Death Overdue (Librarian Mysteries) (13 page)

Alfredo was, in fact, a very handsome man. Possibly Sally had been his problem. I had to wonder, now that he was rid of Sally, could he bloom into himself ?

A few more people wandered in, and we were all asked to be seated by Mr. Dratt-Brinkwater. Some slow and unpleasant hymn was played over the sound system, after
which Mr. Dratt-Brinkwater intoned a few words about death being merely a door we step through on a wonderful adventure.

If this was what the humanists believed, I was pleased for them. Not an unpleasant thought. Rather like a quiz game. Choose the right door. Walk on through and maybe a prize will be waiting.

Penelope got up to speak. She held a piece of paper in her hands, of notes I presumed, and while the paper trembled slightly, her voice did not. She too seemed to have grown more into herself.

“My sister and I did not always have the perfect relationship. Sally was forceful, adventurous, and curious. She grabbed on to life as if she intended to throttle it. I admired her for that. She took what she wanted and enjoyed what she got. If something didn’t work for her, she tried something else.”

Penelope looked down at her notes, and here her voice shook a little as she continued. “And now Sally’s gone. It’s hard to believe that such a vibrant woman is no longer with us. She will be missed, I’m sure. I will miss my big sister. Maybe more than I can now know.”

Next to me Brenda began to sob quietly into her folded hands. I reached into my purse and gave her one of the tissues I always carried with me. As long as I was at it, I pulled out one for myself.

I too felt myself tearing up at the genuineness of Penelope’s words. She hadn’t tried to make Sally into someone she had not been, someone kind and generous, but in saying who her sister had really been, she made us all miss her some. Those kinds of people do make life more exciting, even if it is sometimes to the detriment of the rest of us. In that moment I wished I had known Sally better.

But what I really wished was that Caldwell was sitting next to me. He was who I really missed.

T
here was no reception following Sally’s funeral. There hadn’t been many people—Sally having been gone from England for so long—and I guess Penelope just hadn’t wanted to fuss with it.

As I was leaving for home, I walked over to say my good-byes and give my condolences to Mrs. Burroughs. She smiled as I said how sorry I was. She thanked me and invited me to tea later that day.

“I’m in a hotel up in Kingsland.” She smiled graciously as she added, “You can’t miss it. Everyone ends up there at one time or another.”

I glanced over at Penelope, who mouthed, “I’ll explain.”

I smiled and said, “That would be lovely. Might I bring anything?”

“No, the service there is quite nice, and I just thought we could have a little chat. I love to make new friends.”

We agreed on a time, and Penelope grabbed my arm and walked outside with me. “Mum’s slightly bonkers, but very friendly. You don’t have to go. She won’t remember she invited you.”

“Oh, but I’d like to visit her. The least I can do.” As we stood on the steps and basked in the sun, I wondered what the older woman would be able to tell me about her daughters—anything that might shed light on Sally’s death. “Do you think she realizes that Sally has died?”

“Occasionally. But then it slips her mind. It’s just as well. She would be terribly upset if she had to remember such things all the time.” Penelope gave me directions to the “hotel,” which turned out to be a senior assisted-living home called Queensland, in Kingsland.

I took the tube back to the B and B and called to see if Caldwell’s lawyer had any news.

He answered his phone with the usual announcement of his name, of which he seemed terribly proud.

I couldn’t help it. I gave him back the full majesty of my own name. “This is Karen Elizabeth Nash calling.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said.

I wasn’t sure why he was begging my pardon, but I plowed ahead. “I’m calling about Caldwell Perkins.”

“Oh, yes, you’re that American.” This statement he made with a tone that insinuated he’d rather be holding a rat by the tail than having much to do with me. “I thought you might be calling.”

“Where are things at?” I asked, eager for news.

“Miss Nash, I’m pleased to say that they are progressing.”

I was getting impatient. “How so?”

“I’ve been in touch with the court and they will be recommending bail.”

“Do you have any idea how much that might be?”

“No. But I think we will be advised later today.”

It was at times like this that I was glad for the royalty checks I was earning on the invention of the toilet I had helped create: the Flush Budget. Before I left Minnesota, I had set up with my bank a line of credit that I could draw on easily. I told Mr. Prentiss-Hipp that I had access to a fair amount of money in the U.S., and he said that might come in handy.

“Well, let me know as soon as you know anything.”

“Miss Nash, I know many things—but any news pertaining to Mr. Caldwell I will keep you apprised of.”

“Give him my love,” I said.

“Yes, quite,” he said, and we rang off.

*

“Brenda?” I knocked on her door and thought I heard a rustling inside, so I knocked again.

When she came to the door, she looked as if she had continued crying after she left the funeral.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“Touch of a cold, I think. Besides which I just can’t believe Sally’s gone.”

“Yes, I know.”

“What do you know about it?” she said in a nasty voice. “You have no idea what a loss Sally is to many of us.”

Not wanting to argue with her, I quickly told her what I needed to. “Listen, I’m going out for a while. Can you attend to things here?”

She huffed. “Of course I can. We were doing fine before you came along. Who do you think took care of things when he went off on his book-buying binges? You’ve just encouraged that in him. I was often left in charge, and I can run this place just fine.”

“Yes, of course you can. I didn’t mean to suggest that you couldn’t handle things, but was just wondering if you were up to it after the funeral and all.”

“Where are you off to anyway?” she asked. “Going to see Caldwell?”

