“It is an envelope, and it’s probably taped to the bottom of the drawer.”
I didn’t have to be told to pull the envelope free. By the time I’d placed it on the desk, Evelyn had disappeared.
My fingers trembled with excitement. Eager as I was to discover what Dorothy had hidden, I knew it was wisest to wait until I was alone in the privacy of my cottage to examine the contents of the envelope. The fact that Evelyn had taken this long to reveal her niece’s hiding place meant that whatever Dorothy had hidden could possibly contain valuable information that would help solve her murder.
* * *
The rest of the afternoon flew by. I was too busy helping patrons with their various research questions to speculate about what I might find in the envelope. I chatted with an elderly gentleman who had missed seeing a movie at the local arts movie theater, and I was happy to tell him that we’d ordered the film for our collection and it would be arriving in about a month. As we discussed various films we’d watched and enjoyed, I realized it had been some time since I’d been to the movies. Maybe this weekend Dylan and I would go and see a film.
Finally, it was time to leave work. I drove home faster than I should have, fed Smoky Joe, then sat down on the living room sofa with Dorothy’s sealed envelope in my lap. Ever since it had fallen into my hands, I’d held a running dialogue in the back of my mind, debating whether to keep the envelope in my possession or hand it over to John—sealed and unopened—because it might very well contain evidence pertinent to the case.
At which point I told myself there was a good chance he wouldn’t tell me what was inside the envelope, at least for a while. Besides, I reminded myself, the police had had every opportunity to search the reference desk where Dorothy had sat day in and day out. The fact that they hadn’t done a thorough job was on them.
If I handed the envelope over to John, there was the problem of having to explain how it happened to have fallen into my possession. Admitting that I’d found it taped to the bottom of a drawer meant that I was still investigating, something John had specifically told me not to do. I didn’t feel like enduring another reprimand for having done a good deed. If the information inside the envelope proved to be important to the case, I’d mail it to the police department ASAP. I didn’t have to worry about their finding out that I’d sent it, since my fingerprints weren’t in any database.
But what if John asked me if I’d sent the envelope to him? I thought about this for a long minute and decided I’d opt for the truth. Which was when I slit open the envelope.
There was a sheet of typewriter paper inside, folded neatly into thirds. Just one word was centered at the top: “Vases.” Below were two columns. The first column consisted of two capital letters. The second column consisted of numbers rounded off to five or zero. I studied both columns until I figured out what I was seeing. The letters stood for initials; the numbers were possible sums of money.
Vases! Those beautiful vases Dorothy had on display in her home were expensive collectors’ items. A tremor ran through my body as the full significance of what I was holding sank in. Angela had once told me that Dorothy liked to find out people’s secrets and use them as leverage when she wanted them to do something for her. Now it would seem she had been blackmailing people for money. Money to buy her vases. Anyone on this list might have hated her enough to kill her.
All the sympathy I’d developed for Dorothy these past few weeks dissipated as I felt a wave of sympathy instead for her victims. Blackmailers were among the lowest of the low. They preyed on people’s weaknesses and cashed in on their secrets. They deserved whatever misfortune befell them.
I made a copy of the page and slipped the original and the envelope inside a large volume of artwork, which I returned to a shelf where Smoky Joe couldn’t get at it. That done, I reached for a pen and pad and studied the copy.
I scanned the seven sets of initials. EP was there, no doubt for Ernie Pfeiffer. I wondered what Dorothy had been holding over him that wasn’t common knowledge. It must have been something appalling or illegal because, according to the number across from his initials, Ernie had shelled out five thousand dollars.
I remembered the gleam in his eyes earlier today, when he’d told me it was only a matter of time before someone decided to put an end to her for once and for all. Ernie, did you murder Dorothy because you’d had enough of her scheming, thieving ways?
The following four sets of initials meant nothing to me, but the next two had my heart thumping. SP and HK: Sally Prescott and Harvey Kirk.
