Dylan laughed. “You’ll find out soon enough that everyone on the council has an agenda and will try to push something through involving a personal connection.”

  “Or try to block it. Sean Powell is against Lighthouse Builders building condos on the property because his son now works for them.”

  “The politics of small towns,” Dylan said, shaking his head. “They can be more cutthroat than the shenanigans on the national scene.” I drew back in a huff. “I would never take advantage of my position on the board for a pet project.”

  “Really? Let’s see how you vote when it comes to an issue that doesn’t favor the library.”

  “Well, of course I’d vote for what’s in the library’s best interest.”

  “As I’d expect. And I suspect everyone on the board has a favorite service or utility, be it the hospital, the fire department, or building new condos.”

  I nodded. I was beginning to understand the dynamics of the group of which I was now a member, and my concerns about joining the council came flooding back. I might care more about the library than other town institutions, but it wasn’t for personal reasons. Like voting for a town project for the sake of a relative’s career. Or not voting for one because my son worked for the competition.

  I was beginning to think I had made a mistake when I’d said yes to Al Tripp. I wasn’t politically motivated or out for personal gain. The Seabrook property was clearly going to be a source of conflict, and I didn’t want any part of that.

  * * *

  After Dylan left, I went into the library to freshen up in the bathroom and to check on the few ongoing programs. Trish had already started the afternoon movie. In the reading room I ran into Max, our senior custodian. He was taking a break from making sure the festival’s refuse pails were emptied before they overflowed with garbage and that the grounds of the Green remained clear of debris.

  “Big crowd,” he commented. “Good thing Sally approved hiring three men to help out today. Too big a job for just Pete and me.”

  “And the festival’s even busier now than it was this morning.”

  Max gestured with his chin toward the building that was to be our new addition. “Frankly, I was surprised Sally went ahead with the festival, given the mess that place is in.” He lowered his voice. “And then finding a body.”

  “She considered canceling it this year, but so many patrons said they were looking forward to it, she didn’t want to disappoint them, especially since the council said we could hold it on the Green.”

  “Good thing too, since it’s at least twice the size of last year’s festival. I hope they continue to let us hold it on the Green from now on,” Max said. “There’s no way our parking lot could handle it, even after it’s extended to include the parking area of the new addition.”

  I agreed with Max and headed outside. I was about to cross the street and return to the festival when someone rammed into me with such force, I stumbled to the ground.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”

  I looked up at Buzz Coleman, the burly construction foreman, an expression of distress on his face. He reached out a hand to help me up. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so,” I said, brushing off the knees of my jeans.

  “You’re one of the librarians, aren’t you?” he said.

  “Yes. Carrie Singleton.”

  “I’m so sorry, Carrie. Buzz Coleman. I should have been looking where I was going.” He shook his head. “I was just so …”

  My curiosity was aroused. “So what?” I asked.

  “Nothing. It’s stupid.” Buzz blinked and started walking away.

  “Were you at the work site just now?” I asked.

  “I was.” He turned slowly. “I went in to check on something. It was the weirdest thing.”

  “What?” I urged.

  “No one was in the building. I know because I locked the door behind me. When I went into a room at the back of the house—right above where we found that body in the basement—I got this feeling I wasn’t alone. No one was there, but I swear something passed right by me, chilling me to the bones.”

  Like a ghost, I thought.

  I wondered if I’d spoken aloud, because Buzz chortled. “There ain’t such things as ghosts. It must have been a draft coming from a broken window. I’ll check every window first thing Monday morning. Sorry again, Carrie, for running into you like that.”

  Chapter Seven

  The rest of the weekend couldn’t have been more perfect. What made it so special was that Dylan started to include childhood anecdotes in our conversations, something he rarely did before I’d opened up the discussion about his parents. It validated my belief that I’d been right to raise questions about this difficult subject. Now Dylan was willing to share some painful memories. I hoped that talking about them washed some of the hurt away.

  Saturday night, we met Angela and Steve at a local restaurant for hamburgers and beer. We spent Sunday morning working out at the gym, then went apple picking at a nearby farm in the afternoon. We ended up with a large amount of eating apples for us and a bagful of cooking apples for Aunt Harriet, who loved to bake. When we stopped by to drop them off, she and Uncle Bosco insisted that we stay for dinner, which we did.

  I let out a contented sigh as we headed home to the cottage. “Today was lovely. It felt like a mini vacation.”

  Dylan patted my leg. “I agree. A good break from work. I’m slammed the next few days.”

  “And I have that noisy racket to look forward to.”

  “I wonder if John’s made any headway ID’ing the dead man,” he mused. “Given the condition of the body, they only have his teeth to work with, and that’s only a help if they can track down his dentist for X-rays and records.”

  “They can use it to match DNA, can’t they?” I asked.

  “Sure. But only to the DNA of people already in the system. Lots of people aren’t.”

  “I’m still puzzling over Buzz Coleman’s state of mind when he ran into me on Saturday,” I said. “He’s a big, brawny guy. Not the type to be easily frightened.”

