Charmed to death: an Ophelia and Abby mystery (14 page)

"Not good. Guess I'll have to make sure I don't harass you, won't I?"

"Any more questions?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

He gave another tiny shrug as he walked toward the door. "No, not right now. But I might later."

"Fine, but if you do, call and I'll come to Bill's office. You can ask your questions there."

"I'd prefer to keep it on a more informal level."

"Well, I wouldn't," I said, straightening and moving to behind my desk.

Turning, he said, "I'll look forward to talking to you again." With a slight nod, he left.

My knees gave out when he shut the door to my office and I sat on my chair with a
thump
. My right eyelid gave a nervous twitch and I pressed my finger against it. Dang! How was I going to get out of this one?

Chapter Fifteen

"Excuse me, Ophelia."

I looked up from the computer screen to see Claire standing in the doorway to my office. She had her glasses halfway down her nose and was peering at me over the top of them.

Oh no, I'm getting
the look.
Must be trouble
.

"Hi, Claire." I smiled and waved her toward a chair. "What can I do for you?"

"Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you," she said, taking a step inside and shutting the door.

"Is this about finding the body? Look, I'm sorry. I know people in town are curious and it brings the wrong kind of attention to the library, but I can't change that. I—"

"No, what you found yesterday isn't the reason I need to talk to you," Claire said, holding up a hand, palm out, to stop me. She sat in the chair next to my desk and gave me a worried stare. "This is more serious than curious patrons hanging around bothering you."

"What?"

"You know I have nothing but the utmost respect for you, don't you?" Claire asked as she picked a piece of lint off her lap.

"Of course. We've worked well together over the past four years."

"Well, I don't know how to broach this subject," she said, her eyes refusing to meet mine.

While I watched Claire continue to pluck imaginary lint off her lap, my mind scrambled, looking for a reason to explain her obvious distress. Was it the latest selection of books I'd bought? Had Mr. Carroll complained again? I did a mental inventory of everyone I might've ticked off in the last week and came up blank.

I reached over and lightly touched her hand. "Claire, tell me what's bothering you."

She stopped her plucking and looked at me. "Olive Martin is making allegations that you've mishandled library funds."

"What!" My jaw dropped.

Claire sighed and shook her head. "Yes. She's called several of the board members and wants a full audit of how you used the money left to the library by the Thompson estate."

"But you know how I spent the money." My fingers tensed around the arms of my chair. "It was used to repair the roof."

"I know, but the bill presented to the board was higher than estimated."

"And she thinks I'm skimming the money?" I asked, gripping the chair tighter. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Yes."

I shoved myself out of my chair and began pacing the narrow space of my office. "Claire, you know that's not true. The bill was higher because the roof was in worse shape than we had originally thought."

Claire sighed again. "I know. And the rest of the board members know too. Olive is trying to cause you problems. That's all."

I stopped pacing and rolled my eyes to the ceiling. Peachy, like I don't have enough trouble? Now I would have to go before the board and explain the expenses to the roof. And drag all my records and receipts with me.

Glancing over at Claire, I said, "Why? Why would Olive want to cause me problems? I've never had any conflict with her. I barely know her."

"It's politics."

"Huh?"

"Think about it. Her husband is one of the biggest grain producers in the county and he strongly supports PP International's building project. PP International's hogs are a good market for his grain, but your grandmother wants to stop PP International. Olive is trying to get back at Abby through you."

I felt like jumping up and down and screaming, but I kept my tone even. "That's not fair. And it's petty."

Claire lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I know, but that's the way a small town can be sometimes. Some people carry grudges and will do anything to get even. Olive thinks she'll hurt Abby by hurting you."

"She won't. I have all the receipts and can explain how the money was disbursed."

"I know, but I thought I'd better warn you about Olive." Claire stood and walked to the door. With her hand still on the doorknob, she turned and said, "You know it might be best if you keep a low profile for a while. At least, until this thing with PP International blows over."

