Booked for Trouble (9 page)

My phone rang. I groaned. I didn't think I could take any more weirdness today.

I checked the display before answering, to make sure it was a perfectly normal person calling. It was. “Hi, Connor. What's up?”

“I was wondering if you have time for a drink. Dinner would be on offer, but I'm assuming you've eaten. I know it's late to be calling.”

“I went to Jake's with Mom and the family, so a drink would be nice. I'm at the Ocean Side, dropping Mom off.”

“I can be there in a couple of minutes.”

“I'm sick and tired of this place,” I spoke before thinking. “Why don't you meet me at the library? I have an unopened bottle of wine in my fridge that I've been saving for company.”

“Good idea. See you in a few minutes.”

I hung up. Then I panicked. What on earth had I done? I'd invited a man—Connor McNeil, a highly attractive man—to my apartment. At ten o'clock at night. Would he read more into the invitation than I'd intended?

Once again, I made it home in record time. Connor's car was not in the parking lot, and I was pleased to see no police vehicles, either. I ran up the path, fumbled to get my key in the lock, sprinted up the stairs—round and round, I went—fumbled once more with the lock to the apartment, and burst in. I grabbed the bottle of wine,
snatched up two glasses, and sprinted out again. My apartment has only one main room. My mother would never approve of me entertaining a gentleman in the equivalent of my bedroom. Charles was standing on the landing, glaring at me, quite put out at not being effusively greeted the moment I'd arrived.

I switched on a single light in the main room of the library, pulled two chairs up to a small table, cleared books off the table, and laid out the bottle and glasses. I was relaxing comfortably, not sure if my heart was pounding so hard because of the burst of exercise or in anticipation, when lights washed the front of the lighthouse. Charles reached the door first, because I was strolling toward it so casually.

Connor's hair was mussed as if he'd been running his fingers through it. His tie was askew and his top shirt button undone. He gave me a strained smile and I invited him in.

“You don't look too well,” I said. “Is something wrong?”

“Rough day.” He spotted the wine and the chair grouping and his blue eyes widened.

“I thought,” I said, “it would be nice to sit down here. I love a library at night. It's so peaceful and quiet. I sometimes think I can hear the books whispering among themselves.”

A smile touched his face.

“Does that sound silly?” I said.

“It sounds perfect. Perfectly Lucy.”

“Wine?”

“I'd love one.”

I always buy a bottle with a twist cap when I can. Just as well, as I don't own a corkscrew. I poured two glasses while Connor dropped into one of the wingback chairs
with a weary sigh. I handed him his drink and he leaned back and closed his eyes. His handsome face was darkening with end-of-the-day stubble.

“How's your mother's visit going?”

“Dramatic, to say the least. I suppose I should tell you that we were at the police station earlier with Uncle Amos, because the police questioned Mom about the theft of a necklace from a guest room at the Ocean Side.”

“That doesn't sound good.”

“No. It sure doesn't. The necklace was found in my mom's bag.”

“Why'd they search her bag?”

“They found it. Here, upstairs. She forgot it after book club.”

“Do you think your mom took it?”

“No. If she had kleptomaniac tendencies, they would have shown up by now. She can afford to buy anything she wants, and she usually does. But I'm worried about what the cops think. Frankly it's unlike her to leave her property behind, to not even know what's in her beach bag. She's normally highly organized and superefficient. She's been acting so strangely on this visit.”

“Strangely, how?”

“Drinking far more than she's used to, for one thing. I don't like it. I'd be worried about her even if a cloud of murder and theft wasn't hanging over her. Over us.”

He sipped his wine. The setting was so peaceful with the dim lights, the quiet books, and the curving whitewashed brick-and-stone walls surrounding us. I wished I'd thought to bring out candles. Charles leapt onto Connor's lap and settled down with a loud purr.

“As long as we're talking about going to the police
station,” Connor said, studying the wine in his glass, “I had a visit from Watson, too.”

“What?”

“I wasn't at book club last night. He wanted to know why. A previously scheduled meeting, I told him. I'd already heard about the death of Karen Kivas. I also heard you were the one who found her. That must have been hard.”

