco to call out, “Caro, when are your mother and her young husband arriving?”

  My mother. Though my mother and I were getting along, I still walked on eggshells when she was around.

  “They’re flying in tomorrow afternoon. You’ll probably run into them at the motel. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering. I want to be on my guard when she shows up.”

  I drew in a deep breath, then realized he was kidding. Last spring, when my mother and Tom were in Clover Ridge for a filming, my father had flown here to give her some much needed moral support.

  We spent the evening reminiscing about the past and talking about the future—probably like any other family getting together two nights before a wedding. Not a word was said about the body found on the lawn of our wedding venue or that the murderer was still on the loose.

  * * *

  The landline phone rang at eight the following morning. I sprang awake in full pre-wedding mode. Had a catastrophe damaged Victor’s house? Had the health department shut down the restaurant where we were having the rehearsal dinner tonight?

  Dylan reached over me to lift the receiver. I stared at him as he spoke to the caller.

  “Good morning … Not a problem … Oh, that’s too bad … Yes, I’ll put her on.” Dylan frowned as he handed me the phone.

  “Carrie, it’s John. I’m sorry to bother you so early, and today of all days, but Winifred Thompson was murdered sometime last night. If you came into contact with her at the library yesterday, I need you to tell me exactly what you saw and heard.”

  Winifred’s dead. “I only saw her for a moment as she was leaving Sally’s office. I didn’t even speak to her.”

  “Even so. She went to the library to stake her claim to Verity Babcock’s diary, an artifact you’ve been closely involved with.”

  Fear coursed through my body. Surely John didn’t think that I had murdered Winnie because she was about to sue the library to get Verity’s diary.

  “But the diary’s been stolen,” I stuttered. “It’s a moot point.”

  “No matter. I’m interested in Winnie’s frame of mind when she was in the library. Whom she spoke to, what they said.”

  “How did you know she was in the library yesterday?”

  “Sally told me.”

  “Oh.” Then I realized what he was saying. “You questioned Sally already? You can’t think—”

  “I don’t think anything … yet. Carrie, can I stop by the cottage, or would you rather come down to the precinct?”

  “Stop by here. Give me forty-five minutes to get ready.”

  “Will do.”

  Dylan and I had breakfast, then he left to do some last-minute shopping and work out at the gym while I showered and dressed. John showed up close to ten o’clock. He looked harried, and knowing him, I figured he hadn’t stopped for breakfast after a sleepless night.

  I led him into the kitchen and brewed a carafe of coffee. “Croissant or bread?” I asked.

  “A croissant would be great, thanks.”

  I let him settle down before I bombarded him with the many questions that had crossed my mind since he’d told me that Winnie Thompson had been murdered. Finally, after he swallowed the last bite of his croissant, I asked, “How did you find out that Winnie had been murdered?”

  John moved his chair back and stretched out his long legs. “Lauren, one of her daughters, called me because she couldn’t reach Winnie. Lauren had an important meeting in the city and was expecting her mother to be at her house at seven to watch the kids, since both of them were too sick to go to day care. Lauren knew something was wrong because her mother was never late. I went over to Winnie’s house. When she didn’t respond, I entered and found her lying on her office floor. She’d been stabbed.”

  “But how did you know she’d been to the library yesterday and that she and Sally had words?”

  “Her laptop was open. She’d been writing a letter to the editor, demanding that the library hand over the diary of her ancestor Verity Babcock to her, its rightful owner.” John paused. “And we checked her phone calls. She’d been on the phone with Sally that evening.”

  I stared at him. “You can’t imagine that Sally stabbed Winnie. They were both Wise Women. They’ve known each other for years.”

  John scoffed. “Since when does being in a long-term relationship stop people from killing each other? Quite the opposite. It’s often the reason—long festering resentments and the like.”

  “But Sally had nothing against Winnie. She was simply annoyed that Winnie was trying to take the diary from the library.”

  “Is that what you heard yesterday?”

  My cheeks grew warm as I recalled Sally’s words. “She said Winnie would get the diary over her dead body. I spoke to Sally afterward. She’d called the library’s attorney, and he reassured her that we owned the diary. He advised her to search for a note that might have accompanied the diary when it was bequeathed to us, which Sally was planning to do. She didn’t seem unduly worried.”

  “Then why did she call Winnie?” John asked. “Sally’s phone records show that she called Winnie at eight thirty. She admitted going to see Winnie a few minutes later.”

  “I don’t know. To make amends of some sort? To explain that what Winnie was doing was having a negative impact on Verity’s reputation? On the Wise Women’s reputation?”

  “What’s this about the Wise Women’s reputation?” John asked.

  I bit my lip. Why had I brought that up? “Sally thought that Winnie was acting irrationally. She was obsessed with getting the diary for herself instead of focusing on getting a pardon for Verity Babcock.

  “I mean, look at Winnie’s stupid spat with Garrett Grimm in the Gazette. Both of them arguing about people who lived four hundred years ago. And Grimm made a nasty crack about the Wise Women. I’m sure it infuriated Winnie.”

  “I’ll have to read it,” John said.

  “Why don’t you question Grimm? Maybe he was angry enough to kill Winnie. Or maybe Fred Rawlins made a return visit to demand his fee.”

  “Of course I’ll question Garrett Grimm. And Rawlins too, just as soon as we can locate him.”