Buried in the Stacks

by Allison Brook

  What she meant was she had no intention of explaining it to me. “It was dark out when it happened,” I said. “There’s a chance she never saw who rammed into her anyway.”

  “If only they could find the car that was used,” Evelyn mused. “You would think that wouldn’t be so difficult.”

  “Dorothy irritated so many people, they probably haven’t gone through half their list of possible suspects.”

  “Carrie, you know most of the people in Dorothy’s life. I bet you can find out lots of things the police can’t.”

  “And you can listen in on conversations here in the library and not hold anything back,” I reminded her.

  Evelyn suddenly looked guilt-stricken.

  Is she holding something back? I wondered as she faded from sight.

  * * *

  The following day I told Angela I couldn’t have lunch with her because I planned to drop off a casserole for Fred.

  Angela gripped my arm. “You can’t, Carrie! What if he killed Dorothy? You know what she wrote in her journal.”

  “I promise to be careful, but I think she only wrote that because she suddenly linked her fall with her Aunt Evelyn’s fall in the library parking lot all those years ago. We don’t have any proof that Evelyn was murdered.”

  “Still, they always say that the most obvious and logical suspect is the spouse.”

  “I’ll remember to suspect Steve if anything happens to you,” I joked.

  “Promise me you won’t ask any questions or say anything to Fred that might antagonize him.”

  “Of course I won’t. And I’ll mention that you know exactly where I am—as a safeguard.”

  At noon, I stopped by the gourmet market and bought their signature casserole of chicken, cauliflower, and two kinds of cheeses. It cost more than I’d planned to spend, but I figured it was a good entrée to my upcoming discussion with Fred. When I pulled up to his house, I discovered I couldn’t park in the driveway because a sleek Mercedes was straddling both spaces. There went my chance of learning anything new! I couldn’t speak to him confidentially if there were a bunch of other people around. But I should have realized that others would be dropping by to see how he was doing.

  Fred opened the door and greeted me with a big smile. “Carrie, come on in. How sweet of you to stop by.”

  “Hello, Carrie.”

  “Hello, Frances,” I greeted Dorothy’s sister.

  “Francesca,” she corrected me as she slipped into her mink jacket. “I see we had the same idea.” She sniffed. “Ah, from Gourmet Delight! I thought I recognized that delicious aroma.”

  She bussed Fred’s cheek and patted his shoulder. “Do take care.”

  “I will,” he promised. “And thank you for your care package.”

  Frances-Francesca waved his thanks away. “Don’t be silly. You’ll always be my brother-in-law and a dear member of our family. Gerald feels the same way.”

  Fred closed the door behind her. “People have been so kind. I probably have enough food here to last me a month,” he said over his shoulder as he stowed the casserole in the refrigerator.

  “Why don’t you freeze some of it?” I suggested.

  “The freezer’s full. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  I glanced at my watch. “I’m on my lunch break—”

  “In which case, let me offer you a sandwich. I must have over-ordered, because I have at least a dozen of each kind left over from last night. Turkey? Ham? Tuna?”

  Five minutes later I was sitting at the kitchen table, biting into a tuna sandwich on rye.

  “This is delicious,” I commented, when I could speak.

  “And here’s your coffee. Do you take milk? Sugar?”

  “Milk will be fine.”

  When I’d devoured half my sandwich, I decided it was time to ask the question that had been weighing heavily on my mind. Reluctantly, I abandoned the other half of my lunch and faced Fred at the other end of the table.

  “Fred, I believe you when you say you didn’t kill Dorothy. Difficult as she was, you cared about her.”

  “Thank you for saying that, Carrie.” He sighed. “I can tell from the way some people stare at me that they think I’d reached the end of my patience and ran her off the road, but I didn’t. And I didn’t push her down at the supermarket either.”

  “It occurred to me that Dorothy wrote what she did in her journal because someone did push her down that evening at the supermarket. You were the first person she saw when she came to. Seeing you there triggered the memory of her Aunt Evelyn’s accident all those years ago.” I paused. “I suspect the memory involves you. Do you have any idea why Dorothy linked you to the two incidents?”

