A Denial of Death (21 page)

"What about your husband? Doesn't he get a bit jealous?"

The blonde at the desk became interested in the conversation again.

Samantha laughed. "My boyfriend doesn't have a jealous bone in his body."

Helen was prepared to conclude that Samantha's crush on Ralph had ended, if it had ever existed, and had just been a figment of Betty's and Josie's mutual imagination, when Samantha added with underwhelming enthusiasm, "He's not Ralph, but he's great in his own way."

Helen wondered if the boyfriend knew that was how Samantha thought of him and whether that might have been enough to make even the most laid-back man want to go out and throttle Ralph. Helen would certainly have considered the boyfriend a suspect if something had happened to Ralph, but it was hard to see how he could have benefitted from doing away with Angie. Although, that did bring up another possibility: what if the boyfriend had targeted Ralph but had accidentally killed Angie instead?

There were just too many possibilities, all of them far-fetched, without any concrete facts to work with. Helen didn't even know for sure that Angie was dead, although she couldn't help thinking the worst as time passed.

Helen thanked Samantha for her time and promised to drop off the requested paperwork for switching her homeowner's insurance coverage the next time she was in town. She really did intend to do that when she had the time. Now that she was a year-round resident of Wharton, it seemed only right to support the local businesses. If she ever figured out what to do with her retirement, she might need the goodwill from other residents.

Jack had the recalcitrant door open and waiting for her. She settled into the passenger seat and let Jack manhandle the door closed.

Once he was behind the wheel again, he said, "Where to?"

"Home first." She still needed to arrange to meet the Friends of the Library president. "Unless you've been able to arrange for me to meet the cabbie, Barry."

"Not yet." Jack started the engine, which coughed and sputtered, threatening to quit without actually dying. "He didn't return my calls yesterday, so I asked around while you were in the insurance agency, and no one's seen him. I checked with his boss, and Barry missed his shift today. First time in ten years. I could swing by his apartment after I drop you off at the cottage if you wish."

"I'd appreciate it," Helen said. "Just knock on his door and see if he's home. Tate will hold me responsible if you do anything more intrusive. But I'd really like to know he's okay. Too many people have disappeared already."

"Should I return this piece-of-garbage car to Ed afterwards?"

"Not quite yet," Helen said. "I'm hoping to have a chat with the president of the Friends of the Library later if you don't need to get back to your avatars."

"They're not going anywhere today," Jack said. "I was planning to take you to Boston tonight anyway, to check on your nieces, so I didn't expect to get any other work done after I left home this morning."

"I hope the trip into Boston won't be necessary," Helen said. Not just because she would prefer to find out sooner rather than later that her nieces were safe, but also because she wasn't entirely convinced the car would make it that far.

While Jack went to search for Barry, Helen arranged to meet with the president of the Friends of the Library in an hour. Helen then texted her nieces and Tate's nephew, hoping to get a response from them so Jack wouldn't have to take her into Boston later.

While she was eating a Greek yogurt for lunch, her phone rang. Finally, someone wasn't ignoring her.

Her relief turned to irritation when the caller ID indicated the number was unknown. Probably a telemarketer or scammer. On the off chance it might be one of her nieces calling from a borrowed phone, she answered instead of letting it go to voicemail.

"Ms. Binney?" The voice was female, but not one of Helen's nieces.

"Yes."

"It's Charlene Rice. Angie's sister."

"Where are you? The police were here looking for you yesterday."

"I went to the casino." Static from poor cell phone service garbled her words. "After you left, I started to worry, so I went to check on Angie. You were right—she'd been gone too long."

"So where is she?"

"I don't have an exact location. All they'd tell me at the casino was that she checked out after a week."

Helen should have told them she was Angie's sister. Then they'd have had the information two days ago, saving everyone else a great deal of worry. "Where'd she go after that?"

"Somewhere in Mystic. She likes to test the historical interpreters and role-players at the museum. I checked the most likely places, but there are just too many possibilities for one person to search."

"So she's still missing."

"Not the way you mean it, and not in any way that the police need to be involved," Charlene said. "She just isn't ready to come home yet."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Don't tell Ralph," Charlene said, "but there's a bank account just in Angie's name, for emergencies. She gave me the password for online access, in case anything ever happened to her. I printed out a recent-activity report. After one withdrawal at the casino, the rest were from ATMs in Mystic."

At least now Helen knew where the seventy-five thousand dollars had gone, although it didn't explain where the money had come from. "I still don't understand why she hasn't checked in with you or told you she'd left the casino."

"She only tells me what I need to know, like when she's going to need a ride, so I can take the time off from work."

Charlene didn't sound bitter about it, but it was hard to tell over a low-quality cell phone connection. The only thing Helen could feel sure about was that Charlene didn't see any reason to keep looking for her sister. Either Charlene was in complete denial that something bad could have happened to her sister, or she actually knew where Angie was and was lying about the details. "Aren't you worried at all?"

"Angie's fine," Charlene said. "If anything had happened to her, I'd know."

"That's what Ralph said too."

Her skepticism must have been obvious in her voice, even through the staticky phone line, because Charlene explained, "Angie has a heart defect that can cause her to pass out, so she wears an identification bracelet to alert medical personnel to her condition. It has contact numbers on it too, both Ralph's and mine. If she'd gone to a hospital or called an ambulance, we'd both have been notified."

Helen could think of at least one other logical possibility: Angie could have been killed and her body dumped somewhere that no one would have found the bracelet. It would be cruel to suggest it, though.

"I hope you're right," Helen said. "I'd still feel better if we knew someone had talked to her after she left the casino. Do you think she might have called her employer to let them know where she was?"

There was a brief pause before Charlene said, "Angie didn't work outside the home."

"I heard she'd been working for a company named SLP. Do you know anything about it?"

