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Monday, September 23rd
Charlotte groaned as she tried to remember the events of the evening before. She was still in the track suit; the only clothing removed was the socks, which were at the side of the bed, and she bent down to put them back on. She didn’t think anything erotic occurred, but it was good to confirm it. A look in the mirror above the dresser confirmed it further: she looked like a train wreck, hair sticking out in every direction, dark circles under her eyes. Every muscle and joint was throbbing in pain from the work and getting chilled. Then she sneezed, and realized her throat was scratchy, as well. She longed to get at her own bathroom cabinet, with its collection of remedies and palliatives. Another sign of being middle-aged.
She padded out to the kitchen and saw that Simon had left her a note and coffee in the coffeemaker. She poured a cup and sat at the counter to read the note:
Good Morning! Had an early class and appointments. Helene is back and expecting you for breakfast. Told her what happened. Hope you’re feeling better. S. PS—I’ve got an idea about the Jeep, and took the keys. Hope you don’t mind.
Now she remembered. He had insisted she take the bed because he was leaving early, and she was too tired to protest. He had slept on the sofa, and she saw the blanket folded up on the seat cushion. What a nice guy he turned out to be. She kept thinking about his arm around her while they were watching Olivia’s house, and the day she met him, when he caught her as she started to feel faint. A hot shower and a sandwich. Clean clothes to sleep in. His long legs and black jeans, the shaggy hair, the eyes that looked right into her, and yet—
—the attraction, as far as she could tell, was strictly one way. The current episode wasn’t going to help things, either.
Charlotte sighed, turned off the coffee pot, and after the usual bathroom activities, plus a dab of Simon’s toothpaste on her finger to clean her teeth, and twisting the bandana to make a tieback for her hair, she gathered up her things and made her way around to the next condo over. The sun was shining, and it was going to be a perfect day to move, except she wasn’t going to be able to move. Damn. She hoped Simon would be able to figure out what the problem was with the Jeep.
Helene let her in, and looked like she was trying not to laugh in spite of making sympathetic noises and remarks.
“You poor dear! You’ve had a rough time of it, haven’t you?”
Charlotte resisted the temptation to protest too much, lest Helene think something more went on than actually did. “Simon’s note said you were expecting me. Thanks so much.” She could smell something baking, and realized she was hungry again as she followed Helene to the kitchen.
“Oh, I only wish I was here last night! Just got back an hour ago, threw a little something in the oven.”
There was more coffee, and Charlotte curled up on the cushioned chair, allowing herself to be pampered. Helene removed ramekins of baked Eggs Florentine from the oven, and put in thick slices of French bread to toast. Charlotte gradually became aware that Helene kept looking at her with what appeared to be an increasing level of concern.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“I’m worried about you, Charlotte. You’re working too hard, trying to do too much.” The toast was ready, and she brought it over and poured more coffee.
Charlotte nodded. It was true enough. “I know, Helene, but it’s like I have to. It’s so important to me to have a nest, my own nest. I feel so lost without one, and with all these changes, it’s more important to me than ever. Plus, I want to know what I need to take, what I can leave behind to sell, and be at peace with all those little decisions. This is the time that I have to do it.”
Helene nodded ruefully. “I can just kick myself for agreeing to contract Warren Brothers so soon, when you have all this going on and trying to find those notebooks at the same time. I feel responsible for getting you into this bind. Please let me help, Charlotte, with everything. Anything I can do, just say the word.”
“Hey, Helene, you’re doing it already,” Charlotte said with a smile and holding up a forkful of eggs. “This is delicious.”
They ate and talked about Donovan breaking the terms of the will by moving things around at his mother’s house.
“Simon is afraid they may have messed things up for you, making it harder than ever to find those notebooks.”
“I want to go there now, but I can’t go out like this.”
“Most of my things will be the wrong size, but I can loan you a clean overshirt if you can stand wearing your jeans again.”
“That’ll work! Let’s see what’s been going on over there, and then I’ll have to decide what to do about the Jeep.” She explained how she had planned to move that day, but the Jeep broke down again.
