By the Book (A Gracie Andersen Mystery 2) (21 page)

Roger shrugged and shook his head. “You need to get a life, Gracie and mind your own business.”

With an old tarp draped over the front seats of her vehicle, Gracie eased the RAV4 into gear. Haley was straining at the safety harness, whining to get close to her. She must really be a feast for the dog’s olfactory system. How did she manage to always step in it? There was a hot bath in her future for sure. If Roger was telling the truth, her theory wasn’t exactly adding up. Good old Jack had lied to her about the Woodsons and the value of the knife. He had told her it was a piece of junk and that Alice and the Woodsons had gotten into an argument. Jack’s theory about the sheath was that Roger or Chuck had it, but weren’t telling the police. Did anybody tell the truth anymore?

She had almost scrubbed her freckles off with a nail brush to make sure she was absolutely clean. Her arms and neck were still stinging from the effects. She hadn’t bothered to dry her hair. It clung damply to her cream pullover sweater. The steaming mug of hot chocolate made her feel a little better about the situation, but not much. Haley lay by her feet, her nose touching Gracie’s slippers. She flipped on the TV to the classic movie channel, hoping for a comedy to cheer her up. No luck. It was suspense night with
Cape Fear
already in progress starring Robert Mitchum and Gregory Peck. That movie was way too creepy for tonight, especially when she was by herself. She found a rerun of
Everybody Loves Raymond
instead and grabbed her iPad.

Patti stood looking at the library stacks, wishing things had turned out differently. Her husband Sherm had a good job, and she wouldn’t need to look for work for at least a few months. He’d been livid when he’d found out she’d helped Sybil with her book business. Her resignation letter lay on the counter. At least she could honestly say that Sybil ran it, and she’d only put packages in the mail. Could she help it if her cousin was selling library books? The library could afford the loss anyway. If they’d gotten the raises they should have had over the last three years, it wouldn’t have even been an issue. She’d refused to take any money from Sybil, but she hadn’t needed it like her cousin did.

Patti ran her hand over the ornate carvings on the circulation desk. She’d miss the place. If Terry would just get back from another meeting at the Deer Creek Historical Society, she’d be able to walk away. She should’ve given what she’d found to Will when he’d been in earlier. But he’d been in a hurry to get to the same meeting Terry was attending. It was almost closing time, her last closing time. She’d call Gracie. She was the only sympathetic board member. At least she could get it all off her chest and then let Sybil explain herself.

Gracie was in the reeking SUV driving back to Deer Creek. It was going to cost her a mint to get it deodorized. Come to think of it, she’d have to spring for a new parka too. Fortunately, a well-worn barn coat had been located in the back of the closet to make this trip. All in all, it had been a very expensive evening that she could only blame on herself.

Deer Creek’s Main Street was filling in with yet more snow. The flurries masked the streetlights, making strange shadows on the banks of dirty snow. She slowed the vehicle as she approached the bridge over Deer Creek. The bridge surface was famous for black ice. There were few vehicles out and when Gracie swung into the library’s parking lot, only Patti’s car was still there. That was good. No library patrons to overhear her conversation with Patti. Taking the steps two at a time, risking a fall, she entered the library a little out of breath.

“Thank you for coming,” Patti started. “I just didn’t know what to do. Probably I should’ve called the police right away, but Sybil’s my cousin. I don’t want to believe that …” Her face crumpled. The tearful woman pointed to the small table behind the counter.

Gracie exhaled slowly, her stomach flip flopping as she walked to the table. She gingerly examined the ornate silver sheath. It was lying on a remnant of white flannel. The rich engraving covered the length, which had to be 18 inches. An eagle and American flag were the largest images, but a grapevine design covered most of the sheath.

“Really beautiful work,” Gracie finally breathed. “You found this in the janitor’s closet?”

“Yes. Sybil and I have been doing the cleaning since Jack … well, hasn’t been able.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t there before?”

“I don’t know.  The sheath was behind a big box of garbage bags on the shelf. I can barely reach up there. The only reason I found it was because I accidently knocked that box down getting a bag out. It was wrapped up in that cloth.”

“Could Jack have put it there?”

“I guess it’s possible, but the police searched everywhere in the library right after the murder. They would have found something this size for sure—wouldn’t they?”

“I was here for part of that search, and you’re right. They were very thorough. Where’s Sybil now?” Gracie asked, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“I don’t know. Home is my guess. It’s not a very good night to be on the roads. I hate that I found it. Now I’ll have to tell the police about the fight Alice and Sybil had the day of the murder.” Patti winced and shook her head.

