Checked Out (19 page)

“Y
ou want me to do what?” Alexa said. “That’s insane.”

Helen and the library director were lunching at Café Vico, a pretty Italian restaurant tucked into the corner of a strip mall.

When the elegant Alexa raised her voice, the diners at the next table stared. She switched to a whispery hiss. “I’d have to be crazy to go for a stunt like that.”

“Hear me out,” Helen said. “It’s the only way we’ll catch the killer. Someone connected with your library killed Charlotte the ghost.”

Alexa groaned as if she’d risen from a tomb, but now the nearby diners were distracted by the arrival of their lunch.

“It’s not as crazy as you think,” Helen said.

All the way to Café Vico, the private eye had fumed about her encounter with Detective Doben. He doesn’t believe me, she’d muttered to herself. He laughed at me. I’ll show him.

At a stoplight, Helen looked over and saw the man in the next car watching her talk to herself. She reached over and turned on the radio, pretending she was singing along with the music.

She’d fled the Bettencourt police headquarters shaking with
rage. The old gray cop in the front had grinned at Helen on her way out, but this time it wasn’t friendly.

“My plan is the safest way to catch the killer,” Helen told Alexa. “I’ve looked at it from every angle.”

She had, too. All the way to Café Vico, Helen had thought about how to trap Charlotte’s killer. Then, at another stoplight, she heard a news story on the radio. The announcer said: “A successful sting operation by police resulted in the capture of a drug dealer and sixteen bricks believed to be cocaine, valued at more than two million dollars.”

That was Helen’s inspiration. A sting, she thought. I’ll run my own sting, and Alexa will help me.

Helen got to Café Vico first. The restaurant was sweetly old-school Italian. Outside was a pleasant patio dining area with plants in pots. Inside, the sunshine yellow walls were decorated with murals and celebrity photos. Helen inhaled the scent of buttery garlic. While she waited for Alexa, she comforted herself with warm rolls dredged in a garlicky herb dip.

If Doben walks through the restaurant door, I’ll breathe on him, she thought. He’ll fall down dead.

Alexa came through the door instead, and all eyes turned toward her. She waved at Helen, and sat down. “Don’t get too close,” Helen said. “I’m on a garlic binge.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Alexa said, and Helen loved her for it. “Pass me what’s left of the bread, and we’ll get more.” They ordered lunch, too, and wine.

When Alexa’s food had arrived—chicken ravioli in a black-cherry red wine sauce—Helen wished she’d been more adventurous. Her chicken piccata was deliciously safe.

Helen waited until Alexa had some ravioli under her stylish belt before she proposed the sting. That was when Alexa erupted. Several minutes and half a glass of wine later, the library director was calm enough to consider Helen’s proposal.

“I’ll listen,” she said. “But no promises.”

“It’s simple. We have a conversation in the break room,” Helen said. “You and me, talking barely loud enough for the others to hear. In fact, if we lower our voices, their ears will really flap. You know Blair loves eavesdropping.”

“But she’s—” Alexa protested.

“A good person and a terrific fund-raiser and extremely useful,” Helen said. “Today, she’ll be even more useful.”

“I’m not good at memorizing lines,” Alexa said.

“You don’t have to,” Helen said. “Follow my lead. I’ll say that I can prove who killed Charlotte. That I have the evidence to convict the killer in a purple library tote and I hid it in the supply room.

“Then I’ll say I’ve talked with Detective Doben.”

“I don’t like lying,” Alexa interrupted.

“I’m not lying,” Helen said. “Where do you think I went after I asked you to this lunch? I talked to the detective at the Bettencourt station.”

Alexa studied her face. Helen looked the library director in the eye. Everything she’d said was true.

“I’ll say Detective Doben will meet me after the library closes,” Helen said, “and that’s when I’ll give him the evidence.”

Now Helen was lying, but Alexa didn’t know that.

“I don’t want any negative publicity,” Alexa said.

“So? You can tell me that,” Helen said. “You won’t have to pretend to make it up. It’s true.”

She’s buying it, Helen thought. Keep talking. “You know you can’t have a killer at your library. You don’t want that. It’s too dangerous.”

“No, I don’t,” Alexa said. “Especially a hit-and-run killer. That’s a cruel, cold-blooded murder, running down that poor young woman like a dog.”

Almost got her, Helen thought.

“It’s your duty to help capture Charlotte’s killer,” Helen said.

“Do you really have the evidence to convict the killer in our purple library tote?” Alexa asked.

“Right here,” Helen said, and held it up.

Alexa didn’t ask what the proof was or ask to see it. Helen thought that was odd, but right now she suspected everyone, even the chic library director.

