Chapter Twenty
Edward set his book aside and observed the soiree in the lobby below.
A local artist had created another masterpiece.
This one he’d donated to the library. The proceeds of a silent auction would benefit literacy.
The artist stood in the center of it all, eating up the compliments and puffing with pride for his latest masterpiece.
How grand.
In Edward’s opinion, the true treasures in this building were the books. He picked up his book to resume his reading.
This was where he felt most at home.
Always had.
The world had become obsessed with electronic devices and the internet, when books had been in front of them all along. Any subject could be researched in depth right here in the library. Any skill could be learned. All that was required were patience and persistence.
Quite frankly, losing oneself in a well-crafted story was so very easy.
But lately, he’d found losing himself, even in the best story, to be impossible. His concern for CJ would not allow true escape of any measure. Particularly after last evening’s disturbing announcement.
Even in death, Shelley had wielded one last injustice upon her sister.
CJ, poor, poor CJ, was left to grieve and struggle with the results.
Edward had scarcely slept last night. Today he’d tried to distract himself, but nothing he attempted had relieved the ache deep in his soul. Hardly twenty-four hours after her return, CJ had allowed the past to draw her back in. Did she not realize that it would swallow her up? Destroy her future?
He simply did not understand the compulsion.
Shelley was dead. CJ risking her own future would not change that sad fate.
She should return to Baltimore and focus on that future.
There was nothing more she could do here.
This was assuredly that maddening Detective Braddock’s doing.
He would attempt to use CJ, as he’d used Shelley, for his own purposes.
Edward had worked so diligently to keep CJ away from the path her sister had chosen.
Now she seemed determined to walk that path, even if her motives were noble.
Edward desperately needed a plan of immediate action.
CJ believed the man responsible for her sister’s murder was one Ricky Banks, an associate of Shelley’s.
Quite an unsavory human being. Banks’s personal security was a rather large, quite nasty dog.
He used that animal to inspire fear in those he employed.
Edward used the word employ for lack of a more fitting term.
Drugs, prostitution, all manner of crime against others filled the disgusting man’s résumé.
That he also possessed a penchant for abusing women further disturbed Edward.
If Braddock were worth his salt, this ghastly business would have been settled by this point. Unfortunately, his attempts had proved utterly inadequate.
Now Edward was forced to watch CJ punish herself as this fiasco of an investigation played out. In due time, surely, the matter would be closed.
Unfortunately, time was often the bane of one’s existence. There was either far too much or not nearly enough. At its core, one’s life was all about timing.
Time worked against CJ in this tragedy. Her quest to find justice for her sister could keep her here and perhaps even distract her permanently from the future she deserved.
Somberness settled over Edward once more. He did not want her to throw away the unparalleled opportunity before her. Not when she was so very close. That choice could change everything. Could jeopardize all he’d worked so hard to accomplish.
Guilt plagued him for doubting her at all. CJ had never let him down before. Since she was a little girl, her insights and grasp of reality had been astonishing when one measured them against her life experiences. But this was a monumental obstacle even for one so brilliant and courageous.
CJ would need him more than ever now.
Coming here this evening to soothe his soul was like coming full circle. His journey with CJ had begun here.
A smile tugged at his lips. He remembered well the first time he’d noticed her at the library.
Thirteen years old and fearless when it came to protecting her younger sister.
Long, silky blond hair hanging down her back.
Tattered dungarees and T-shirt. The equally shabby sandals she’d worn had scarcely met the criterion of “shoes required.”
As usual, Shelley had been giving her sister difficulty. She wanted to go to the park and play, while CJ, like Edward, wanted to lose herself in the aisles and aisles of books at the public library.
Those big blue eyes had filled with suspicion when he’d approached and suggested they go next door for ice cream. Eventually he’d persuaded her to trust him.
From the moment she’d smiled at him for the first time, he had known CJ was special.
He had guided and groomed her unrelentingly for the brilliant future she deserved.
Now, sixteen years later, that future was threatened.
He would not allow her to fall.
The village and the people there would only drag her down and swallow her up. Her emotional attachment to the past prevented her from seeing the imminent danger.
He must protect her.
No one else was going to do the job properly.
Stronger measures were necessary now. One often was forced to step several degrees outside one’s comfort zone to ensure the greater good.
The cell phone in his pocket vibrated. He frowned. Usually he turned the nuisance off before stepping through the library’s hallowed doors. But with the tragedy that had befallen CJ, he didn’t dare cut off that communication link.
He didn’t recognize the number.
Worry trickled. Perhaps he should see to this. She could be calling from most anywhere. The hospital. The police department.
The worry hurdled toward panic.
He rose from his chair, cast a glance at the mingling crowd below, then surveyed the mezzanine.
Deserted. Still, a little too open for a private conversation.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor and found it mostly deserted as well.
The woman behind the help desk of the reference section glanced up, smiled at him.
Edward returned the smile and journeyed to a corner of the second floor that was rarely visited. The city’s historical records.
With the push of a button, he returned the missed call.
“Good evening, Mr. Abbott.”
Edward frowned. The voice was male but certainly not one he recognized. There was a surliness about the tone. Quite distasteful.
“Who is this?” Edward inquired. Few people knew his cell phone number.
“This is your worst nightmare, Edward old boy,” the voice taunted. “I’m starting a new game. Are you ready to play?”
“I’m certain you have the wrong number.” The man had used his name, but Edward clearly did not know him. The very idea was ludicrous.
“Oh, no, Eddy boy. I have the right number. Now . . .” He paused for effect. “You ready to play?”
A new kind of uneasiness took root deep in Edward’s stomach. “Who is this?” he repeated.
“I already answered that question. Try to keep up.”
Enough of this folly. “What is it you want?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” the overbearing voice said. “What I want . . . well, I haven’t made up my mind. This call isn’t about what I want. It’s about making the first move.”
“I believe I’ll hang up now.” Edward didn’t play games. He made it a point not to involve himself with those who did. This man was obviously some sort of con artist.
“I don’t think you want to hang up, Professor Abbott.”
“Make your point, sir.” Edward doubted the caller deserved such a designation.
“Sir.” He laughed. “I like that.”
Fury ignited, burning away a little of the uneasiness.
“My point is, Edward Abbott, that I know what you did that night.”
The fury vanished, giving the unease a new boost. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about that poor bitch Shelley Patterson. I know all about you and what you did. The tragic ending to the sick story is right there on video. I bet you didn’t know that ho was recording your ass.”
“Whatever you think you know,” Edward challenged, “you are very wrong. If you harass me again—”
“You’ll what?” the man interrupted. “Go to the police? I don’t think so.
Here’s the lowdown, old man, I want something from you.
As soon as I make up my mind what, I’ll let you know.
Until then, you think about what you did.
What you said. You think it all over. I’ll call again in a few days and give you my decision.
Until then, you just need to remember one thing. ”
Edward didn’t bother with a response.
“I own your ass. And it’s for sale. You be prepared to pay the price and life will be good again.”
Dead air rang in Edward’s ear. He stared at the phone. He didn’t have to wonder who the caller was.
He now knew.
As an educated professor of mathematics, he knew something else: that for every equation there was a solution. Sometimes the equations were complicated, sometimes simple. But always utterly solvable.