Checked Out (8 page)

H
elen escaped down the hall and ducked into Alexa’s office, where the director was signing papers. The room was flooded with sunlight and the tall orange and yellow canna flowers outside the window made it look like it was on fire.

Now it was Alexa’s turn to ask, “Are you okay?”

“No,” Helen said. “Seraphina announced that a million-dollar watercolor was left in the books Scarlett Kingsley donated to the Friends. It’s caused a run on the sale rack.”

“Good,” Alexa said. “We’ll get some benefit. Why are you upset?”

“I thought we were keeping this assignment quiet,” Helen said.

“Don’t worry,” Alexa said. “The people who heard Seraphina talking don’t know the whole story. Everyone connected with the library knows the Kingsley collection is locked away in a room and we’ve stopped selling it until the painting is found. Make sure you keep that room locked.”

“I will,” Helen said, “but I wish we had something more secure than a skeleton key. You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. I came in this morning and found more proof the ghost was active last night—and I’m not talking about Flora Portland.
Water was splashed all over the women’s restroom again, and there was heavy twine from the window latch to the stall door hinge. I think it was a makeshift clothesline.”

“So our ghost is washing her clothes?” Helen asked.

“From the drip pattern, that’s my guess. I wiped up the water because I don’t want anyone here to know that the ghost is a homeless woman until we actually find her.”

“Well, at least she’s a clean ghost,” Helen said.

“And a hungry one,” Alexa said. “The Chinese food from last night’s supper was missing from the staff fridge.”

“The food Lisa ordered for everyone who stayed for the séance?” Helen asked.

“Yes, she ordered way too much. You and Jared didn’t eat any. Gladys was the only one with any appetite. We decided to keep the leftovers for lunch today. I came in this morning and they were gone.”

“Are you sure someone didn’t take them home last night?” Helen said.

“No, we all left here at the same time. You know that.”

“Were the empty cartons in the trash?” Helen asked.

“I searched the staff room and the public rooms,” Alexa said. “Nothing. Not even a grain of rice.”

“I need to step up my search now that Seraphina shot off her big mouth,” Helen said. “I’ll go back into the collection room and keep searching for the watercolor.”

“Good,” Alexa said. “But I need you to perform your volunteer work, too. We have to keep up appearances that you’re a volunteer, even if Seraphina did out you. Report back here at eleven, please.”

Before Helen could leave, Blair knocked on the door and blocked her escape. “Alexa, are you still going to have Helen search for the Sargent watercolor? When Seraphina Ormond mentioned—”

Shouted, Helen thought.

“—that a valuable painting was hidden in the Friends sale books, there was a stampede for the shelves,” Blair said. “People bought everything, even old biofeedback books and recipes from the seventies. Fortunately, they didn’t understand that the books with the watercolor were in a different room. We made more than five hundred dollars, but now we’re short of books for our shelves.”

Good heavens, Helen thought. Blair is really wearing a twinset. A beige twinset with a calf-length box-pleated skirt.

“It’s not too late to stop the search,” Blair said. “The Friends could go through those books for free. All our stock sold out this morning. If we find the painting, it will pay for the renovation of Flora’s library. It’s what she wants.”

“The late Davis Kingsley wanted his daughter to have that painting,” Alexa said.

“But Elizabeth’s family donated those books to us,” Blair said. “We should have that painting if it’s in one of our books.”

Helen wasn’t sure if that “we” meant the library or the Friends of the Library.

“Elizabeth doesn’t deserve to own a John Singer Sargent,” Blair said. “She doesn’t know a thing about his work. She wants to sell it for the money.”

Is there any other reason to sell something? Helen wondered.

“Blair,” Alexa warned, but the woman kept talking, desperate to make her case.

“Davis Kingsley paid more than a hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a LeRoy Neiman painting!” She said
LeRoy Neiman
as if it were an obscenity. “And it was a ballplayer!”

Somehow, Blair made that sound dirty, too.

“LeRoy Neiman’s sports art is very popular,” Alexa said.

“LeRoy Neiman’s
paintings
are very popular,” Blair said. “No one serious calls that junk art. You know he drew those disgusting Femlins for
Playboy
magazine.”

Helen knew what those were—tiny, shapely women wearing
high heels, black stockings, long black gloves and nothing else—who cavorted in the Party Jokes section of
Playboy.