My concentration was blown for the rest of the day. I tried, really tried to stay focused, but my mind kept bouncing, from the murder investigation to Olive Martin's accusations to the possibility of Comacho questioning Abby. At last the clock said 5 P.M. and I grabbed my backpack and left the library.

Charles Thornton waited for me at the bottom of the steps.

"Charles, I'm surprised to see you."

Charles crossed the distance separating us and handed me a small clear plastic container.

"I heard about what happened to you yesterday and I stopped by the florist and picked these up for you. I hope you enjoy them."

In the container, nestled in sparkling confetti, were two white orchids. Their petals were pale and fragile; I could see their delicate veining. The centers were a bright yellow that stood out in sharp contrast to the pristine petals.

"Oh, Charles, they're beautiful. It's sweet of you to give me flowers. Thank you," I said and gave him a big smile.

"You're welcome. My mama always said there's nothing like flowers to brighten a woman's day. I hope these brighten yours."

"They do, they do. The past twenty-four hours have been rotten. The flowers are the nicest thing that's happened to me."

My words pleased him. He rocked back and forth on his heels, grinning.

"After the demonstration, I didn't want to call and bother you."

"Were you there?" I asked.

"Yes, but I was late. I got there right after the medical examiner. Finding that body must've been terrible for you."

"Yes, it was. But it's under investigation now and hopefully the authorities will find the killer."

"But to think a killer's on the loose, here in Summerset. I'm sure people in the community are upset."

I nodded my head. "Yeah, it's like a wolf has been set among the sheep. I'm sure a lot of doors will be locked until the matter is settled."

"Well, I hope you're locking yours."

"Always."

"Hi, Ophelia," said a voice from behind me.

I whirled around to find myself staring into Fletcher Beasley's beady little eyes.

"Beasley." My nose wrinkled in disgust. "What are you doing in Summerset?"

"This little town's got a big story cooking." He took a long swig from the coffee cup he held in his hand. "Might be the work of our boy. You know, the one who killed your friend, Brian Mitchell?"

"I don't know anything. I'm not a part of the investigation," I replied coldly.

"Maybe you should be. From what I've been hearing today, you should be an expert on murder. It's what? The third one you've been involved with—Iowa City, last fall, and now this one," he said, sneering. "Make a good story, don't you think?"

I took one step toward him and shoved my finger at his chest. "Get out of Summerset and leave me alone."

"Hey, it's a free country. I can go anywhere I want."

"Oh yeah? Well—"

Charles took my arm, pulling me gently away from Beasley, and stepped between us. "I think the lady's made it clear you're bothering her. I suggest you go."

"Who the hell are you?" Beasley asked.

"A friend and we have a dinner engagement."

With that Charles linked my arm through his and walked me to my car. Opening the door, he handed me inside. "Where do you want to go? I'll follow you."

"Umm—Joe's, I guess," I said, stunned at the way he had taken charge of the situation with Beasley.

"I'll meet you there." He shut my door and walked across the street to a car parked opposite mine.

When I pulled away from the curb, my eyes went to my rearview mirror, and I saw Beasley standing in the same spot. He held a notebook in one hand and with the other was scribbling in the notebook. His coffee cup sat on the ground at his feet.

I couldn't wait to see tomorrow's headlines.

Chapter Sixteen

I was still trying to get my bearings from my encounter with Beasley when I walked in the door at Joe's Café Pausing to let my eyes adjust to the change in lighting, I noticed a sudden shift in the noise level inside the restaurant. It had become quiet. And as I gazed around the room, no one would meet my eye.

Joe himself hurried over to me. "Ophelia, nice to see you. Is anybody joining you? Do you want a booth?"

"Yes, there is and a booth would be good. Thanks, Joe," I said, smiling at his kindness.

"This way, this way," he said while he hustled me to a booth in the back. "How's this one? You can enjoy your meal without everyone's eyes boring a hole in the back of your head," he said with a wink and laid two menus on the table.

"Thanks again, Joe," I said, slinging my backpack onto the bench seat and sitting down.

"No problem." He put a hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. "Don't let these fools get to you. They're scared right now. It'll blow over soon enough."

