Kelly Sofie - Curiosity Thrilled The Cat

“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?”