Buried in a Book Read online

  Trey shot into the house before I even stepped out of the truck. Turning off the ignition, Office Griffiths opened his door. “Go easy on him,” he said as he walked me up the front path. “He seems like a good kid. And at least he had the sense to not drink and drive.”

  I nodded, appreciating his voice of reason. “I’ll try. Thank you so much for everything, Officer Griffiths.”

  “You’re welcome. And please, Lila.” He tilted his head. “I think we can dispense with the ‘Officer Griffiths,’ don’t you? Call me Sean.”

  I nodded. “I’d better go in. Thanks again…Sean.” His name tasted good on my lips, like I’d just sipped a fine glass of wine.

  We shook hands, even though what I really wanted to do was lean into him for support. The warmth of his fingers lingered on mine as I watched him back his truck out of the driveway. Taking a deep breath, I walked into the house.

  Trey was lying on his bed, earbuds firmly inserted and eyes closed. Still dressed, one of his blue-jeaned legs rested on the other, a foot bobbing in time to the beat. Swallowing my irritation over seeing his shoes on the bed, I touched his shoulder. “Trey,” I said loudly.

  His eyes popped open. He yanked out the earbuds and sat up. “Mom.” He stood, reached down, and hugged me. “I’m totally sorry. It was really stupid. I’ll never do anything like that again.”

  This show of repentance derailed my planned reprimand, and for a moment I was at a loss for words. Perhaps sensing my retreat, he offered, “Do you need a drink or something? Wine, maybe?”

  That did it. “No, I do not want a drink! Trey, you took the car without permission. What you did at the school was not only stupid and irresponsible, it caused a lot of damage. Someone could have been really hurt, even killed. What were you thinking?”

  He shrugged. “Guess I wasn’t.”

  “You could be charged with trespassing and the destruction of public property. We need to get a lawyer. You’ll have to go to court.” My heart was racing as these thoughts tumbled through my mind. I glared at him. “Not thinking isn’t a defense.”

  “Aw, Mom, you know how it is. A couple of guys get together and there’s beer involved, then things can get crazy.” His eyes widened in an attempt at innocence. “Not me! I didn’t have beer. I was the designated driver.” Looking absurdly righteous, he continued, “We’re young. We do stupid things. It’s like a rite of passage or something. We can’t help it.”

  He grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes taking the place of contriteness. In that moment, I saw his father in his features—the pointed chin, tousled chestnut hair, and dark eyebrows.

  “You can’t absolve yourself because you’re a teenager, Trey. There are consequences to your actions. They impact other people.”

  Shrugging, he picked at the apple-shaped hole in his jeans just above his right knee. “Nobody was hurt.”

  “Well, I was! First of all, I was terrified that something had happened to you. Secondly, because of your recklessness, my car’s totaled. The school equipment and football field are seriously damaged. Who do you think is going to pay for all that?”

  “Insurance?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

  I glowered at him. “I have to pay, Trey. I have to find another vehicle to get me to work. I have to deal with the school’s damages. My insurance premiums are going to skyrocket because of this.” I sank down on the edge of the bed.

  Trey sat beside me and put his arm around my shoulder. “You’ll manage, Mom. You’ve got that new agency job. You’re gonna make millions—”

  “I’m just an intern.” I pushed his arm away. “And you aren’t getting off scot-free. You will get cracking and find a summer job, and you will hand over your paychecks to help cover the costs.”

  “But that’s not fair!” he whined, his bravado faltering.

  “Don’t tell me about fair,” I said, getting up and starting for the door. “You made this mess, and now you’re going to help me clean it up.”

  Trey sighed. “At least I learned something from all of this.”

  “What’s that?” I asked, thankful that this disaster would have at least one positive outcome.

  He leaned back on his elbows, grinning at the ceiling. “Hondas aren’t so good at three sixties.”

  I TOSSED AND turned for what was left of the night. Trey and his transgressions, my financial worries, Marlette’s murder, the pile of queries I’d brought home, the agents at Novel Idea: they were all tangled in angst-filled dreams.

