Chapter Thirty-Two
As Willow slid into the booth across from Catherine, she noticed the librarian’s eyes were bloodshot and bright, and her smile was brittle.
Instead of the amber-filled pint glass most people in the restaurant had in front of them, Catherine was drinking coffee; Willow suspected it was the most recent in a long string of caffeine hits in a long day.
Catherine’s left arm was curled protectively around a canvas messenger bag on the seat beside her.
Willow took in Catherine’s pulled-down hat and gray windbreaker. “Are you okay? You look like you’re on the lam.”
Catherine nodded. “I’m fine, even if I’m stretched out to my last nerve. I found what I was looking for, and if Hank or any of his goon squad—”
“Hank has a goon squad?” Willow asked dubiously.
“Well, how do I know? He seems like the type to have one, and at least one of them was following me all day, and if he knows what I’ve got—”
“What have you got?” Willow interrupted.
“For one thing, my own goon squad now, or at least goon, singular.” She grinned at Willow’s puzzled look. “Later. First—tell me what really happened the other night at Cameron House.”
Willow said carefully, “What do you mean? I told you already about the locket and the room—”
“Yeah, but you left stuff out, didn’t you?” Catherine’s eyes were fixed on Willow, a small, knowing smile on her face. “A lot of stuff.”
Clearly, Willow’s selective editing of her Cameron House experiences last night had not gotten past Catherine. “You’ll think I’m losing it,” Willow said.
“Unlikely,” Catherine retorted. “I do live on Little North, after all. People see weird stuff all the time on the island, especially in houses and structures built more than a century ago. The library is one of them. I could tell you some stories, and I will someday, but for now, how about if you just tell me yours?”
Willow retrieved the sheaf of mysterious typed literary quotes from her backpack, and set them on the table in front of Catherine. Haltingly, she managed to tell Catherine the story—most of it, anyway. The cryptic typewritten messages. Joel, Dellie, and Dot. Annabel’s room with its chest and books.
The librarian frowned. “Let me make sure I have this all clear. You’re saying that not only is Cameron House haunted, but the ghosts there … talked to you? You’ve seen them, had face-to-face conversations?”
Willow nodded. She’ll think I’m crazy. This is why I can’t have nice friends.
“And they told you Effie and Sue suspected there is another Cameron heir somewhere?”
Willow nodded again.
“When you snuck over in the middle of the night and almost got caught by an intruder who had also snuck into the house in the middle of the night, Annabel herself showed you where her room was, and she gave you the locket and photo album?”
One more nod. “I’m convinced she’s trying to help me,” Willow said. “But since Geralt died, most of the ghosts have … faded.”
“Wow,” Catherine said, sitting back for a moment, shaking her head slowly, trying to take it all in. “That’s … a lot.”
At least she wasn’t laughing, Willow noted with relief, nor did she seem to be trying to make up an excuse to get away. “You believe me?” Willow asked.
“I’m reserving judgment,” Catherine said.
“The rational part of me wants to suspect it’s someone’s elaborate hoax to convince you the ghosts are real, but I’m not sure why or what the point would be.
” Catherine’s attention was caught by someone at the front of the restaurant.
“Okay, let’s hold that thought for a bit; my personal goon squad just arrived.
Here comes Nick. Maybe don’t tell him right away you’ve been trespassing over there talking to one set of ghosts and receiving enigmatic literary quotes and jewelry from another. ”
Willow’s head shot around as the tall police officer, now in street clothes, approached the table. She stiffened and turned back to Catherine. “Nick? Nick, of all people? What makes you think you can trust him with this? Just because he’s a cop, you assume he’s Officer Friendly?”
Nick slid into the booth next to Catherine and glared back at Willow. “Spoken like someone from Chicago.” He glanced sideways at Catherine. “Told you this would piss her off.”
“And I agreed,” Catherine replied, “but thanks for coming with me, anyway. It was getting creepy, and I needed someone I could count on.”
“You’re welcome. Happy to do it.” He turned on Willow. “And since when have I become untrustworthy? I thought we’d moved past that. What the hell, Stone?”
Willow froze. She remembered the way Naomi had talked about Nick, how Nick had showed up off-island only a couple of hours after Naomi went to meet her “Iron Man.”
And she fervently wished she’d voiced her uncomfortable suspicions with Catherine before finding herself in this situation.
Suddenly, a familiar voice called from behind her shoulder.
“Willow?” Willow turned to see Naomi coming toward the table, a nearly empty highball glass in her hand.
“Fancy seeing you here—we have to stop meeting like this!” Naomi said with a too-bright smile; her eyes had the same sharp glitter they’d had the last time Willow met her here, the one that made Willow sure this was not her first drink of the night.
Willow felt her teeth grinding together as Naomi came over and rested a languid hand on Nick’s shoulder.
“And you too, Nick—as usual, as handsome out of your uniform as you are in it, and—” She broke off and gave a false little giggle.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean—I’m sure you’re incredibly handsome in whatever you’re wearing.
” She gave him a long sideways look under mascaraed lashes.
The unspoken or not wearing did not need to be said; it all but hung in the air.
Willow tried not to let Nick catch her attempting to see his reaction, but as it turned out, he wasn’t paying the least attention to her.
His face had gone an embarrassed shade of crimson, and his hand twitched and nearly knocked over his water glass.
He mumbled something unintelligible that might have been, “Nice to see you too, Mrs. Talbot.”
Naomi gave his shoulder another squeeze, then wiggled her fingers to Catherine and Willow in a nonchalant farewell. “I’m off to the ladies’—so lovely to see you all!” She turned and walked away.
