Karthey sat at the booth in miserable silence. Cramwell had
seated her at his booth, limped to the counter to pay for his coffee—then her
father had walked in, and it was all Karthey could do not to leap into his arms
at first sight. She sat as Cramwell had ordered her to, staring at the table,
making eye contact with no one, even though she could feel their stares and
hear their whispers from across the room. She kept her head bent, and fervently
hoped she would not have to endure the pain of her father recognizing her—just
in time to hear him cry, “Karthey!”
Karthey
winced; every time she considered looking at him, even acknowledging his
presence, her cell phone would buzz. She knew what it said; the same thing
Cramwell had been texting her every time he saw her wanting to interact with
anyone: “Remember your promise.” Karthey
was not about to break her word, for fear of losing the privilege of ever
coming to town again. It was becoming harder to do so, even as her father
persisted in speaking to her.
“Karthey!
Golly, I miss you! Are you doing well? Why won’t you speak to me? We’ve made
progress, Karthey! We’re trying to figure out who the kidnapper is. Your mother
misses you, Derrik misses you—we all wish you were back home. Aren’t you going
to at least say hello to me?” He leaned forward and grabbed her hand.
Karthey
tensed and tried to get Cramwell’s attention with her eyes, staring at him hard
enough that he looked up finally. She begged him with such a pitiful expression
that he finally relented only slightly and nodded.
Karthey
looked at her father, “Hi Dad,” she said quietly.
Her
father seemed ecstatic at the reaction. “Oh, Karthey!” He reached with his
other arm as if he was going to try and embrace her while she sat in the booth,
but just then, Cramwell finished his coffee and cleared his throat.
Mr.
Mavis took the hint and backed away from the table. Karthey felt the pain in
her chest as her father left, and knew he must feel the same way about leaving
her there.
Only
a bit behind the normal schedule of the day, Karthey and Cramwell went to the
library at eleven o’clock. Cramwell went to the Nonfiction section and was
elated to discover a new book of codes and ciphers. He read for almost a
half-hour, while Karthey amused herself with whatever she could find around
her, and proceeded to the front desk to check out the book.
At
the counter, as Cecil helped Cramwell, Taylor approached Karthey with a strange
look on his face. Keeping a wary eye on Cramwell, he hurriedly slipped a folded
piece of paper across the counter and into Karthey’s hand. Karthey covertly
slid the paper into her pocket and wondered what it could be as they walked
together to the diner.
Cramwell
walked into the diner and stopped short. Something was wrong; what was it? His
white lunch bag stood where it always did, on the counter right behind the
register. Cramwell dug the appropriate amount of cash to pay for it and laid it
on the counter, but did not touch the bag. Something stopped him.
Mrs.
Preston was not there; had she been there yesterday? He was so used to ignoring
her that her boisterous voice had become as natural as the bell that hung over
the door and rang when he walked in. He remembered the note he had found amidst
the soup cans at the grocery store the day before, warning him that someone he
knew would disappear. Had it really been referring to Mrs. Preston, of all
people? Cramwell allowed his eyes to scan around the counter; there was no sign
of the chatty woman anywhere, and the girl standing behind the counter (Charity
Grace; he had seen her in the census) looked nervous enough to confirm
Cramwell’s fears. Gruffly, he snatched the bag, waited for Karthey to select a
bagel and an orange for herself, and escorted her to the park.
Karthey
was nervous to see Cramwell revert to such a thorny demeanor. She hung back as
he marched toward the back of the park out of habit. He sat down on the bench,
and motioned for her to do the same. Karthey sat stiffly at the opposite end of
the bench. Cramwell was soon absorbed in his lunch, so Karthey found the
opportunity to covertly pull the note out of her pocket. Instantly, she
recognized the handwriting inside. It was from her father.
Dear Karthey, it
read, I wanted to tell you how proud I am of your bravery in
remaining where you are. You are safe, my darling. I want to congratulate you,
too, on your excellent sleuthing skills. I hope Mr. Fornberg has not discovered
our covert operation, but I know you, and I don’t believe he ever will because
you are so clever.
I have narrowed the list of suspects down to a handful of
people Cramwell knew back in London, who might have reason or motive for serial
abductions. A lot of them are still in jail for other crimes; if you find
anything that might help narrow down the list, please leave a note for me at
the library when you go this afternoon. I love you. –Your father
Karthey smiled; he had left her plenty of blank paper
to write her own note on, and she knew where to find a cup of pens at the
library counter. What sorts of things could she pass on to her father, though?
Everything she’d discovered in the past few days had to do with Cramwell, not
the kidnappings! Yet the more she thought about it as Cramwell finished his
lunch and the two of them walked back to the library, the more she reasoned
that perhaps what she had learned had more to do with the kidnappings than she
realized, or perhaps what she had learned would at least help them narrow down
their list of suspects. Since the kidnapper seemed to be so closely connected
with Cramwell, perhaps the more her dad knew of Cramwell, the greater their
chances of success would be.
Karthey
and Cramwell arrived at the edge of the Square and began to walk across.
