Buried in the Stacks
A HAUNTED LIBRARY MYSTERY
Allison Brook
[For my dedicated readers who love this series and look forward to the next mystery. I hope I can continue to bring you reading pleasure.
Acknowledgments
I want to thank everyone at Crooked Lane Books who helped turn my manuscript into a book my readers will enjoy. A shout-out to my editor, Faith Black Ross, and to Sarah Poppe, Jenny Chen, and Ashley Di Dio; to my copywriter, Jill Pellarin, and to the Griesbach/Martucci team for another wonderful cover for the Haunted Library mystery series.
I am ever grateful to my indefatigable agent, Dawn Dowdle, and to the Sachem Library, where I’ve learned a good deal about the workings of a library. Sachem Library has been chosen the best of Long Island for five years in a row because of its terrific programs and events—always an inspiration to my sleuth, Carrie Singleton, who is head of programs and events of the Clover Ridge Library. In fact, my dear friend Anne Marie Tognella of Public Relations of Community Services, and Lauren Gilbert, who just left the position of Head of Community Services, inspired me to create Carrie Singleton.
Chapter One
“The blue-cheese burger and fries are calling to me, but I’m going with a small salad, no bread,” Angela said, glancing up from the lunch menu with a sigh.
I shot my best friend a look of disbelief. Angela was tall and slender, and I’d never known her to watch her weight. “Don’t tell me you’re on a diet.”
“Of course not. But …” She glanced around the Cozy Corner Café to make sure no one in the busy lunch crowd was listening. “After work, Steve and I are going to the Clover Ridge Country Club to sample their desserts.” Her eyes glowed as brightly as the diamond in her engagement ring. “If they’re as yummy as the prime rib and chicken florentino we had there Tuesday night, Steve agrees, the country club goes to the top of our list! The dance floor’s large and the view is awesome.”
She frowned. “The only problem is, it’s sooo expensive, even on a Sunday night. Which we’d have to settle for anyway, since their Saturday nights are all booked up till early September, and Steve and I want a June wedding. I told Mom the cost wouldn’t be so high if we cut down on the guest list. We don’t have to invite every third cousin we haven’t set eyes on in years. But my mother insists—”
Angela stopped when our waitress came to take our order, and then, as soon as she sped off, segued into their honeymoon. Steve wanted to go to Cuba while Angela thought a Caribbean cruise would be nice and relaxing. I found myself tuning out, something I’d never done before. But who was this clone of my best friend sitting across the table discussing her wedding plans ad nauseam?
I was overjoyed that Angela and Steve had finally made the big move to get engaged. They’d been dating exclusively these past five years, with a few time-outs—usually lasting a week or two—after a big blowup over some silly issue. Both of them were outgoing, warm-hearted, and well suited to each other. Still, I never expected Angela to become obsessed with every detail of her wedding. She usually had no patience for formality of any sort and left such matters to her mother. Now the only subject on her mind, the only topic she cared to talk about, was her upcoming nuptials.
“Carrie, don’t forget we have a date next Wednesday evening.”
I stared at Angela.
She stared back. “You haven’t heard one word I’ve said in the past five minutes.”
“Sorry, I …”
Angela laughed. “Oh man, I’ve been running at the mouth again, haven’t I? I never thought I’d get so caught up in all this wedding business.” She stopped and rapped her knuckles to her head. “I’m so dumb. Here I go blabbering on, totally insensitive to—geez, not giving a thought to your feelings.”
“What about my feelings?” I cocked my head, trying to understand what she was getting at.
“You know. Maybe you’re wishing Dylan would move things along, and I’m making it worse.”
I burst out laughing. “Dylan and I are so far from anything serious. With the kind of work he’s been doing, we’ve hardly spent any time together. This past week was supposed to be his last with the insurance company—only now his boss has him off chasing after a stolen painting in Louisiana.”
