Death Overdue (Librarian Mysteries) (6 page)

W
hen we got back to the B and B, Brenda met us at the door. She had always reminded me of a dormouse, with her thin lips and twitchy ears. Her ears were in a major twitch at the moment.

“He found the sherry,” she said as soon as we stepped inside.

“Who found what?” Caldwell asked.

And of course she repeated what she had said, even though he had heard her the first time and what he really wanted was an explanation.

“He being?” he asked.

“That Italian bloke, name like a kind of spaghetti. He drank the whole bottle and has now passed out on the love seat.”

“You sure he’s just passed out?” I asked, worried about any more troubles.

“Yes, I did the feather test,” she said.

“What?” Caldwell asked.

I could tell he was upset by everything and had wanted to come home to a peaceful house.

Just in case he really didn’t know what it was, I explained, “You stick a feather under someone’s nose and if they’re breathing, the feather moves.”

While Brenda wasn’t very fond of me and often disagreed with me, this once she acknowledged that I was right. “It moved.”

She led us into the garden room, where we found Alfredo hanging over the edges of the love seat, one arm dangling to the floor, the other behind his head. A small feather was still attached to his upper lip. His mouth hung open and his cheek was squished into a pillow, making his face look longer and thinner than it already was. A handsome fellow when sober and not sleeping, he had turned into a caricature of himself.

“It got stuck, the feather,” Brenda explained.

“Don’t worry. He won’t notice,” I assured her, then turned to Caldwell and asked, “How much was left in the bottle?”

“Well, I opened it for him last night and he had two small drinks from it. So quite a lot.”

“Do you think we should wake him?” I asked.

“No, it’s quieter with him sleeping. He’s not going to feel very good when he does wake up, so let’s put it off,” Caldwell said, and I could tell he just wanted to put everything off, follow Alfredo’s example, and have a couple glasses of wine, I hoped not to the passing-out point.

“He was ever so upset about Miss Sally’s death,” Brenda said.

“Yes, he was bound to be. They were to be married,” Caldwell said.

“Really? I wondered,” Brenda said. “He was muttering something about a ring.”

“Maybe they were planning on buying a ring here in London,” Caldwell suggested.

“I don’t know.” Brenda grew pensive. “He made it sound like it had already been bought.”

“Well, then maybe a romantic proposal?” I said.

Brenda shrugged.

“Have you heard anything more from the police?” Caldwell asked.

“No, it’s been surprisingly quiet, once
he
nodded off.”

“Penelope still around?” he asked.

“Yes, she’s been in her room since you left.”

Caldwell looked at me. “Let’s just eat here tonight. Something simple.”

“Fine,” I said. “As long as it isn’t beans on toast.”

“How about pasta with marinara sauce?”

“That sounds scrumptious.” I leaned in and kissed him on the nose. He just looked like he needed a light kiss. Behind us Brenda cleared her throat in an unhappy sort of way.

“Brenda, would you care to join us?” he asked.

“No, I’m off to see my mum. I’ll probably stay overnight there. She’s been poorly of late.”

“I’m going to change into something more comfortable,” I said, and went up the stairs, not looking forward to seeing the off-limits library.

When I got to the top of the stairs, I saw the tape was still strung across the entrance to the library, but the door was open a crack. I walked quietly to the door and peeked in. Penelope was standing on her tiptoes, scanning the books.

I wondered what she was looking for, but I really wondered why she thought the message on the tape didn’t apply to her. It very clearly stated:
CRIME SCENE—DO NOT ENTER
.

“Penelope,” I said in a quiet but carrying tone.

Still she jumped and shrieked and put a hand on her heart. “Oh, you scared me. These books make me so nervous. I can’t help thinking of Sally and what they did to her.”

I held up the tape so she would get the hint to leave the room. She caught on and walked toward me, then ducked under the tape.

“How did you get in?” I asked.

“I knew where the keys were from before . . . when I was here before.” She looked and sounded rattled.

“What were you doing in there if it’s making you so nervous?” I asked. I decided not to point out that she wasn’t supposed to be in the room. This might be a good chance to talk to her alone, and I wanted to take advantage of it.

“I, well, I was just curious, you know.”

“About what?”

“Why Sally was in here last night.”

“Yes, that’s a good question. Do you have any ideas?”

Penelope nodded her head and then said slowly, “Maybe she was looking for something.”

“A book?”

“Maybe.”

“But she had such a reputation as a nonreader.”

“She read all sorts of things, just not anything that Caldwell would approve of,” Penelope said.

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know, magazines and gossipy stories. She loved to follow the royalty and the movie stars.”

I couldn’t help wondering what Caldwell had seen in Sally. The more I learned about her, the more their relationship seemed odd. What could it have been based on? I hated to think it was just sex, but maybe it was.

“What did she and Caldwell have in common?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.

But Penelope spoke up immediately. “They both liked to cook. Sally liked to garden, and Caldwell liked that. Sally could be very charming when she put her mind to it.” Penelope paused for a moment and sighed. “Unfortunately, she didn’t care for his love of books as much. She felt like his books just got in the way.”

“Why did she leave him?” I asked, since Penelope seemed to have more information than I would have given her credit for.

“She gets tired of things very easily. She’s been like that since we were kids. I think the bed-and-breakfast was her idea, but then she didn’t like how much work it was. She said that no one should have to talk to people before they’ve had their caffeine in the morning. She saw herself as the grande dame of the manor, but turned out the job she had made her feel more like the maid. Plus, she never liked to be tied down.”