“Simon told me. He said he had an idea about that, though. Didn’t elaborate, and I’m not sure I would have understood, anyway. But I am glad, in a way, that you can’t move today. You need to take a day off. No work, just try to rest.”
After Charlotte changed into Helene’s shirt and her own jeans, they drove instead of walked to Olivia’s house, since Helene thought she would give her a ride to Lake Parkerton. Things had clearly been moved, but mostly put back. Charlotte had the sense that Donovan and the others had been looking for something, but had not necessarily taken anything. She would have to view the video Simon made to be certain. Just the fact that they had been looking, however, made her nervous—it meant that whoever came here and killed Olivia and Wesley Warren had not yet found what he was looking for.
“I’m fed up,” said Helene. “Donovan is not supposed to be here until after the auction. Nobody is supposed to be here except you, Simon, and myself until Warren Brothers comes to start getting things for the sale, which isn’t until this weekend. I’m calling him and giving him a piece of my mind, especially after caving on having the sale so quickly.” She found his number on her phone and dialed.
The call did not go as expected, however. After chatting a moment, Helene got Charlotte’s attention. “Donovan is over on Harvey Street. He and Simon are working on your Jeep.”
Donovan and Simon both? “This I’ve gotta see,” said Charlotte.
Helen thought for a moment. “It makes sense, actually. Donnie said he’d been working as a mechanic, and he’d have to know a thing or two about cars to keep that Dodge going so long, wouldn’t you think?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Could be. Let’s find out.”
They found a place to park near the Jeep, but only Simon was working on it when they walked up. The hood was propped open and a screwdriver, a socket wrench, and an adjustable wrench were lying around, along with some other tools.
“Where’s Donovan?” asked Helene.
Simon stood upright and wiped his hands on a towel. “Good morning, ladies. Donovan has gone to get a replacement part.” He turned to look at Charlotte. “With any luck, our diagnosis is correct and your Jeep will be up and running good as new.”
“Really? What’s wrong with it?” she asked.
“A bad crankshaft position sensor. Not a hard job, but awkward.”
“You’re up to something,” said Helene.
Simon smiled. “Wanted an excuse to talk to him alone about his shenanigans last night. The fact that he really did seem to have an idea what was wrong with Charlotte’s Jeep is a bonus. The only problem, though, was trying to change the subject, because once he gets going on the subject of cars, there’s no getting him off of it.” He turned to Charlotte again. “Sleep well?”
She felt her cheeks start to redden, but she smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks again for everything.” She gestured toward the engine. “This too.” Then she spotted paper under the windshield wiper. A parking ticket. She said nothing, but groaned inwardly. Was there no end to this?
“Have you learned anything yet?” Helene asked Simon. “Charlotte and I were just at Olivia’s house. We can’t tell if anything is missing, but she thinks things have been moved as if they were looking for something.”
“That was the impression I got from what I could see last night,” he said. “People moving around, but carefully.” He looked at Charlotte. “I’ll finish editing the valuation video that we have so far, and use it to see if anything is missing. Then we can get the rest done maybe Wednesday or Thursday.”
“I don’t understand why Donnie keeps going back there when he knows he’s supposed to leave it alone,” said Helene, who then explained to Simon about agreeing to contract Warren Brothers for the estate auction because she felt Donovan was at his breaking point.
Simon looked surprised, but took it all in. “I’m thinking you’re right, he’s desperate. We can be pretty certain he’s into that loan shark for money, given what Lola and Jimmy said about Mitchell.”
Helene nodded, and Charlotte added her concerns. “I’m almost positive that Olivia and Wesley Warren were assaulted for something that’s in that house. If Donovan and Mitchell are still looking, then whatever it is hasn’t been found. The only reason I can think of for them not to wait until this weekend to look for it is because they’re worried we’ll find it first.”
“Oh, dear,” said Helene. “What on earth could it be?”
“I think that whatever it is, it’s a book or something to do with books. Didn’t Olivia say something to you before she died?”
Helene nodded slowly. “Yes. She said, ‘C’est mon livre.’ ‘It’s my book.’ But I wasn’t sure she knew what she was saying.”
