“Carrie?” Tom prodded.

  “Sorry. There’s nothing new that I’m aware of. But John Mathers is a good man. I’m sure he’s chasing down every lead and every tie-in between the two homicides.”

  “I heard there also might be a connection to a murder that took place twenty years ago,” Marissa said.

  “The police are looking into it,” I said, craning my neck to catch another glimpse of Hattie’s barrette. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a break in the case very soon.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Hattie said with a toss of her head.

  “Hattie, your barrette is absolutely gorgeous! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Hattie smiled. “Why thank you, Carrie. I’m quite fond of it myself.”

  “Where did you get it?” I asked.

  She cocked her head as she thought. “You know, I really can’t remember.” She waved to her friends. “And now I must bid you all adieu and let you do your thing.”

  I watched her walk to the rear of the room.

  “Carrie, love, what break are you referring to?” Charlie asked, his tone teasing. “Come on! Don’t hold back. Tell us what you know.”

  My mother took this as her cue to chime in. “Carrie runs rings around the police when it comes to finding clues and solving murders.”

  I felt a pang of guilt, remembering the times I’d gone sleuthing and didn’t let John in on what I’d learned.

  “Tell us what you know, Carrie. It’s only fair,” Tom urged.

  Fair or not, I thought of Patricia Harper aka Sheila Rossetti’s upcoming visit. “All I can say, is maybe something or someone will turn up soon. We’ll have to wait and see.”

  Why did I refer to a person? I bit my tongue, but it was too late. At any rate, no one seemed to notice.

  “Anything would be better than what’s been happening up till now,” Serena said. “If you ask me, that lieutenant doesn’t know his ass from his elbow. He’s questioned suspect after suspect and has yet to charge anyone with the crime.”

  I felt myself growing angry in John’s defense. “Lieutenant Mathers is a wonderful detective. He’s working the case and is sure to find Ilana’s killer very soon!”

  Serena cocked her head. “Really? And you’re privy to this? Do tell.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Before I could comment, the back door opened and the mob that had been waiting poured into the meeting room. I caught Dylan’s eye, and he headed over to make sure people didn’t trample one another in their eagerness to get what they considered the best seats in the house.

  Soon every chair was occupied. A few patrons remained standing in the back of the room. I nodded to Dylan, and we took up positions against the side wall. Sally walked to the front of the room to address the audience.

  “Good evening. The Clover Ridge Library is happy to welcome the four stars in Firestone Production’s I Love You, I Do—Serena Harris, Charlie Stanton, Tom Farrell, and Marissa Varig. As you know, next Saturday evening they will be presenting a reading of A. R. Gurney’s The Cocktail Hour. Tonight is a run-through of their reading. They will be stopping occasionally to discuss whatever they choose to discuss, so if this isn’t to your liking, you’re welcome to leave and come back Saturday night—if you have a ticket.”

  Sally paused. No one stirred.

  “Though this is an informal rehearsal, I ask that you not talk among yourselves.”

  Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t get absorbed in the play—about a playwright and his family—because every few minutes one of the actors stopped to make a comment or raise a question off-mic. The remarks were often humorous, judging by the laughter from the viewers in the first few rows. When Charlie called for a fifteen-minute recess, Dylan signaled to me that he’d like to leave, which was fine with me. We were coming on the following Saturday night to see the play in its entirety. I waved good-bye to my mother and headed for the door.

  We weren’t the only ones who had decided to call it a night. As we started up the stairs, I realized I was right behind Al Tripp, Clover Ridge’s mayor and Uncle Bosco’s good friend. He was with one of his teenage daughters. Al huffed and puffed so loudly, I feared for his heart. He paused when he reached the top of the stairs.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I will be, soon as I catch my breath.”

  “We do have an elevator,” I said.

  He continued to huff and puff. His red face had a sheen of perspiration. I exchanged worried looks with Dylan. “Al, I think you should sit down a minute.”

  He looked around. “Lindsay won’t know where I am.”

  I spotted his daughter chatting with one of her friends.

  “I’ll tell her where you are,” Dylan said.

  I shot him a smile of appreciation and led Al to a seat in the reading room. Then I walked over to the coffee shop and asked Katie Rollins for a glass of water.

  Al gulped down most of the water, then sat back and sighed. “Don’t tell Dolores,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “She’s after me to start a diet and an exercise regime. And I will—one of these days when I don’t have a luncheon to attend. Or a dinner or late meeting.” He exhaled heavily. “All of which involve food and drink.”

  “I know, but you have to consider your health.”

  He looked up at me. “Would you mind getting me some more water?”

  “Of course not.” I got him a refill, which he sipped slowly.

  I sat down in the chair next to Al. “You’re making a good start,” I joked. “Drinking water’s good for you.”

  Al rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. “You’re doing a terrific job here at the library, Carrie. From what I hear, more Clover Ridge people are using its services than ever before. And that Haven House you got your uncle to run for the homeless is a godsend.”

  “I didn’t start Haven House,” I protested.

  The mayor shot me a perceptive glance. “Maybe not, but you sure put it into the right hands.”

  I shrugged.

