“ … the body of Luke Rizzo was discovered minutes ago by his brother. Vinny Rizzo stopped by his brother’s apartment during his lunch break to find out why he hadn’t shown up at work. The victim had been stabbed multiple times. Judging by the state of rigor mortis, the estimated time of death is around midnight.”

  Angela and I both gasped. I finally managed to speak. “Luke Rizzo was one of Billy Carpenter’s good friends and most likely in on the bank robbery five years ago. John’s theory is that Billy Carpenter took off with the money and buried it in his aunt and uncle’s backyard. His two partners knew he’d stashed the money someplace.”

  “So when he got out of prison they stalked him,” Angela said. “They caught him digging up the money, killed him, and took the cash.”

  “And now Luke is dead,” I said.

  “Which means the remaining friend must have killed him,” Angela said.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  I looked around and saw John in the distance, talking to one of the EMTs who had carried the body out of the building on a stretcher. There was no way I could make my way through the crowd to reach him. Besides, John was too busy handling the situation to talk to me. Though I hadn’t known Billy or Luke, I was feeling sick about the whole business.

  “I need to call Dylan,” I said.

  Angela nodded. We started walking back to the library. I dialed Dylan’s number and was glad that for once he was at his desk in the middle of the day. I told him what had happened.

  “So Luke Rizzo was murdered,” Dylan mused. “Another of the trio of friends probably responsible for the bank job.”

  “Do you think Luke murdered Billy?” I asked. “Took the money he’d dug up, then Tino killed Luke for the money?”

  “It’s possible. Or maybe they both murdered Billy, argued over the money, and Tino killed Luke.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “And they’d been best friends for years.”

  “Best friends who had no problem turning on each other, starting with Billy Carpenter.

  “No honor among thieves,” I said.

  “Sure looks that way,” Dylan agreed.

  * * *

  I listened to John’s statement regarding the latest murder as I drove home from work. “I want to assure those of you who have been calling the precinct that this homicide is most likely the second murder in connection to a robbery that took place years ago, and not the work of a serial killer. We are in the process of interviewing several parties of interest. So far no arrests have been made.”

  Meaning he was questioning Tino Valdez and Billy’s cellmate and so far neither had admitted he’d committed the murders. Still, I thought, one of them has to be guilty. It was only a matter of time before John got the murderer to confess.

  Dylan came home a little after six, and we had dinner. Over coffee and brownies we managed to finish up the seating arrangements.

  “I’m glad that’s done,” Dylan said as he leaned back in his chair.

  “You still have to order gifts for Mac, Mark, and your two groomsmen.”

  “I did that today. I’ve ordered a set of really good crystal wineglasses for Mac, a pair of sunglasses for our ringbearer, and leather toiletry bags for Randy and Gary.”

  “Great! Now all we have left to do is our list of songs for the band.”

  “Not tonight,” Dylan said, putting his dishes in the sink.

  “Not tonight,” I agreed.

  “Time to veg out and relax.”

  Feeling virtuous because we’d managed to check off a few items on our to-do list, we stretched out on the living room sofa and switched on the TV. Smoky Joe strolled out of the bedroom and settled down between us.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning I woke up early so I could stop by a stationery store on the way to work and pick up a few copies of the Clover Ridge Gazette. I bought five and hurried back to the car, eager to see my article in print.

  And there it was, smack in the middle of the paper, just as Chuck said it would be! I read it carefully, aware of a changed phrase in a few places and the elimination of a comma or two, but it was just as I had written it. I scanned the photos, not thrilled by how I looked in one of them, but the one where I was holding the diary had come out well, and Norman looked just like himself, a pleasant, nice-looking man in his forties who loved his job.

  Sally was waiting for me when I opened the door to the library, a broad grin on her face. “Carrie, my dear, you did well! You and the library extension are the best things that have happened to this library in years!”

  “Really?” I felt myself glow. While Sally had praised my work a few times since I’d become head of programs and events, she’d never said anything like this.

  “Yes, really.”

  I released Smoky Joe from his carrier and dropped it off in my office, then hurried over to show Angela and Fran the article in the paper. Marion and Gayle joined us. So did Norman. Even Harvey Kirk stopped by the circulation desk and congratulated me before slinking away.

  All morning patrons came over to congratulate me on the article. Many of them asked if the diary was in the library, and I directed them to the Historical Room. It made me realize how few people were aware of the many historical artifacts we had on display, and I made a mental note to write an article about our collection in an upcoming newsletter.

  When Evelyn made an appearance, I showed her the article. She read it carefully, then beamed at me.

  “Good job, Carrie. I was part of the group that tried to get a pardon for Verity some years ago. We weren’t successful, but now that her diary has come to light, it’s the perfect time to ask the state’s Board of Pardons and Paroles to exonerate her posthumously.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” When I’m back from my honeymoon.

  I spent an hour calling various presenters I wanted to book for August and September. I also had a long conversation with a director of a terrific acting group that put on plays they’d shortened to run no more than an hour and a half. The group was so popular, they had to be scheduled two years in advance. I only managed to get them for a Sunday in September because another library would be undergoing renovations then and had canceled their arrangement.