“Naked women are serious subjects for art,” Alexa said, trying to get Blair to lighten up.

She failed. The head Friend was not amused. Her thin mouth was set in a hard line.

“Blair, I won’t change my mind,” Alexa said. “The Sargent watercolor is Elizabeth’s inheritance. She’s entitled to it legally and morally.”

“But what about Flora Portland’s life’s work?” Blair said. “You have a moral duty to preserve this library.”

“I’ve said all I’m going to say on the subject. I won’t discuss this anymore,” Alexa said.

A furious Blair stomped out. “I’d better get to work,” Helen said. Alexa didn’t seem to hear her awkward excuse.

Helen left Alexa’s office with the enchanting view of the garden to search the moldering Kingsley collection. She was facing a day of dust, backaches and boredom. Helen’s mood was nearly as gloomy as the windowless room that awaited her.

On her way there, in the poorly lit labyrinth at the back of the library, Helen saw the cat in the dark hall. She reached into her purse for a treat.

“Here, Paris,” Helen said, and tossed the treat.

But instead of running to her, the calico twirled in the center of the hall and said,
Merr
. Helen saw the cat dancing around something dark.

“What is it, kitty?” she asked, hoping Paris hadn’t left her a dead mouse, as a cat thank-you gift.

She approached the dark object carefully, then sighed with relief. It was a sock. An ordinary black sock.

Helen picked it up. The sock was damp.

Nobody wore damp socks at the library. Did the ghost wash it and drop it in the hall?

Once Helen picked up the sock, Paris ran off to fetch her treat. Helen stayed still and studied the closed doors that lined the hallway. No light came from under the doors or the glass transoms over them.

All the doors were shut.

But one door, narrower than the others—a storage closet?—had a bit of dark fabric shut between the door and the jamb. The closet was across from the damp sock.

Helen froze.

Silence. She heard the gurgle of a water pipe, the cat chomping on her treat and the rumble of a library cart on the other side of the hall.

Soundlessly, Helen reached over and threw open the closet door.

Crouched inside was a young woman in a business suit.

She shrieked.

So did Helen.

“W
ho are you?” Helen asked the woman cowering in the closet. “Why are you hiding?”

“I, uh . . .” the woman said.

“Hurry,” Helen said. “The staff heard us. They’ll be here in a moment. You’re the library ghost.”

“Yes, I’m Charlotte,” she said, her brown eyes pleading. “It’s a long story, but don’t turn me in. I have something you want. Your watercolor. I found it.”

Helen heard footsteps running down the hall. Alexa, the director; Blair, the not-so-friendly Friend of the Library; Jared the janitor; Lisa the board president; loud Seraphina; and hip Gladys were pounding down the hall toward them.

“Quiet!” Helen said, her voice a whispery hiss. “And maybe I won’t turn you in.”

She tossed the sock into the closet and slammed the door as Alexa said, “Helen! Why were you screaming?” In the low light, the director looked like a horror movie escapee. Her face was flour white.

“Sorry,” Helen said. “Paris startled me. The cat jumped out in front of me, chasing a mouse.”

When in doubt, blame the cat, she thought.

“See? That animal has no business here,” Blair said, eager to attack her feline foe.

“Oh, yes, she does,” Lisa said. “Flora herself told us that her calico’s descendants still serve this library.”

Blair looked trapped. Lisa was her ally, but the cat was her enemy.

Helen held her breath until Lisa said, “You startled us. We were worried. Things can happen in this big old building, and this hall is so isolated. Someone could be lurking in these rooms. Why did you slam the closet door?”

“It was open and the mouse was heading straight for it,” Helen said. “When I shut it, Paris and the mouse ran that way down the hall.” She pointed to where the shadows shifted. Lisa seemed to buy her explanation, along with everyone else.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Helen said, and managed a shaky laugh. “I’m a little jumpy after last night.”

“We all are,” Alexa said. “I’m glad it’s nothing serious. I’m going back to my office.”

The others took that as a signal to disperse. When the library staff and volunteers were gone, Helen unlocked the Kingsley collection room. Now she heard Gladys talking to patrons at the checkout desk. Seraphina brayed good-bye to Alexa. Jared was hammering something, and Lisa and Blair had retreated to the staff break room.