“It was. The whole day has been nothing but dreadful. One thing after another.” I lifted my glass. “It's nice to sit back and relax.”

“Watson had some questions for me about Karen's brother.”

“Who's he?”

“Guy by the name of Doug Whiteside. Doug's planning to run for mayor next time around.”

“Against you?”

“I don't intend to be mayor forever, but this is my first term, and I have things I want to accomplish that I haven't had time for yet. Whiteside, well, let's say it's my opinion that he'd be a disaster of a mayor.”

“Why?”

“Strictly between you and me, Lucy?”

“Yes.”

“I suspect he's on the take. From developers. I have no proof, so I can't start spreading it around, but there are strong indications that that's the case. There are some important environmental issues coming up, things that developers might not be happy about.”

“I understand.” The Outer Banks is a thin, very thin, strip of sand jutting into the Atlantic Ocean. The shore is constantly being pounded by waves and washed by
currents, and the hotels and beach houses perch precariously on the sandy shoreline. If the land is going to be habitable in the future, strong protections are needed. The sort of protections that might interfere with some people's building plans.

“You think her brother had something to do with Karen's death?”

Connor shook his head. He absentmindedly stroked Charles's soft fur. “No, I don't. They were not close. Estranged, in fact. But blood is thicker than water, and Detective Watson was idly wondering if I might have taken the opportunity to kill Karen to knock Doug out of the race.”

I almost laughed; the idea was so ridiculous.

Then again, it wasn't any more ridiculous than my mom stealing a diamond necklace and forgetting it was in her beach bag.

Connor gave me a smile. “I think even Watson realized how far-fetched that was as soon as he said it. I have a lot of confidence in Sam Watson. He's a good cop. How was your dinner?”

“Dinner was good. The food's fantastic and Jake's is at a perfect location. Do you know Karen's husband, Norm?”

“I know of him. Why do you ask?”

“He was there, at Jake's. He was drinking heavily, and caused a nasty scene with Josie and Jake. Apparently earlier this year Josie fired him for coming to work at the bakery drunk, and he thinks that was part of some grand conspiracy to keep him down. A conspiracy that includes the police. I'd think a visit from the cops to tell you your wife's dead would be standard police procedure, but Norm didn't take it that way.”

“Was he drunk?”

“Oh, yeah. He was with a young woman. At first I thought she might have been his daughter, but I think she was his date. She didn't seem to have a brain in her head. The sort, I'd imagine, who wouldn't have given him the time of day if he'd suggested going for beer and wings. He was spending big, too, the most expensive dishes and a bottle of good wine.”

“That's interesting. Karen worked as a hotel maid, she was helping to raise her grandkids, and Norm can't hold down a job. Then, the day after she died, he can afford to take a woman to Jake's? Is it possible she, the date, was paying?”

“I suppose it might have been.” I hadn't noticed who'd taken care of the check.

While we chatted, Connor had stopped patting Charles. The cat swatted his hand as a reminder, and we laughed before going on to talk about more pleasant things. Eventually Connor refused a top-up, put his glass on the table, and got to his feet. “I'd better be off. Thanks, Lucy. You're a good listener.”

“I did as much talking as listening.”

“It's nice just to be with you.”

I flushed, and hoped the rising color wouldn't show in the soft lights of the library. Connor and I walked to the door as Charles wound between our feet before leaping to the top of the returns shelf. Connor hesitated. Charles butted His Honor with his head, and then Connor said, “There's something I've been wanting to ask you, Lucy. Next Thursday's the official Mayor's Ball. It's the highlight of the summer season, or so I've been told. I'd like you to accompany me.”

“To go to a ball?”

“Very formal, I'm afraid. Totally stuffy. Suits and evening dresses and pressing the flesh. It's work for me, but I'd like it very much if you'd be my date.”

“I'd love to.”

Connor grinned. “Great! And thanks for a nice evening.” He leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek so soft it was like air brushing against my skin.

He went out into the night. I closed the door, and leaned up against it, my cheek burning with the feel of his kiss. I liked Connor. A lot. I liked Butch. A lot. I'd have to decide, and probably soon, if I was going to take things further with one of them.