  Dylan glanced at me. “You think he saw a ghost, don’t you?”

  I nodded, knowing he wasn’t being snarky. I’d told Dylan about my relationship with Evelyn a few months ago. I had to because he often wondered where I’d gotten various bits of information, and I didn’t want to lie. More importantly, Dylan had become my significant other and I didn’t want to keep such a large secret from him. Of course I shouldn’t have told him when he was driving because he almost ran us off the road. But he’d eventually settled down and accepted Evelyn’s presence in the library and in my life.

  “I think he may have sensed the presence of a ghost. I don’t really know that much about ghosts, and Evelyn’s no help when it comes to the subject—why they remain on this plane, who can see them.”

  “Maybe it’s the ghost of the dead man they found the other day,” Dylan said.

  “Or the ghost of someone who lived in that building sometime in the past. Evelyn told me the place was cursed.”

  “James Whitehead, the most contentious of the three former owners, died recently. Maybe he’s haunting the place.”

  “Could be.” I bit my lip as I thought. “Or maybe Evelyn paid a visit to the building next door and Buzz happens to be sensitive to ghosts.”

  “Good idea. Ask her,” Dylan said as he turned onto the private Avery road.

  “I will,” I said. “Though she may very well avoid answering.”

  * * *

  I drove to work Monday morning, hoping that Evelyn would show up as soon as I arrived at the library. She knew my assistants’ schedules and stopped by when they weren’t in the building or were on duty at the hospitality desk. She usually knew when was a good time to find me—in or out of my office—and sensed when I needed to talk to her, but not today.

  Sally had called a meeting at ten o’clock to discuss the Fall Festival. We had cleared a nice sum of money, all of which was going toward expenses for our new addition, and everyone agreed it had been a huge success. I did some paperwork in my office, then went to talk to Norman Tobin, the reference librarian, about a problem I’d been having with my laptop.

  I was about to head back to my office when I ran into Rafael Torres exiting the Historical Room where we housed books, newspapers, and all memorabilia related to Clover Ridge’s history. Rafe was the architect who had designed the interior of the library’s new addition. He was a handsome man in his mid-forties. He was of medium height, in good physical shape, and always dressed well. Right now he had a broad grin on his face.

  “You look like you’ve had a fun time doing research,” I said.

  “You could say that! I unearthed a pile of old magazines featuring houses built in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries with some wonderful photos.”

  “That’s great,” I said. Rafe was writing an article about old houses in Clover Ridge for an architectural magazine. “As you know, the Historical Room will have larger quarters in the new addition. I promised Norman I’d help him categorize everything properly as soon as the renovations are finished, so you’ll have an easier time finding what you need.”

  “That will be helpful since I’m thinking the article might eventually turn into a book. There are so many wonderful old houses in this area.”

  “That sounds exciting,” I said. “I’ve never considered writing a book.”

  As Rafe started to move on, I asked, “How is the construction going?”

  “Fine. I just stopped by. Just the few minor snags you’ll find on any job. The work is progressing pretty close to schedule.”

  Minor snags? Rafe’s grim expression made me ask, “Is there a problem?”

  “You mean besides a dead body turning up the first day of work?”

  “It must have been well hidden,” I said, “since neither you nor the engineer saw it when you examined the building.”

  Rafe’s ears reddened. “Buzz is still razzing me for missing it. Have the police found out any more about the victim?”

  “Not that I know of,” I said. Geez! Did everyone in town know I was pals with John Mathers and had helped solve a few homicides?

  Rafe shrugged. “Well, I suppose we’ll hear soon enough. With all the sophisticated computer programs the police have, they’re sure to identify him before long.”

  “And hopefully find out why he was murdered,” I added.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until four that afternoon that Evelyn made her appearance. As usual, she perched on the corner of my assistants’ desk. She was eager to hear how the Fall Festival had gone.

  “Sally called us in for a brief meeting this morning to tell us it was a huge success. Most of the proceeds will go toward furniture and equipment for the new addition.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Evelyn adjusted the gray cardigan that draped from her shoulders. “And how is the new addition coming along?”

  “They’ve pretty much finished ripping out all of the interior walls and most of the flooring. I ran into the architect earlier. Rafe said they’re close to schedule, despite coming across that corpse in the basement.”

  Evelyn shivered. “How unpleasant that must have been. Has John Mathers been able to find out who the poor soul is?”

  “Not yet,” I said, “which leads me to think that he probably didn’t come from around here. Certainly not Clover Ridge.”

  “I wonder if John talked to Marcella and Albert Whitehead,” Evelyn mused. “They were the last owners.”

  “I have no idea, though I imagine he would have. You know John doesn’t fill me in on his cases, especially when I have nothing to do with them.”

  Evelyn shot me a look of disbelief. “Carrie, it’s unlike you to take such little interest in solving a mystery right on your doorstep, so to speak.”