“Then you won’t mind going shopping for my wedding gown as planned?”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it! Besides, as maid of honor, it’s my job to help choose your gown.”
“I’m hoping we’ll find something really cool, so when Mom and Steve’s mother check it out, I can tell them it’s what I want. Phyllis dresses even more conservatively than Mom. If it were up to the two of them, I’d get married in a turtleneck gown.”
We were still laughing when the waitress brought us our order. I bit into my turkey and avocado sandwich on eight-grain bread and smiled as I munched away. As soon as we finished eating, I called for our check, and we made our way to the cashier.
“They say we’ll get more snow tonight,” Angela said as she slipped on her gloves.
I pulled my woolen hat over my ears. “I’m so glad Dylan has Jack Norris plowing me out whenever it snows. The minute it stops coming down, he’s at it, regardless of the time. Last week it was after three in the morning when I heard the plow.”
We walked the few blocks back to the library where we both worked—Angela at the circulation desk, me as head of programs and events. We cut through the parking lot and entered the library’s back door. Smoky Joe, the library cat, who really belonged to me, came bounding over to rub his face against my leg.
“Missed me, did you?” I asked, patting his furry gray head.
“He’s probably hungry,” Angela said.
“Are you kidding? I fed him before we left. And God knows how many of the librarians have their own stash of treats. Not to mention the coffee shop patrons who feed him a piece of whatever they’re eating—despite all the signs I’ve posted that say ‘Please don’t feed the library cat.’”
Angela and I stopped by the ladies’ room and agreed that we’d talk later. Finally, I headed to my office, with Smoky Joe at my heels.
“You got two calls while you were out to lunch,” Trish reported as I hung up my parka, then poured some more kibble into Smoky Joe’s dish.
I glanced at the messages, both from people scheduled for programs in the next few weeks, and turned on my computer. There was an email from my Great-Aunt Harriet:
The condo is lovely, though the kitchen is small. Your uncle insists that’s a sign we should be eating out lunch and dinner while we’re down here, but we’d both gain weight if we did anything of the sort. The weather is lovely. Mid-seventies today and tomorrow. We met a few neighbors while sitting around the pool. One of the men is on his library board at home in Ohio, so you can imagine the conversation he and your uncle got into.
I hope all is well at home. Please stop by the house to see if my plants need watering. As you know, we’ve asked our handyman to check on the house every few days, but I bet he forgets to water the plants.
Love from Uncle Bosco and me
I smiled, glad that my great-aunt and -uncle were enjoying themselves. Aunt Harriet had told me they’d often discussed spending part of the winter in Florida, but until this year they had never actually done it. Though I wasn’t an orphan, my parents were divorced and living in other states. Harriet and Bosco had been my anchor here in Clover Ridge, Connecticut, since last May, when I’d shown up at their door and moved in with them for the next five months.
“I almost forgot,” Trish said, breaking into my thoughts. “Sally asked me to tell you to stop by when you have a free minute.”
“That doesn’t sound urgent.”
Trish laughe
d. “You should know by now—an invitation to her inner sanctum usually means she wants you to do something.”
“I must be blocking out all those times she’s had me do something not specifically spelled out in my job description.” I picked up the DVD on my desk. “I’ll start the movie, then find out what’s on Sally’s mind.”
I headed downstairs to our large meeting room, smiling and greeting whomever I passed on the way. Though I’d only been head of programs and events since mid-October, the room already held memories for me—most of them happy, with one tragic exception when a retired homicide detective had keeled over and died while he was discussing one of his cold cases. I loved my job, which entailed providing the Clover Ridge Library’s patrons with worthwhile classes and entertainment.
I was pleased to see that most of the seats were occupied. I slipped the DVD into the player and gave a brief talk about the film, which dealt with the Second World War. I turned out the lights, thinking ahead to the fall, when the work on our new section would begin. Instead of this long, narrow windowless room, we’d have an auditorium with stadium seating, as well as more rooms for more programs. Most of the library would be closed to the public during the construction period, but the results would be worth all the hassle.
