Booked for Trouble (18 page)

Billy swung on his heels. “Let me walk you to your car, Norm, Sandy. Mrs. Whiteside's waiting, Doug. We have the ladies' tea next. Can't be late.”

“I'm glad I have your vote,” Doug said to Butch and me. “For Nags Head.”

I didn't fail to notice Billy reaching into his pocket and pressing something into Norm's hand. Norm's girlfriend turned and ran toward us before Billy could stop her.

“Hey,” she said. “Nice to see you again. Remember me? I'm Sandy Sechrest.”

“Lucy.”

“Speaking of jobs, do you have any openings here? I mean, like, at the library?”

“Didn't I just hear that your pal Doug wants to close the library? That would mean no jobs. For anyone.”

“Oh, heck. It's all talk. He hasn't got a chance of winning anyway. I never vote, but I might this time. That Mayor McNeil's kinda cute.”

Nice to see Connor had the fluffy-headed-bimbo voting bloc locked up.

I studied Sandy. On closer inspection I could see that beneath the excessive makeup, her eyes contained a glimmer of intelligence. “If you're ever hiring, I'd appreciate a heads-up. I'm not a librarian, but I'm a darn hard worker.” Her smile was genuine.

“I'll bear that in mind. Why not stop by sometime, have a look around, see what we're all about here? This is not your grandmother's library.”

“Thanks. I'd like that. Gotta run. I was kinda hoping to get myself on TV. I guess that's not gonna happen. See you around.”

Butch and I stood in silence, watching them drive away.

“Rather convenient for good old Doug. Having his sister die that way.” I spoke through chattering teeth.

“You're absolutely drenched, Lucy,” Butch said. “Let's get inside.”

“I'm fine.” I rubbed my arms in a feeble attempt to generate some warmth.

The library was deliciously warm, dry, and cozy. I grabbed a shawl from the back of the circulation desk chair. Butch smiled at me. “You do look like a drowned rat.”

Charles shuddered in sympathy and rubbed against my ankles, bringing some circulation back to my legs.

“Not much worse than you,” I said to Butch.

“No, but my job often involves standing in the rain. You better get upstairs and dry off before you catch your death.”

“Don't worry about me. I never get sick. Are you going to tell Watson what I said? About Doug benefiting from Karen's death?”

“Yes.”

Charles leapt up onto the desk. He rubbed his head against Butch's arm, asking for a scratch.

Butch obliged.

“And not only the whole grieving-brother thing, either,” I said. “The flowers were a nice touch. Do you think Mrs. Whiteside is on something? She sure looked out of it to me.”

“Bored to death, most likely. As was everyone else.”

“Family relationships are important in political campaigns. Particularly in close-knit communities like this one. Doug and Karen were, so I've been told, seriously at odds for a long time. I've also been told that Karen had a mean streak, and wasn't one to let bygones be bygones. I wonder if she would have done something to sabotage her brother's campaign. A few well-placed words about family secrets, skeletons in the closet.”

“I don't know, and neither do you, Lucy.”

“No, but I can speculate to my heart's content. Doug had two reasons to want his sister dead.”

“Doesn't mean he did it.” Charles purred as Butch's big fingers scratched all his favorite spots.

“As for Norm, he's also benefiting by Karen's death. For one thing, he's back in their house, and has a cute young girlfriend. Doug's paying him to traipse around after him and look suitably grief-stricken. I hope you and Watson haven't forgotten that Norm was seen the day after Karen's death dining at an expensive restaurant with that girl, Sandy.”

“We haven't forgotten, Lucy.”

“In fact,” I went on, as the cold seeped through my light blouse and into my bones, “about the only one who has no reason to have wanted Karen dead is my mother.”

“Lucy, I can't talk about that with you. Except to say that Watson's keeping an open mind. Look, you're shivering all over. You need to get upstairs and have a hot shower.”

“Okay.”

“Can I see you up?” His hazel eyes twinkled. “I can scrub your back.”

“No, you cannot. I have to lock the door after you.”

“You can always lock up first.”

If I'd been Josie, I would have tossed my hair and laughed delightfully and punched him playfully in the arm. But I'm not Josie and blood rushed to my head and my laugh was so strangled I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd begun to perform the Heimlich maneuver.

Charles chose that moment to jump to the floor. Butch leapt back as a mass of tan fur passed in front of his face. “Whoa, I get the hint, buddy.”

This time my laugh was real.

“Come on,” Butch said. “Walk me to the door.” He held out his hand. I took it in mine. It felt warm and solid and safe, very safe. He bent down and gave me a kiss on the cheek. A kiss as light as a drifting feather.