Alexa says she’s neutral about the library restoration, Helen thought, but her architect husband and his firm would make a lot of money building a showcase library in Flora Park. Is that a motive for Alexa to kill Charlotte? I don’t know, but then, I don’t know anything about Alexa, except for what I can see, that sophisticated shell. But enlisting me to find the killer makes her look innocent.

“So that’s all I have to do?” Alexa said. “Talk to you in the library break room and hope the right people overhear it?”

“Yes,” Helen said. “But we also need Seraphina at the library. She’s one of the suspects.”

“Seraphina! But she’s Elizabeth’s best friend,” Alexa said.

“That’s what Seraphina says. I’m not so sure,” Helen said. “She’s sniping and snarky around her friend. She practically ran over Elizabeth, showing off her new car. What kind of friend brags about her money to someone who’s broke?”

“But why would she want Elizabeth’s watercolor? She can buy anything she wants.”

“She likes it. The watercolor struck a note with her.
Muddy Alligators
is not just a Sargent—it’s a unique Sargent. It has personal meaning. Seraphina’s family has known the Rockefellers for generations. They’ve visited their estates. The Rockefeller home is one of the few places where Sargent painted in Florida.”

“You’re the detective,” Alexa said, and shrugged. “But I can get Seraphina to the library easily. She adores tiramisu. This could be my secret weapon to get her to say yes to the campaign.”

And if the campaign fails, your husband will get to build the new library, Helen thought.

“I’ll order some to go,” Alexa said. “How about you? Would you like dessert?”

“Definitely,” Helen said. She’d expected to celebrate a triumph at Café Vico. She decided this was still a triumph, just covered in whipped cream.

She savored her creamy dessert, a sweet spot after her harsh humiliation at the police station.

“One more thing before I say yes,” Alexa said. “Will you have a gun when you confront this killer?”

“Too dangerous,” Helen said. “But I’m armed with pepper spray.” She pulled the small container, about the size of a hotel bottle of shampoo, out of her purse. “That way, I can stop the killer, but nobody gets hurt.”

“Of course,” Alexa said. She looked embarrassed. “I don’t know what I was thinking even mentioning a gun.”

Lunch was definitely over, and Alexa seemed satisfied with Helen’s plan. In the parking lot, she called Seraphina on her cell phone. “Darling, I have a surprise for you. The best tiramisu ever. Join me at my office in half an hour.

“What?” Alexa sounded shocked. “The police wanted to talk to Ozzie? What for? Is he okay? Look, Seraphina, I can get you more tiramisu later. You must be frantic about your boy. Well, if you insist he’s fine and you’re fine, I’ll see you at the library shortly.”

She hung up, and said to Helen, “You won’t believe this. The police questioned Ozzie. They think he stole a golf cart. A golf cart! Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard? He doesn’t even golf. She’s terribly upset but their lawyer assured her it’s just a misunderstanding. Seraphina says she needs that tiramisu.

“We’re fifteen minutes from the library,” Alexa said. “We’ll
start our little play as soon as Seraphina arrives. But if I get her to the library, you have to promise you won’t upset our biggest donor.”

“Of course not,” Helen said. Unless Seraphina’s guilty, she thought. Then all promises are off.

“I’ll keep the sting short and simple,” Helen said. “When I ask for more coffee, it’s over.”

But it wasn’t over, and Detective Doben wasn’t finished with her. Helen’s cell phone rang just as Alexa was unlocking her car. Helen checked the display and saw Detective Doben’s name. Maybe he’s changed his mind and wants to see my evidence, she thought.

“I’ll take this and meet you at the library, Alexa,” she said.

“Ms. Hawthorne,” Detective Doben said. “Since you were kind enough to stop by my office, drop off all that so-called evidence and lecture me about its constitutionality, I thought I’d return the courtesy. The Flora Park police told me they found the car thief.”

“Car thief?” Helen said.

“You remember the white car that was stolen from the parking lot of Julie’s Smoothies. It’s in their jurisdiction. I called them to see if there was a connection between that car, which had been in an accident, and the Bettencourt hit-and-run homicide.

“Guess what? Turns out there isn’t. They caught the thief. He’s a young man with two priors. I’m just calling you out of professional courtesy.” His voice was slick with sarcasm. “You wanna get your lawyer to hear this news?”

Helen felt her face turn hot. She gave Alexa a halfhearted wave as the library director drove off.

I’ve been spectacularly, stupidly wrong, she thought. No one at the Flora Park Library had hot-wired a stolen car and killed Charlotte.

“What about the white gloves?” she managed to stammer.

“His sister is in a high school band,” Detective Doben said.
“This is his third car theft, and he was determined not to get caught. So he stole the gloves. Should I arrest him for that theft, too? He cleaned the car before he returned it because he thought that would remove the evidence. But he forgot about that one print on the steering column.”

“Steering column,” she said, her voice as dull as her thoughts, her face red with shame.