  For a minute Fred said nothing. He looked away, but not before I’d caught an expression of remorse on his usually open face.

  “I think I know why Dorothy linked the two incidents but … it’s difficult for me to talk about.”

  I remained silent and hoped that Fred would welcome unburdening himself to a sympathetic listener. Waiting until he was ready to share what was on his mind was my best option if I hoped to discover a possible link between Dorothy’s and Evelyn’s deaths.

  A minute or two passed. Fred cleared his throat. “I had to tell Lieutenant Mathers where I was when Aunt Ev had her accident. He promised to keep it under wraps unless it proved relevant to the case.”

  I nodded.

  “And I’m asking you, Carrie, not to tell anyone what I’m about to tell you. For Dorothy’s sake—and the sake of someone else.”

  “Of course.”

  Fred stood and poured himself a mugful of coffee. I perched on the edge of my seat and tried to contain my impatience as he added milk and a packet of artificial sweetener. He drank deeply, then set his mug on the table.

  “The night Dorothy’s Aunt Evelyn died that horrible, lingering death I was with someone—a woman I had come to love.”

  I stared at him, totally stunned that this ordinary middle-aged man was confessing to a grand passion, then quickly chastised myself for being so ungenerous. People of all ages fell in love. It wasn’t something reserved for the young and the beautiful.

  Now that his secret was out, Fred turned downright chatty. “I’m not proud of myself, Carrie, but neither do I regret it. I knew what Dorothy was like when we got married, but I thought she’d grow softer with time. The truth is, her spitefulness wore me down. I never stopped loving her—don’t think that I did—but her constant harping at me and everyone who crossed her path took its toll. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t looking for someone else. It just happened.”

  He gave a joyful little laugh. “I met my friend the way I’ve met dozens of women—in her home discussing window treatments. Her husband had just died, and she’d decided she didn’t want to move, but that she wanted to change the look of her home to reflect her new life.” Fred pursed his lips. “It hadn’t been a happy marriage; still, she’d nursed him through his sickness, and now she was glad to be on her own.”

  He smiled at me. “The rest is very ordinary, I’m afraid. We started meeting regularly. We fell in love. We talked about spending our future together. I knew that Dorothy’s meanness was wearing me down. She was toxic, and my friend made me see that I was entitled to lead the rest of my life with someone who made me happy.

  “I came home close to eleven the night that Evelyn fell. I don’t remember what excuse I’d made up earlier that evening, but I’d told Dorothy I’d be out late. I arrived home even later than I’d intended because my lady friend and I had spent the evening making plans for our future together. I’d finally decided to tell Dorothy I wanted a divorce.

  “I found Dorothy more out of sorts than usual. She’d tried reaching Aunt Ev several times while I was out, and was growing more and more upset each time Evelyn didn’t answer the phone. But we both knew that sometimes Evelyn didn’t hear it when it rang—especially when she was watching TV or had fallen asleep. I advised Dorothy not to imagine the worst and to
call her first thing in the morning.”

  “And by then it was too late,” I murmured.

  “Yes, Evelyn had fallen on the ice. She hit her head and was knocked unconscious. No one saw her, and so she died from exposure.” He let out a deep sigh. “I felt as guilty as if I’d been the one who left her there. For once, Dorothy had taken my advice. As a result she lost her aunt, probably the person she loved the most in the world.”

  “And you never told Dorothy of your plans to leave?”

  “No.” Fred sipped his coffee. “I didn’t mention it that night because I saw how upset she was. Then after we learned of Evelyn’s death, I couldn’t. Dorothy sank into a depression the likes of which I’d never seen. I had to practically drag her out of bed in the morning, help her dress, and see to it that she ate something before she left for the library. I told my friend I couldn’t leave Evelyn in the state she was in, and we agreed it was best if we stopped meeting.”

