Death Overdue (Librarian Mysteries) (18 page)

“C
an you do something for me?” I asked Caldwell when Alfredo and Penelope finally left for dinner, claiming they needed to go over the details of the will. I knew better. And so did Caldwell, as I had filled him in on some of what I had heard them talk about.

“Of course, but wait a minute. How did you learn that these two were together? Did you see them?”

We were in the kitchen, sitting at the table and drinking the end of a bottle of very nice red wine.

“Sort of,” I said, embarrassed to tell him.

“Yes?”

“It has to do with what I’d like you to do.”

“How so?”

“Well, I was trying to check on Alfredo. So I let myself into his room.”

“Really?” Caldwell asked, trying to sound stern, but I could see he was enjoying this.

“Yes, and then they both came in.”

“And where were you?”

This was the part that was hard to admit. “I slipped under the bed.”

“Under the bed?”

“Yes, and things started to get a little hot and heavy, but then Penelope backed out.”

Caldwell didn’t say anything for a moment, taking in what I had told him. Finally he said with a laugh, “You might have found out more about Alfredo than you cared to know.”

“Yes,” I admitted weakly.

Caldwell poured the last few drops into my glass, toasted me, and said, “So what would you like me to do?”

“Do some checking up on Alfredo, please.”

“Why?”

“I think we should know who he is, not who he says he is. There’s something that isn’t right there.”

“You don’t honestly think he killed Sally, do you?”

“You know it’s a very strong possibility that no one intended to kill Sally. Maybe they just wanted to frighten her.
I could see Alfredo doing that. We know now that he was planning on dumping her for her sister.”

“Karen, remember the state they were in that night. Fairly inebriated. How could he have had the wherewithal to conceive a plan like that, let alone carry it out?”

“It sounded like he was gone in his cups—but who knows how drunk he actually was. He might have been faking it.”

“You have a very devious mind. Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you.”

“I don’t think you could do that.”

We kissed. But then I continued. “Remember that Sally had said he was of the House of Savoy. Well, that’s like claiming he’s related to the king of Italy. I don’t know much about the family, but it would be interesting to see if he really is any relation to them.”

“He could be a fraud and still not have killed Sally.”

“Oh, I know, but I’m curious.” I cuddled up to him. “And you are such a whiz on the computer.”

“I’ve always wanted to be a whiz,” Caldwell said, giving me his darling half smile.

“I’ll even do the dishes.”

“ ’Bout time you carried your weight around here,” he said as he left me in the kitchen.

I had just wiped down the counters when he came back in the room and said excitedly, “Come and see what I have discovered.”

Caldwell kept his laptop in his bedroom, set under the front windows overlooking the street, on a small oak desk. He pulled a chair up for me, and first he showed me one picture of an old man in a dark suit. The caption underneath read: “Alfredo Remulado von Savoy.” However, the man was obviously not our Alfredo.

“Could be his father,” I said.

“Yes, perhaps. But I have something else to show you.”

He went to a travel website called Viva Italia! Then he clicked on a button that said “Tours.” A picture came up that showed a tall and handsome man standing in front of a lovely villa. The man had a big, toothy smile and was flourishing one hand as if inviting all to come in.

The man was our Alfredo.

But the caption underneath read: “Giuseppe Molto, tour guide extraordinaire, will show you around the magnificent Villa Pelouza, where you may sample the fine wines and cheeses of the region.”

“Do you think Sally knew about this?” I asked.

“She probably did. Sally loved playacting. She would have fallen right into his role-playing.”

“What about Penelope?”

Caldwell shrugged. “It’s hard to know what went on when Penelope went down to visit. Maybe Sally and Alfredo fooled her the whole time she was there.”

“But to what end?”

“Just for the fun of it.”

“What do you think Penelope would do if she found out? Would she have blamed Sally?”

Caldwell thought for a moment. “I don’t think such a stunt would have caused her to want to hurt her sister—but years of such things might have. Sally was not always very nice to Penelope, often putting her down and teasing her. I actually think Sally was fond of Penelope, but I’m not sure her younger sister ever really knew it.”

“So maybe this charade was the straw that ended up breaking Sally’s back instead of Penelope’s.”

Caldwell said, “Maybe.”

I
heard Caldwell get out of bed to start breakfast for the guests, but I couldn’t quite rouse myself. I’m not sure how much longer I slept, but when I woke up the sun was definitely shining, and I could hear the sound of people talking downstairs. Time to rise and shine, as my father would say.

Caldwell had emptied out two drawers for me in his dresser, but as I scrounged in them I saw that it was getting to be time to do a load or two of wash. I was running out of outfits to wear. I put on a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of brown corduroy pants. I threw water on my face, brushed my teeth, and took a comb to my hair. It would have to be good enough.

I wasn’t sure what was on our agenda today: finish straightening up the library, read the paper, maybe go book shopping, which we had hardly done since I arrived. Such an outing would be a treat for Caldwell and me, and lord knows we needed a treat. Oh, and find out who had pushed the bookcase over on Sally. Priority number one.

Still trying to wake up, I started down the stairs. The voices from the garden room grew louder. I could hear Alfredo’s (or Giuseppe’s) booming voice above all the rest. I could see how he would make a good tour guide.

