Authors: Leslie Meier
Valentine Murder (5 page)
“What does that mean?” asked Hayden.
“It means don't leave town,” said Ed. “Right?”
“Not quite,” said Horowitz. “If you plan to go on vacation in the near future, please let me know. That's all.”
There was an audible sigh of relief from the board members when Horowitz turned to leave, pausing in the doorway to consult with a uniformed trooper.
“Well, this is quite a new experience,” said Corney, turning her big blue eyes on Chuck. “I've never been a suspect before.”
“I can't believe he really thinks one of us did it,” protested Hayden. “It's absurd.”
“Well, I don't think he could suspect me,” said Lucy. “After all, I found Bitsy.”
There was a murmur of sympathy from the board members, and Hayden reached across the table and gave her hand a little squeeze.
“By the way, Mrs. Stone,” said Horowitz, turning to face the group. “I ought to mention that you will be of particular interest to the investigators.”
“Me?” squeaked Lucy. “Why?”
“Precisely because you found the body.” He paused. “Studies show that the person who reports a murder quite often turns out to be the murderer. You found the body, you made the callâthat makes you the prime suspect.”
CHAPTER FIVE
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, She had so many children she didn't know what to do.
“W
hat?” exclaimed Lucy, jumping to her feet and following
hat?” exclaimed Lucy, jumping to her feet and following
Horowitz out of the reference room. She was slightly out of breath when she caught up with him by the circulation desk. “You don't really think I killed Bitsy, do you?” she asked. “You know who I am, don't you? Don't you remember me?”
Horowitz took his time answering. “I remember you, all right,” he said, tilting his head and studying her with his pale eyes. “And I think we ought to get one thing straight right from the start: I don't want you playing detective. Got it?”
“I have no intention of doing any such thing,” Lucy announced indignantly. “And why did you say I was the prime suspect, in front of everybody?”
“Just stirring the pot a bit,” he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully as he watched the directors beginning to leave. Miss Tilley was the first to go, leaning on Hayden's arm. “So tell me, was anything they said in there the truth?”
“Don't ask me,” said Lucy with a toss of her head. “I'm not supposed to play detective, remember? Besides, I'm new. Today was my first meeting.”
“Some first meeting,” said Horowitz with a sardonic little grin. Out of the corner of his eye he was watching Ed Bumpus, who was apparently disagreeing with Chuck about something.
“It was awful.” Lucy looked down at the floor, then raised her eyes to meet Horowitz's. “I can't believe anybody would want to kill Bitsy. She was nice to everybody. She was always willing to help you find things. She sure changed the atmosphere in the libraryânot that Miss Tilley wasn't wonderful in her own way. But Bitsy made it a fun place to be. I came in at least once a week. She had all the new books, and you always ran into somebody you knew.”
“Well, somebody sure didn't like her,” he said. “And they did a pretty neat job of killing her.”
“Were you really serious when you said it was one of the directors?”
Just then Lucy heard the door slam, and looked up to see that Ed had left and Chuck was deep in conversation with Gerald. Corney was standing a little apart, probably waiting for Chuck.
“Seems likely.”
“Well, if that's so, why didn't you question us individually? And why didn't you check our hands? I thought there's some chemical test that tells if you've fired a gun.”
“There is,” said Horowitz with a long sigh, “but I don't think your good buddy Canaday was going to let me administer paraffin tests to the board members, do you? First thing he'd do is give a little speech about how everybody wants to cooperate with the investigation, but of course, they also need to protect their rights, so they'll be happy to cooperate after they've retained legal counsel. I'm not going to be able to get anything from that crew, believe me.”
“I really think I could be helpful,” offered Lucy. “Maybe they'd talk to me since I'm a member of the board.”
“Oh, no,” said Horowitz, holding up his hands. “The way you can help is by minding your own business and leaving the investigation to the experts.”
His gaze shifted and Lucy turned to see Chuck approaching them; Gerald and Corney had left.
“Lucy, I don't think we've been formally introduced. I'm Chuck Canaday.” He reached out his hand to shake hers.
“It wasn't much of a morning for formalities,” said Lucy, taking his hand. “Of course I know who you are. I've seen you around town.”