  Chuck called to let me know that several subscribers had contacted him to say how much they loved my article and asking if there would be a follow-up. “I told them we were thinking about it.”

  “You are?”

  “Well, if you’re interested in doing it. Or if you come across another gem in the historical collection that reflects an important event that took place in our town’s history. I’m always open to anything you care to write.”

  “Thanks a lot, Chuck,” I said, meaning it. “When I get back from my honeymoon, I’ll see if there’s anything in the Historical Room that would appeal to your readers.”

  “If you do, shoot me an email to run it by me. You’ve got a nice writing style.”

  I called Dylan to tell him what Chuck had said.

  “Just think, you can have another career if you like—Carrie Singleton-Avery, journalist.”

  When Trish arrived we spent the rest of the morning blocking out the next newsletter. We always worked a few months ahead, which meant we needed to schedule all activities in advance. That required a short paragraph from Marion and Harvey, both of whom always seemed to forget to send me their reports despite my frequent reminders.

  Angela and I decided to have lunch at our favorite Indian restaurant. When I got back to my office, Trish said, “Someone left you a posh invitation.”

  I glanced at the glossy envelope on my desk. In beautiful calligraphy it said, For Carrie Singleton, Personal.

  Interesting. “When did this arrive?”

  “Sally asked me to take over the hospitality desk. It was here when I got back. Someone had slipped it under the door.”

  “I see.” Curious, I opened the envelope. Inside, in the same calligraphy, was written:

  You are invited to the June meeting of the Wise Women’s Circle this Friday evening at seven thirty. Please do not share this with anyone except the person closest to you.

  Our circle has been in existence for many years. Our purpose is to protect those women in need of protection. Because our work requires privacy and discretion, our circle is known to very few besides those closest to us.

  We know you must have many questions. Feel free to ask Sally about our circle as she is a Wise Woman. If you agree to join us Friday evening, she will tell you where we will be meeting.

  I looked up. Wise Women? Secret circle? My face must have revealed my confused state because Trish asked, “Is everything all right?”

  “Y-yes,” I stumbled. “It’s just from—someone I know.” I shoved the invitation into my pocketbook. I had no idea who had left it for me, as it wasn’t signed. “I—er—need to talk to Sally. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay,” Trish said, seemingly not at all put out by my strange behavior. “I’ll continue working on the newsletter till I leave.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said, and scooted out of the office.

  Sally was waiting for me, grinning from ear to ear. “Please close the door.”

  I did so and sat down in one of the two chairs across from her desk.

  “You read the invitation.”

  I nodded.

  “And you have a few questions.”

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “I’m happy to answer your questions to the best of my ability and discretion, on the condition that you don’t share what I tell you with anyone other than the person closest to you.”

  Dylan.

  “If you tell Dylan, please instruct him not to share what I’m about to tell you with anyone.”

  “Got it. What is the Wise Women Circle, and why did I get an invitation to your meeting?”

  “It’s a group of women that helps women in trouble. It’s been in existence for well over one hundred years.”

  “But why was I asked to join? And why is it secret?”

  “Because of your concern regarding Verity Babcock’s fate and your desire to see her exonerated. One of Verity’s descendants created the Wise Women’s Circle in 1910. It’s been going ever since.

  “The reason it started out as a secret group is because in those days a woman’s first obligation was to her family—her spouse, her children, and her elderly parents.” Sally laughed. “And because occasionally, in the service of helping women in distress, members did things not sanctioned by the law. So the circle thought it wise to remain discrete, if not exactly secret.”

  I nodded as I took in what Sally was telling me. Women who were abused or suffering were helped by other women who sometimes took matters into their own hands.

  “So you’re saying the circle sometimes does things that aren’t legal.”

  “No one’s obliged to do anything she’s uncomfortable doing.”

  Like murder?

  Sally laughed as though she were reading my mind. “Don’t worry, Carrie. We don’t resort to violence. Usually.”

  I did my best to quell my rising anxiety. “Who belongs to the circle?”

  Sally shrugged. “About twenty-five women who live in or near Clover Ridge. You probably know some of them.”

  A secret group! The idea was both tantalizing and frightening. I didn’t want to get into something I couldn’t handle, but then Sally belonged, and she was a respected member of the community. “I’d like some time to think about attending the meeting.”

  “I understand, but please let me know what you decide by the end of your workday today.”

  “Okay.”

  “And if you come to the meeting, it’s with the understanding that you’re seriously considering joining the circle.”

  “Oh.”

  Sally chuckled. “No need to feel nervous. Like any group, we have nonactive members who support our mission policy by contributing whatever a victim might need rather than getting involved in resolving a delicate situation.”

  “Can you give me an example of how the circle helped a woman in need?” I asked.