The number next to SP was seven hundred; the one beside HK was fifteen hundred. Sally had confided to me that she’d once told Dorothy about a fiscal error she’d made when she first became director of the library. Though Sally never said so, I knew that Dorothy had tried to coerce Sally into giving her the position I now held. Sally had held her ground and offered it to me.
I liked to think that the seven hundred dollars referred to that old incident Sally had told me about. She’d shelled out money and considered her so-called debt to Dorothy paid. Then what were they arguing about the day before Dorothy was run off the road? It could have been something completely innocent. I wished I could ask Sally what it was. Perhaps I would.
I had no idea what deep dark secret Dorothy had uncovered about Harvey. And who were the other four victims? I was going to have to figure out a way to learn what I could about them all.
Chapter Fourteen
Thursday morning I wrote “FOUND IN DOROTHY HAWKIN’S REFERENCE DESK” in block letters on a sheet of paper. I placed the original list inside its envelope, slid that inside a larger envelope along with my note, and mailed it to John at the precinct on my way to the library. Lunchtime, as Angela and I walked over to the Cozy Corner Café, I told her about my visit to Fred and the list I’d discovered.
“So that’s why you wanted to get at the reference desk.” Angela laughed. “You’re a sly one. But what made you think of it just then?”
Angela had no idea that Evelyn haunted the library. I felt bad about fibbing to my best friend, but now wasn’t the time to shock her with that piece of info.
“You once told me that Dorothy loved finding out people’s secrets and using what she learned to make them do things for her. I suddenly wondered if she’d ever blackmailed people for money, and I had the sudden impulse to search her desk. Looks like she was doing just that—in order to buy the gorgeous vases she collected.”
“Wow!” Angela stopped walking and put her hands to her head. “That woman was worse than we ever imagined!”
“She was. I wonder—did she blackmail people so she could add to her vase collection, or did she do it to wield power over them?”
“Probably a bit of both,” Angela said.
“That’s what I think,” I said.
As we approached the Cozy Corner Café, Angela asked, “Could you figure out any names on the list?”
“Three—Sally and Harvey are on it, and her neighbor, Ernie Pfeiffer. I don’t recognize the other four sets of initials.”
The café was almost full, but the hostess ushered us to a small table in the rear. As soon as we sat down and slipped off our jackets, I handed the list to Angela.
After a minute, she said, “I think two are women who used to work part time in the library. Greta Harrington died last year and LM could be Lillian Morris. She and Dorothy were friends for a while. Lillian has a wicked sense of humor, but she also has quite a temper. She blew up when Sally told her to do something she felt wasn’t in her job description, and stormed out of the library never to return.”
“Wow!”
“DZ might be Don Zippora, who lives down the street from Dorothy and Fred, though I believe he and his wife are spending the winter in Florida.”
“I wonder who JB is,” I said.
“I’ll ask my mother,” Angela said, jotting it down on a napkin. “She knows more people age fifty and older than I do.”
“Trish or her dad mig
ht know.”
Angela laughed. “Or we can leave this part of the investigation to Lieutenant Mathers.”
“I’m wondering what hold Dorothy had over Sally and Harvey,” I said.
“Me too,” Angela said. “I sure hope neither of them decided to do Dorothy in. We’re running out of librarians.”
“Have you ladies decided what you’d like for lunch?” Jilly, our waitress, asked.
Angela and I each ordered a turkey-avocado sandwich on a croissant and a hot chocolate. Then our conversation turned to wedding plans.
“Just think—five and a half months from now, Steve and I will be a married couple,” Angela said.
“I’m glad you guys finally decided on your wedding date and venue.”
Angela grinned. “The Gilbert House is perfect for us. The back lawn will be ablaze with roses and other flowers the third week in June. We’re hoping to hold the cocktail hour outdoors.”
“You’re not disappointed that the country club didn’t work out?” I asked.