  He cocked his head. “Interesting—Dorothy once asked me where I’d been that night, and I told her the same story I’d made up—that I had dinner with a friend. Afterward we went for a drink and ended up talking late into the night. She gave me this funny look but said nothing.”

  “Was that after Dorothy inherited Evelyn’s money?” I asked.

  “Actually, it was.” His eyes opened wide in alarm. “You don’t think Dorothy believed I’d killed her aunt for her money, do you? I mean, we always pooled our money together. Dorothy believed that was how a married couple should manage their finances.”

  “Were you expecting to get it all?”

  “I never gave it a thought, though I was aware that Dorothy was her aunt’s favorite. Actually, the subject of Evelyn’s will never came up. And why should it? Evelyn was only in her sixties and in good health. Besides, we’re not talking about a fortune. She and Robert had lost a lot of money in one of Ernie Pfeiffer’s schemes.”

  “Still,” I prompted, “Dorothy was one of three siblings.”

  “That’s right. She didn’t expect to be the only heir. In fact, when Evelyn died, it was Frannie—er, Francesca—who told us we’d be inheriting. She admitted that both she and Roger had hit up Aunt Ev for money more than once. Aunt Ev finally told Francesca she was sick and tired of being their cash cow and that she was leaving her money to Dorothy.”

  “Francesca needed money?” I asked.

  “At the time, Gerald had lost a lot in an investment. He had little money for Frannie’s extravagances. And Roger”—Fred burst out laughing—“he has four children and is always running short. Which is why I wanted to help him out this last time and give him enough cash to buy into Ernie’s investment.”

  I glanced at the kitchen clock and realized I was going to be late getting back to work if I didn’t leave that very moment.

  “Fred, thanks for lunch and for sharing your story with me. I promise not to tell anyone.”

  His smile was sad when he said, “That part of my life ended years ago. Now all I want is for the cops to find Dorothy’s murderer and fast.”

  “I want that too.”

  He surprised me by planting a kiss on my cheek before escorting me to the front door. “Thank you for your casserole. I plan to eat it tonight.”

  As I walked toward my car, I spotted Ernie Pfeiffer next door, opening his mailbox at the edge of his property. While he paused to rummage through his mail, I ambled across Fred’s lawn.

  “Hi, Ernie. Do you remember me?”

  He squinted, then shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t. Oh, right! Jim Singleton’s daughter.”

  “Yes, Carrie.”

  “How’s your dad? I enjoyed chatting with him when we were roommates in the hospital.”

  “He’s good. He has a new job in Atlanta.”

  “Is that so? What sort of work?”

  “He’s working for an investigative agency.”

  Ernie broke into a loud guffaw that I found offensive. I was about to stalk off, when he jutted his chin toward Fred’s house. “Were you paying your respects?”

  “I dropped off a casserole.”

  “Poor bugger, losing his wife like that. But now he’s free to enjoy the rest of his life.”

  “Ernie!” I said, pretending to be shocked.

  “She was a witch.” He sent me a shrewd glance. “As I remember it, you worked with Dorothy. I can’t believe you didn’t get a taste of her malice and mischief.”

  “Actually, I did,” I said. “But we worked things out.”

  “Did you?” He shot me a look of admiration. “You must have given her a taste of her own medicine and made her back down. Her vile tongue and nasty ways brought her plenty of enemies.” He snorted. “It was only a matter of time before someone decided to do us a favor and put an end to her once and for all.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Who murdered Dorothy? I was so engrossed in my thoughts, I almost drove past the entrance to the library parking lot. Ernie Pfeiffer had made it very clear that he hated her, and both her sister and brother had been cut out of their inheritance, small as it might have been. And although Dorothy had linked Evelyn’s death with her incident at the supermarket, there was no proof that the two were related. Evelyn might have actually slipped on the ice as everyone believed. And Dorothy—any one of several people might have hated or feared her enough to have done her in.