“I’m beginning to think that she did,” said Charlotte. “And I’m almost positive she didn’t hit Wesley Warren with the bat. Olivia was right-handed, wasn’t she?”
“Yes she was. I am left-handed, and Olivia was right-handed.”
Charlotte turned to Simon. “Do you happen to have the pictures you took that day we found Olivia?” When Simon nodded and began to retrieve his smart phone, she continued, “I want to double-check which hand the bat was in.”
Simon found the picture, then showed it to her. The bat was, indeed, in Olivia’s right hand. “This seems to go against your argument.”
Charlotte expected his objection. “It actually supports it, because Olivia has had difficulty with that arm since right before her husband died. In one of the notebooks there is an account of his grabbing her in a fit, and there is a noticeable deterioration in her handwriting, which only got slightly better toward the end. She did say that difficulty in lifting things was one of the reasons she needed help in gathering the notebooks.”
“Of course!” exclaimed Helene. “I remember asking her about pouring coffee or something with her left hand, but she just said it was arthritis in her right hand. She didn’t want to admit what really happened.”
“So you see, she couldn’t have swung that bat with her right arm, at least not with any force, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she couldn’t even pick it up. If she did pick it up and use it, it would have had to be with her left hand, but I doubt if she would have had the strength and coordination for that.”
Simon put the phone back in his pocket. “So that means someone else used the bat on Wesley Warren—and planted it in Olivia’s hand afterward.”
“Exactly,” said Charlotte. “There was almost certainly a third person on the scene, someone who got Wesley Warren into his car and made sure it ran off into the pond.” She went on to explain what Barnes said about Wesley Warren’s head injury, and that he was still alive when the car went under the water.
After a moment or two of silence, Helene asked, with a pained expression, “Donnie?”
Simon shook his head. “I can’t see him leaving his mother for dead, to be honest.”
“But he’s clearly tangled up in this,” said Helene. She sounded tired. “I don’t think I want to talk to him in person at the moment. I need to think about this for a while.” She asked Charlotte, “Would you mind if we left?”
“How about I stay here, and see if the guys are able to get the Jeep fixed, or if it needs towing. Then if I still need a ride, I will come back to your place.”
“I’m pretty sure we’ll have it sorted out within the hour,” said Simon.
Helene was reassured, and Charlotte walked with her to the car. She retrieved her tote bag and gave Helene a hug. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Helene. If nothing else, we should have all the notebooks in a few days.”
Helene held on to Charlotte’s arms. “Just be careful. And promise me to take the day off—no packing, no painting, no moving, just give yourself one day off.”
“I promise.”
As Charlotte returned to Simon and the Jeep, Larry strode out of The Good Stuff, his hands on his hips.
“So uh,” he said to Simon, gesturing at the Jeep, “this gonna take long, or what? Parking’s for customers, and this truck’s been here since yesterday.”
Charlotte spoke quickly. “Sorry, Larry, it wouldn’t start, but I think it’ll be fixed in just a little while.”
Larry’s face cleared on seeing her. “Oh, it’s you! I was wondering if it was your truck or not. Problems, eh?”
Charlotte explained about working on the apartment the day before, the recent repair, and introduced Simon. The men shook hands.
“You painted yesterday, then? You didn’t make a peep, had no idea!” Larry seemed pleased with this fact.
“I’m glad! There were a couple of times when I dragged the ladder and it made some noise, but I got done with the carpet and the trash and stuff before the store opened. Want to see it?”
“Sure do.”
Charlotte turned and asked Simon if he wanted to see the apartment, as well.
Simon just leaned against the Jeep and smiled. “Donovan will be back any time now. Maybe I’ll take a look after we’re done with this.”
As Charlotte followed Larry up the stairs to the apartment, yesterday’s exertion came back to haunt her with aching leg muscles. The place still smelled like fresh paint, with overtones of various cleaners and artificial lemon.
“Holy mother of margarine!” Larry exclaimed, turning to beam at her as she reached the top of the stairs. “This is great!”