  When the sky finally lightened, I dragged myself out of bed, had a hot shower, and brewed a very strong pot of coffee. I needed to figure things out before Monday. Without a car, I’d have to take the train to work every morning, and that was too expensive. Moving to Inspiration Valley was the solution, of course; a prospect that had excited me Friday evening when I’d stood before the cottage for sale on Walden Woods Circle. After last night’s fiasco, I knew I could never afford it.

  As I was refilling my coffee mug, the phone rang.

  “I flipped around in bed last night like a fritter in the fryer!” My mother greeted me dramatically. “What happened at work yesterday? I was right about somethin’ bad comin’, wasn’t I? I got a real case of the shivers, like a spirit was standin’ right behind me, breathin’ down my neck!”

  Sighing, I admitted that her prediction had been accurate. I’d expected her to be triumphant over the successful demonstration of her physic abilities, but she fell strangely despondent.

  “Poor soul,” she whispered. “He was all alone in this life.”

  I started. “You knew Marlette?”

  “Not well enough to trade recipes, but the whole valley knew him, hon. He stood out, like a low-cut dress in church.” I heard a shuffling sound in the background and knew Althea had her tarot cards in hand. “But you’ll set things to rights, Lila. People can’t just pluck a string from Fate’s brilliant tapestry and not pay the price.” She went on before I could interrupt. “I do believe you were gonna call and ask me somethin’ this fine mornin’. The answer is yes, of course. You and Trey can live with me so you can fill up your piggy bank again. Maybe livin’ in the country will keep that boy outta trouble!”

  My jaw came unhinged. “How’d you know about Trey?”

  A satisfied cackle emitted from the earpiece, and then I recalled that my mother was great friends with the police chief’s wife. In fact, she was one of my mother’s most loyal customers and often spread news of a juicy arrest before the most dogged journalist could get a jump on the story. I suspected the woman slept with a police scanner by her bed.

  I didn’t feel like further questioning Amazing Althea’s sources, especially since her invitation was a godsend, so I simply said, “I was going to ask if we could spend the summer with you. I’m going to put this house up for sale, hope it sells right away, and pray that three months without mortgage payments, thanks to living with you, will keep my head above water.” I stared at the papers on my kitchen table, which included bank statements, insurance policies, and the business card of a real estate agent I’d met while working at the Dunston Herald. “Between Trey’s tuition bill, the house payment, and whatever I’ll have to fork out in damages because of my son’s unbelievable lack of judgment, I’ll be lucky to have enough left over to buy a bicycle, let alone a car.”

  My mother clucked her tongue. “Trey’s just helpin’ you go green. Now tell your mama everythin’ that happened last night. And don’t forget the part about the good-lookin’ man. I turned up the Lovers card in the Future position, and I want to know who this hot new number is. I can already tell he’s got enough electricity to fuel a power station!”

  I hedged the question, wanting to keep Sean to myself for a while, and went on to describe how I’d spent the midnight hour. When I was done, she offered to drive her vintage turquoise pickup into Dunston late on Sunday afternoon and bring Trey and me back to her place. Trey could look for a summer job in Inspiration Valley, and I wouldn’t have to wo
rry about commuting to Novel Idea come Monday.

  “I love you, Mama.” A rush of affection and gratitude flowed through me. Amazing Althea might be eccentric, but she was a bighearted woman who’d do anything for us. For the first time since I found Marlette’s body, I felt like things might turn out okay.

  I’d barely hung up the receiver when the phone rang again. “I’m still not going to answer your question about the Lovers!” I exclaimed, assuming the caller was my mother again.

  “Oh? Which lovers?” a male voice quipped. “This is Sean, um, Officer Griffiths?”

  Immediately, my exasperation disappeared and I smiled. “Oh, good morning.”

  “I wondered if you’d like to meet me for coffee,” he said. “At Java the Hut? Say in half an hour?”

  I stared at the empty mug in my hand. Any more caffeine in my veins and I’d be bouncing off the walls, but the thought of saying no didn’t occur to me. “I’d love to,” I replied, thinking fast. Trey wouldn’t be awake for hours yet, and I’d still have the afternoon to read through my pile of queries.