  “Your Uncle Bosco is so very proud of you.”

  “That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard all day,” I said, smiling.

  “You’re an asset to this town, Carrie.” He grinned. “Maybe one of these days you’ll run for town council.”

  I burst out laughing. “I doubt that very much. I have enough going on in my life without being on the town council.”

  “I suppose that’s the case right now, especially since you’ve been instrumental in solving several homicides,” Al said.

  “Not the latest cases, I’m afraid.”

  Al shook his head in dismay. “Terrible that two beautiful young women were murdered. John’s working hard, trying to find their killer, but so far he’s come up with zilch.”

  “This one hit close to me. Daphne and I were getting to be friends,” I said. “And her brother Billy works at the gym Dylan and I belong to.”

  He nodded as he gazed down at the floor. Not going to speak? In that case, I was going to prod.

  “Aunt Harriet told me you were friendly with Daphne and Billy’s mother.”

  The tips of his ears turned red. “Sure, I knew Pattie. I knew her husband Chet. The town was smaller twenty years ago. We all knew one another and everyone’s business.”

  I grinned. “I heard that Patricia Harper was quite the beauty and you had something of a crush on her.”

  “Come on, Carrie. She was a married woman. A harried, married woman and a mother who worked two jobs.”

  “And attracted the attention of several men. I heard Lester Brown thought highly of Patricia too.”

  Al exhaled a gallon of hot air. “Les did. I did too. Part of it was, we felt sorry for the woman.”

  “Was that all it was?” I asked, my tone teasing.

  “All right. I was smitten. Beautiful, unattainable woman in need of a man to whisk her away from her awful abusive husband. At the time, I was so busy working that I hadn’t had a date in months. Too thick to see how trite the premise was. The draw of a damsel in distress. Nothing more than a fantasy.”

  I stared at Alvin Tripp, impressed by his insight. “That’s looking at it in hindsight. What did you and Patricia Harper talk about?”

  “Various things. Her children. Her jobs. The hopes she’d had when she was young. I told her I’d get her a divorce pro bono. She simply smiled in her Mona Lisa way and said a divorce was impossible. Chet would kill her before any papers were signed.”

  “She seemed resigned to her fate?” I asked.

  “Not resigned so much as certain that while I couldn’t help her via the usual channels, someone else was going to.”

  “And she never said who this person was?”

  Al shook his head. “I got the feeling it might have been someone she worked with, but to this day I’ve no idea who it was.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “I can’t stop thinking about that barrette,” I said. “It’s so similar to the craftwork on Sheila Rossetti’s picture frames.”

  “So you’ve told me three times tonight.” Dylan caressed my cheek with the back of his hand. “And for the third time, I’m saying I believe you. But that doesn’t mean there’s a connection between the two women. Give it a rest, babe. Lean back and enjoy our post-Precipice glow.”

  “You’re right.”

  It was Saturday night and we were driving home from eating an outstanding meal at the Precipice, a spectacular ultramodern restaurant built on a rise high above a lake. But ever since I’d spotted Hattie Fein’s barrette, my mind had refused to stop thinking about its similarity to Sheila Rossetti’s picture frames. Tenuous though it might be, this was the only link I knew of that connected Sheila’s husband’s murder twenty years ago and Ilana’s. And I wanted Dylan to agree with me.

  “Sure, thousands of people make crafts and there’s always a possibility that two or more craftspeople will create similar items, but what are the odds of this so-called coincidence occurring between interested parties close to a murder investigation?”

  Dylan released a humph of exasperation. “Don’t you think it’s a bit of a stretch—considering Hattie Fein a serial killer? Who knows where she got the barrette? She could have bought it at a craft show years ago. It could have been a gift.”

  “I think she was lying about not remembering where she got the barrette,” I said. “That in itself is suspicious.”

  “So what do you suggest? Tell John what you’re thinking so he can bring Hattie in for questioning?”

  “Bad idea. She’ll close up like a clam.”

  Dylan exhaled loudly. “So? Any ideas?”

  I shot him a smile of pure innocence. “A few, but I have no intention of sharing them with a doubting Thomas.”

  * * *

  It was time to do some research, research I should have done weeks ago. I waited until Dylan was gently snoring, then headed to my office and turned on my computer. There were several Hattie Feins listed, but I quickly found the hair and makeup artist I knew listed in IMDb—the Internet Movie Database. The basics were there, but I needed more. I struck gold when I found an article about Hattie in one of the movie industry magazines.

  Hattie Greenfield Fein had grown up in a small Michigan town outside Detroit. Her parents divorced when she was four and her sister was seven. Her mother, Pamela, decided to follow her dream of becoming an actress and moved the girls to Hollywood. Pamela managed to get a few small roles in movies and commercials.

  Hattie, who often hung around the set when her mother was working, was drawn to the hair and makeup side of the industry. Since she was amiable and eager to learn, the crew allowed her to help out when there was a time crunch. A well-known makeup artist noticed her talents and took Hattie under her wing. All this stopped when Hattie married Jerry Fein, a lighting technician, at eighteen. They had a child who died in an accident at age three. Hattie and Jerry divorced shortly after.