  That wasn’t quite true, but I chose not to correct her. When I made no response, she went on, “Of course, if anyone had dealings with the dead man, it would have been James Whitehead, since he handled the property.”

  “And he’s dead,” I said, which reminded me. “Evelyn?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Did you, by any chance, happen to stop by the building next door to see how the work was coming along?”

  “I don’t believe I ever entered that building—in my previous incarnation or more recently.”

  “Oh.”

  My disappointment must have showed. “That was a strange question, Carrie. What made you ask it?”

  “Saturday afternoon, I was walking back to the festival from the library when Buzz Coleman, the foreman, came barreling into me and knocked me down.”

  “Oh, dear!”

  I waved my hand. “I was fine. Really. But the thing is, Buzz was badly shaken. Which was why he wasn’t looking where he was going. He’d gone into the building for something—I forget what. Anyway, he suddenly got the sensation someone was there, and a waft of cold air swept past him.”

  Evelyn released a loud peal of laughter.

  “Shhh,” I cautioned, afraid someone would hear her.

  She waved away my concern. “You know that you and darling little Tacey are the only people who can see me or hear me.”

  I stared at her. “Then it was another ghost that frightened Buzz?”

  “I really couldn’t say,” Evelyn said. “But I haven’t seen any lurking around.”

  She stretched out her hand as if to pat my shoulder, then thought better of it. “Carrie, the place next door has been neglected for years. And with the men working away on the walls, they could very well have broken through to the outside. For all we know, what Buzz felt was a draft coming through a break in the wood or a shattered window.”

  “I never thought of that,” I said, “though Buzz thought that was a possibility.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Evelyn said, sounding a bit testy. “You always go for the dramatic.”

  After she left, I decided that Evelyn was right. Not that I went for the dramatic, as she put it, but that there could be another explanation for Buzz’s reaction on Saturday. He might have mistaken the sensation of a breeze for a ghost. Sure, he was a big tough guy. But who was to say he didn’t have some fears left over from childhood or a bad experience?

  I wondered, too, if perhaps I was secretly hoping to discover that a ghost was haunting the new addition. Because if that was the case, I was the perfect person to deal with the situation. After all, I was the only adult who had contact with Evelyn, the library’s resident ghost.

  Or was I simply looking for a new mystery to solve? While I was curious about the body the workers had found in the house next door—whom I secretly called Mr. Bones—I had no personal reason to get involved in this particular homicide, or a reason to find out who the poor man was that had ended up dead and hidden away for years.

  * * *

  Tuesday was a late day for me. In the morning, I ran a few errands in Merrivale, the town just west of us, ate a quick lunch at home, then Smoky Joe and I set out for the library.

  As soon as I stepped inside and released him from his carrier, I knew something was wrong. A number of staff members and patrons had gathered near the reference and computer areas, but I had no idea what the problem was.

  Suddenly the crowd turned around and began walking toward me. I caught sight of Angela and rushed over to her.

  “What on earth happened?” I asked.

  Angela shook her head. “The workers broke through the common wall. They made such a commotion we ran over thinking they’d brought the whole building down.”

  “Oh, no! Another problem,” I said.

  “You’re not kidding. The opening set off an avalanche of debris. You should see the computer room. There’s rubble and pieces of the wall all over the floor.”

  “Were any of the computers damaged?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so, but Harvey was ranting like a maniac,” Angela said. “He took the mess as a personal affront.”

  We both burst out laughing. Harvey Kirk was not a favorite of ours.

  “It’s not funny,” I said, but I averted my eyes for fear of laughing again.

  “Good thing Sean happened to be on site. He told Buzz to have the men clear up the mess, then put up one of those blue tarps to cover the opening until they could repair the wall. And he told us to keep out of the area so we won’t breathe in the debris.”

  “Aren’t they building an archway to connect the two buildings?” I asked.

  “They are, but not in the computer room.”

  I went to my office and started checking my emails. Trish joined me a few minutes later.

  “I suppose you’ve heard what happened,” she said.

  “Yes. The workers broke through the common wall. An accident, I suppose, since they’re tearing down all the interior walls.”

  “I wonder,” Trish said.

  I glanced up, noting her serious expression. “Why do you say that?”

  “My dad thinks we never should have bought that building. He insists it’s cursed.”

  “Really?” Trish’s father, Roy Peters, knew most of the older people in town and had helped me in a few of my investigations.

  Trish shook her head. “I told Dad not to be silly, but he said families that lived there had unhappy lives. Businesses failed. Even worse, there were a few tragedies. And he didn’t much like James Whitehead, the last person that owned the property.”

  “Well, so did his sister and their cousin.”

  “They did, but it was known all over town that Marcella and Albert kowtowed to James and went along with whatever he said. Dad said he was a bully and always pulling all sorts of shady deals.”

  “I heard he was a bully,” I said, “but what kind of shady deals?”

  “Mortgage fraud, for one thing,” Trish said. “Insider trading for another. If James was involved you could be sure it was bad business.”

  * * *