I climbed the stairs to the main level and crossed the large reading room on my way to the director’s office. Patrons, browsing through magazines and newspapers, occupied most of the comfortable chairs and sofas scattered about the room. My attention was drawn to three people, huddled in a corner, whispering to one another. The two men and one woman were shabbily dressed. When the younger of the two males burst out laughing, two women sitting at a nearby table scowled at him.
“Shh,” one woman hissed.
“Mind your own business,” he muttered.
The women sniffed and glanced at each other. I waited a moment to see if things would escalate, but thank goodness nothing more was said. Still, the incident was disconcerting. Clover Ridge Library patrons were usually civil toward one another.
I thought no more of the hostile exchange as once again I wondered what Sally wanted me to do. It was mid-January, and our monthly schedule of activities was running smoothly. Twice she’d made suggestions for new programs, but neither had proven feasible. And then there were her occasional “requests.” Last month she’d had me conduct a choral group when the director was out with the flu. The idea had terrified me since I’d never done anything like it before in my life, but it had proved to be a fun experience. What’s more, many patrons made a point of telling me that they’d enjoyed the concert tremendously.
“Come in!” Sally called when I knocked on her door. She greeted me with a big smile.
Uh-oh! “Hi, Sally. Trish said you were looking for me.”
She waved her hand. “Nothing important. Everything running smoothly?”
“As far as I know.”
“Good. Why don’t you take a seat?”
Double uh-oh! I sat down and faced Sally across her desk while she rifled through some papers. “Okay. What would you like me to do?”
A blush spread from her cheeks to her ears. “Now you can always say no, but I am hoping you’ll agree to be our next Sunshine Delegate.”
I blinked. “I’m not sure what that is exactly.”
“It would be your responsibility to send a card or flowers to anyone on the library staff who falls seriously ill or loses an immediate member of his or her family. You’d have a small bank account at your disposal. Gayle Morrison in the children’s section has been our Sunshine Delegate these past two years. You might want to talk to her, see what gifts and cards she’s sent and how much she spent on them.”
“Hmm. I’d like to think it over. Can I let you know by the end of the day?
Sally’s eyes widened as if I’d taken her by surprise. “Of course. That sounds fair, I suppose.”
“Okay. Talk to you later,” I said, and closed her door behind me. I started across the reading room, when I heard a familiar voice.
“Well, aren’t you the take-charge working woman!”
I grinned at Evelyn Havers, who had manifested and was keeping pace at my side. Today my ghostly friend was wearing a black pencil skirt, a baby-blue twin sweater set, and low-heeled suede pumps. Not for the first time, I wondered where she kept her rather extensive wardrobe.
“I’ve learned to think over Sally’s requests before I commit,” I said. “She issues enough decrees that I’ve no choice but to follow.”
“Being the Sunshine Delegate is no big deal. There are maybe twelve of you on staff, and you’re a healthy, hearty bunch. If you buy three cards and four gifts a year, it’s a lot.”
I laughed. “I’m not worried that taking the job will be a time suck. I simply don’t want to give Sally the idea that I’m a pushover for all of her suggestions.”
Evelyn shot me a look of admiration. “You’re a quick study! It’s true. Once Sally realizes a person’s reliable and responsible, she piles on the obligations. Oh no!”
I stopped in my tracks. I’d been paying attention to our conversation—making sure that no one was close enough to decide I was going gaga and talking to myself—instead of noticing the atmosphere in the reading room. I suddenly became aware of the raised voices coming from the far corner. Rudy Philips, a retired patron who spent afternoons in the library reading financial publications, was berating the grubby-looking dude who had caused a ruckus only minutes earlier.
“You don’t own this chair,” the troublemaker shouted back at Rudy. “I happened to notice it was vacant so I sat down.”
“As I explained, I got up to check something on a computer in the other room. I left my jacket and my notepad on my seat.”