It did look rather nice, she thought, especially with the bright sunny sky shining through clean windows, the walls freshly repaired and painted, and the wood floor gleaming with the warm patina of age. Larry looked over the kitchen, bathroom, and closet, nodding his approval, but Charlotte remained at her vantage point near the stairs, trying to visualize which of her furnishings would work. The entire apartment was only slightly larger than her living room at Lake Parkerton, and most of her furniture was designed for a larger space.
“So when you moving in?”
She shrugged. “Tomorrow. I was planning to move in today, but then the Jeep broke down—and I have to admit I’m awfully tired.”
“I’m not surprised you’re tired, I’m tired just imagining what you did yesterday. But it sure looks nice. I’ll make sure the thermostat is on for this zone later today, and I’ll get the paint stuff and the ladder outta here for ya.”
Charlotte thanked him and went back outside. Donovan had returned, and he and Simon were installing the new part. Then Charlotte spied a meter cop coming down the sidewalk, stopping to write a ticket three cars down from the Jeep. Oh great. The ticket was going to be exponentially larger with every two hours it sat in that space.
“Hey guys,” she said to Simon’s back and Donovan’s legs, “how’s it going?”
Donovan grunted something about rust and Simon made a “so-so” gesture with his free hand. The meter cop came closer, then stopped to talk to someone. Charlotte’s palms started to sweat. She was grateful that Simon had taken the initiative to get the Jeep going again, but she wondered how much the part was, and how pricey the ticket was going to be by the time they got done—if they got it done at all. If they didn’t, she’d also have a towing expense. She felt as if the money from Helene’s check for Olivia’s project was evaporating before her eyes.
Donovan called out for something, and Simon handed him a different tool. The meter cop finished her conversation, and was checking the next car. Donovan then scuttled out from under the Jeep, dusted himself off, and gave Charlotte a hello wave that was not unlike a cop’s hand signal to stop. She waved back the same way, hiding her conflicting feelings about him. Would she get a chance to tell him that she was onto him and he had better stay away from his mother’s house the rest of the week?
Simon got all the tools off the truck frame, and Donovan got in the driver’s seat. The Jeep started just as the meter cop walked up, and Charlotte almost hit her when she jumped up and down in excitement.
“Oh, oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you behind me,” Charlotte apologized. “They just got it fixed. Oh please don’t give me another ticket, I—”
“No problem, ma’am,” said the cop, setting her cap back on straight. “So you’re saying it’s been here because it broke down?”
Charlotte nodded. “I was here yesterday to get my apartment ready so I could move in today,” she pointed up at the windows above The Good Stuff, “but by the time I got done and was ready to leave, it wouldn’t start, and I’d just spent hundreds of dollars getting it fixed last week, and I—,” she stopped when the cop held up her hand.
“Let me check something,” she said, and stepped away to talk into her radio.
Charlotte looked over at Simon, who was placing socket wrench bits back into a case, and wiping fingerprints off the hood. Donovan was nowhere to be seen. “Where’d he go?” she asked him quietly.
He nodded toward a small parking lot down the street, and she saw Donovan getting into his car and driving off. “Cop came up. Doesn’t want to be seen, I suspect.”
Wow, thought Charlotte. Everything pointed to Donovan being involved in something criminal. She felt uneasy that she was now obligated to him for his help.
The cop came up and handed Charlotte a ticket slip, but said, “This isn’t a ticket. Take it in to the station and tell them what happened. I think they’ll waive the whole thing. I told them you were clearly having it repaired and you weren’t just shopping too long or something. Should be okay. You’re moving up there, eh?” She pointed up at the windows.
“Yeah, tomorrow, if things just go right for once.”
The cop laughed and nodded at the ticket, “Well, I hope that helps. When you go into the station, apply for a resident sticker so you can park on the side streets overnight. Have a good day, and welcome to the neighborhood.” She waved at Charlotte and Simon and continued her rounds.
Charlotte was so relieved—the Jeep was running again, the tickets were waived, Larry liked the job she did on the apartment—that she had to hug somebody, and Simon was it. She didn’t even care if he hugged her back, her happiness was complete.
He did, however, laugh a little and hug her back, if a little more reservedly. “You should be okay now. It’s a pretty straightforward fix once it’s diagnosed.”