Angela shook her head. “They’re too damn expensive. The Gilbert House has a wonderful new chef. Steve and I loved our dinner there the other night. Not only that, they had a Saturday night availability in June, which is exactly what we wanted.”
“Good for you!” I reached across the table to pat her hand.
“And I think I know which gown I’m going with,” Angela said.
I’d gone bridal gown shopping with Angela the other evening. She’d tried on several gowns, and I knew which one I thought best showed off her tall, slender figure. “Tell me.”
She grinned. “You’ll approve. The one with the sweetheart neckline and lacy bodice.”
“Great choice! You looked stunning in it.”
“Next week we’ll shop for bridesmaid’s dresses, okay?”
“Most definitely. I want to have a say in what I get to wear.”
“As long as you remember my color scheme is yellow, silver, and cornflower blue.” Angela tilted her head as she studied me. “I think you’ll look terrif in blue.”
“As long as it’s not a dress with flounces and ruffles.”
Angela opened her eyes wide. “Would I do that to you and my three cousins?”
“You wouldn’t dare. Besides, Steven’s sister would kill you. You know how Donna loves the tailored look. She’d wear a tuxedo if you let her.”
We were still discussing bridesmaids’ dresses when Jilly brought over our sandwiches and hot chocolates.
After lunch, back in the library, I found Smoky Joe waiting outside my office. He greeted me by rubbing against my legs, then flew to his kitty litter box as soon as I unlocked the door. I was spooning out a healthy amount of food in his plate when I heard a knock.
“Come in,” I called.
A white-faced Doris Maris entered my office. “Carrie, please come! Henry’s asleep and I can’t wake him up!”
“I ran to the reading room, where another homeless woman was shaking Henry’s shoulder vigorously.
“Don’t do that!” I said.
The woman recoiled and began to mutter.
I apologized. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you, but you shouldn’t shake him like that.”
She all but snarled at me. “I wanted to make sure Henry wasn’t dead.”
Henry blinked several times, clearly agitated by the crowd that had gathered around him. “Wha—what’s happening?”
Doris slipped past me to put her arm around her husband. “You fell asleep, and I couldn’t wake you.”
“I was tired, so I dropped off. What’s the big deal?”
The big deal is you fall asleep during the day every day and that’s not normal. “Doris,” I said as calmly as I could manage, “I’d like to talk to you, if I may.”
Reluctantly, Doris left her husband’s side. “I’m sorry I brought you here for no reason. You have work to do, and it turns out Henry’s all right.”
“Doris, I think you and I both know that Henry isn’t all right. He needs to be seen by a doctor.”
She gazed down at the floor. “We can’t afford a doctor.”
“You can if I call nine-one-one. They’ll take Henry to South Conn Hospital, where he’ll be evaluated.”
She stared at me. “Evaluated for …?”
“I think you know. He needs medical attention.”
Doris began to weep. “They’ll take him from me. I know they’ll take him from me.”
I put my arm around her shoulders. I could feel her bones beneath her thin jacket. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to do what’s best for Henry, right?”
She nodded and returned to her husband while I made the call.
The dispatcher asked if they needed to send an ambulance. “I think I can get someone to drive him, or I’ll drive him myself.”
Sally was establishing order in the reading room. I told her I’d called nine-one-one, and she asked Pete, our younger custodian, if he’d be willing to drive the Marises to the hospital.
“Of course,” he readily agreed.
I hugged Doris and told her I’d be calling the hospital to find out what was happening. Sally and I watched Pete shepherd them out the rear exit to his car.
“My heart goes out to them,” Sally said. “Two middle-class people made homeless. And now Henry’s senility requires serious attention.”
“Maybe, by some miracle, there’s a place that will take them both in.”
“That would be wonderful,” Sally agreed, but we both knew it wasn’t very likely.