Willow suspected the extra bounce in her hips was for Nick’s benefit, but it was wasted on him; Nick was still staring at the table and rearranging his napkin. Finally, he looked up and glared at her. “What are you smirking at?” he asked.
This was a surprise, Willow thought. Nick Tyler, of the broad shoulders and Central Casting good looks …
was shy. He had reacted to Naomi’s flirting—over the top though it was—like the acne-ridden teen Willow had known fifteen years ago.
So yes, it was possible she was smirking. A little. “Nick … you have a fan.”
He ran his fingers through his hair as he often did—somehow Willow was starting to find the gesture more endearing than annoying—and let his breath whoosh out.
“God, that woman—she drives me crazy.” He saw Catherine and Willow exchange amused glances and immediately corrected himself.
“Not that kind of crazy, for God’s sake.
” He looked away, his face still flushed.
“For the past year, every time her husband did some dumbass thing with that golf cart of his, or whenever she was home alone and thought she’d seen someone lurking around the property, she made sure I was the one to come out, and it was so…
” He shuddered. “Even at the hospital, with her husband lying right there. It was like she thought I was all twelve months of the Hot Cops of the Islands calendar or something.”
Catherine grinned. “And which month were you again?” she added, barely keeping a straight face.
Nick glared at her. “Really? I followed you all over Downeast Maine this afternoon and now you’re giving me a hard time?” He glanced sheepishly at Willow. “October.” He shrugged. “It was a fundraiser. Did well too. Brought our little department into the twenty-first century, by a slim margin.”
Rather than imagining that October calendar page, Willow asked the question that had been gnawing at the back of her mind since Patricia’s “accident” at the bottom of Boulder Hill.
“Nick … the other night after Patricia ran one of Hank’s old muscle cars off the road after her band gig here, you weren’t on duty, but you showed up at the scene, anyway.
Except you didn’t come from the island side; you were over here on the mainland. Where were you coming from?”
Nick’s gaze sharpened as he regarded her across the table.
“First of all, that’s none of your business.
Second, I’ll tell you anyway, mostly because I’m curious why you want to know.
” He sat back and crossed his arms. “I was in Pittsfield all afternoon, talking with some of the union organizers for one of Talbot’s factories up there.
” Nick shot Willow an amused half grin at her look of surprise.
“What, you think you’re the only one investigating?
And you suppose all of it can happen on a computer from your cabin?
I was on my way back home when I got a call about the accident.
I would have made a stop at the hospital to check on Talbot, but instead, I went straight to the scene.
And found, as usual”—he gave Willow a wry sideways glance—“Willow Stone, our newest island visitor, who seems to be in the middle of most of the weirdness happening around here these days.”
Willow asked abruptly, “What do you like on your pizza?”
Nick’s head jerked around to her. “Seriously? Where did that come from?”
Catherine knew where it had come from; Willow could see from the pained look on her face as the librarian silently pleaded for her to abandon the question.
But she couldn’t. “Just tell me,” Willow insisted.
He narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Banana peppers with black olives and pineapple.” He looked indignant at the expressions of horror on both women’s faces. “What?”
Catherine’s face twisted in distaste. “Wow, Nick, that’s … disgusting. A crime against nature.”
“Who puts pineapple on their pizza without ham or bacon or something?” Willow asked, looking faintly nauseated.
“I’m a vegetarian. I like it. As an added bonus, it’s weird enough that I rarely have to share my pizza with anyone.”
A vegetarian, Willow thought. Okay. She felt her insides begin to relax a little as she realized how much she did not want Nick to be involved in any of this, how much she wanted him to be on the side of the angels.
Catherine gave Willow an impatient look and jerked her chin in Nick’s direction. “You might as well tell him about the texts. He needs to know,” she murmured to Willow.
Willow told him about the texts Naomi had received three nights ago, right there in the Raven. When she got to the part about the pepperoni pizza, Nick exploded at her. “My God, Willow, you thought I was sleeping with the victim’s wife? Are you insane?”
“No, I—I didn’t really figure it was you, but … the way she talked about you, and all the visits you’d paid her, she made it sound like you spent a lot of time together. And when you were off-island the very night she was off with whoever it was…”
“Wow,” he said, looking hurt. “I mean, totally aside from the fact she’s not my type at all—”
“And what is your type?” Willow broke in sarcastically.
“None of your business,” he retorted. “I can’t believe you think I would be that irresponsible, or that bad at my job, or—”
“Cut it out, both of you.” Catherine slammed her hand on the table as Nick and Willow broke off in shock.
She turned to Nick. “Please. She doesn’t think you’re having an affair with Naomi Talbot; she’s just smart enough to look at things logically, rather than trusting someone automatically because they are a cop, or good-looking, or she likes them. ”
“Well, one out of three,” Willow muttered, chagrined.
Catherine rounded on Willow. “And you. I know you don’t know any of us that well, and that whole thing with Rina hiding Sue’s letter gave you massive trust issues, but if you’d told us about this particular suspicion, we could have helped set you straight.”
“It’s none of my business who he sleeps with,” Willow said.
“You’re spot-on right about that,” Nick muttered.
Catherine threw her hands in the air. “You two are ridiculous. Get over it. I did not drag myself all over Maine in a rental car today to listen to you two bickering like a couple in marriage counseling. So do you want to know what I learned or not?” Catherine pulled a sheaf of papers out of the messenger bag and spread them out on the table in front of them.
Nick and Willow froze, avoiding eye contact as they turned to Catherine. Willow cleared her throat. “All right,” she said, subdued. “What’s all that?”
“It’s proof that Hank Ramsey is not the Cameron heir. He made it all up.”