She realized they were talking nose to nose—his arms were still around her, and hers around him. She suddenly felt shy. “How, uh, how much do I owe you, and of course Donovan?”
“Not a dime. Part was cheap. The knowhow was priceless.” He looked at her with deadpan seriousness, then winked and let her go.
“Simon, I don’t know how to thank you. You know, last night, and now this. I hope you were able to learn something about Donovan.”
“Not a thing, other than that a cop, any cop, makes him nervous as hell. He’s a tough read. But you,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, “need to get home and try to relax the rest of the day. Don’t try to move in today. Promise me that.”
She felt as if his eyes were looking right into her brain, and nodded. “Helene made me promise already.”
“Good. Got my number in case you get stranded again?” He got his phone out again.
“No, actually. Good idea. Does it have to keep running like this for a while, or can I stop at The Coffee Grove for a few minutes? I don’t have any Internet service at home anymore, and I want to see if Ellis emailed me.”
She handed him her old “dumb phone,” and he looked at it for a moment before adding his number to her contacts. “I’d like your number, too, okay? Didn’t you have a different phone last week?”
“Oh yeah, I did, but I downsized that, too.” She entered her number in his contacts. “I admit I really miss it sometimes.”
“You can stop and start the Jeep as much as you want now, but if there’s a problem, get hold of me right away.” He looked at the time on his phone and reacted with surprise. “Running late, and I’ve got to shower and get to class, but see you soon?”
She nodded and watched as he walked down the sidewalk towards Pierce Street.
Charlotte moved the Jeep into a different parking space, even though it wasn’t much closer to The Coffee Grove, but she didn’t care. It was running. Things would be back on track tomorrow.
It was still early enough in the day to catch Ellis, who was luckily online, and mother and daughter had a good chat, catching up on news. Martin Stanton hadn’t left any messages, so Charlotte assumed things were progressing smoothly. She wanted to go back to Olivia’s house and take another look around, to see if there was any clue as to what Donovan and his associates were looking for. She knew, however, that she needed to get home and check on things in person, to start making decisions about what pieces of furniture were going to go in the apartment, and not left for sale. Her phone rang. Helene.
“Hi, Helene. They got it fixed!”
“I heard. I’m so glad, Charlotte. You are going to go home and rest now, right?”
“Yes I am. Again, thanks so much for breakfast. I feel guilty that I won’t be able to work at Olivia’s tomorrow, but I’ve got to get out of my house as soon as possible.”
“Well, don’t feel guilty! It’s my fault for jamming you up, I’m the one that should feel guilty. I wanted you to know that I did reach Donovan, and I read him the riot act. He has promised me that he will keep his associates out of there, and avoid the place until after the auction.” She paused. “I don’t know that I believe him, though.”
“I hope you aren’t too upset, Helene.”
“I’ll be just fine, and it won’t be long before it’s out of our hands altogether. Now go home, dear girl.”
“I will probably see you tomorrow.”
“Are you sure you’re going to move tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. Going to get an early start loading things up, and hope to be back in town by noon or just after. Thanks for the wonderful breakfast, Helene. It’s kept me going today.”
“Any time, Charlotte.”
Back home in Lake Parkerton, Martin Stanton’s crew had everything under control, at least as far as they were concerned. Charlotte, however, found it bewildering, partially because she was tired, but mostly because they’d made so much progress in the day and a half since she was last at home. There were tables set up in nearly every room. Even in the upstairs hall there were shoe and garment racks, where a Stanton employee had been organizing her wardrobe by tops, bottoms, coats, and accessories. The rod in her closet had been fixed. The suitcases she’d filled with the clothes she knew she was going to keep were luckily still in there. She had since added some boxes with a few other things she’d pulled out at the last minute—extra clothes, mementos, spare sets of linens and towels, things both sentimental and stylish, as if she had been impulse-shopping in her own house.
She realized now, however, that there wasn’t going to be room in the apartment for everything. If she could let the painting go, she could let these extra things go, too. Time to be realistic, to be strong. She gave the boxes of extra things back to the crew, and began to make the final list of what she was going to take with, as small and efficient a list as possible.