  “Certainly.” Sally sank back in her chair. “There’s Bella Travis. She died a few years ago. When Bella was in her mid-eighties, she was living by herself in a small house that needed a good deal of repairs. Her thirty-something grandson, who never held a job in his life, moved in with her. A friend of Bella’s mentioned to a member of our circle that she hadn’t seen Bella in months. The few times the friend stopped by Bella’s house, the grandson told her that Bella wasn’t up to seeing visitors. What’s more, there were strange cars parked in the driveway and loud music coming from the house late at night.

  “The friend began to worry that Bella was being held prisoner in her own home. The Wise Woman checked, and sure enough her grandson had taken over her house and her bank account.” Sally grinned. “The circle convinced the scrounger it was time he moved on and left his grandmother in peace. He took their advice, and off he went.”

  “But couldn’t you have gotten the same results by reporting the situation to the police?”

  “Often that’s exactly what we do. But in Bella’s case, we decided it would be faster and more effective to handle it our way.” Sally shot me a knowing look. “Very similar to what you often do yourself, Carrie Singleton.”

  “Me?” I asked, surprised.

  “You’ve helped many women in trouble. For example, how many times have you sped up an investigation and saved someone from being wrongly accused of murder?”

  “I never looked at it that way,” I said.

  Sally stood. “Belonging to the Wise Women’s Circle is a noble cause.”

  I stood too. “I’ll let you know my decision before I leave today.”

  Chapter Seven

  I couldn’t return to my office. Trish would ask me what Sally had wanted, and normally I would tell her, as that was the nature of our relationship. But I couldn’t talk about our little chat because I’d been sworn to secrecy and, frankly I was too rattled to make up a convincing story.

  As a woman, I knew well the perils that often beset my gender. Sally was right. I’d done my utmost to help several women in trouble. But the idea that a group like the Wise Women’s Circle existed in Clover Ridge somewhat disturbed me. Sally claimed their intentions were good. They helped women in need of help, something I was all for, but she had chosen Bella Travis’s story for a reason. She wanted me to know they had no problem resorting to intimidation.

  How far beyond that did they go? Were abusive men roughed up? Had the group ever gone as far as murder?

  Finally, I realized I felt betrayed, the way any of us would feel betrayed upon discovering that a friend belonged to a secret society we never knew existed. Sally was a member. Who else among my friends, relatives, and colleagues were Wise Women? Was Aunt Harriet? Was Sylvia Mather? Was Marion Marshall?

  I stopped abruptly, having discovered that I’d wandered into the new section of the library. I peered into the art gallery and decided to go inside. I was relieved to find myself alone. There were two exhibits up: paintings of flowers and birds by a young Chinese woman; and scenes of children at various activities—girls playing at recess, a batter up at a softball game, a ten-year-old boy arguing with his mother—the work of one of our own patrons, a grandmother who had taken up painting two years earlier. I’d seen the show when it was installed a week ago, but this morning I took my time and studied each work of art. It helped calm me.

  “What’s gotten you so bothered that you’re seeking solace in art?”

  I turned to Evelyn. “A secret society of good Samaritans that helps women in trouble. They want me to attend their meeting Friday night.”

  “The Wise Women invited you to join them?” Was that awe I detected in Evelyn’s voice?

  “Yes, because of my article about Verity Babcock.”

  “And because of the women you’ve helped,” Evelyn said. “Like my niece Michelle, who I’ve heard is doing well.”

  “Oh.” I thought a minute. “But how do they know?”

  Evelyn smiled. “The Wise Women know everything that goes on in Clover Ridge.”

  “Sally said the group was secret, but you seem to know all about them. Were you a member? You never mentioned them before.”

  “Yes. No. And the subject never came up.”

  A patron entered the gallery. We greeted each other, then I followed Evelyn down the hall to the auditorium. Finding it empty, we made our way to the front. I sat down in the first row while Evelyn perched on the edge of the stage.

  She chuckled. “I’d venture to say most of us knew about the Wise Women and their handiwork by the time we were settling down in our adult lives. If we talked about their doings, it was in hushed tones. Not to be gossiped about, though just about any other subject was fair game.”

  “Did you know anyone who belonged to the circle?”

  “Two of my friends were members, but I was never asked to join. They were activists and more civic-minded than me. I admired them both. It’s an honor to be invited to join.”

  “Is it?” I said bleakly. “All this secrecy makes me suspicious of what they might resort to in order to achieve their ends.”

  Evelyn cocked her head. “You mean like killing an abusive husband?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s not their style. From the bits and pieces I’ve heard over the years, they’re very effective in convincing an offending partner it’s in his best interest to stop harassing the woman in question. They’re quite successful.”

  I thought a moment. “Are there Wise Men as well?”

  “They’re not called that, but a few men have taken up the cause and joined the circle.”

  When I said nothing, Evelyn went on. “Carrie, you are the daughter I never had. As long as I’ve known you, I’ve felt free to give you unsolicited advice. I’ve even asked you to take on responsibilities regarding people I’ve cared for, and you’ve been kind enough to oblige. But you have to decide whether you want to join the Wise Women’s Circle. It’s a responsibility. It’s a commitment. And you do more than your share when it comes to looking after the people of Clover Ridge, regardless of their gender.”