But which one?

Then Charles reminded me he hadn't yet had his dinner.

O
ver a breakfast of coffee and a parfait of Greek yogurt, granola, and fresh berries, I checked the local news. The police had not yet made an arrest in the “brutal murder” of Karen Kivas, but were “expecting to shortly.”

Which I translated to mean they didn't have a clue.

Or maybe they had too many clues. I thought of Mom, Norm Kivas, and even Karen's brother, Doug. Connor had said Doug and Karen were estranged. I wondered how far that went.

I picked up the phone.

“Greenblatt.”

“Hi, Butch. It's Lucy.”

“Lucy!” I heard a smile creep into his voice. “How are you this fine morning?”

“I'm afraid I'm calling about business, Butch.”

“Whose business?”

“Yours.”

“Shoot.”

After the day I'd had yesterday, I should have fallen asleep immediately. Instead I'd lain awake most of the
night, listening to the wind rattling the lighthouse and Charles snoring. I thought of poor Karen. Tragic as her murder was, I'd barely known her, and her death didn't have anything to do with me. But my mom had become involved. I couldn't simply ignore the fact that she might find herself falsely accused. I decided that I'd do what I had to do, and with that, I finally fell asleep.

“I was at Jake's last night,” I said. “Norm Kivas came in, Karen's husband.”

“Go ahead.”

“He was drinking. Heavily. I gather that's not unusual. He was spending a lot of money and was with a woman, a young woman, who seemed to be his date.” My voice trailed off. “I thought you should know.”

“Thanks, Lucy. I'll tell Detective Watson.” Butch didn't sound terribly excited at my news. Jake had probably told him.

“He tried to start a fight with Jake and Josie. Accused Jake of sending the police around to harass him. Did you?”

“Harass him? No, Lucy, we didn't harass him. I was with Watson when he broke the news of Karen's death to Norm. Can't say he was particularly upset, didn't seem too bothered by it, but we knew he and Karen had split up. We asked the usual questions about where he was at the time. I suppose he could consider that harassment. If he had something to hide.”

“Does he have an alibi?”

“No. He says he was at home, alone. He didn't say passed-out drunk, but that was the impression we had.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I don't believe or not believe. Most murders are committed by family members, and the odds are even
greater when there's been a recent divorce or separation. We're looking into everyone who might have had reason to kill Karen Kivas.”

“Including my mom?”

“I'm not going to answer that, and you know it.”

“She would never have stolen a necklace. She'd have no reason to. My parents are . . . financially comfortable.”

“You'd be surprised at how many people steal things they don't need. Or even want.”

I thought of the Jane Austen first-edition collection on display in the library. And who had stolen some of the volumes a few weeks ago. “I get your point. But not as it regards my mom.”

“I gotta go—Watson's giving me the evil eye.”

“One more thing. Don't you find it strange that Karen was alone outside the lighthouse last night?”

“The thought did cross our minds, Lucy.”

I pretended not to hear his tone. “She was parked there. Why didn't she get into her car and drive away? If she had car problems, she could have phoned for help, or knocked on the door and asked me to give her a lift into town. Was there a problem with her car?”

“It started straight off the bat when they gave it a try.”

“So, if she wasn't having car problems, maybe she saw something, or someone, creeping around, and went to check. Have you considered that?”

“Lucy, Detective Watson knows how to conduct an investigation.”

“I'm just tossing out ideas.”

“I have to go. We'll be busy with this murder investigation, but I will, no matter what's happening, be there for my brother's big night. I hope you're still on for that, Lucy.”

“Looking forward to it.”

We hung up and I went to work.

Charlene and Ronald, my coworkers, were arriving as I came down the stairs. They fired their questions at me at the same time.

“Lucy, what on earth is going on?”

“Karen Kivas died, right here in the lighthouse?”

“Not in the lighthouse,” I said, “but outside.”

“The police think it's a suspicious death,” Ronald said. “Is that true?”

“I'm afraid so.” I told them all I knew, which wasn't much. I left out the stuff about the diamond-and-gold necklace and my mother being under suspicion of having stolen it.