"Never heard of it." A car horn honked, and Charlene said, "I'm sorry, but I've got to go. Angie will come back when she's ready. I'll be home in a couple hours if you have any more questions."

Charlene hung up, leaving Helen with the feeling she'd been lied to, but without any real idea of why or about what. Was it her sister's whereabouts, or was it her claim not to know about SLP? Charlene had helped her sister hide a bank account from Ralph, so it wasn't unreasonable to think she might also have helped to hide the source of the money in the account.

Not for the first time since leaving the governor's mansion, Helen wished she had more resources at her command. If she could do what the police should be doing, and track Charlene with her phone’s GPS, then Helen might have been able to get some straight answers about Angie, SLP, and the seventy-five thousand dollars.

Instead, all she could do was interrogate a library volunteer. Still, it was better than spending her days crocheting caps for Josie to unravel.

*  *  *

The Wharton library building was a fairly new building, less than fifty years old, with a plain, box-like exterior. Inside, though, it was brightly lit and well maintained, with new carpeting and walls that had been freshly painted within the last few months.

The librarian at the check-out desk sent Helen out of the main building to an annex where the Friends of the Library held its monthly book sales. Inside, a woman at least six feet tall and built like a wrestler was transferring boxes of books from a cart to a plywood-topped rectangular folding table for sorting. At first she appeared to be bald like the Clary clan, but she actually had thick blonde hair that had been buzz-cut into near invisibility. She wore a dusty pink twinset with a pair of tailored wool pants in a purple so dark as to be almost black. Around her solid neck was an artisan necklace made of dark purple chunky stones that would have looked like boulders on Helen.

A mixture of fear and anger raced through her at the sight of the necklace, which reminded her of the one she’d almost been choked to death with. She tamped down the urge to turn and limp at top speed back to where Jack was waiting for her. It wasn't the woman's fault that Helen had bad memories associated with that particular style of jewelry.

Helen forced herself to step further into the room. "Are you Terri Greene?"

"I am." The woman tossed another large box onto the table, which shuddered under the weight.

If those hands had been the ones trying to kill her four months ago, Helen wouldn't have been here today. Still, it was hard to imagine an argument over a book sale as a motive for murder, even if Terri clearly had the physical ability to kill. If Helen had any other lead, no matter how unlikely, she'd never have bothered to come here today. Unfortunately, though, Jack still hadn't been able to find Barry, and Lily hadn't sent any information on SLP.

"I'm Helen Binney. I heard you might be able to use some volunteers." Helen pointed her cane at the cart full of boxes. "Not that I could toss books around like you do, but maybe there's something else you need help with."

"We can always use more help," Terri said. "Why did you think of volunteering here?"

Helen was grateful she could tell the truth and not have to fumble for an explanation. "Ralph Decker mentioned you. His wife is apparently on the board of directors here, and he said she finds it very rewarding."

Terri thumped a box down on the table with even more force, so this time the scarred old table didn't just shudder but threatened to collapse. "She's on almost every board of directors in town. She thinks she runs them all, too, when in fact we spend more time working around the obstacles she throws in our paths than we spend on our actual mission."

"Which is?"

She paused her work to recite, "To inspire lifelong learning, enhance literacy, and enable community involvement with educational activities."

"That's a mouthful," Helen said. "I bet someone like my ex-husband or one of his junior associates wrote that."

Terri grinned. "It sounds so much more impressive than 'raising money for the absolute necessities required by a civilized community when the town is too cheap to pay for them.' Mostly, what we do is hold monthly book sales, buy books and audio-visual media, and apply for grants."

The proceeds from community book sales might not be a compelling motive for murder, but other sources of money could be. "Do you get a lot of grants?"

"A few."

Helen had never been directly involved with any grant applications during her political career, but she knew some grants were for amounts considerably larger than the library could raise in a decade of fundraisers. Amounts like seventy-five thousand dollars. Was it possible that Angie, as a director and someone who was reputedly good with bookkeeping, had access to the grant money? Could she have embezzled the money and then been working with someone at SLP to launder it for her? Maybe SLP didn't even exist, and that was why Lily hadn't gotten back to her yet. Lily wasn't the sort of person to leave a project half-done. She wouldn't call to admit defeat, either, but would stubbornly keep on researching for weeks until she had a definitive answer.

If Angie had embezzled seventy-five thousand dollars, that changed everything about her disappearance. Starting with making Terri Greene into a suspect even Tate would consider credible. The money didn't belong to Terri personally, but she likely felt responsible for it and would naturally be furious if it was stolen on her watch.

"Does Angie work on the grants?"

"Not really."

So much for that theory, Helen thought.

Terri looked hopeful. "I don't suppose it's something you'd be interested in working on?"

"I wouldn't know what to do."

"No one does. That's why I'm stuck with writing them, and following up on them, and rounding up politicians to make calls to support them." Terri began opening the boxes she'd piled onto the table. "And, as you can see, I already do everything that no one else wants to do."

"That's the job description for the presidents of most volunteer groups," Helen said. "So, what does Angie do? Maybe I can do something similar."

Terri grimaced as she tore open another box, although it wasn't clear whether her expression was directed at the recalcitrant cardboard or at the thought of her least favorite volunteer. "Angie mostly supervises people. She's really good at that. As long as everyone does what she says, exactly when and how she says. She keeps our accounts too, and does our banking. I guess you could say she's marginally involved in the grants, since she takes the checks, deposits them into the bank, and makes sure they're accounted for in our budgets."

That meant Angie really could have diverted money meant for the library. Having the opportunity didn't prove she'd done it, though. And it didn't explain where she'd gotten a 1099 in her name, if it was in fact intended to launder money she'd stolen from the library. "Did you by any chance apply for a grant from an entity known as SLP?"