  Hurriedly changing out of my sweats, I fiddled with my hair and applied makeup. Under close scrutiny in the mirror, I looked pretty good, despite what I’d been through over the past twenty-four hours. I’d been told more than once that I bore a close resemblance to Marilyn Monroe when she was still Norma Jeane Baker, but that’s only partially true. I’d kill for Norma Jeane’s perfect lips or luminescent skin, but our smile was almost identical, and I definitely had Marilyn’s curves.

  Even with the additional primping, I managed to arrive at Java the Hut in thirty-two minutes. Sean was at the counter, looking attractively authoritative in his uniform.

  “I took the liberty of ordering you a caramel latte,” he said. “That’s what you were drinking yesterday, wasn’t it?”

  In the midst of all the excitement at the agency, he’d noticed what kind of coffee I drank? This man was a keeper.

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, trying to conceal my astonishment. “It’s my favorite.”

  We sat down at the corner table by the window. Across the street, the Dunston Herald building seemed to mock me. I looked away, preferring to meet Sean’s guileless blue eyes.

  “I have some news,” he said. “I had a quick chat with the principal and a member of the school board’s legal team. They called an emergency meeting this morning to discuss the damage to their field.” He grimaced. “Doesn’t sound like a fun meeting, does it?”

  “No,” I said with a groan, thinking about how often Trey and I had met in the principal’s office over the past few years. “Are they going to press charges?”

  “Actually”—he paused, and his mouth stretched into a wide smile—“I pleaded your case. I mean, er, Trey’s case. I assured them that his blood alcohol level showed that he hadn’t been drinking and suggested his actions were not malicious. I tried to toss out the ‘boys will be boys’ excuse.”

  “He still needs to be held accountable.” I felt strongly about that point, even though I wished it could all just go away.

  “Oh, I agree. And so did the bigwigs at the meeting. But they’ve agreed to drop the charges against Trey if he helps with the cleanup.”

  Relief flowed through my veins. “Like community service?”

  “Yes, but without an official court record. Of course, you’ll be required to cover the costs of the damage. They’re going to call you today to set up a meeting with you and Trey.” He touched my hand. “But I wanted to tell you the good news right away.”

  His fingers were warm on mine. “Thank you, Sean.” I shook my head. “I don’t know what’s going on with that boy.”

  “Could his father help with this? Sometimes a man has better rapport with…not that you don’t…” He scratched his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

  “No, you were right to ask,” I assured him. “My ex isn’t in the picture. I haven’t laid eyes on Bill since I walked in on him in bed with Miss Tobacco Leaf. I was pregnant with Trey at the time.”

  “Hold on a sec, Lila. Miss Tobacco Leaf?”

  My cheeks flushed. Even now, after all these years, the memory still affected me. “Bill was an advertising executive and was very involved in the community. His lifelong goal was to run for public office. As a result, he was often asked to judge contests. For years, he judged those creepy toddler pageants, and then he began to serve as a head judge for the Miss Tobacco Leaf pageant.” I took a sip of coffee. “I guess he took his role as interviewer very seriously, because he brought one of the candidates home.” I paused. I’d come to the part of the story that made me ball up my fists, even though I’d told it a dozen times by now.

  “It’s okay,” Sean said gently, obviously sensing that I was struggling to continue. “The fool hurt you. That’s all I need to know.”

  I held out my finger. “Just wait. You’ll never hear a version of cheating spouse like this one. Let me earn my coffee.” I toasted him with my cup. “Basically, I came home early from an assignment, kicked off my shoes, and headed upstairs to change out of my work clothes. There was Bill, lying naked on the bed. His wrists were handcuffed to the bedpost, and he wore a blindfold made of what looked like a pair of black lace panties.”

  Sean’s eyes grew round. “Uh, oh.”

  “It gets better,” I promised. “So I’m standing in my bedroom like a deer in a shotgun sight when this redhead with big hair and heavy makeup struts in from the bathroom. All she had on was her Miss Tobacco Leaf sash. It didn’t cover much. She was very well endowed.”