“I'd hate to think,” Ronald said, “that someone was hanging around outside, in the dark, waiting for a woman to come out of our library.”

I lived here alone; I tried not to think about that, either. Of course I then I thought about it. It was possible that this had been a random killing. But the question remained as to why Karen had lingered after I'd closed the door and Mom had driven away. Had Karen taken time for a smoke? That was possible. She did have grandchildren, so perhaps she never smoked in her car because she drove them around. Or had she made a phone call and been sitting in her car, alone in the dark, when someone tapped on her window asking for help?

I was about to head for the phone to let Butch know my new theory, but I remembered that he'd told me to butt out. Very politely of course.

“Nasty business,” Ronald said with a shake of his head. His tie featured Donald Duck today. I took my
seat at the circulation desk, and Charlene flipped the sign on the door to
OPEN
.

“I'll be upstairs if you need a break.” Charlene dug in her pocket for her iPhone and earbuds.

Thank heavens for earbuds,
was all I could say.

Charlene had headed upstairs, the muted sound of Jay Z trailing behind her, when Bertie came into the room. She did not look happy. “I had a call from Eunice Fitzgerald. The restaurant has apparently had a fire in the kitchen and had to cancel the board meeting lunch today.”

“A fire! Was anyone hurt?” Ronald asked.

“No. It was quickly brought under control, I hear, but the kitchen will be closed for a couple of days.”

“Isn't that a good thing, then? No board meeting,” I said.

“Never one to be put off, Mrs. Fitzgerald has decided to have the meeting here. She will be bringing sandwiches.” Bertie rolled her eyes. “As my office is hardly big enough, we'll meet in the staff break room. I can only hope they won't have a quorum. Lunch in the back room of a library with sandwiches and bottled tea is no substitute for a fancy meal, heavy on the wine and beer, enjoyed on the veranda of a nice restaurant. I won't mention any names, of course, but some of our board members seem more interested in enjoying the perks of the job, on
my
budget, than actually doing the work of running a library. They'll be here at noon.”

“I'll send them back,” I said.

Shortly before eleven a steady stream of parents with two- to four-year-olds in tow began coming through the doors, heading upstairs for Thursday Toddlers Theater.
The kids were jumping with joy, in some cases quite literally. Ronald and his wife, Nora, had both had moderately successful show business careers in New York in their youth. But acting, as he'd explained to me, is a tough, unreliable business, and they'd given up the greasepaint and floodlights to move to the Outer Banks. Now Nora taught dance, and Ronald had become a librarian. But you can't take the theater out of the boy, and one of his most popular initiatives at the library was Toddlers Theater. He wove stories from the rich history of the Outer Banks, and the children dressed up in a wild assortment of costumes to play Elizabethan settlers, Indians, pirates, and crusty sea captains.

Charles always seemed to know when the children would be arriving, and he sat on the second level of the returns shelf, accepting the pats and praise he took as his due.

Shortly before noon, the phone on the desk rang. For a moment my heart lifted when I recognized Butch's number on the display. It fell back with a thud when I remembered that he was working and what that work entailed. It was unlikely he was calling to ask either for a date or for my help.

“Ms. Richardson,” he said, his tone deep and formal. Not good.

“Speaking,” I chirped.

“Detective Watson wants to interview you once again about the events on Tuesday night. I called your cell phone and was told you were out of range. Are you at the library?”

“Yes.” The thick stone walls of the lighthouse interfered with cell phones. To get a signal, we had to stand by a window or find the exact spot by the sink in the break
room where modern plumbing penetrated the nineteenth-century wall. Upstairs in my apartment, I could use my iPhone if I opened the window, stood on the bench seat, and leaned out.

“We'll be around shortly,” Butch said.

“But we're working. We're very busy today.” I mentally crossed my fingers. Ronald was busy—children's laughter poured down the staircase—but the parents had gone for coffee and a good gossip, leaving the main floor of the library empty.

“We'll be there in ten minutes.” He hung up.

If I hadn't been in a library, I might have sworn. I used the phone to call Charlene and tell her she was needed on the desk. She grumbled, but agreed to come.