“Same here, and I've heard nothing but good things about you. I'm glad you've joined the board.” He paused and gave her a half smile. “Our meetings are usually a lot quieterâyou had a terrible shock this morning. I really think you ought to go home now and get some rest. And just for your information, Gerald has asked me to represent the board in the investigation,” he said, giving Horowitz a pointed look, “but if you wish to retain your own attorney please feel free to do so.” He gave her hand a final squeeze of dismissal. “Will you be able to get home?”
“I'll be fine,” said Lucy. “Thanks for your concern.”
He was already turning away from her, however, and draping an arm around Horowitz's shoulder.
“Now. Lieutenant,” he was saying, “I want to assure you that the board will do everything it can to facilitate your investigation . . .”
Lucy went to retrieve her coat from Bitsy's office, where she had left it. She hesitated for a moment, then pushed open the door and stood in the doorway, struck with the way Bitsy's personality had filled the little room and trying to comprehend the fact that she would not be using it anymore. Her fingers would never pound the computer keyboard again, she would never reach for the pens and pencils stuffed in the English marmalade jar.
The office, of course, was just as she had left it. Little yellow stickies adorned the perimeter of the computer screen, the desk was covered with a sea of papers, and the windowsill was stacked with books and bound reports. Pictures and notes had spread far beyond the confines of the bulletin board, nearly covering one entire wall. Lucy paused and studied them.
There were postcards sent by authors and publishers announcing new books, nametags from conferences such as the New England Bookseller's Association's annual meeting in Boston, and clippings from book reviews. There were lots of notecards, too, mostly thank-you notes from grateful patrons who appreciated Bitsy's efforts to get them hard-to-find information and obscure books. There were even drawings made by the children who attended story hour, including one by Zoe.
Lucy reached out to unpin it.
“What do you think you're doing?” demanded an authoritative male voice.
Lucy jumped and turned to see a youthful state trooper holding a roll of yellow crime scene tape.
“My daughter made this drawingâIwanted it as a keepsake,” she explained.
“I'm sorryâmy orders are that nobody is to touch anything.”
“I hardly think this qualifies as evidence,” argued Lucy, withdrawing a push pin from the corner of Zoe's crayon portrait. “Besides, I'd be happy to sign a receipt or something.”
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I was just about to seal this room. You'll have to go. Please put the pin back just as it was.”
“May I take my coat?” snapped Lucy, angry with the trooper's inflexible attitude.
He nodded and Lucy snatched it up, feeling like a criminal for attempting to take her own daughter's drawing. She glared at him as she left, then marched across the circulation area to the door, shrugging her arms into the sleeves as she went. She flung the doors open, hardly noticing the collection of official vans and police cars parked in front of the library, and ran down the stairs and along the path to the parking lot. She yanked the car door open and sat down hard in the driver's seat. She fumbled in her purse, looking for the ignition key and when she couldn't find it, burst into tears. She sat there, gripping the steering wheel and sobbing out loud, feeling both relieved and utterly ridiculous. When the tears finally stopped, she wiped her eyes and checked her coat pocket for the car keys. Finding them, she started the engine.
Driving more slowly than usual, she followed the familiar streets to Juanita's house. As she rolled down Elm Street she spotted a police cruiser parked in front of a large Victorian mansion that had seen better days. The original clapboard had been replaced with asbestos siding that was showing its age despite a coat of paint. A rickety metal fire escape was tacked to one side, indicating the house had been cut up into apartments. That must be where Bitsy lived, she thought, slowing the car.
She remembered Bitsy complaining about her landlady, and dredged her memory for the woman's name. Willoughby? Wetherby? Withers! That was it! A honk from behind prompted the realization that the car had practically stopped, so Lucy pulled over to the side and gave the puzzled driver a wave. She sat there for a minute, observing the house and wondering if she dared pay a visit to Mrs. Withers.
There were some questions she'd like to ask her. Had Bitsy had any visitors lately? Had she seemed upset? Was she involved in a relationship?
Lucy was just about to get out of the car when she spotted a police officer coming around the side of the house. He climbed the steps to the front door and rang the bell, then stood waiting for the door to open. After his second ring the door did open and Lucy got a glimpse of Mrs. Withers, who was dressed in a bright orange sweater and garish brown and green plaid pants.