“I wish. No, I’m going to visit Sally’s mother. She asked me to tea at the place where she’s living.”

“She used to be sharp as a whistle, that one. But now she’s just whistling an empty tune.”

“Yes, she does seem slightly out of it.”

“Don’t pay much attention to what she says,” Brenda advised. “She does like to prattle on.”

“No, I just thought it would be nice to visit her.”

“She never understood Sally.”

I waited to see if Brenda would tell me more. Finally, I nudged, “How so?”

“Just the kind of life Sally was meant for: nice things, lots of travel, carefree, not tied down. Her mum wanted her to marry Caldwell.”

“Well, for my sake, I’m glad that she didn’t.”

Brenda huffed again and then shut the door in my face. I didn’t seem to know what to say to please that woman.

*

The Queensland in Kingsland was not very royal. Looked more like Disneyland without the spires: fake stone on new walls, patterned carpeting that mimicked Persian rugs, cheap ceramic pots that had plastic flowers in them.

After inquiring at the front desk, I was told that I would probably find Mrs. Burroughs out on the patio, waiting for her tea.

I strolled through the large hallway, watching one woman
walk herself around in her wheelchair and a man dressed as if he were going out on a hunt, striding up and down the hall. They both seemed fairly happy. I followed the receptionist’s directions out the other side of the building and saw a large lawn with a croquet game in progress.

Mrs. Burroughs was sitting next to a table in the shade, by herself, dozing. I walked up to her, and her head jerked up and her eyes opened. “Are you bringing my tea?” she asked hopefully.

“No, but I’m sure it will be here soon.” I could see she didn’t remember me. “May I sit down?”

“Of course. What’s your name, my dear?”

“I’m Karen Nash.”

“A good, sensible name,” she said.

I nodded. I had always found it so.

“I’m Mrs. Burroughs. You must be new here. How do you like the hotel?” she asked.

“Lovely,” I said, looking around at the lawn and the gardens. “Quite lovely.”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s not quite like home, but it will do. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying, you know. But for now it will do.”

“I know your daughters,” I told her, since it was basically true. Then I reminded her, “Sally and Penelope.”

“Oh, how nice. I rarely see them,” she said. “You know girls at that age are so busy. But they are good girls mostly.”

“How do they get along?” I asked.

“Oh, much the way they should. Sally’s quite the stronger of the two. Always has been. Penelope is sweeter, but also I think a little devious. Penelope was always jealous of Sally, always thought she got more attention. But they’re good girls. I wish I would see them more often.”

“Did they ever quarrel or fight?” I asked.

She rubbed her cheek with her hand as if she were trying to remember something. “I seem to remember some sort of to-do about the ring.”

“What ring?”

“Oh, you know, that big sort of flashy ring. I think it was Victorian. Lots of emeralds and diamonds and such. I gave it to Penelope, as she had always loved it, but I think Sally thought she deserved it somehow. Then it went missing. Penelope always said Sally took it, but I don’t know. Penelope might have just mislaid it. She could be forgetful sometimes. Personally I didn’t care for the ring. I always found it rather ugly.”

“It sounds expensive,” I said.

“Yes, I suppose. Those things usually are. With all those gaudy stones on it, but not in particularly good taste, if you know what I mean. However, it was the last of our great fortune. You might wonder why I’m staying in this hotel.” She swept her hand around at the building. “We lost all our wealth when their father gambled it away. The ring was the
last of it, and I couldn’t stand to wear it. Just reminded me of better times. You know how it is.”

I murmured assent.

Then the tea cart was pushed up to our table by a young girl whose hair color was a little too close to carrot to be natural. “Mrs. Burroughs, what’ll you have for your tea today?” she asked.

“I think I’ll try one of those sandwiches.” She pointed to a triangle of white bread with cucumber slices. “And a scone, please.”

The girl handed her a plate with her desired dainties. Then I pointed out several things I wanted and a blop of double cream, a real downfall for me. We both had tea with a dribble of milk.

“I’m a friend of Caldwell’s,” I told her after we were served. “I’ve been staying at the B and B.”

“Such a lovely man he is. I don’t understand why Sally left him. One can only guess. But then we didn’t talk about such things.” She was silent for a moment, then continued. “But you know she’s never married. The young people these days just don’t go in for that much.”

“Yes, well, Caldwell’s in a bit of trouble, having to do with Sally.”

Mrs. Burroughs looked up. “Not again.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Well, she left him with that mess of a B and B, didn’t she? He had to keep it going on his own.”

“Yes, I guess she did.”

“I’ve missed him. You should have brought him with you,” she said. “I would have loved to see him.”

“Yes, I think he would have liked that too.”

“I haven’t seen much of Sally lately either,” she told me. “I wonder what could be keeping her.”

I couldn’t lie to her, but I said as gently as I could, “Sally had a bad accident and died a few days ago.”

Her sandwich dropped from her hand. “Oh, it’s not right for children to die before their parents. Did she suffer much?”

“No, I think it happened too quickly for that.”

“That’s a mercy.” She shook her head as if something was bothering her, then began eating her sandwich again. “These sandwiches taste a little dry today. I will have to say something.”

I had finished my scone and said, “I’m so sorry about your daughter Sally. It must be such a loss.” I couldn’t keep myself from saying this even if Mrs. Burroughs didn’t understand.

Her face darkened, her eyes fell, as she slowly ate her last bite, and then she said, “I hate to think about it. She was always such a good girl.”