Curiosity Thrilled the Cat

24

Cross Hands

In the morning I called Susan and asked if she could open the library and take my morning shift. She already knew about my encounter with Will.

“You’re really okay?” she asked.

“I really am.”

“Good,” she said. “Take your time coming in.”

It was harder to convince Maggie to go home.

“I’m all right,” I said, thinking how many times I’d said that in the last week. “Mags, Will is in jail for assault. There’s a police car driving by every time I look out the window, and I have Owen and Hercules.” I hugged her with my good arm. “And if it’ll make you feel better I’ll make more cinnamon rolls.”

She left after we agreed she’d bring food from Eric’s and we’d have supper before the special episode of Gotta Dance.

I sat at the table with my coffee, both cats at my feet. I told them what I’d figured out. They listened or at least pretended to. I thought maybe saying it out loud might make my reasoning fall apart. But it all still made sense.

I washed the dishes, and spent a lot of time fiddling with my hair. I was stalling.

I hesitated before I stepped into the porch, flashing back to seeing Will standing there. The cats were waiting by the door. I took a couple of deep breaths and a couple more. Hercules meowed at me. I was going to hyperventilate if I didn’t stop with the deep breaths. I squared my shoulders and stepped into my gardening clogs.

“Let’s go,” I said, heading outside with Herc and Owen at my heels. Over in Rebecca’s yard, Rebecca, Violet and Roma were sitting in the gazebo, having coffee. I started across the grass. It wasn’t how I’d planned to do this, but maybe it would be better.

Rebecca caught sight of me and waved. Roma stood up. As I came up the gazebo steps she moved around the table to meet me.

“How’s your arm?” she asked.

“Sore,” I admitted. I knew she wouldn’t believe me if I told her I was fine.

“May I?”

I held out my arm. I was wearing a long-sleeved cotton shirt. Roma pushed back the unbuttoned cuff and examined my bruised wrist. The swelling had gone down a little and the bruises now formed a pattern from where Will’s fingers had been on my arm.

“What about the shoulder?” Roma said.

I made a face. “It’s okay,” I said. “It hurts, but I think it looks worse than it feels.” I held up my other hand. “And, yes, I’m going to the clinic.”

She smiled. “Good.” She gestured to the table. “Sit down. Take my chair. I’ll get another one.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Roma, would you get Kathleen a cup from the kitchen, please?” Rebecca called after her.

“I will,” Roma said.

Rebecca turned to me. “We heard about Will. Did he hurt you?”

“Just some bruises,” I said. “I managed to hit him with . . . something, and then Harry showed up.”

“I’m glad to see you’re all right,” Violet said. “Is it true Will wanted to scare you into leaving town?”

I nodded. “He was involved with the previous librarian.”

“Ingrid?” Rebecca said.

“Yes. He wanted Ingrid to get her job back.”

Violet took a sip from her coffee and set the cup on the table. “But she wasn’t fired. She resigned.”

“That didn’t matter to Will. He thought if he could get me to leave, Everett would ask Ingrid to return to her old job.”

“Ingrid’s leaving for Canada—Montreal—at the end of the month,” Violet said.

Roma returned with a chair for her and a cup for me. Rebecca reached across the table for the pot and poured me some coffee. “Maybe that’s why Will was getting desperate,” she said. “Ingrid is a very nice woman, but she’s not the type to make a man—”

“—fall into the deep end?” Roma finished.

“Yes,” Violet said.

“Love and loyalty will drive people to do things you’d never expect them to do,” I said, wrapping my hands around my mug so the others wouldn’t see them shaking.

“That’s true,” Rebecca agreed.

“That’s why Gregor Easton died,” I said.

Violet looked at me. “I beg your pardon, Kathleen?” she said.

“Love and loyalty. That’s what killed Easton.” I looked at Violet. “Your loyalty to Rebecca.” I turned to look at the older woman. “And your love for Ami.”

Rebecca folded her hands in her lap. “Yes,” she said.

Roma and Violet both started to talk. Rebecca looked at both of them. “Stop,” she said. “It’s time to tell the truth.” She seemed so calm. “How did you figure it out?”

I turned to Violet. “Gregor Easton was Douglas Gregory Williams,” I said. “You were in his class at Oberlin.”

She said nothing.

“I found a charm, a silver musical note, on the floor at the Stratton. It was yours.”

“It may have been,” she said.

“I thought it was a musical note hanging from a silver circle, but it was hanging from an O, for Oberlin.”