  I spent an hour making calls and answering email, then toured the building, making sure the various afternoon programs were progressing without any problems. I waved to Marion, who was reading a story to the three-year-olds. I thought about my little cousin Tacey, who was four. Next year she was off to kindergarten. I realized I’d like to have a child of my own one day. But would I be a good mother? Dylan would make a good father, I knew. I chuckled, realizing I was assuming we’d be parents together.

  “Care to share the joke?”

  I gave a start. Evelyn had suddenly appeared and was keeping pace beside me. “Just daydreaming.”

  “About Dylan?” Evelyn grinned. “And why wouldn’t you? He’s coming home this weekend.”

  “On Friday,” I said, avoiding her first question. “I paid Fred a visit earlier today and dropped off a casserole.”

  “Learn anything helpful?”

  I nodded. “I think I know why Dorothy linked her fall outside the supermarket with your fatal accident.” We’d reached my office. I knew Trish was working inside, so I beckoned Evelyn to follow me to the conference room, which was usually empty in the afternoon.

  I sat down in one of the plush leather chairs and told her about Fred’s unhappy love affair. “He feels responsible for your death. If he hadn’t told Dorothy to wait till morning to contact you again, you might still be here.”

  “Nonsense! Dorothy is a—was a grown woman! She could have called me again if she was that worried about me. Or asked Fred to go to my house and check on me. Not that I blame her for what happened. It just—happened.”

  I made a scoffing sound. I doubted I would have been so kindly disposed toward my so-called favorite niece in the same circumstances. I decided to take a different tack.

  “Were you annoyed with Frances and Roger around that time? Fred claims they’d been badgering you for money.”

  “I was.” Evelyn nodded. “I remember it now. At first I enjoyed their little visits. But I soon realized each visit was a prelude to being hit up for a loan. Loans that never got repaid. I grew tired of their greed. Frannie’s a designer clotheshorse, and Roger is always crying poverty. My nephew’s fundamentally lazy and not willing to put in the time and effort a decent job requires. I finally told Frannie that she and Roger had already gotten their shares of my estate, and the rest was going to Dorothy.”

  Evelyn’s mouth fell open as she realized what she’d just said. “You can’t possibly believe that my niece or my nephew killed me because I made Dorothy my sole heir. But if it’s true”—she pressed her hand to her heart—“then in a way it’s my fault Dorothy’s been murdered.”
r />   “Evelyn, please stop jumping to conclusions. This is only one possibility. We don’t have any reason to believe that the person who murdered Dorothy knocked you down that night. The murderer might be someone else, someone completely unrelated to you. And your death might really have been an accident.”

  I tried to meet her gaze, but she was staring off into space. “Evelyn. Evelyn!”

  When she turned toward me, I saw steely determination in her eyes. “I need to show you something.”

  “What?”

  She was already striding off. “Follow me.”

  As we approached the research area, Evelyn pointed at the reference desk, where Angela was doing her stint. “She’s your friend. Get her to leave.”

  “Okay,” I said, headed toward Angela. “How’s it going?” I asked her.

  “All right, I suppose. I just helped a woman plan her next European trip, and put in requests for the library to buy three films and four e-books. I’m wondering where the research part comes in.”

  I laughed. “I suppose when the kids stop by after school with their projects—though they can do most of their research on their own computers at home. Times have changed, Ange, from when we did our research in a library.”

  “I can see that.” She didn’t look too happy.

  “Would you like to get back to circulation? I don’t have anything urgent that requires my attention. I could take over early since I’m up after you.”

  Angela’s face brightened. “Sure, if you really don’t mind.”

  “I don’t.”

  Angela left. I’d no sooner sat behind the desk, when a patron came over, asking me to help her research how to test for pollutants in the home. I consulted the computer, found a few sites, and off she went to a nearby computer to check them out. Finally, I turned to Evelyn, who was fading fast.

  “All right, Evelyn, what did you want to show me?”

  “Open the bottom drawer as far as you can without sliding it off the rails.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Now run your hand under the bottom of the drawer. Feel anything?”

  “I do. It feels like an envelope.”