* * *
I hoped that Evelyn would soon make an appearance so I could discuss Dorothy’s list with her. From the way she’d taken off after making sure I’d found it, I knew that, much as she loved Dorothy, she was also deeply ashamed of her niece. I was familiar with that situation. For years I’d been mortified to be associated with my father because Jim Singleton was a thief. I only hoped that he’d stick with his new job at the investigative agency and remain a permanent upstanding member of society.
Evelyn finally showed up when I was alone in my office and Susan was filling in at the reference area. She wore a rueful expression.
“I’m so sorry, Carrie. I said I’d be forthright and share whatever I knew, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you about Dorothy’s list any sooner.”
“I know it was difficult—letting other people know what Dorothy was up to.”
Evelyn let out a mournful sigh. “My sister and her husband certainly didn’t raise her to prey on people’s weaknesses. I’m glad they never knew about her disgraceful behavior.”
“When did Dorothy write this list?”
“About two months ago. From the way she was gloating, I figured she was up to something she had no business doing.”
“Did you manage to see the list?”
Evelyn shook her head. “I only caught a glimpse of it. When I saw the word ‘Vases,’ the initials, and numbers, I had an idea of what she was writing. I’d overheard her on the phone with Sotheby’s, making inquiries about vases that were being auctioned off.”
So Evelyn isn’t above eavesdropping when it suits her. Good to know. “I saw Dorothy’s vase collection when I visited her at home,” I said. “They’re all beautiful and, apparently, expensive.”
“Robert and I gave Dorothy an antique vase as an anniversary present the year after she and Fred were married. I suppose that’s when she started her collection.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself,” I said.
“If only I could have stopped her! I knew Dorothy loved to delve and uncover people’s weaknesses. It made her feel superior. But blackmail! That is truly despicable.”
I opened my pocketbook to fish out the list, and laid it flat on my desk. “Do you recognize anyone’s initials besides Sally’s, Harvey’s and Ernie Pfeiffer’s? Angela thinks the others refer to a woman named Greta, who’s deceased, and that LM is another former librarian named Lillian Morris, and DZ is a neighbor of Dorothy’s named Don Zippora.
”
Evelyn pursed her lips together. “I’d say most likely Angela’s right. Dorothy once told me that Lillian occasionally took items from stores. Dorothy probably threatened to go to the police with that information if she didn’t pay up. As for Don—he sometimes parked his truck in front of Dorothy and Fred’s house, which irritated Dorothy no end. She called the police a few times. He retaliated by dumping a load of soil on their front lawn.” She shrugged. “Who knows what Dorothy managed to dig up on him after that incident.”
“And JB?” I said. “Any ideas?”
Evelyn closed her eyes. “No, thank goodness.”
“I’ll see what I can find out about everyone on the list,” I said.
“Please be careful, Carrie. I appreciate your concern, but I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I will,” I said.
Evelyn looked as though she was about to cry. “I’m so ashamed, Carrie. I should have been firmer with Dorothy when she was young, and taken her to task instead of being the comforting and understanding aunt.”
I watched her disappear, thinking how sad it was that we weren’t able to choose the people we love. They weren’t always the most admirable, and when they hurt or disappointed us, the pain was almost unbearable.
Chapter Fifteen
At seven twenty-five I walked over to the conference room, wishing I hadn’t agreed to attend the meeting about Haven House. I doubted that I’d be able to concentrate on a discussion about the day care center for the homeless. I couldn’t shake Dorothy’s reprehensible behavior from my mind. Much of the sympathy I’d been feeling for her had trickled away—not that I thought she deserved to be murdered. But blackmailers always ran the risk of being done in by one of their victims—at least on TV shows. Still, I continued to feel compelled to find the person who’d murdered her, for Evelyn’s sake if nothing else.
In the conference room, five or six people stood chatting in the far corner of the room. As I paused in the doorway, a woman left the group and approached me with a grin and an outstretched hand.
“Hello, Carrie. I’m Reese Lavell. Thank you so much for offering us a place to meet.”
Buried in the Stacks Page 10