“Fight? What kind of fight?”

“Well, a pretty ugly argument about the book selling thing. I didn’t tell them about it before. Alice had told her to shut it down before she went to the board. She’d caught Sybil taking some books out to her car that day. I’d been telling her that she needed to stop, but she’d made her book business some sort of revenge on the board for hiring Terry. But Sybil really lit into her about the money she owed Jack. It wasn’t pretty.” Patti sighed, rubbing her forehead. She looked a little green, like she’d eaten a bad clam.

“Holy cow! You’re gonna need to tell Investigator Hotchkiss about that. I’ll call her and have her come and get the sheath. Then you can talk to her.”

“Can’t I go home? My resignation is on the counter. I really just want to leave,” Patti pleaded. Her eyes were still damp and a little puffy from crying. “She can come to the house. I’ll tell her the whole story, I promise.”

The woman looked so pitiful; Gracie had no heart to make her stay. “Sure. I understand. Do you have the keys to lock up?”

“They’re on the counter too.” Patti hurried to the coatrack by a battered gray file cabinet and grabbed her coat. “The back entrance is already locked. Thanks, Gracie.”

The front door clicked shut, and Gracie stood staring at the sheath, thinking about the knife and Sybil confronting Alice. Shaking off the thought, she snatched her cell phone from her bag and scrolled through the contacts list until she found the investigator’s number. As she expected, the investigator was ecstatic to take the sheath into custody. Gracie sat down behind the counter to wait and then decided to shut down the main lights. She definitely didn’t want a stray library patron showing up now. She shivered and checked the thermostat. It was already turned down to 65 degrees. No wonder she was freezing. Grabbing the keys, she locked the front door. The wind had picked up, and the windows rattled in protest. She pushed her hands into the deep pockets of the coat, suddenly wishing she wasn’t alone. The grandfather clock’s steady beat made her think of “The Tell-Tale Heart.”

“For Pete’s sake, why am I scaring myself?” she asked the tall shelves. “I should’ve brought Haley.”

Headlights shone on the front windows.

“That was fast,” she said, fumbling for the keys she’d dropped in her coat pocket. Turning back the latch, she opened the door and found herself face to face with Terry.

“Gracie! What are you doing here?” Terry pushed back the hood of her corduroy coat and stomped the snow off her boots. “I thought that was your vehicle out there.”

“Waiting for the police,” she answered. “I thought you were Investigator Hotchkiss.”

Terry’s eyes widened. “Police? Why are they coming here?”

“Patti called me tonight, and—”

“I had a voicemail from her while I was at the Historical Society meeting. She quit. I don’t think that warrants a visit from the police unless she’s been stealing from the library too.”

Terry’s voice was irritated.

“No. It’s nothing like that. She found the missing sheath tonight.” 

“What? The sheath to the knife …” She coughed harshly, covering her mouth with a coat sleeve. Apparently she hadn’t quite kicked the flu.

“It was in the janitor’s closet.” Gracie moved behind the counter. “Look over here,” she finished, pointing to the table where the sheath gleamed under the light of the small desk lamp.

Terry walked slowly toward the table. “It was here the whole time? Jack must have stashed it in there for some reason.”

“Not from what Patti says,” Gracie said grimly.

“Really? What did she say?” Terry asked, walking around the table, eyeing the sheath from every angle.

Gracie hesitated. “Uh … I think she’d better talk to the investigator before I say anything. Were you coming back to work?”

“I was just picking up a couple of things. The dogs are by themselves at the house, so I’d better get moving. The police aren’t going to need me, are they?” Terry turned for the stairway.

“I don’t think so. I called it in and planned on waiting for them.” She watched the librarian flip the light switch on the wall near the stairs. “You’ve really been involved with the Historical Society lately.”

“Will invited me to join them as an advisor. They’re working on some interesting projects right now.”

“Really? I always thought it was a pretty stuffy organization.”

Terry laughed. “Depends on where your interests lie.” She dashed up the winding stairs, and Gracie heard a desk drawer opening. Gracie leaned against the counter, drumming her fingers on the smooth surface. Terry’s boots announced her return with dull tunks on the metal treads. She carried a long, gray cardboard box under her arm. The corners of the box were reinforced with metal braces.

“Well, Gracie. Thanks for taking care of this with the police. I hope the investigation is finally wrapped up. I never trusted Sybil or Jack. It wouldn’t surprise me if both of them were involved.”