Karthey kept her head down as Cramwell did, so as not to engage anyone, but she
could still see people stop and stare at them, pointing and whispering about
her and about him. It made her so uncomfortable she could not restrain an
involuntary squirm. She saw Cramwell’s eyes flicker toward her as he saw the
movement.
“The
people point and stare a lot,” she explained in a low voice as they entered the
library, “it makes me nervous.”
“That’s
the way people always act,” he replied as if they’d been on speaking terms this
whole time, “Welcome to my world.”
Karthey
was so mortified at this revelation that she almost forgot to follow him into
the Reading Nook. Just in time, she remembered the note to her father. She left
Cramwell absorbed in a novel, and meandered her way to the check-out counter,
where Zack nodded to her knowingly. Karthey selected a pen from the cup on the
counter and drew her father’s note out of her pocket. She tore off the bottom,
blank part and thought carefully about what she should write in the limited
space. After a minute, she smiled; she knew.
Jelilah drowned.
Cramwell not to
blame.
He hates red.
Mrs. Preston gone.
I love you.
Karthey
There!
Just enough room for that much. Karthey knew her dad could use this
information; she just hoped it was help enough for him. She handed the note to
Zack and returned to Cramwell.
He
sat just as she had left him, intensely absorbed in his book. She saw his brow
furrowed; was he worried about something—did he know she was passing messages
behind his back? True to form, however, he never responded to her all the time
he read. Karthey saw Zack leave the counter, and Kayla took over for him.
Karthey watched the young man slip on a coat and head out the door. Perhaps he
was delivering her message? Karthey could only sit and wonder for two more
hours. When it was time to leave, Cramwell tucked his book under his arm,
stood, and offered his other arm to Karthey. She took it, they proceeded to
check-out, and they left the library straight for the grocery store.
At
the grocery store, Karthey followed Cramwell around the bins as he selected
foods for the evening and the following day. She wandered behind him, studying
the pattern in the weave of his tweed coat, the way he tapped his cane every
third step, and the strange shuffling way he—
Karthey
stopped at the end of the canned foods aisle, where a column of stickers and
rubber stamps was located. Someone had very deliberately arranged seven
alphabet stamps to spell out “K-A-R-T-H-E-Y.” She inspected it closer. There
was a note tucked just behind it, from her dad! He must have known Cramwell
would be absorbed in choosing his cans, which would give her time to grab the
note. Keeping one eye on Cramwell, Karthey pretended to survey the items on
display, running her fingers over the rubber stamps and messing them up (in
case he might see them), and deftly seizing the note behind them with her
fingertips. Quickly, she pushed it into her pocket and continued her perusal as
if nothing was out of the ordinary, and she was just as bored as ever.
Cramwell
paid for his groceries, and the pair proceeded toward the foot of Fornberg
Hill.
Just
when they had made it out of town, Cramwell erupted abruptly, “What news from
your father?”
Karthey
turned her head toward him guiltily; truly? For all she had done to be so
clandestine, he had known all along? Or perhaps he was trying to trap her. “I
don’t know,” she answered.
Cramwell
huffed, “Miss Mavis, merely because I do not interact with anyone does not mean
I am wholly unaware of their movements, particularly of late, and especially of
you. Has your father made any progress in working with the police to solve this
case? I must have any information he has passed on to you.”
Karthey
thought about the note in her pocket. As Cramwell unlocked the gate leading to
Fornberg Hill, she expressed a proposition.
“What
if we were to work on this case together?”
Cramwell
stopped and looked her over dubiously. “Together?” he stuttered, “You want to
work with me, and you think that will help solve the case?”
Karthey
rolled her eyes at his apparent prejudice, “Yes!” she sighed, “And I think we
ought to do it in person, no more texting like we have been.” Her fear of
Cramwell Fornberg was almost completely gone in her enthusiasm to be able to at
last make progress and answer the questions that had been bothering her so much
for over a week now.
Cramwell
hesitated. Clearly he did not think her capable of such sleuthing; but hadn’t
he seen all that she had done over the last week at his house? Didn’t he
remember that he had in his desk the very paper that Karthey had written, with
all the details of the first four victims?
“Miss
Mavis,” he began, but she stopped him there on his doorstep, ready to be firm
with him for once.
“For
the record,” she informed him, “my name is Karthey.”
“Yes
I know,” he replied quickly; she could tell he was still thinking over her
offer furiously. “But—Karthey—are you sure you can be an adequate asset? This
is a very volatile, highly sensitive situation, and you are only collateral, a
temporary guest uninvolved with the case itself.”
Karthey
was unconvinced. She fixed those icy-blue eyes with the same stare from her
hazel ones. “I can do it. Will you let me?”
Cramwell
Fornberg sighed heavily. “All right,” he acquiesced, “but we don’t start until
tomorrow. Leave me alone for tonight, and we will meet in the morning.”
Karthey
nodded, “All right.”
Cramwell
opened the front door for her and allowed her to step through first. She made
for the kitchen as Cramwell went to the library.
“Cramwell,”
Karthey called before she went through the door.
He
had just reached the library door; he paused without turning around.
“Thank
you,” she said.
He
nodded his head.
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