Valentine Murder (3 page)
Authors: Leslie Meier
CHAPTER THREE
The Gingerbread Man was afraid to cross the stream, but along came a clever fox . . .
“W
hat's the matter?” asked Gerald, taking her hands in his.
hat's the matter?” asked Gerald, taking her hands in his.
“It's B-b-b,” said Lucy, her eyes darting wildly at the group clustered around her. Their faces seemed distorted, as if they were reflections in a convex mirror. She suddenly felt woozy and the room began to whirl around her.
“Lucy, get a grip on yourself,” scolded Miss Tilley.
She turned toward the voice, and her eyes settled on her old friend. Then, looking beyond the group, she saw the mothers and children waiting for story hour to begin. She watched as Zoe settled beside Sadie and opened a book for them to look at together. It was all so normal, so peaceful. Nothing like the awful thing downstairs.
“Is Bitsy hurt? Has she fallen?” Gerald peered over her shoulder, at the stairs.
Lucy straightened her back and took a deep breath. “She's dead.”
“That can't be,” insisted Miss Tilley.
“There must be some mistake,” added Corney.
“I'd better take a Look,” said Ed, stepping to the front of the group.
“I don't think you should,” protested Lucy, as the group surged past her and hurried down the stairs. “At least not until the police get here,” she added, leaning against the wall for support. She was still dizzy and trembling with shock.
The police, she thought. I've got to call the police. But she found herself hesitating, reluctant to move. Instead, she watched Zoe, who was pointing at something in the book. It must be funnyâthe two little girls were giggling.
Somewhat shaky on her feet, Lucy stepped away from the wall, determined to get control of herself. Now that she was back upstairs in the sunny new addition, she could hardly believe what she had seen in the basement. She felt a little surge of hope. Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe it wasn't too late for Bitsy. The rescue squad had defibrillators and all kinds of life-saving equipment.
Walking carefully so as not to alarm the mothers and children, she went to the office. There she picked up the receiver and, using all her concentration, punched in 9-1-1 with a trembling hand.
“Tinker's Cove Rescue. This is a recorded line.”
“There's a . . . we need help . . . fast. No, I think it's . . .” stammered Lucy, furious at herself because she still couldn't seem to form a simple sentence.
“Take it easy,” said the dispatcher, trained to handle emergencies. “What's your name?”
“Lucy Stone.”
“Where are you, Lucy?”
“The library.”
“What's the problem?”
“Bitsy HowellâI think she's been shot.”
“I'm sending an ambulance and I'm notifying the police. Have you been trained in CPR?”
“I can't,” said Lucy, thinking of Bitsy's bloody body.
“That's all right,” said the dispatcher. “Just stay calm. Help will be there in a few minutes.”
“I can already hear the sirens,” said Lucy, remembering that the police and rescue station was just around the corner from the library.
“Can you open the doors? Make sure they can get in?” asked the dispatcher.
“I can do that,” said Lucy, who had clung to the dispatcher's calm voice like a lifeline. “Thank you.”
She went to the front door and hailed the paramedics, who were stepping out of the ambulance. She held the door open for them and they hurried in, carrying cases of equipment. Lucy pointed them to the stairs.
As they rushed through the children's room the mothers and children looked up in surprise.
Oh, dear, thought Lucy. I'll have to give them some sort of explanation. She crossed the circulation area and leaned against one of the low children's bookcases for support.
“We've had an accident. There won't be any story hour today. I think we'll have to close the library.”
“What is it?” asked Juanita Orenstein, Sadie's mother. “Can I help?”
The others looked at Lucy expectantly, curious about the sudden change in plans.
“I think it would be best if everyone just left,” said Lucy, thinking of the children.
“That's too bad,” said Anne Wilson, who was firmly holding each of her three-year-old twin boys by the hand. “We'll have to wait 'til next week, fellas.”
“That's right, come back next week,” Lucy told the mothers, who began gathering up their belongings and zipping their children into snowsuits.
“Lucy, you look terrible,” said Juanita, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “What's going on?”
“Bitsy's badly hurt,” Lucy whispered.
“Oh, no!” Juanita's big brown eyes were full of concern. “What happened?”
“I'm not sure.” Lucy was already regretting giving in to the impulse to confide in Juanita and arousing her curiosity. “Could you do me a favor and take Zoe home with you? I don't know how long I'm going to have to stay here.”
“Sure,” said Juanita. “Take as long as you needâI don't have any plans for today.”
“Thanks,” said Lucy. “I really appreciate it.” She went over to Zoe and Sadie in the corner. “Guess what? You're going to have lunch at Sadie's today,” she told Zoe.
The girls turned to face each other, and they raised their eyebrows in happy surprise before dissolving into giggles.
“Let me know if there's anything else I can do,” offered Juanita, zipping up her jacket.
“Thanks,” said Lucy, watching as the mothers and children began leaving.
She wondered if she ought to have some record of who was present at the library, so she went over to the circulation desk and found a piece of paper.
“Before you go, would you mind putting your names down here?” she asked, as the group started to file past the desk. When everyone was gone she took out a second sheet of paper, wrote “Library Closed Today” on it, and went outside to tape it to the door. The cold made her shiver, and her teeth began chattering. She hurried back inside, automatically glancing at the tankard. Only when she saw it was still safe in its locked case did she think to wonder if Bitsy had been shot because she interrupted a robbery. She was about to lock the door, when she heard someone pounding up the granite steps outside. She opened the door a crack and saw Officer Barney Culpepper.