According to the big clock on the wall, it was ten to noon. Oh, goody. The cops would be here at the same time the library board began arriving for their meeting. I abandoned the circulation desk and dashed up to the second floor. Ronald needed to know I'd be tied up for an indeterminate amount of time. I stuck my head in the door of the children's library. Today must be pirate day. Ronald wore a big hat with a plume and had a black patch tied around his head to cover one eye. A stuffed parrot perched on his shoulder. I swear, he had the costume for every occasion. The children were seated on the floor in a circle, dressed in an assortment of long dresses, vests, and hats, waving plastic swords or pushing wooden sailing vessels around their feet.

Ronald glanced up when I arrived, but kept reading without missing a beat. I mouthed “cops” and made a signal as if I were pulling out and aiming a gun. The kids laughed and fired back. I held up ten fingers and Ronald nodded. I ran down the stairs.

When I got back, the Gray Woman was browsing the stacks, and Diane Uppiton was standing by the circulation desk, tapping her feet. “Why is no one here?” she demanded. “Anyone could march in and rob you blind. Does Bertie know you've abandoned your post?”

As if I were the only remaining sentry on guard duty at Fort Knox. “Good thing I locked up the silver. You're right, Diane—anyone could come in.”

Diane had made it perfectly clear that she didn't like me. For some reason she'd decided I had designs on her husband, the former chair of the library board. That Mr. Uppiton was now, unfortunately, deceased made no difference to her.

“All alone, today, Diane? Mr. Gardner not around?” I said.

“I'm here for the board meeting. Curtis has been unavoidably detained. An emergency at work.” Curtis Gardner was not only Diane's paramour (and had been when the aforementioned Mr. Uppiton was still alive) but also a member of the library board. I had no doubt that the work emergency was more related to the sudden change in venue of the meeting, meaning that beer would not be served.

The rest of the board began to arrive. Mrs. Fitzgerald held the door for her granddaughter, bearing a sandwich box from Josie's Cozy Bakery and a bag of drinks. Only Curtis and Graham Luffe, the one board member who was also a town commissioner, hadn't come. They had a quorum. Bertie would have to present her budget after all.

“I'll take you to the meeting room,” I said.

Curses! I wasn't fast enough. The door opened once again, and in came Butch and Detective Watson. Butch
was in uniform, and Watson had his badge pinned to his belt. No one would mistake this for a social call. “Be with you in a minute, gentlemen,” I said. Not a single member of the board made a move to follow me.

“Is there a problem, Detective?” Mrs. Fitzgerald said. Her granddaughter, a gangly girl of about fourteen, cocked her hip and smiled at Butch through a serious set of braces.

“Not a problem, ma'am,” Watson said. “We have a few questions for Ms. Richardson.”

“I told you!” Diane shrieked. “Another theft. The way this library is managed is a disgrace.”

The Gray Woman looked up from the S shelf, full of attention.

“There's been a theft?” Butch said.

The granddaughter shivered and edged closer to Butch.

“No,” I said.

“If there hasn't been, there might well be,” Diane said. “The way the staff are allowed to behave around here. Bertie doesn't enforce discipline. I'm so glad you're being proactive, Detective Watson, to provide them with helpful tips on crime prevention.” She gave him what she considered to be a warm smile. Diane dressed for board meetings in the style I thought of as politician's-wife-trying-too-hard. Today she had on a Pepto-Bismol pink suit with a three-quarter-length-sleeved jacket, skirt cut right at the knees, buttoned shirt, and pumps with two-inch heels. Gold hoops were in her ears and a diamond tennis bracelet was around her wrist. In contrast, only Watson was in a tie, although the knot was loose, and even Mrs. Fitzgerald, a proper Southern matron of the old school, wore a comfortable summer dress.

Watson didn't look pleased at being mistaken for a
part-time community officer. Butch tried, not very successfully, to hide a grin.

Bertie walked into the room. “What's going on?”

“The police are here to give your staff a lecture on crime prevention,” Elaine Rivers, one of the board members, said. “I agree with Diane. You need to protect the valuables in this library. It's a historic building, you know.”