“It’s pretty sad. I’ve known the Greenes a long time. I find it hard to believe either one would actually stick a knife into someone. I still think … well,” she stopped. There was something about the box under Terry’s arm that was familiar.

“People aren’t always what they seem. I’ve really got to run,” Terry glanced at the clock by the fireplace, stepping toward the front door.

“Like you and Alice?” Gracie blurted out. It all made sense now. The article she’d found online earlier about a Seneca University history department gathering and the box that Terry clutched dropped the last piece of the puzzle in place. The librarian froze; her eyes took on an animal-like quality, filled with fear and anger. Gracie grabbed for Terry’s arm, missing by inches. The librarian twisted away and plunged through the front door.

“Hey!” Gracie shouted, following the woman down the steps.

Terry fled across the snowy sidewalk to the parking lot. Gracie could see that she’d pulled the car keys from her pocket. Terry held them high and hit the switch to unlock it. She was almost to her car. Where was Investigator Hotchkiss?  Gracie’s boots slid on an icy patch. Waving her arms to regain her balance failed, and she landed in the ice-crusted snow, smacking her head against the “Library Parking Only” signpost.

“Oww! Stop!” she shouted, scrambling to her feet, probing the bruise on the back of her head with cold fingers. It was smarting like fire, and a lump was already making an appearance. Terry was spinning the Honda around, and it fishtailed out of the parking lot. Retrieving her cell phone from her coat pocket, Gracie dialed 9-1-1.

She leaned forward, craning her neck for a better view as she approached the scene. An ambulance and fire truck were just pulling up by the bridge. The sheriff’s vehicles were crisscross in the street, blocking one lane. Flares outlined the street, and a deputy with an oversized flashlight was directing traffic. She could just make out the rear end of a car that was teetering on the creek bank below. The hood of the car was poised to slip into the dark, swift flowing water. Chunks of snow floated past on the current. It looked like Marc was making his way down the bank to the car. Several firemen were carrying ropes on their shoulders right behind him. The broken ice and frigid water were treacherous. They could all be swept away with the car. A tow truck honked behind her, and Gracie pulled into a driveway to let the big rig go by.

She left the vehicle running and raced toward the flares. Gripping the bridge railing, she strained to see into the darkness. Floodlights appeared on the creek below from the fire truck now parked on the bridge. A rope was fastened to Marc, and he waded into the water. She held her breath, watching him push against the water, yelling for Terry to roll down the window. The firemen held the rope like a tug-of-war competition. The last man had it wrapped securely around his waist, leaning back as an anchor in the blowing snow. Marc never seemed to have any fear in these situations, always ready to put his life on the line for someone else. He reached the open car window and pulled a murderer from the vehicle. The firemen dragged the pair back to the creek bank.

Theresa was serving coffee in Gracie’s kitchen when Marc finally appeared. Max and Sable entered ahead of him, tails wagging. He stomped the snow off his boots and knelt to pat Haley, who was enjoying the biggest social event of her year. After canine greetings of sniffing were exchanged, the dogs immediately trotted to the living room to find spots near the fireplace. Gracie had an ice pack on her head, trying to follow maternal instructions about treating a possible concussion. She sat at the dining room table, a mug of steaming coffee in front of her. She’d called the Dovers and Darlene Evans once she’d made it home. At least part of the board should have a firsthand report from the police. Dan had accompanied Darlene and still wore his yellow fireman’s jacket. The two couples were nervous, milling around the kitchen and dining room, waiting for Investigator Hotchkiss, who’d promised her some details once Terry had been checked out at the hospital. A knock at the kitchen door brought a rush of wind and the policewoman when Bob Clark opened the door.

“I knew you’d want the latest information,” the investigator began, pulling a notepad from her coat pocket.

Gracie stood and leaned against the dining room wall, her energy level on par with a wrung out dishrag. What a night it had been! The Dovers and Evanses both found seats at the dining room table.

“As you know, Terry Castor was arrested tonight for theft and murder.”

Gracie felt a little sick to her stomach, hearing the statement verbalized. Will stood and gripped one of the ladder-back chairs around the dining room table and stared at the investigator.

“After a little accident with her car tonight, she was safely retrieved from Deer Creek. No injuries. Just wet and cold, but she’s on her way to the Wyoming County Jail. Because of your interests, I wanted to let you know what happened. Of course, not all the facts are available right now, but there’ll be more I can share later.”