Halfway down the stairs, I took a step and my foot hit something round. I went flying.

Thank goodness I remembered the crash course I had taken on jumping out of an airplane. For a couple of weeks, I had dated a paratrooper who wanted to take me skydiving. I never went. I was so thankful we broke up before the scheduled flight. But I still remembered the lessons I had taken in preparation for it—on how to land safely on the ground from a very high fall.

So as I was flying through the air, I managed to tuck and turn on my side. I landed on the carpet at the bottom of the stairs with a big thump. The side of my back and my hip took the force of the landing. Both areas were fairly well padded, but I still had the breath knocked out of me.

Before I could move or speak, or even breathe, I was surrounded by everyone in the house: Bruce, Alfredo, Penelope,
Brenda, and, of course, Caldwell. Their faces peered down at me like I was a mouse in a maze. I felt stunned.

Caldwell knelt beside me and held my shoulders. “Don’t move,” he said. “We need to make sure you haven’t broken anything.”

I gasped for air. “Yes,” I wheezed.

His hands felt along my legs and then my arms and my neck. “Where does it hurt? Can you move everything?”

“Yes, I think so.” I whistled a word at a time, trying to reassure him while I was not so sure of my okayness. “Let me catch my breath.”

“Give her some room,” he said to everyone who was crowding over me. They all stepped back, and I felt like I could breathe again.

Slowly I sat up. The room didn’t spin, nothing felt broken, but I knew I was going to have one heck of a bruise on my hip.

“What happened?” Caldwell asked me.

“I stepped on something on the stairs,” I said.

Everyone looked behind me and then shook their heads. I turned my head around and saw what they had seen. Nothing. There was nothing on the stairs, yet I could completely remember the feeling of a rounded thing under my foot.

“There was something there,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”

“You probably caught your toe,” Penelope said.

“Just so long as you’re all right,” Bruce joined in.

“I cleaned the stairs yesterday,” Brenda said. “So they might have been a bit slippy.”

“What do you think it was?” Caldwell asked.

At least he believed me.

“Oh, silly me. You’re all probably right,” I said, trying my best to sound lighthearted about my slip.

I knew I hadn’t caught my toe or slipped on the stairs. The rounded object had been under the ball of my foot. But I decided not to argue. I would act as if everything was okay. If someone had put something on the stairs, maybe it was better not to let them know I was onto them.

Caldwell helped me up and, while my hip ached, nothing seemed to be broken or even sprained.

But I would find out who had put something on the stairs for me to trip over. I knew it had not been an accident.

A
fter all the guests had cleared out for the morning, I checked around the stairs, looking for something that I might have tripped over. The hall was clean and empty, but the kitchen was right next to the stairs. Whoever had done it might have stashed the implement there. But when I started to look, Caldwell came in and asked me what I was doing. I didn’t want to tell him there. I felt like someone might overhear us and I wanted to be cautious.

“You’re limping a bit,” he said.

“I’m fine,” I assured him.

“Sit down. I’ll make you some tea.”

When Caldwell and I were sitting down for a “cuppa” on our own—actually, he was doing the dishes and I was sitting with my feet up, resting from my fall—I said, “Let’s go look at some old books in a store you haven’t shown me yet. Remember your long list of shops we were planning on visiting—to get ideas and maybe some books?”

He turned around so fast, he sprayed the kitchen with water from his hands. “Really?” he asked. “Do you think you’re up to it?”

I stood up, trying not to show how much my hip ached, brushed myself off, and said, “Absolutely good to go.”

“That would be lovely,” he said.

I loved how men in England could say
lovely
and not sound like a prissy lady. I couldn’t imagine an American male ever saying the word
lovely,
even to his girlfriend, even when she was lovely.

“You’re sure?” he asked again. “I’ve been wanting to show you this new smallish shop that I’ve discovered. It’s walking distance away. Could you manage a walk, do you think?”

“I think a nice, easy walk with books at the end would be just what the doctor ordered,” I said.

“What a smart doctor,” Caldwell said, and wiped his hands on a towel. “I can be ready to go in a sec.”

“Me too,” I said. When he turned back to put the dishes away, I hobbled out of the kitchen. As I walked I noticed that
my hip eased up and my back didn’t hurt so much. Some movement would be good for me.

It was a perfect English day: brisk enough for a coat, but not so cold you needed a hat; a scattering of clouds in the sky, but nothing ominous. Caldwell and I started off. He took my arm, and we walked slowly down the streets. I felt so at home with him by my side.

As much as I hated to ruin our contentedness, I had to tell him of my concern. “You know when I fell . . .”

“Yes, it was awful,” he said as if I needed reassurance.

“Yes, whatever. But what I’m trying to tell you is I’m sure I stepped on something.”

He nodded. “I don’t doubt it. I’ve never seen you be clumsy or trip. On the contrary, you are exceptionally stable.”

“Well, be that as it may, I felt something under my foot and it was round—like a can or a rolling pin.”

“Rolling pin?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up to the middle of his forehead. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, why?”

“When I was putting the dishes away this morning, I went to put the silver in the drawer and found the rolling pin in there. Not where it belongs. But it is the closest drawer to the door.”