  Hattie resumed her career in the movie and TV industries as a hair and makeup artist. She worked on the sets of some prominent movies. Five years ago she’d suffered a heart attack. These past few years she had worked for indie movie companies, mostly Firestone Productions.

  I closed the computer and stretched my arms overhead. All very interesting, but I didn’t feel I knew Hattie any better than I had before reading about her. No recent spouses or lovers. No indication that she might have spent time in or near Clover Ridge years ago, or that she’d ever crossed paths with Patricia Harper aka Sheila Rossetti.

  I wanted to research the others involved in the movie: Charlie, Ronnie Rodriguez, Ralph the sound engineer. Even Tom, my mother’s husband. But I was too tired. Yawning, I padded back to bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

  * * *

  Monday morning Billy called me at the library to say he was picking up his mother the following afternoon at the train station. “She said she’d love to see you and Dylan while she’s in town. Any chance of the four of us getting together?”

  “She really wants to get together with Dylan and me?”

  I must have sounded surprised, because Billy felt the need to explain. “She feels she wasn’t as hospitable as she should have been when you guys drove all that way for my sake.”

  “Please tell her not to be concerned in the least. I understand how difficult it must have been, dealing with two strangers connected to her past. But since she’s so inclined, I’d love to have you both come to dinner while she’s here.” I quickly ran through my schedule for the week. “How does Wednesday night sound?”

  “That should be fine,” Billy said. “The only set plan we have so far is the reading at the library on Saturday night.”

  “Your mom knew my Aunt Harriet. I’ll invite her and Uncle Bosco to join us. And ask Dylan to try not to work late that night.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Billy said. “My mother will be delighted.”

  “Don’t tell her Aunt Harriet’s coming. Let it be a surprise.”

  “All right.”

  “Are you aware of anything she can’t or won’t eat?” I asked.

  “No, but I’ll ask to make sure and let you know if there is.”

  “And of course you have an ulterior motive regarding this dinner,” Evelyn said a moment later. She’d materialized as I ended my call.

  I exhaled a lungful of air. “I give Sheila credit for gathering the courage to return to Clover Ridge, where both her husband and daughter were murdered. Not to mention facing the son she abandoned to trumped-up charges that landed him in prison. But finally telling the police what she’s been hiding all these years might prove more difficult than she realizes. Since Sheila already knows me, I figure she might be more comfortable first talking to me about whatever it is that traumatized her.”

  Evelyn shot me a look of admiration. “Carrie, that’s very thoughtful of you.”

  I smiled. “And I thought I’d mention Hattie’s barrette.”

  She grimaced. “That again. You can ask Pattie if she knew Hattie Fein all those years ago, but I doubt there’s a connection. The similarities between the picture frames and that woman’s barrette could simply be a coincidence.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” I said, as Evelyn faded from view.

  * * *

  I called Dylan. He promised to be home in plenty of time to make dinner at six thirty Wednesday evening. And Aunt Harriet was thrilled when I invited her and Uncle Bosco to join us.

  “I’m so glad Pattie has remarried and that she’s coming here to see her son.”

  “Billy told John she’s coming. I’m hoping that means she’s finally willing to give him an official statement of what she’s been holding back all these years. I have a feeling she knows who killed Daphne and Ilana as well as her husband all those years ago.”

  “Carrie, I hope you’re not setting too much store on that poor woman’s secrets,” my aunt chided me. “Even if she comes up with a name, that doesn’t mean John can charge that person with three counts of murder.”

  “Yes, Aunt Harriet,” I said meekly, secretly marveling at how savvy she’d gotten regarding homicides and the law this past year.

  “I’ll bring two desserts, so don’t you go fussing with that,” she said before she hung up.

  I was so busy the rest of the day, I didn’t even have time to go out for lunch with Angela. Instead, I asked her to bring me back a sandwich. Between phone calls and making sure all programs were running smoothly, Trish and I worked on the August-September newsletter. At three thirty I stretched my arms overhead and headed for the library’s coffee shop for a much-needed break.

  I treated myself to a cappuccino. The coffee shop was empty for a change, and I was content to sit quietly in a place that wasn’t my office. I sipped my drink and mentally ran through the upcoming events that required my attention. Dinner for six on Wednesday night was no biggie. I’d buy a few barbecued chickens and make a salad and veggies. I could stop at the supermarket after work today. Dylan would supply the wine and Aunt Harriet the desserts. Saturday night was the reading of The Cocktail Hour. I’d introduce the actors, then sit back and enjoy the show along with the others.

  The following Saturday would be our Adopt-a-Pet fair—to be held outside in front of the library if the weather was good. Inside if it rained. Angela’s shower, for which I was largely responsible, was the weekend after that. I sighed. I loved running all these activities, but each required time and attention. When was I going to have a few hours to myself, maybe take a yoga class at the gym?

  Smoky Joe accompanied me as I walked back to my office. Thinking about the gym got me thinking about Billy, which reminded me of my intention to Google the other movie people when I had a free moment. I found Susan drawing at her desk. I glanced over her shoulder to see what she was working on.