“I did lose my note charm,” she said. “Somewhere.”

I continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “The problem was the only person I could connect to Easton and Oberlin was Oren. I talked to Phoebe Michaels and there was no other connection. It seemed like a dead end. Then she said she thought she had a photo of the group. She sent a copy of it to me yesterday. Along with the names of everyone in the picture.”

For the moment I focused all my attention on Violet. “I should have made the connection the first time Phoebe told me the names of the women in the class—maybe I would have, if I’d seen them written out. Your house is called Llŷn House. It’s Welsh, just like your name.”

A touch of a smile appeared on Violet’s face. “Yes, it is. That’s not exactly a secret.”

“It’s not exactly common knowledge, either,” I said. “Violet is your middle name. Your first name is Gynwafar.”

I pulled a folded piece of paper from my pocket and smoothed it flat on the table. “There you are,” I said, pointing to a young and smiling Violet. She leaned forward to study the image.

“Were we ever that young?” she said softly.

I moved my finger one face to the right and turned to Rebecca. “And there you are. Gwyn’s friend, Phoebe told me.”

“Yes, that’s me,” Rebecca said.

“You met Easton when you were visiting Violet.”

“He seemed so sophisticated, so charming,” she said. “He wasn’t.”

“I know what he did,” I said. “When you came home on Tuesday and found out that Easton was here—a last-minute replacement for Zinia Young—and that he’d been favoring Ami, you were afraid he’d take advantage of her somehow. The way he took advantage of you. I know how much you love her. You couldn’t let that happen.”

Rebecca was incredibly composed. “No, I couldn’t,” she agreed.

“You got Easton to meet you by pretending to be me. You overheard me tell Maggie what had happened at the library with Owen.”

Rebecca put both hands on the edge of the table. “I’m so sorry about that. You’re young and pretty. I knew in his arrogance he’d come for you. He’d never have shown up for an old lady.”

Roma looked like she’d been hit in the head herself. “That’s where you were coming from?” she whispered.

Rebecca nodded. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you the truth.”

“How did you get into the building?” I asked.

“I’m on the library centennial committee,” she said. “We have an office at city hall. Like all the committee members I have access to it. There’s a set of keys there.”

“Rebecca didn’t do anything to that man,” Violet said.

Rebecca smiled across the table at her best friend. “It’s all right, Vi,” she said. “I need to do this.” She poured more coffee for herself and added a little to my cup.

“I knew what I had to do, so I got the key, and then I left the note at the hotel.”

“No one saw you there. How did you manage that?”

“I’m an old woman,” she said. “To young people we’re just like furniture. One old lady looks like the next.” She tipped her head back and studied Old Harry’s handiwork above her head.

“He didn’t remember me,” she said. “I never forgot him, but I had to tell him who I was.”

My hands were trembling just a little again. “He took pictures of you.”

She looked at me then. “They’d mean nothing today. I wasn’t naked, just bare shoulders and back, but in those days . . .”

I remembered what Phoebe Michaels had said. “Nice girls didn’t pose for pictures like that.”

“No matter how innocent the photographs were.” Rebecca shook her head. “He said I was beautiful. And I was very foolish.”

“What happened at the library?” I prompted.

“He laughed.” She traced her finger around the rim of her cup.

“Easton was a pig,” Violet said, and her face twisted for a moment with anger.

“He told me no one would care about some old photographs,” Rebecca said. “He said I wanted to pose for him. He called me a tease.” She looked directly at me. “I’m not that naive girl from Mayville Heights anymore. I told him all I needed was a little suspicion that he was a dirty old man, not proof. I told him I was willing to bet there were other women out there he’d tricked into posing for him over the years, and worse. I said maybe someone else would speak up if I started.” She rubbed her hand over her bandaged wrist.

“He came after you,” I said. My shoulder was aching and I had to shift in the wooden chair. “That poultice isn’t for arthritis, is it?”

“He grabbed my arm and his ring cut my wrist.”

The other blood at the library.

“I pushed him and I ran,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know he’d hit his head.”

“You met Roma somewhere on the way home.”

“I was on my way up the hill. I’d had an emergency—a dog choking on a chicken bone,” Roma said. “Ever give a German shepherd the Heimlich?”

“You wrapped Rebecca’s wrist.”

“Yes.”

“Catnip, for its antiseptic properties.” I folded my arm across my chest, sliding my hand under the cuff of my shirt.