Then he stepped back. “I'll wait right here, until the door's closed and I hear the lock turn.”

“Yes, Officer Greenblatt,” I said. “Whatever you say, Officer Greenblatt.”

Butch left and I did as I'd been ordered.

Charles jumped onto the iron railing and escorted me upstairs. I eyed the big cat. Had Charles attempted, like an Austen chaperone, to protect my honor?

Did I want, like an Austen heroine, to have my honor protected?

An image of Connor's smiling face and sparkling blue eyes popped unbidden into my head.

Who knew life in a library on the Outer Banks could be so interesting?

I
stood under the shower for a long time, letting the steaming water bring some heat back to my body and some clarity to my mind. My body responded as desired, but my mind did not. The suspects in the murder of Karen were mounting. The only thing I could be positive about was my mother's innocence.

Norm Kivas and Doug Whiteside. And those were only the people I knew about. What other enemies might Karen have had?

With a sudden shock, I realized I was forgetting someone.

The Gray Woman.

Watching me, watching everything. Saying nothing.

The Gray Woman wasn't just snooping around the library. Every time I turned around in the Ocean Side Hotel, she seemed to be there. She'd witnessed that altercation between Karen and Mom.

Was it possible that, for reasons unknown, the Gray Woman had followed Karen (or Mom, or even me) to book club, then lurked silently on the grounds as night fell and we drank tea, nibbled on pastries, and discussed
Pride and Prejudice
? Had the Gray Woman slipped up behind Karen as she unlocked her car, and whispered that they had to talk?

Let's step over here. Around the corner. Where no one can see us.

Had the Gray Woman and Karen known each other?

Had the Gray Woman been Karen's fence in the theft of the necklace? Mom had speculated that Karen had been killed by the person waiting to receive the necklace, and I'd dismissed that as improbable. But what if it was true? What if the Gray Woman had been at the hotel to meet with Karen? Maybe between them, they arranged for Karen to steal the necklace from the guest room, and the plan was to smuggle the jewels out of the hotel in Mom's bag. Maybe the Gray Woman was going to do a snatch-and-grab when Mom got back to the hotel. But, seeing that she didn't have her bag with her, the Gray Woman then came to the lighthouse to meet Karen. They argued, and . . .

Surely, in that case, the Gray Woman would have left town abruptly, not hung around? But what did I know about the criminal mind? She might be working with other hotel staff, planning another heist.

Why was she spending so much time in the library? Our library, like all public libraries, was a very busy place. People came and went all day long, and no one spared a moment's thought for a total stranger strolling in and making herself comfortable.

Was she waiting for her next contact to make a drop?

I was onto something; I knew it. I should call Butch or Detective Watson with this information. But I didn't even have a name for the Gray Woman, and nothing at all substantial to report. I could hardly say she gave me a creepy feeling.

Then I remembered. Connor had said he'd see what he could find out. I checked my watch. It was coming up to six o'clock. He might still be in the office. I pulled up his number on my cell phone, and then dialed it, using the landline.

“Connor McNeil,” he said in his official mayoral voice.

“Hi, Connor, it's Lucy.”

“Lucy. How nice to hear from you.” His voice relaxed and I was pleased that just hearing from me had that effect on him. “Is everything okay?”

“I'm fine, but I'm calling about two things, Connor. First you might want to know . . .” I explained about Doug Whiteside and his official declaration that he was running for mayor.

“Thanks for the heads-up, Lucy. The paper called me a few minutes ago, but I was in a meeting, so I didn't take it. I'm not surprised to hear Doug's in the race, but I have to say I'm disappointed that he's playing on Karen's death to score political points. But let's not talk about politics. You said there were two things?”

“At the hotel the other night, you said you'd see if you could find anything out about that woman who's always hanging around. Did you? She was here again today.”

“I asked around, but didn't find much. Unfortunately, I don't have police powers,” he laughed. “Her name is Irene Dawson, and she's from Iowa. She booked into the hotel for a week, and appears to be by herself. Sorry, nothing more.”

“Thanks for doing that.”

“And thank you for the call. Now I can be prepared when I talk to the papers.”

We hung up. I tapped the receiver against my cheek.

Time to go to the hotel. Time to confront this Irene Dawson and demand to know what she was doing at the Ocean Side and at the Lighthouse Library. I wouldn't go to her room; I wasn't that stupid. I'd wait in the crowded lobby, and accost her when she walked through.

It was just after six now. She'd probably be going to dinner soon.

Set on my course of action, I dressed quickly.

Charles lay on the bed and watched me. When I sat beside him to tie on my sneakers, he gave me a long, plaintive whine. His eyes were wide and his ears up.