“Did you know she was going to leave him?”

“No, Sally and I weren’t close like that. She did send me postcards from Chicago and then Italy. I visited her in the small village where she was living—outside of Rome. The air was soft and the light was more golden than here. I could understand why she liked it there. And she seemed to fit in. Alfredo was wonderful to me. He even taught me some Italian. What a beautiful language.”

“You said you knew she was coming back to London?”

“Yes, she had written me a note saying she was coming with Alfredo, but I didn’t know why.”

“You didn’t know she was going to claim the house back?”

“No, I’m really surprised. She always seemed so happy to be away from here. She loved Italy.”

“But it sounds like all she wanted was the money. Did she and Alfredo have money problems?”

Penelope hesitated before saying, “I’m not sure. Alfredo lived in an old villa, very grand, but rather falling down. I would imagine it would take a lot of money to keep it up.”

“What does he do for a living?” I wondered.

“He opens up his house a couple of days a week for tourists to come and see it. I guess you could say that he’s a tour guide. That’s how he and Sally met. She came to visit his villa and never left.”

“Is there any reason you can imagine anyone wanting to hurt Sally—if that’s what happened here?” I asked. A simple question, but one that stalled out on Penelope.

She looked at the floor, then the ceiling, then sighed. “I only know what you know.”

But I knew Penelope wasn’t telling me everything.

“S
o Sally was a good cook?” I asked as I wrapped the last few noodles of spaghetti around my fork, careful not to flick any of the sauce on my blouse.

Caldwell stared off into space. He wasn’t eating much, which was unusual. He had stirred his spaghetti into a sort of bird’s nest. “Yes, now that I think about it, she was a good cook. Never followed recipes, which drove me crazy. She would look at them and then start to improvise. Sometimes the dishes turned out very well; other times, not so good.”

“Are you feeling sad?” The question popped out of me. I know men don’t like such questions, but I hoped that Caldwell was different.

He looked over at me; his big brown eyes softened into mine. “No. Not really. I just feel like someone turned me upside down and shook me. Here we were planning to figure out how to start our life together. I was looking forward to spending long days with you, going to bookshops, reading, organizing the books I’ve collected. And then Sally decided to burst back into my life and take back the B and B. And just as she’s upset everything, she dies.”

“Oh,” I said. An encouraging “oh” I hoped.

He looked down at the mess he had made of his plate. “Sally has always managed to mess things up. She could never just let things be. To tell you the truth, what I’m really feeling is scared.”

I pushed his plate aside and took his hand. “But you’re not alone.”

He smiled, but it was a weak production. “I know, but I think that’s making it worse. I feel bad that you’re mixed up in this.”

“Mixed up in what? I’m glad I’m here to give you support. And this will all be over soon. Alfredo and Penelope will be gone in a few days, and we can get back to thinking about the bookshop.”

He shook his head. “I know, but the police don’t seem
to be treating her death like it was an accident. I’m not so worried about myself, but I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

I squeezed his hand tight, all the while wondering why he was worrying about me. I hadn’t done anything to Sally. Did he think I had?

Alfredo stuck his head into the kitchen, where we were eating. “That has a very good smell,” he said. His dark hair was sticking up in back, once again giving him the look of a woodpecker. But he seemed revived by his nap.

Caldwell got a clean plate down from the cupboard and put on it the leftovers from the serving dish.
“Buon appetito.”

“Grazie,”
Alfredo said and sat down in Caldwell’s chair. He seemed more than able to make himself at home no matter where he was or what was going on. I envied his ability to ask for what he wanted. More to the point, to know what he wanted, even if it was only food and drink.

Unlike Caldwell, Alfredo ate with great gusto, sipping the noodles down his throat.
“Molto bene.”
He put his hands on either side of Caldwell’s face and, for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss him, but he just gave him a friendly shaking. “As good as my mama’s.”

High praise indeed.

“Alfredo, did you know that Sally was coming back to London to reclaim this B and B?”

“To reclaim?” he asked.

“Yes, to demand a part of this house.” I waved my hands, trying to encompass the whole house.

“Oh,
sì.
We talk and she tell me that we can have some money from this house. We need it for my villa, you know. But I did not know that she kept this a secret from you, Caldwell.”

“You thought I knew she was coming?” Caldwell asked.

“Yes, she tell me we will be most welcome. I’m sorry that you did not know the truth about the visit.” He stopped eating, and his fork was held up in the air like he was hoping the noodles would take flight. “I am very sad about my Sally. How can she be gone like this? It is too much to believe.” Tears started running down his face as if someone had turned on a faucet in his eyes. This was certainly a man who had no trouble showing his emotions.

Caldwell looked at me with
help
written in his eyes. I gently touched Alfredo’s noodle-holding hand, then patted it. He pushed his plate back, rested his head in his hands on the table, and wept great, gasping sobs.

Caldwell carried our two plates to the sink. I knew he wanted to leave Alfredo to me.

When Alfredo lifted up his head, I handed him a napkin, which he took and immediately blew his nose in. “Thank you so much,” he said, and wiped his eyes. “I cannot believe any of this. How could this have happened? Sally was not one to die easily.”

“Do you have any idea what she was doing in the library room at night?”

“I might think that she was sleepwalking. She did that from time to time. But no, I think she was looking for something.”

“What would she be looking for in the books?”

“I think she left something here that she wanted to come back for, something special to her. I don’t know, but that is what I feel.”

“Could it have been a book?” Caldwell asked.

“No, that is not what I think. Something small, but no book. Something more special than that.”