Buried in the Stacks

by Allison Brook

  Angela ordered a chopped salad, I ordered my soup and sandwich, and our waitress hurried away to fill our requests. As soon as she left, Angela began talking about her honeymoon.

  “We’ve pretty much nixed the idea of the Caribbean now that we’re definitely getting married in June.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Now we’re thinking of Napa Valley in California or a fabulous resort in Arizona.”

  “Don’t you have to make reservations really soon?” I asked.

  “Steve’s cousin Stella is a travel agent. She said as long as we decide in the next two weeks, she can book us on a flight and hotel wherever we want.”

  “Now all you have to do is make up your mind,” I said.

  My own mind began to wander as Angela elaborated on the reasons for choosing one spot over the other.

  “Of course we’re not ruling out Hawaii. Not by any means.”

  “Of course. Not by any means,” I echoed. “Ah, here comes our food.”

  We were hungry and ate quickly. Our waitress cleared our dishes, and we ordered coffee and a piece of carrot cake to share. I checked my phone and smiled as I read Dylan’s message.

  “The lease for the New Haven office is being faxed over to him tomorrow,” I told Angela.

  “Great. Too bad he couldn’t make the dinner dance Saturday night. The mansion at the country club is to die for. Steve and I would have loved to have our wedding there, but it was way out of our price range.”

  “Marion texted me. Smoky Joe is fine. She let him into my office so he could use the kitty litter.”

  Our coffee and dessert arrived. I took a sip of my coffee and looked around. The place had pretty much emptied out while we’d been eating. A couple sitting at a table for two against the far wall caught my eye. The man had his back to me, but something about his posture looked familiar.

  “What are you looking at?” Angela asked. “Oh, isn’t that Fred, Dorothy’s husband?”

  “It is!” I agreed.

  “Who’s that woman with him? Look! She just wiped something from his face with her napkin.”

  I stood. “I’m going to find out. Right now.”

  Fred and his companion were too engrossed in each other to notice me approach. When I tapped his shoulder, they both gave a start.

  “Hello, Fred! I thought it was you. I was out shopping with my friend Angela for her wedding—you know Angela Vecchio who works at circulation in the library?—and we stopped here afterward for a quick dinner.”

  Fred’s smile was forced. “Hello, Carrie. Nice to see you. Thank you again for your casserole. It was delicious.”

  “How are you doing? I’m glad to see that you’re getting out.”

  He glanced at his female friend. “Leila’s making sure that I do. Carrie Singleton, Leila Bevins. Leila, Carrie works in the library.”

  And you’re the woman he’s been in love with all these years. And now you’re back in the picture.

  Leila was an attractive diminutive woman in her mid-fifties. As we shook hands, she assessed me with intelligent brown eyes.

  “Nice to meet you,” we said at the same time.

  “I’m glad you’re looking after Fred,” I said.

  She smiled, suddenly accepting me. “He needs looking after,” she said.

  We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and I returned to my table.

  “Who is she?” Angela demanded before I sat down.

  “A lovely lady Fred’s known for years.” I told Angela about their history. “He was about to tell Dorothy he wanted a divorce, when her aunt died suddenly.”

  “Yes. Poor Evelyn,” Angela said. “Sad to think she fell in the library parking lot, and no one found her until it was too late.”

  “So I’ve heard. Dorothy was devastated, and Fred couldn’t bring himself to leave her. When someone knocked Dorothy down outside the supermarket, she remembered that Fred had been out late the night her aunt had died, and mistakenly thought the same person must have knocked them both down.”

  “That person being Fred,” Angela said.

  “Only Fred was with Leila the evening Evelyn died. Of course he couldn’t tell Dorothy.”

  “Of course not,” Angela agreed. “She would have killed him had she known.”

  We both snickered, then polished off the rest of our dessert.

  The subject of Dorothy’s murder was still on our minds as we drove back to the library.

  “The fact that Fred fell in love with another woman is proof that he wanted to be free of Dorothy,” Angela said. “Maybe something set him off recently, and he decided he couldn’t bear to live with her any longer.”

  “I hate to admit it, but the same thought was running through my mind,” I said. “We know how awful Dorothy could be. Poor Fred had to live with her day in and day out.”

  “Who could blame him if he decided to murder her?” Angela said. “If you found evidence that he’d done it, would you bring it to John?”

  “Good question,” I said. “I’d be tempted not to, but I’d end up telling John. Even though I just about lost all sympathy for Dorothy when I found that list of people she’d blackmailed.”

  “They all must be glad she’s dead.”