“My seat!” the dude taunted. “Well, it ain’t your seat if you’re not sitting in it. Your things are over there on the table where I put ’em, safe as can be.”
“Everyone knows it’s common courtesy not to move other people’s—”
“What’s the problem?” I asked, doing my best to sound calm.
“Hi, there, Carrie. I left my seat for five minutes and came back to find this young man”—Rudy wrinkled his nose—“who could stand to take a bath, occupying my chair. He had the nerve to move my possessions to that table.”
I turned to the intruder, expecting a tirade of abuse, but instead saw his lips pressed together in silent protest as he glared over my shoulder at someone or something. I spun around in time to see the older couple he’d been sitting with earlier, mouthing him instructions.
“You can have your old seat,” he grumbled as he got to his feet.
“Thank you.” I pointed. “There’s a vacant seat.”
He ignored me and joined the couple, who were heading for the main exit of the library that faced the Green.
I continued on my way back to my office. I was surprised to find Evelyn still at my side. Usually when we were interrupted, she took off for places unknown. Her normally unflappable expression was gone. She looked upset.
“Trouble’s brewing,” she said darkly.
“I hope that guy doesn’t come back any time soon,” I said. “He caused a commotion earlier too.” I wrinkled my nose. “And Rudy’s right. He smells.”
“I venture to say you’ll be seeing a lot more of him and his friends.”
“What makes you say that? Who are they?” I asked. “I’ve never noticed them in the library before.”
“Doris and Henry Maris are the older couple. Nice people. They used to own a store in town. It did well until Henry started to mishandle money. A few people took advantage of him. Turned out, he had early-onset dementia. They lost the store and couldn’t keep up with their mortgage, so they moved away to live with their son, but that didn’t work out.” Evelyn sighed. “Doris could get a job in town, but she feels she has to keep watch over Henry.”
“And the troublemaker? What’s his story?”
“The young man’s name is Jimmy Belco. He’s always been restle
ss and unable to focus. His family left the area, and Jimmy’s too rambunctious to keep a job.” Evelyn pursed her lips. “They’re homeless.”
I shivered. “It’s scary to think that middle-class people can suddenly not have a place they call home.”
“It happens—to single mothers, veterans, people with problems,” Evelyn said drily. “Anyone who has trouble keeping a decent job. Jimmy and the Marises spend the nights in the shelter just outside of town. They have to vacate the shelter by ten in the morning and can’t return until five in the evening.”
“And so they come to the library to keep warm.”
“Right. I overheard part of their conversation earlier today. They had been hanging around the large mall outside of town until Jimmy got into one too many fights. He’s been banned from the mall, and the Marises feel obliged to keep an eye on him.”
“Clover Ridge is a solid middle-class community,” I said. “I never realized we had a homeless population.”
“Well, we do. Mostly made up of people who once lived here. After Doris and Henry moved in with their son, Tom, he and his wife divorced. She got the house, and Tom could only afford to rent a small apartment and was unable to take his parents in.”
“How sad,” I said.
“Very,” Evelyn agreed. “Sally’s going to have her hands full with this latest problem.” She sent me a sad smile. “And I’m afraid you’re going to be in the middle of it as well.”
Chapter Two
Two hours later, after Gayle gave me the lowdown on being the Sunshine Delegate and told me the job was no biggie—she’d sent out a few cards and bought all of four gifts in the two years she’d been Sunshine Delegate—I called Sally to let her know I’d be happy to accept the position.
She exhaled a sigh of relief. “Good girl! I’m coming over now with the Sunshine Delegate charge card and paperwork.”
Wow! My own library charge card! I was coming up in the world. Sally breezed into my office, dropped the items on my desk, and breezed out again, clearly delighted to have solved her problem. I stopped by the three scheduled programs in progress, then did paperwork until the clock’s hands pointed to five o’clock.
Buried in the Stacks Page 1