Barney was a big man with a face like a Saint Bernard and a belly that hung over his belt. Lucy thought she'd never been so glad to see anyone. Barney was an old friend ever since the days when she'd been a Cub Scout den mother and they'd served together on the pack committee.
“What in heck's goin' on here, Lucy?” he asked, wiping his size thirteen boots on the mat and removing his hat.
“I think Bitsy was shot.” Even as she said it she could hardly believe it.
Barney's eyes widened in surprise, but otherwise he remained as unflappable as ever.
“I guess I better see for myself. Where is she?”
“Downstairs.”
She started to follow him, but decided against it. She couldn't face seeing Bitsy's body again. She took a seat instead and looked around the empty library, trying to think if there was anything else she should be doing. A minute or two later the board members began returning to the upper level, apparently on Barney's orders.
“Who does he think he is?” fumed an indignant Corney. “I've never been spoken to in that tone by anyone!”
“He's right,” said Chuck. “We should never have gone down there. We may have destroyed important evidence.”
“We didn't know that,” said Hayden. “She could have been hurt and needed help.”
“The poor woman is past help now,” said Gerald. He sat down opposite Lucy, on one of the child-sized seats. He looked pale and shaken.
“Barney CulpepperâI remember when you were a little boy with dirty hands. Don't think you can tell me what to do!” Miss Tilley burst through the door, with Culpepper close on her heels.
“I'm sorry, Miss Tilley. I'm just doing my job. Now I want you to sit down and wait. When the state police get here I'm sure they'll have some questions for you.” He paused and surveyed the group. “That goes for all of you. Just make yourselves as comfortable as you can.”
“This isn't very comfortable,” said Gerald, rising stiffly to his feet. “I propose we all move to the conference room.”
“No can do,” said Barney, shaking his head and planting himself in the doorway. “Nobody goes downstairs.”
“The reference room,” suggested Miss Tilley, leading the way.
The other board members followed her and seated themselves in the captain's chairs at the big table in the center of the paneled room. From his perch above the fireplace, an abundantly whiskered Henry Hopkins looked out from his portrait with his usual expression of smug satisfaction.
“What do we do now?” asked Gerald, who was president of the board. He looked toward Chuck, naturally relying on his legal expertise. “Is there some action we should take as a board?”
“Not yet,” replied Chuck. “All we can do is wait for whoever will be in charge of the investigation to get here.” He paused and shook his shaggy head slowly. “I can't believe this.”
“It's terrible,” said Hayden, his face still white with shock.
“We may have to close the library for a while,” said Chuck, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “It's a crime scene, after all. The police may insist.”
“Crime scene? Couldn't it have been an accident?” asked Hayden, fidgeting nervously with his watchband.
“She was shot! Any idiot could see that!” thundered Ed, regarding Hayden with a scowl. Lucy suspected he didn't much like Hayden under the best of circumstances.
“Shot? I didn't hear a shot,” insisted Hayden.
“Who could hear anything? Those kids were making such a racket,” said Corney. She seemed rather put out at this unexpected turn of events.
“I can't believe it,” said Lucy, echoing Chuck. “Just this morning I was reading that seven librarians were attacked since last July. Now it's eight.”
“I read the same article,” offered Chuck. “It said libraries are targeted because of the computers and other valuables.”
“The tankard!” exclaimed Miss Tilley. A bright red splotch appeared on each of her crepey cheeks.
“It's all right,” said Lucy, hastening to reassure the old woman. “It hasn't been touched.”
“I guess that means we can rule out theft as the motive,” observed Gerald.
“Maybe it was something personal,” offered Corney. “A boyfriend, maybe.”
“I wouldn't doubt it,” sniffed Miss Tilley. “These girls today just beg for trouble.”
“Poor Bitsy,” sighed Hayden. “Somehow she seems a very unlikely victim.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” challenged Ed.
It was like a reflex, thought Lucy, becoming interested in the dynamics between the board members. If Hayden spoke, Ed had to respond negatively.
“I just can't imagine why anyone would want to kill her,” mused Hayden, undeterred by Ed's hostility. He sighed. “Poor Bitsy.”
“I can't help but wish this had happened someplace else,” said Gerald, drumming his fingers on the table. “I mean, it shouldn't have happened at all, of course, but why did it have to happen here?”
“If you want my opinion, it seems all too typical,” said Corney. “We might as well admit it: Bitsy was disorganized. Her office was a disgraceâpapers and dirty cups everywhere. She was so messy it's a wonder she got anything done.” Corney shook her head. “Her life was probably a mess, too.”
“She sure was messy,” agreed Ed.
“She ran the library very poorly,” sniffed Miss Tilley. “The volunteers weren't properly organized, the new acquisitions were not shelved promptly, she was always late with circulation figuresâI could just go on and on. In fact, I was plannng to give her a very poor evaluation.”
Listening to the others, Lucy was shocked. The woman was dead, after all. Truth be told, if she had been killed by an intruder as Lucy suspected, they all had to bear some responsibility. As the library's board of directors, they were her employers.
“Well, hell,” said Chuck, slamming his fist down hard on the table. “I liked Bitsy and I think this is a damned shame. She had her faultsâwe all do, for that matterâbut she didn't deserve to die. She was just doing her job the best she could and now she's dead.” He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose noisily. “All I can say is I hope they catch the bastard who did this!”
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