Buried (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 1) by C. J. Carmichael

blessing, son. Trust me, when you get to be my age, being alone isn’t that much fun.”
    Again he wondered about her and Amos. “I’m just not the marrying kind.”
    “I hope you’re not saying that because of your father. You may look like him. Doesn’t mean you aren’t your own man.”
    He nodded, discounting her words, even as he pretended to agree. Stella could say things like that because she didn’t know what it was like to be him. The darkness and the demons he lived with. The nightmares and weird twisted places his imagination always led him. He might channel those things into stories now...but maybe the day would come when they would spill out into real life. He didn’t want to have a wife or children if that happened.
    “Do you ever hear from your father?”
    Dougal grew cautious. “I used to get the occasional letter or email when he was in prison.”
    “He’s out now, isn’t he?” She made it sound like a casual question. But he could tell she was as tense as he was.
    “Last March. He sent a letter through my publisher. Wanted to see me. I tore it up.”
    “You don’t want to talk to him?”
    “Don’t see the point.”
    “Right.” She removed the bread from toaster and buttered it. “He still doesn’t know about Jamie, does he?”
    “Not from me he doesn’t.”
    “That’s good.”
    “Do you think he would hurt Jamie if he knew about her?”
    “Not physically, no. I’m more worried that your sister, with her soft heart and all, would try to bring him into the family fold, and end up being disappointed. That man just was never meant to be a father.” She turned her focus back to Dougal. “How long are you in town for? Just the wedding?”
    “Longer. I’m considering renting a cottage from Charlotte Hammond. She’s helping me with some research for my next book.”
    Stella frowned. “Are you talking about the Librarian Cottage?”
    “You know the place?”
    “If it’s the one I’m thinking of. About five miles east of town, on the Old Forestry Road?”
    He nodded.
    “Dougal, that house hasn’t been lived in for decades. It’s got to be a big mess.”
    “Charlotte already warned me. Which reminds me, I wanted to ask if you had time to clean it for me. I’d pay extra since it’s been unused for so long.”
    Stella hesitated. “My knees are acting up pretty bad these days and just my regular jobs are all I can handle. But when your mom got too sick to work, I advertised for a new partner. Her name is Liz Brooks. Maybe she can help you.”
    Stella pulled Liz’s business card from a drawer. “Here’s her number.”
    “Thanks.” He glanced at the card, then pocketed it. “Do you remember much about Shirley Hammond? She used to live at that cottage in the seventies.”
    Stella placed the cooked egg on her plate, along with two slices of toast, then sat down. She didn’t touch the food though. Just sighed. “Shirley was our librarian back in the sixties and seventies. She was a lovely woman. But very quiet.”
    “I understand she died young. But how?”
    Stella’s face paled. “She hung herself in the basement of the library. Everyone was shocked, of course. Saying what a waste, and things like that. She never left a note for her family.”
    Charlotte’s defensive reaction to his questions about Shirley made sense now. Strange how suicide still seemed to carry a stigma. But he was surprised by the lack of a note. “Kind of ironic that a women who valued the written word didn’t leave any of her own behind.”
    “I never thought of it that way, but that’s a good point. Why are you asking about Shirley, anyway?”
    “Just curious. That’s all.”
    She picked up her fork. “Sure you don’t want any?”
    “Thanks, but I’m eating later. You go ahead.”
    “I feel a little rude eating in front of a guest, but your sister and Cory are coming for a dress fitting in about fifteen minutes. And I haven’t eaten for hours.”
    He recalled Stella had worked part