“Don't give me that look,” I said. “I know what I'm doing.” I headed for the door. “Don't wait up.”

My timing was perfect. I didn't even have to get out of my car. As I pulled into the driveway of the hotel, a small gray Toyota Corolla with Iowa plates passed me, heading in the opposite direction. The Gray Woman was driving, and she was alone.

I swung my car around, and followed.

Corollas are very common cars, but as I drove, I thought there was something familiar about this one. Was it the one I'd seen the other day, following the police down the lighthouse lane before speeding up and driving away? I'd dismissed it as belonging to a lost tourist, but it now seemed as though the Gray Woman had been spying on us. It was definitely time to find out what she was up to. Even if she was not involved in the death of Karen, if she'd been creeping around the library that night, maybe she'd seen something she should have taken to the police.

I convinced myself I was doing my public duty in trying to find out what was going on here.

We headed north, farther into Nags Head. The rain had
almost stopped, but visibility was poor in the mist and the gathering dusk, and my windshield wipers were hard at work pushing aside water kicked up by cars' tires. Fortunately the weather was keeping people indoors, so the traffic wasn't bad, and the low visibility should be in my favor. She'd be less likely to realize she was being followed. We stayed on Virginia Dare Trail. She was a cautious driver, sticking to the right lane at a solid five miles per hour under the speed limit. Impatient cars pulled out and zipped past us. Some rude person even honked at me.

Before too long, the turn indicators of the car ahead began to blink. She slowed, and turned into the parking lot at the fishermen's pier. This was not a day for fishing, and the lot was mostly empty. I'd once been here with Connor and knew that the pier had a restaurant and a covered bar with a view out to sea.

The Gray Woman parked close to the entrance. She got out of her car and the lights flashed as she locked it with the remote. Then she hurried up the steps.

Should I follow?

Suppose I was completely wrong and she was here for an assignation?

It was entirely possible that was the case. Perhaps she'd told her family she was visiting friends, but in reality was here to meet her lover. That would explain why she was here on her own. Bored and lonely. Waiting until her lover got the chance to sneak out.

The image of the glance that had passed between her and Diane Uppiton flashed through my mind. They knew each other; I was sure of it. I'd forgotten about that in my speculation that she was Karen's killer.

Could Curtis Gardner, unwanted library board
member and Diane Uppiton's lover, be the Gray Woman's lover also?

No. Diane was not one to hold back. If she so much as suspected the Gray Woman was involved with Curtis, she'd have torn the Gray Woman's gray hair out by its gray roots.

Killer or philanderer, she was up to no good. And I was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Hadn't I recently been thinking that life here was interesting?

I marched boldly up the steps and into the restaurant, trying to look as though I knew where I was going. About half the tables were occupied, and people sat in colorful stools along the railing, gazing out at the storm-tossed sea.

I tiptoed forward, trying to stay out of sight against the wall.

A waitress, bearing a tray overflowing with burgers, wings, and pitchers of beer, passed me. “With you in a sec, hon.” No one I recognized was at the outside seating. I stuck my head around the corner. There she was! The Gray Woman was standing beside a table, looking down at the occupants. Her body hid whoever was sitting to the left side of the table, and the wall behind which I was trying to conceal myself blocked the right.

Then she pulled out a chair and sat down.

Diane Uppiton. I stuck my head farther out. Curtis Gardner.

“Are you looking for something?” I leapt out of my skin at a voice by my shoulder.

“No. Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Would you like a table?” A waiter was eyeing me
suspiciously. Probably thinking I was here on an assignation of my own.

“No. I mean, no, thank you. I'm looking for . . . my mother. I seem to have lost her.”

“Perhaps—”

“Silly old Mom. She wanders off sometimes.” I threw one last look at Diane, Curtis, and the Gray Woman and bolted for the exit. Wrapped in their conversation, they hadn't noticed me.

I gunned my car and tore out of the parking lot.

So, the Gray Woman was here to meet with Diane and Curtis, was she? In that case her snooping around the library wasn't an attempt to pass the time or to take possession of stolen goods. The three of them were plotting something.

I was heading toward the police station. Butch had said he was going off duty, but Watson might still be around. I only realized I'd been so deep in thought I'd let my foot off the gas pedal and was driving at a sedate twenty miles an hour when someone honked at me and made a rude gesture as he passed.

I sped up, and passed the police station in a spray of rainwater. What could I tell Watson? That I'd followed a woman to a restaurant. I'd seen her having dinner with people I didn't trust.

He'd be more likely to arrest me for being a stalker than rush out to interrogate the Gray Woman.

I wouldn't tell Watson my suspicious, not yet. But I would let Bertie know something was up with Diane and Curtis.