"I won't," I said with a quick smile.

He gave my shoulder a small squeeze. "That'a girl."

After Joe left, placing my car keys on the table, I picked up a menu and held it in front of my face. I peered over the top, checking out who was here. I saw Mr. Carroll and Mrs. Simpson at the table by the door, locked in conversation. Over by the far wall sat Edna and Harley Walters.

Harley was going for the slicked-back look tonight. His hair was either plastered down with water or too much hair gel. And his face was shiny, as if he'd almost scrubbed it raw. A shirt with a button-down collar replaced his normal cut-off T-shirt and he kept tugging at the collar of the shirt. His shoulders were hunched forward and his eyes downcast.

Easy to see why—his grandmother was going at him like a fury. Once, Edna even shook her finger at him, followed by a quick look around to see if anyone had noticed. Her eyes met mine and she blushed. Quickly, she directed her attention back to Harley.

Lowering my eyes, I noticed my keys, still on the table. I scooped up the keys, opened the backpack, and dropped the keys inside. I was so intent on my task that I didn't notice Charles walk in. Suddenly there he was, sliding across the seat opposite me.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself. You know, Charles, you don't have to do this," I said, propping my arms on the table.

"What? Eat? Of course, I do, I'm hungry," he said and picked up a menu. "What do you recommend?"

"The roast beef is good."

"I don't suppose Joe has wine?"

I rolled my eyes and chuckled. "Sorry, no. But the food's good."

Within minutes Joe hustled over and took our orders. After ordering, Charles grinned at me. "Since Joe doesn't have wine, maybe we could have a glass later at your house?"

I pushed back against the booth and tilted my head. "Charles, are you flirting with me?"

"Maybe. Would you mind—if I were?" he said, his eyes twinkling.

Flustered, I folded my hands on top of the table to keep them still. "Hmm, well, ahh—"

"You don't get out much, do you, Ophelia?"

Feeling my cheeks grow pink, I stared at a spot over his shoulder. "Truthfully? No, I don't." Shifting my gaze toward him, I said, "My life changed five years ago when my best friend was murdered. It's only been within the past six months that I've started to feel I'm getting my life back."

He reached across the table and placed his hand on mine. "Poor Ophelia. I can empathize with you. I know how it feels to lose someone that you care for deeply. When my mother died, I didn't know if I could bear it."

"Was your loss recent?" I asked softly.

"No, it's been over fifteen years now. My mother was never strong and she suffered from heart-related seizures after I was born." Charles pulled his hand away, his body tensing. "My father's lifestyle placed a lot of demands on her. He expected her to entertain business associates, do charity work, keep up family appearances. It was a real strain on her. I don't know what we'd have done without my nurse."

My eyes widened. I'd never met anyone with that kind of lifestyle. "You had a nurse?"

"Yes." Charles smiled tightly. "A nurse was almost required in my parents' social circle."

"And where was that?"

His tight smile turned to a frown. "In Massachusetts. My father was a captain of industry, as they say. His family had been prosperous mill owners for generations. But I was lucky, thanks to my mother and nurse, I was allowed to choose my own career instead of being forced to join the family business. In fact, even as a child, they tried to keep me as far away from the mill as possible. Most of my summers were spent at my uncle's vineyard in Long Island."

"You must've learned at a young age to appreciate wine," I said with a grin.

His face and whole body seemed to relax. "Yes, but I assure you the lessons in appreciation didn't begin until I was well into my teens. Cousin Lucy would've skinned both me and my uncle if I started drinking wine too young. She had very definite ideas about such things."

"Cousin Lucy?"

"Yes, my nurse, governess, second mother, whatever you want to call her. She basically raised me. Mother was too ill and my father was too busy at the mill and too occupied with his cronies." He gave me a sad smile. "One of my favorite memories is of Mother reading tales of King Arthur and Knights of the Round Table to me every night before I went to bed—when she was well enough to do so. Mother believed in the old virtue of chivalry." His smile faded. "How she ever married my father, I'll never know."