Marc had edged his way to the kitchen door, observing the group at the table. Her parents quietly retreated to the living room.

“Ms. Castor admitted to killing Mrs. Harris and a Dr. Aaron of Seneca University.” The group collectively sucked in a breath.

“Terry killed them both? I just don’t understand,” Will finally managed, his knuckles white from clutching the chair back. “She was helping us get the letters. Why would she …?” His voice trailed off.

“This is still an active investigation, so I can’t give you many more details, but we also confirmed she stole the knife sheath that belongs with the murder weapon. It was recovered from the library tonight, thanks to Mrs. Andersen.” The investigator gave Gracie a tight smile and glanced at her notepad. Gracie pursed her lips. She’d already received the investigator’s lecture about trying to apprehend a dangerous murderer, etc., etc.

“What about the documents? She was picking up the Becker letters,” Will’s voice sounded childlike and pathetic. “I’d paid the Woodsons, and then she insisted on taking the letters to the library to examine them one more time. She wanted to make sure the Historical Society wasn’t cheated.”

The investigator sighed. “It’s my sad duty to tell you that the historical documents are, well—in Deer Creek.”

“Oh, no!” Will cried. “They can’t be gone! They’re irreplaceable.”

Gracie thought Will was going to burst into tears. Iris grabbed his hand, and he shook it off. He clutched the faint memory of hair on the sides of his head with both hands. For a moment, he reminded her of a sad, very sad circus clown.

“Sorry, Mr. Dover. Unfortunately, Ms. Castor had them in her possession tonight. We weren’t able to recover them, except for this. It was stuck to the inside of her windshield.”

Marc stepped forward and handed the investigator a plastic evidence bag that held a sodden yellowed piece of paper. The ink had run, making it totally illegible. Will ran forward to examine it.

“Oh, dear Lord, no. This is awful.”

Gracie felt her eyes suddenly prick with tears, watching Will hold the plastic bag reverently as if paying his last respects. He sat down on one of the bar stools and laid the bag gently on the kitchen counter, staring at the contents.

Dan Evans huffed and rose from his seat. “Unbelievable! We’ve had a murderer for a librarian?” Darlene sat at the table, speechless, her face pale as milk.

“Ms. Castor was working with Mrs. Harris, as well as Dr. Aaron. Our investigation found that Ms. Castor is an expert on authenticating historical documents. She’s also a fair hand at forging them. Both women were getting a percentage of some of the sales which Aaron arranged.”

“Terry was the one who got in an argument with Dr. Aaron, wasn’t she?” Gracie asked.

“It appears this is true. There was some dispute over the real appraisal of the Cornelia Becker documents and the appraisal to be given to the Woodsons. The inflated appraisals were used to skim monies from buyers, and lower appraisals were used to hide it from the sellers. But as I said, there’s more we need to learn from Ms. Castor.”

A murmur rippled through the group. Feet shuffled, and expressions were a mixture of disgust and anger.

“I wanted to put your minds at ease that the murderer is off the streets, and hopefully you can get the library back to normal soon. As soon as we have more information, we’ll be in touch. I also wanted to ask Mrs. Andersen if she could keep Ms. Castor’s dogs, just for the night.” She snapped her notebook shut.

“Of course. They can stay for as long as necessary,” Gracie offered.

“We’ll make some arrangements for them tomorrow. Your help is appreciated.” The investigator pulled on black driving gloves. She patted Marc’s shoulder on the way out. “Excellent work out there tonight.” Marc smiled and nodded.

“I guess that’s it for tonight. Hey, deputy, that
was
good work out there,” Dan said. “I didn’t think we were going to pull that one off.”

“Thanks. That stuff always happens on the coldest night,” Marc smiled. “I’ll be thawing out for a week.”

“Let’s go home, Darlene,” Dan said, prodding his wife’s back with a finger.

“Okay, Dan. Jeez, how is the library going to recover from this? I’m so sorry, Will. I guess there’ll be a board meeting tomorrow.” Darlene slipped her parka on and followed her husband out the door. Will nodded glumly as he handed the pathetic evidence bag back to Marc, who shoved it unceremoniously in his coat pocket. He followed Dan and Darlene, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Marc offered a half-hearted wave to the group in the living room and exited by the kitchen door with the others.

Gracie joined her parents in the living room. Parking herself on the hearth in front of the fire, she fluffed out her still damp hair to dry it. Haley now was sleeping illegally in the recliner, snoring loudly. Max and Sable were lying together by the coffee table.