Disappointed at this lost opportunity, Lucy pulled out from the curb and drove on to the Orensteins' house. Juanita was obviously bursting with curiosity when she opened the door, but tactfully restrained herself from questioning Lucy about the morning's events.
“Are you all right, Lucy? You still look a little shaky. Can I give you a cup of tea or some lunch?” she asked, taking Lucy's arm and drawing her into the warm living room where Zoe and Sadie were playing with Barbie dolls. Rows of the leggy creatures were sitting on the sofa, and more were carefully arranged on bright pink plastic doll furniture set out on the carpeted floor.
“No, thanks. I'm really okay. I just want to get home.” She sighed. “Zoe, it's time to go. Can you help clean up the toys, please?”
“Never mind,” said Juanita. “Sadie can do it later. Come on, Zoe. Let's find your coat.”
“Thanks for everything,” said Lucy, when Zoe was suited up against the cold and ready to go.
“It was nothing,” Juanita told her. “Sadie always enjoys having Zoe visit.”
As they trudged through the snowy yard to the car, Lucy noticed that the bright sunlight of the morning was gone. The sky was filling up once again with heavy gray clouds. She sniffed the air.
“I smell snow,” she told Zoe, helping her climb into her booster seat and snapping the seatbelt.
“You can't smell snow,” said Zoe, laughing.
“Oh, yes, you can,” said Lucy, once again starting the car.
As she drove, her mind kept going back to the moment when she found Bitsy's body. It was as if her thoughts were a broken video tape that kept replaying the same image over and over. She kept trying to get past it, just as she tended to fastforward a rented movie through the violent parts, but her mind would not cooperate. It was stuck on Bitsy's murder.
Tears pricked at her eyes, and she tried to blink them back as she came to the steep climb up Red Top Road. She downshifted for the climb, and the Subaru obligingly chugged up the hill toward home.
The house was empty. Lucy glanced at the clock and was shocked to see it was only two-thirty. She would have guessed it was much later.
“I'm hungry,” said Zoe, pointedly eying the cookie jar.
“Good idea,” said Lucy, remembering that she hadn't had any lunch. She put the kettle on to heat and set a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the kitchen table. Then she scooped some hot chocolate mix into two mugs and waited for the water to boil.
Damn Horowitz, she thought. What business did he have accusing her like that in front of all the others? Even if it was a little joke. And why was he joking anyway about something as terrible as murder? It was just a job for himâhe didn't know or care about Bitsy. It didn't matter to him who the killer was so long as he caught him. Or her. The thought gave Lucy pause. Of course it could be a womanâa woman could shoot a gun just as effectively as a man.
She jumped as the kettle shrieked, and filled the mugs. Sitting down at the table opposite Zoe, she stirred her hot cocoa. Thank goodness the other kids were still at schoolâshe wasn't ready to deal with the noise and confusion they brought home with them.
“Carefulâit's hot,” she warned Zoe.
“I know, Mom.”
“Good.”
Lucy lifted the mug to her lips. It felt heavy and she used two hands so it wouldn't spill. This is ridiculous, she thought, feeling that all her energy had somehow drained from her body. The little chores she ought to be doing seemed impossibly difficult. All she could do was sit.
This is depression, she decided. Shock and depression, compounded by low blood sugar. She made herself take a sip of cocoa, and then another.
If only she didn't feel so responsible. She knew it was absurd. She was the newest person on the board; she hadn't had time to do anything. But still she couldn't help feeling that she should have done something to prevent Bitsy's death. How could such a thing happen? And in the library, of all places?
They should have had a security system. But if one of the directors did kill Bitsy, as Horowitz seemed to think, it wouldn't have made any difference. Lucy put her head in her hands. How could she go back? How could she ever face those people, wondering all the time if one of them was a murderer?
Horowitz and his “mind your own business” be damned, she thought. There was only one way she could get through this, and it was by finding the murderer as soon as possible. She couldn't wait for the police to muddle their way through the caseâthat could take months, especially if the board members retained lawyers as she expected they would. The police wouldn't get very far unless they found some hard physical evidence, like the gun. She was the first one on the scene, however, and she hadn't seen anything.
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