Helen checked the hall again, then dashed over, opened the closet and put her finger to her lips. She dragged Charlotte to the collection room, and shoved the very solid ghost into a chair.

Charlotte was trembling, but only her pale skin was ghostly. She was short and slender, dressed professionally in black flats and a navy suit. Her dark hair was pulled into a snug bun. She wore pink lipstick and a little eyeliner.

“You’re in trouble,” Helen said. “You’ve stolen from the library, damaged property and terrorized the staff and patrons. A
woman was bludgeoned because a frightened board member thought she was a ghost. Tell me why I shouldn’t call the police.”

“Please don’t,” Charlotte said, and Helen saw the fear in her eyes. “I’m homeless. But if my job interview goes well today, I won’t be. I’ll be out of here and making a good living.

“My name is Charlotte. Charlotte Ann Dams. I lost my job at a Fort Lauderdale medical supply company in February. I’d been living paycheck to paycheck, but I managed to hang on to my apartment until June. Then I ran out of money and put my furniture in storage. I got a good deal if I paid for a year up front. I tried to find a place to live, but there was no room for me in the homeless shelters.”

Helen knew the overcrowded local shelters were a constant media topic.

“At first I lived out of my car,” Charlotte said, “but I didn’t get much sleep. There aren’t many places where you can park a car overnight. People—men, mostly—would prowl around my car and I was afraid I’d be, you know, attacked.”

“Don’t you have any family?” Helen asked.

“Just my mother, and she doesn’t live here. She wanted me to come back home to Titansville, Missouri.”

“Where’s that?” Helen asked.

“South of nowhere,” Charlotte said, “at the corner of nothing to do. Mom didn’t approve of me moving to Florida. Said it was a godless place. She’d only help if I returned to Titansville.

“I was determined to stay in Fort Lauderdale, no matter what. I like it here, even if I am having a hard time.”

She’d relaxed enough that Helen could tell her age—early twenties. Her features were regular but plain. Now Charlotte settled in as if they were two friends gossiping.

“For a while I lived in my storage unit,” Charlotte said. “At night, I slept on my couch and used the storage facility’s public restroom. But my unit didn’t have air-conditioning or windows.”

Helen couldn’t imagine living in a flat-topped box with no air-conditioning in the Florida heat.

“Some nights, the temperature was over a hundred and ten degrees,” Charlotte said. “I had to be up, washed, dressed and out before the manager showed up at six every morning. All of us did.”

“How many homeless people were living there?” Helen asked.

“Three of us. Living in storage units happens more than you’d think.

“I kept checking the shelters, but there was still no place for me. I used the library computers to help find jobs. The Flora Park Library was the best. There wasn’t a long wait to use the computers.

“Disaster struck about a month ago. The manager of the storage facility caught me sleeping there. I’d finally dozed off about four in the morning and I didn’t wake up in time. The manager was real nice about it, but he said the storage units weren’t designed to be lived in. If he caught me again, he’d call the police.

“I came back here to the library and wondered what I should do. Paris the cat came to see me—it’s like she knew I was in trouble. I scratched her for a bit, and then she jumped off my lap and ran down the back hall. She looked over her shoulder at me, and I followed her.

“I saw those rows of doors and all but one was unlocked. Then I found the staff break room with the kitchen. I figured I could live here until I got a job.”

“But how did you get away with it?” Helen asked.

“I’d come back to the library about closing time and go in the staff entrance. No one was around. I timed it when the staff was busy preparing for closing. I’d slip in and hide in a room in the hall. At night, I used the blankets in the hurricane kit.”

“Alexa said a kit was missing,” Helen said. “An expensive kit.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, and she did seem contrite. “But it really was an emergency.

“The library doesn’t have an alarm system. I’d hide until Jared finished cleaning. Once he was gone, the library was mine.”

“What do you do every night?” Helen asked.

“Most nights, I read by flashlight,” Charlotte said. “I play with Paris. I watch the battery-operated TV from the hurricane kit, and eat the food and drink the water in it.”

“You also spent the kit’s five hundred dollars,” Helen said.

“I needed gas for my car,” she said. “I drive an old green ’eighty-seven Honda. Not much to look at, but at least it’s reliable. I still have about two hundred left.

“Once a week I wash my hair and dry it with the hand dryers in the bathroom. If I let my hair air-dry, it looks frizzy.