“But don’t you worry, Ms. Hawthorne. We’re giving him the white-glove treatment.” Detective Doben’s laugh was harsh and mocking.

Then his voice changed to pure steel. “Amateur,” he said. “Stay out of my case and leave it to the pros. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

H
elen had to force herself to slow down on the drive back to the Flora Park Library. She was furious and embarrassed, a bad combination. She wanted to get on I-95 and keep on driving. She wanted to rush over to the Bettencourt police station and punch Detective Doben in the mouth.

But she knew someone at the library had cruelly killed Charlotte, just as the homeless woman was about to start a new life. There was only one way to get revenge on that smug detective—prove him wrong. And that was exactly what she aimed to do.

Helen arrived at the library a minute or so after Alexa parked her car. The library director waited for her by the walkway. “Everything okay?” she asked. “You looked upset when I left.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Helen said. “Just a call about a case.”

Alexa put the carryout tiramisu in her office fridge while Helen stashed the purple tote in the library supply room, behind the tall wooden bookcases. She took four other totes off the pile and stuffed them with supplies—boxes of marking pens, rubber bands, even packets of white cotton gloves—and set them on other
shelves. She made sure the pepper spray was in her pants pocket. Then she cruised the library, looking for her suspects.

She saw Jared sweeping the hall. He was no longer a suspect, but she was glad he’d be nearby if things went wrong. The janitor was strong enough to intervene if there was a problem.

Gladys was at the checkout desk and Lisa was in the break room. The coffeemaker was gurgling and sputtering. “I’ve cleaned the coffeemaker with white vinegar,” the board president said, “and I’m making a fresh pot. You’re in time to test it.”

“Perfect!” Helen said. Exactly the pretext she needed.

“Pour yourself a cup while I get Blair,” Lisa said. “She’s been waiting for a good cup of coffee all afternoon.”

Helen poured two cups, for herself and Alexa. The two plotters sat down at the table closest to the door. Helen heard footsteps down the hall, winked at Alexa and said in a barely audible voice, “I’ve got it, Alexa. I’ve got enough evidence to convict Charlotte Dams’s killer.”

“Who is it?” Alexa asked.
Creak!
went the hall floor.

“I don’t want to alert the killer before Detective Doben gets here,” Helen said.

Pop! Rustle.
Was that someone’s knees? And the rustle of material?

“Who’s Doben?” Alexa asked.

You’re good, Helen thought. “He’s the detective in charge of the hit-and-run murder. I’ve convinced him that someone connected with the library killed her.”

“Where’s the evidence now?” Alexa asked.

“In a purple Flora Park Library tote. I hid it in the library’s supply room.”

Creak!
Bless those old floors, Helen thought. They’re talking to me.

“Would the evidence be more secure in my office safe?” Alexa said.

“Nope. Too many people know the combination.”
Crack!

“That supply room has dozens of purple bags,” Alexa said. “There’s a big pile on the shelf.”

“I know,” Helen said. “I put mine in a special place. Like the purloined letter, it’s hiding in plain sight, except it isn’t. I hid it behind the tall wooden bookcases.” Her words tasted bitter after the detective’s sneery phone call.

“Helen, that detective isn’t coming here during library hours, is he?” Alexa did a good job of sounding angry.

“Of course not,” Helen said. “He promised. I have his case wrapped up in ribbons—actually, packed in a purple tote. He’ll do what I say. This coffee is good. Want some more?”

She got up to get the coffeepot and Blair bustled into the room. “I hope you’ve left enough for me,” she said. “I’m desperate for a cup of good coffee.”

“Me, too,” Lisa said, following on her heels.

“I’m sticking with Red Bull,” Gladys said. “I need serious caffeine to keep me awake.”

“Did somebody say fresh coffee?” Now Jared was in the room.

The gang’s all here, Helen thought, including Jared for emergency backup. For everyone to pile in here at once, they must have been lurking outside the door, listening. Only one person is missing.

That was when blond Seraphina loomed in the doorway, wearing a simple white blouse and expensive designer jeans.

“Alexa, I hope I didn’t come all this way for nothing,” she said. Helen wondered if the patrons upstairs could hear her. Seraphina never said anything softly.

“No, it’s in my office,” Alexa said.

Helen looked at everyone in the room. They were all dressed in pants and shirts, as if someone had sent out a memo. Seraphina’s blouse was crisp and white. Alexa had taken off her suit jacket. Her blouse was so expensive it glowed. Gladys’s yellow blouse was
tight and chic. Lisa’s blue blouse was slightly crumpled from her morning walk. Blair wore her usual suit but she’d taken off her shapeless jacket. Her white blouse was tattletale gray, and what it said was “old and cheap.” Even lanky Jared wore a long-sleeved khaki shirt.

The trap is baited, Helen thought. Now let’s see if I catch a crook.