Theresa snapped out of her daze and looked at Gracie. “You must know more than we were just told.”

“A little bit more,” Gracie agreed.

“What about Terry then?” Her father quizzed. “What exactly is her deal?”

“Everything kept leading back to Seneca University, and it all began with Terry. She had me completely fooled for so long. Alice was the one who was able to get her into the librarian’s job. When I had a talk with Will about Sybil and why she wasn’t selected, he told me that Alice bad-mouthed her and recommended Terry. Once they saw her qualifications and did a phone interview, she was on her way to Deer Creek. My opinion is that they had some sort of partnership to continue Aaron’s appraisal business.”

“What was the big story about a stalker?” her father asked, joining Gracie by the fire and rubbing his hands together. “She was pretty convincing.”

“Absolutely convincing. I thought it was Chuck or Roger Woodson after I found out they’d been to Seneca the same week Aaron was killed. Chuck is kind of a scary guy.”

“Chuck is all hot air,” her father snorted. “He’s the biggest blowhard east of the Mississippi.”

Theresa groaned and made a face. “You’ve got that right, Bob.”

“Well, he scared me, but that’s all I’ve pieced together so far. I’m sure the rest will come out soon. I don’t think Terry has much of a choice.”

“So why’d she kill Alice?” her mother asked. She was headed for the kitchen where she loaded mugs into the dishwasher. Haley woke from her dreams and followed Theresa to the kitchen, looking hopeful for a scrap or two.

Gracie shook her head. “I think Alice and Terry had some disagreement over the knife and maybe those letters. I guess we’ll have to wait to see what the good investigator manages to get out of her.”

Gracie’s father gave her a weak smile. “So what broke the case tonight, Sherlock?”

“Well, I got a call from Patti at the library. She found the sheath for that huge knife hidden in the janitor’s closet. She thought Sybil had put it there, but I wasn’t so sure. Even though Sybil was pretty public about her dislike of Alice, I couldn’t see Sybil stabbing her or anyone. I left a message for Investigator Hotchkiss, and she was pretty quick to respond.”

“What a mare’s nest! Maybe we can get back to normal now that it’s over.”

He picked up his coat from the sofa, and after zipping it up, pulled on dark brown suede gloves. “Good work, daughter. You know you could’ve really been hurt tonight, don’t you?”

“I know. But when you’re in the middle of it, stuff just happens.”

Her father smiled and looked over at his wife, who still appeared upset by their daughter’s escapade.

“I actually thought Will was the guy at first,” Gracie blurted out.

“Gracie, how could you?” her mother gasped. “We’ve known Will and Iris forever. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, and he certainly wouldn’t steal from the library or kill someone.”

“I really liked him for the document theft. He’s a collector. Do you know he has a first edition, autographed copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird
? He’s also got a couple of William Pryor Letchworth letters and tons of other books and manuscripts.”

“He’s collected books and papers for years, but he’d never steal for his collection,” her father said peevishly. “He doesn’t even keep them under lock and key, and he always willing to show them off at different events. Will is a little naïve, but he’s not a thief or a murderer.”

“All right, point made. But you have to admit, he was a good suspect. The police even thought so at one point.”

“Obviously they were mistaken,” Theresa retorted.

“I know that now,” Gracie said. “I’m glad Will had nothing to do with it. He was trying to get the Cornelia Becker letters for the Historical Society. They have an acquisition fund, but unfortunately they all trusted Terry. Just like I did, which was stupid. It wasn’t until this week that everything pointed to her. She was great at playing the victim.”

Theresa stood and rubbed the small of her back. “We’ve got to go home. You need your rest, and so do we. Come on, husband. Let’s go.” She gave her husband’s backside a playful slap. He grinned and followed his wife to the door.

Gracie yawned and stretched, watching her parents pull out into the snowy road. Her back and head were killing her. The edge of the concrete gutter had given her a good slam to the kidneys, and a goose egg on the back of her head was evidence of her encounter with the signpost. She’d be feeling pretty beat up for a while, but satisfaction crept in to join the aches and pains. It had been a good night’s work.

Investigator Hotchkiss popped in bright and early to the kennel. She was dressed in dark gray pants and an icy blue cashmere sweater, that perfectly coordinated with her nicely tailored gray black herringbone car coat. Gracie considered asking her where she shopped. She could use a new outfit or two, and a new coat. The investigator took the offered seat and cup of coffee.