  Sean squeezed my hand, but I could see that he was fighting back a grin.

  “Go ahead, it is kind of funny.” I smiled, too. Somehow, in Sean’s presence, Bill’s infidelity didn’t sting as much. “But that’s all in the past. Trey and I have been fine without him. My son will be going to college in the fall. I have a new job. We’re doing okay.”

  “Speaking of your job, it seems like Bentley Burlington-Duke is a bit of a cold fish, taking off with a dead man in her office.” He stroked his chin. “Somewhat suspicious, I might add.”

  Did he truly suspect that Bentley had anything to do with Marlette’s demise? “Have the medical examiners established it was murder?” I asked. “I keep thinking about poor Marlette.”

  A look crossed his face that resembled a gate closing. “Lila, I know I just brought up the topic by commenting on your boss, but I can’t discuss the case with you. If we’re going to be friends”—his cheeks dimpled as he smiled—“then details about this case can’t enter our conversation. Deal?”

  I nodded.

  “Unless I need to bring you in for questioning. That kind of conversation would be official,” he added, a flicker of steel in his eyes.

  I finished the rest of my coffee and grimaced. It had grown cold.

  Chapter 6

  I SPENT THE REST OF THE WEEKEND PACKING. AFTER telling Trey to load the things he couldn’t live without from his room into suitcases, I carefully wrapped framed photographs and fragile knickknacks in newspaper. Upon leaving the café where I’d had coffee with Sean, I stopped by the UPS Store to pick up supplies and then, while eating lunch, read an informative article on the Internet about preparing one’s house to be put on the market. The author recommended removing all personal items and clearing surface areas of clutter so prospective buyers could picture themselves putting their own possessions in the house. I followed this advice by boxing photos, books, and various keepsakes. I also emptied the closets of clothes, coats, and shoes, frowning at the scuffmarks on the walls and the dust bunnies that had been hiding behind my winter boots and galoshes.

  Once I’d removed everything from the kitchen counters, including my English cottage cookie jar, the ceramic canisters for flour, sugar, and tea, my rotating spice rack, and a pottery utensil jar, I took all the magnets off the refrigerator and tossed them into the garbage.

  That afternoon I fielded a phone call from a member of the school board. We schedule
d a meeting to discuss remuneration for the damages Trey inflicted on the football field, and I jotted the date and time in my day planner.

  On Sunday, I vacuumed, dusted, and polished until my arms ached. Trey had just finished mowing the lawn and weeding the flowerbeds when my mother arrived. The rumble of her pickup’s engine preceded the old truck. While Trey and I sat drinking sweet tea on the stoop, the 1970s C-10 came into view.

  My mother had bought the truck for a song ten years ago and driven it straight from the used car lot to a detail shop in Raleigh where it had been painted a custom turquoise reminiscent of the waters off the coast of Fiji. She then slapped a magnetic sign to each door advertising her services as Amazing Althea, Inspiration Valley’s famous psychic.

  Now here she was, laying on the horn to announce her presence as though the sound and hue of her truck could somehow be missed. Trey began to mumble a torrent of complaints about how bored he’d be living in the sticks.

  “She doesn’t have cable or Internet access,” he groused. “How am I going to check my email or download new tunes?”

  I pointed at the nearest box and told him to carry it to the truck. “Maybe you’ll land a summer job at a company that has Wi-Fi.”

  “Right.” Trey rolled his eyes. “Like all the losers flipping burgers and delivering pizzas are booting up laptops during their breaks.”

  I was too tired to get into another argument with him, but my mother saved the day by throwing her arms around Trey and saying how happy she was that he’d be living under her roof. “It’ll be like the sleepovers we used to have when you were a little tyke,” she said, beaming. “Remember that time we painted the room with all those wacky creatures from Where the Wild Things Are? And then we pretended the bed was a boat and we had to catch Swedish fish for our supper? Oh, I’m tickled just thinkin’ about those magical nights.” She reached way up and ruffled his hair.