Now it was my turn to take his hand. "I'm sorry, Charles."

He smiled again. "It's all in the past now. I've created a life I think she'd be proud of and that's a comfort to me."

"She died from a seizure?" I asked gently.

Charles grimaced. "No, ironically, she didn't. She had a tumor the doctors didn't know about until it was too late. In her trachea. The tumor hemorrhaged and it killed her," he said, squeezing my hand tightly.

While I tried to think of something to say, I broke eye contact with Charles and looked up to see Ned standing by the booth.

"Ned," I said, surprised. Releasing Charles's hand, I quickly shoved both hands in my lap.

Too quickly. My elbow collided with my still-opened backpack. The bag and its contents clattered to the floor.

Before I could move, both men knelt and began picking up my scattered stuff and dropping the items into the bag. Embarrassed, I looked the other way.

Charles stood first and handed me the backpack.

"Thanks. Umm, Charles, I'd like you to meet Ned Thomas. He's the editor of our local paper."

Charles offered his hand to Ned. "My pleasure. I think I saw you at the demonstration yesterday," he said, shaking Ned's hand.

"Yes. The demonstration changed into something more than we anticipated. How are you holding up, Ophelia?"

"I'm okay," I said without looking at Ned.

I was uncomfortable with Ned meeting Charles. And I didn't understand the reason. Maybe it was the unwanted commotion I'd caused when I spilled my backpack. Maybe it was the way everyone had stared at me when I walked in. Whatever the reason, I squirmed in my seat.

"I met Charles at the meeting at the MethodistChurch. He's in the area to photograph the covered bridges and he's interested in environmental issues. He might do a story on the situation with PP International."

Shut up, Ophelia, you're rambling
, I thought.

Ned smiled down at me and patted my shoulder. "It's okay, Slugger. We'll talk later. Charles, nice to meet you."

After Ned left, Charles sat back down. "I take it he's someone important to you?"

"Yes, we're good friends."

"But Ned wants it to be more?"

"No. Like I said, we're friends."

Our dinner arrived, ending any further discussions. During our meal, Charles kept me amused with stories of his travels and his life. He had a wide range of interests and I found him witty and charming. The evening flew by quickly.

After dinner Charles walked me to my car. Tipping my head back, I looked at the sky. Clouds blocked the stars and I felt the ozone hanging in the air.

"A storm's coming," I said.

As if caused by my words, a low roar of thunder rumbled in the distance.

"You'd better get home before the storm hits," he said, opening my car door. "I enjoyed this evening, Ophelia."

"Thank you. I did too," I said and started to slide in. But before I could, Charles took my hand in his and raising it to his lips, placed a kiss as light as a snowflake on the back of my hand. The skin where his lips touched tingled.

And the thunder rumbled again.

On my way home lightning cut a jagged edge across the sky and the sound of thunder crept closer. With one hand tight on the steering wheel, I picked up my cell phone and dialed Ned's number. He answered on the first ring.

"Hi, Slugger."

"Ned, about Charles—"

"You don't owe me an explanation," he said, cutting in. "We're friends, remember?"

"I know." I tapped my finger on the steering wheel. "But for some reason it made me uncomfortable when you met Charles."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It just did." I tapped my finger faster.

"Do you like him?"

"I guess."

I heard his chuckle over the thunder. "Has he met Abby?"

"No, I don't know him well enough to introduce him to her yet."

"My advice as a friend," he said, stressing the word
friend
, "is to take your time. There's some strange things going on right now and you'd be wise to be cautious of any strangers."

"Good advice."

"That's what friends are for," he said, and I heard the smile in his voice. "Are you on your way home now?"

"Yeah. The way the storm's moving in, it's going to be nasty."

"The weather station has severe storm warnings on. When you get home, stay put. We'll talk tomorrow—if you have time. I want to hear more about Beasley. He's the reporter who gave you a bad time five years ago, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. And I wish he hadn't shown up in Summerset."

"This murder's a big story. Lots of people will be knocking at your door, asking questions. Might be best to lay low for a while."