“That’s right. She’s allergic to neomycin and I didn’t want to take a chance with anything else.”

“She didn’t tell you how she got hurt.”

Roma still looked a little lost. “She said she’d tripped on the sidewalk. She was embarrassed.”

“You realized you’d dropped your scarf somewhere,” I said to Rebecca.

“Yes, I did.”

“You didn’t find it because Violet had beaten you to it.”

Violet smiled, but there was no warmth in it. I fished in my pocket again and held out the bead from Rebecca’s scarf. “This was at the library.”

Rebecca took the glass ball from my hand and rolled it between her fingers.

“Where was the scarf?” I asked Violet.

She shrugged but said nothing.

“You found Easton at the theater.”

“Yes.”

As usual she was calm and collected, her posture perfect. I was surprised she’d admit to having been with Easton.

“He’d always practiced late at night, so no one would find out how much work it was for him to learn a new piece. I knew he’d be there. A leopard doesn’t change its spots. I went to tell him to leave. Then I went home. That’s all.”

My mouth was so dry. I took a sip of my now-cold coffee. “He didn’t remember you, either, did he?” I asked.

She laughed. As with her smile, there was no trace of warmth or humor in the sound. “No more than he remembered Rebecca.”

“He’d hit his head at the library when he grabbed Rebecca and she pulled away. I’m guessing he lost his balance and fell against the disassembled staging.”

Violet gave an elegant shrug. “I don’t really know how he hit his head. He seemed fine.”

Rebecca blanched. “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” she said.

“You didn’t,” I said. “He grabbed you. You pushed him away. You were protecting yourself. He was twice your size.”

“Kathleen’s right,” Roma said. “What happened isn’t your fault.”

I turned back to Violet. “You cleaned up his head.”

She nodded imperceptibly. “There’s a first-aid kit backstage. I may have helped him a little.”

“And you gave him aspirin.”

She studied her nails for a moment. “He was complaining of a headache. He may have taken something.”

“You gave him aspirin?” Roma said, clearly shocked. “He had a head injury. He was probably bleeding into his brain.”

“Vi, what did you do?” Rebecca asked.

Violet smiled over the table at her. A genuine smile. “Only what I should have done a long time ago.”

“I don’t understand,” Rebecca said.

“I knew who—what—Easton was the first day I walked into his class. I should have protected you from him. Instead I ruined your life.”

Rebecca stood up and walked around the table to Violet’s chair. “You didn’t ruin my life. Why do you think that?”

“You went after Easton because of Ami,” Violet said. She reached up and took Rebecca’s hands in her own. “You love her as if she were your own granddaughter. If it hadn’t been for him, for me, she would have been.”

Tears filled Rebecca’s eyes. “No, no, no, Violet,” she said. “I lost Everett because I was afraid to tell him the truth. Because I didn’t trust that he loved me as much as he said he did.”

Rebecca and Everett?

She squeezed Violet’s hands, then let go of them and turned to me. “Kathleen, I’m so sorry for getting you involved in this and then not speaking up. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I can and I have,” I said.

She paused, searching for just the right words. “I saw those pictures, you know. Someone sent them in the mail. They weren’t so terrible. I should have told Everett. I was scared that I wasn’t good enough for him. My mother cleaned other people’s houses. I thought that mattered.”

“It didn’t.”

We all turned at the words. Everett was standing on the gazebo steps. His eyes were locked on Rebecca. I’d forgotten that Maggie had rescheduled our meeting for this morning.

“That man was the reason you ended things with me? Over a few pictures of your bare shoulder?”

“It was a long time ago,” Rebecca said, blinking away her tears.

“And you risked everything to protect Ami.”

“I’m all right,” she said. “And I love Ami. For herself. I would do anything for her.”

She swallowed and pulled the sleeve of her blouse down over her bandaged arm. “There’s something I haven’t told anyone,” she said. “When I was away last week, it was really so I could see a doctor. A specialist.”

Violet paled and pressed her lips together. Roma leaned forward in her chair.

“I was getting a second opinion. I have a growth on my leg. I was afraid . . . I thought maybe I wouldn’t have another chance to stop Easton and protect Ami.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Everett said. The way he looked at her gave me a lump in my throat.

Rebecca turned her attention to Violet again. “Tell me you didn’t do anything to that man,” she said.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Rebecca,” Violet said. “Things worked out the way they were supposed to.”

I leaned over to Roma. “Do you have your cell phone?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Would you call Marcus and ask him to come out here?”