“I usually wait until I have a job interview. Once, Alexa almost caught me. I checked my e-mail early in the morning and learned I had a job interview that same day. I was drying my hair when Alexa came in early and I ran for a closet.”

“You ate the staff food, too,” Helen said.

“Not much. I microwaved the leftover coffee, but I always cleaned the pot,” Charlotte said. “The staff doesn’t clean the coffeepot, so nobody complained. Sometimes I’d help myself—”

“You mean steal,” Helen said.

“Okay, I’d steal tea bags. I took some food, but only if it had been in the break room at least two days.”

“The Chinese food was gone overnight,” Helen said. “You keep lying and I’ll call the police now.”

“I was hungry!” Charlotte said. “I’d been living on stale sandwiches and rock-hard pastries. When I smelled that moo shu pork last night, I couldn’t resist.”

“So where are the empty cartons?” Helen said.

“In my briefcase. I take out any trash I create when I leave for my job hunt.”

“And nobody here at the library notices you?” Helen asked.

“Just Paris the cat. I wait until the library is busy and the staff is
distracted. If anyone who works here sees me, they’ve never acknowledged me. It’s like I’m . . . well, I’m a ghost.”

“You almost got a woman killed,” Helen said. “Lisa thought she saw a ghost and hit a patron with a bookend.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Charlotte said. “Lisa must have seen me running down the hall in my long lavender robe and thought I was Flora Portland’s ghost. Lisa is very excitable.”

“With good reason,” Helen said.

“Look, I’ll pay for everything,” Charlotte said. “I’ll return the five hundred dollars, with interest. I’ll add another hundred for food and batteries. And I’ll tell you where I hid the missing watercolor. Just let me go to this job interview.

“It’s the third time Norton Management Associates has called me back. My starting salary will be forty thousand dollars. Please let me get this job and I’ll clear out, pay back the library and never return.”

She started for the door, but Helen blocked it. “Not so fast. Tell me about that Sargent watercolor. How did you hear about it?”

“I was next door when the Kingsley boxes were delivered to the Friends’ intake room, and the volunteers opened them.

“The books that looked valuable were set aside and handled with white cotton gloves—like those elephant folios on the table there. The Friends decided there were ten boxes of potentially valuable books. A book dealer took the books to appraise. He’s coming back for those elephant folios next week.

“The Friends put the first batch of bestsellers on the sale shelves. Shortly after that, the Kingsley papers—the birth certificate and the deed—were found and returned. You wouldn’t believe the flap. Alexa called Elizabeth Kingsley and they had a discussion here in the hall.”

“Why didn’t they talk in Alexa’s office?” Helen asked.

“Alexa thought Blair listened at her door—and she does. I’ve seen her. Alexa conducts her private conversations here in the hall.

“That night, I started searching the books. I’d open a box, go through the books and retape it. I found the watercolor last night, after the séance. It was in a huge photo book—sort of like an elephant folio, but it wasn’t in with the rare books. It was called
Portraits from North American Indian Life
by Edward S. Curtis, with gorgeous sepia photos of Native Americans.”

“Why didn’t you say something to Alexa this morning?” Helen asked.

“I didn’t get a chance,” Charlotte said. “She nearly caught me when I was getting my laundry out of the women’s john. I ran for the storage closet. I had to leave my clothesline up and then Paris was playing with a sock I’d dropped. That’s when you showed up.”

“Give me the watercolor,” Helen said.

“It’s worth a million dollars,” Charlotte said, and her face looked feral. “I know you’re getting a fee for finding it. Split your fee with me and it’s yours.”

“I’ll think about it,” Helen said.

“You don’t have time. I have to leave for my job interview now. Yes or no, Detective?”

“How do I know you still have it?” Helen asked.

“Don’t worry—it’s still here. I hid it well. When I get back, I’ll serve it to you on a platter. That’s a clue.”

And that was a taunt. Helen glared at the plain woman in the severe suit. She didn’t like Charlotte, but she was saving Helen hours of work.

“Well?” Charlotte said.

“Yes,” Helen said.

“My briefcase is in the other room,” Charlotte said, standing up and smoothing her skirt. “I’ll be back at the library by three at the latest and we’ll draw up the contract.”

“What contract?” Helen said.

“The one you’re going to sign so I’ll get half your fee,” Charlotte said.