She hesitated.

“Call him, please, Roma,” Rebecca said. “No more secrets.” Her eyes never left Everett’s face. It was like a scene from a romantic old movie.

Roma stood up, pulled out her cell and walked over to the railing. Behind me Violet got out of her chair and moved over to the far side of the gazebo, and I followed. Everett and Rebecca moved toward each other.

“You sent the pictures to Rebecca and to Phoebe Michaels,” I said. “Rebecca was your best friend, the sister you never had. As for Phoebe, she’d been very sheltered. I think you felt sorry for her.” Rebecca had told me Violet was deeply loyal to the people she cared about. I didn’t think Rebecca realized how deep that loyalty ran.

I pictured Violet as a lonely only child, without parents as a young woman and widowed shortly after that. Rebecca was, in many ways, the only constant, the only family in her life. I’d do anything for Sara and Ethan. Was it so far-fetched for Violet to feel the same way about Rebecca?

“I guess there’s no harm in telling you,” she said. “Yes, I did.”

“How did you get them?”

“I got them. Does it matter how?”

“I think you made it your business to find out where Williams—who had become Gregor Easton—had gone after he left Oberlin. I think you’re a very patient woman. You waited months, maybe a year. You tracked him down and you seduced him.” I was guessing, but her expression told me I was right.

It made my skin crawl to think about what a young Violet had probably done to gain Easton’s trust and swipe those photographs. “I think you let him take pictures of you, a lot more explicit than the ones he took of Rebecca and Phoebe, so you could win his confidence.” I remembered the photos I’d seen at her house. “You were interested in photography, too.” Their common interest had likely disarmed any suspicions Easton had about Violet.

Her shoulders stiffened and her chin went up slightly. Other than that there was nothing else to indicate my guess had been right. Still, I was certain it was.

“That’s a fascinating story, Kathleen,” she said. “But that’s all it is.”

I put both hands on the railing. “I think you did give Easton aspirin, and I think you did it deliberately.”

“I already told you, he said he had a headache.”

“And you gave him aspirin for that headache.” I gripped the railing tightly. “Aspirin wouldn’t have been in that first-aid kit. I’m guessing you had some in your purse. My mother takes a low-dose aspirin every day, and I bet you do, too.”

“Lots of people my age take an aspirin a day,” she said, evenly. “Maybe Mr. Easton did.”

“How many did you give him?” I asked, turning to look at her then, keeping one hand on the railing.

“I’m not a doctor, Kathleen. I didn’t give him anything. If he did take something for his headache, who’s to say how many pills that might have been? He was a man given to excess.” She continued to look out over the backyard.

“You didn’t really tell him who you were, did you?” I said. “Otherwise he never would have trusted you.”

“You don’t think he should have trusted me, Kathleen?” she asked.

I rubbed my hand back and forth over the rough wooden railing. “I think you convinced Easton not to go to the hospital. You probably told him he didn’t need a doctor and he’d look like a clumsy old fool. He was arrogant. It would have been easy to use that against him. I think you gave him aspirin and I think you stayed at the Stratton until he was unconscious. Once you knew it was too late to save him, you left. You took Rebecca’s scarf from him, but your chain caught on something and the charm came off. Ironic that charm was the one that came off.”

She turned to face me. “I can tell you’ve spent a lot of time with books, Kathleen,” she said with the cool smile I’d seen before. “As I said, you’ve created a fascinating story. The only person who knows what happened is me.”

She smoothed the front of her shirt. “Of course, I’ll be happy to tell the police my story.”

“You left a man to die,” I said. “I don’t care what he did. You left him there to die.”

She took a step closer to me. “No, Kathleen. I didn’t.” Hate sharpened her voice. “Yes, I gave him aspirin. Yes, I convinced him not to go to the hospital. But I didn’t leave him to die.” Something in her face, in her smile, made my stomach clench. “I made sure he was dead before I left,” she hissed.

She turned to look at Everett and Rebecca and her expression changed. She looked . . . pleased. “Look at them,” she said.

My hands were shaking.

“See? The Big Bad Wolf is dead. And everyone’s going to live happily ever after.” She turned back to me. “I’m sorry, Kathleen. No one is going to believe your little story. I grew up here. I’m a respected member of the community. You’ve been here a few months. No one is going to believe you over me.”

I reached into the pocket of my shirt with my shaking fingers and pulled out the tiny voice-activated digital recorder. “I think they will,” I said.