  “And Fred looks relaxed and happy. He clearly cares about Leila, and she cares about him.”

  “I’m glad they reconnected,” Angela said.

  “Me too.”

  Back in the library, I went looking for Smoky Joe. I was tired and ready to plop into bed to veg out and watch an hour of television. I stopped in the coffee shop, where patrons often fed him tidbits of food despite my posters telling them not to feed the library cat. Only Katie was there, wiping down the tables for the night.

  When she saw me, she said, “He was here half an hour ago, begging for treats.”

  For once I wasn’t concerned about his eating habits. “Did you happen to see where he went?”

  “Sorry, no.” Katie grinned. “But you know Smoky Joe. He could be anywhere in the library.”

  True, I thought. But I was starting to worry. He had a good sense of time and usually came looking for me when the library was ready to close for the night.

  I called to him softly as I headed for the children’s section. A few patrons started looking for him. When I asked, none of them had seen him recently.

  My heart began to pound. Had someone walked off with Smoky Joe? He was the friendliest of cats, and while patrons rarely tried to pick him up, I suspected he wouldn’t react in fear. Don’t think the worst, I told myself. He’s probably in the children’s section with Marion. She’s one of his favorite people.

  But Marion hadn’t seen him since she’d let him into my office so he could use the kitty litter. “I do apologize for not keeping an eye on him after that, especially after the break-in, but all the third-grade teachers have arranged a read-a-thon for their students. The kids have to read a book, write a report, and draw a picture. Parents kept stopping by to ask me for book recommendations.”

  Max appeared, broom in hand, ready to start cleaning the children’s section. But when he heard that I couldn’t find Smoky Joe, he leaped into action.

  “Don’t you worry, Carrie. We’ll search every nook and corner. That cat has to be someplace.”

  “What if somebody took him?” I asked, blinking back tears. “Maybe that high school boy decided to grab him while the library was open.”

  Max leaned on his broom and shook his head. “I think Smoky Joe’s too smart to go off with anyone, much less some kid he doesn’t know.”

  I sniffed. “I hope you’re right.”

  Max and I each took half of the library. I peered around stacks, in offices—even in the ladies’ room. Smoky Joe was nowhere in sight. It was nine twenty-five. Five minutes to closing time. I felt a moment of panic.

  “Maybe he went downstairs,” Max said.

  “He never goes downstairs,” I said.

  Max laughed. “There’s always a first time for everything.”

  I
trembled as I walked down the stairs behind Max. I dreaded driving back to the cottage without my furry feline friend. Maybe he’d followed one of the patrons outside. He didn’t know how to deal with streets and cars.

  I wandered into the storage room. No sign of Smoky Joe.

  “Carrie, come here!” I followed Max’s voice to the closet where we kept supplies. There in the corner, Smoky Joe was stretching out his front paws as he awoke from a very deep sleep.

  I scooped him into my arms and squeezed him so tightly, he meowed a complaint. “Too bad! You scared me half to death.”

  “Told you he wouldn’t leave with anyone but you,” Max said.

  “Thanks, Max.” I stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Then I nuzzled my face against Smoky Joe’s warm furry chest. “And I’m taking you home right now.”

  I drove slowly, savoring my relief that Smoky Joe was safe in his carrier beside me. I loved him so, I didn’t know what I’d do if someone had taken him. My mind drifted, and I found myself thinking about Fred, Leila, and Dorothy. Though I was glad that Fred and Leila had rekindled their romance and were enjoying happiness, I’d never give him a free pass if he’d murdered Dorothy. Or anyone else, for that matter. If Fred had been so unhappy, he should have gotten a divorce. Homicide was no solution. Once a person committed murder, what was to stop him from murdering again? I had no idea if Evelyn’s death was a homicide or connected in any way to Dorothy’s murder. But I was back on the case and determined to find out.

  Back home in my cottage, I fed Smoky Joe some treats, then called Dylan. I told him of my scare in the library after going with Angela to choose my bridesmaid’s dress for her wedding.

  “What’s the date?”

  “The third Saturday night in June.”

  “I’ll put it on my calendar.”

  I grinned, happy that Dylan was in my life and sharing my special events. “We ran into Fred Hawkins having dinner with his girlfriend.”

  “His girlfriend, eh? That was fast.”

  “Not really. They fell in love years ago.”

  “Interesting. Anything new regarding his wife’s murder?”

  “Not that I know of,” I said. “John hasn’t said a word to me about the list of blackmail victims I sent him.”

  Dylan laughed. “That’s good. Babe, I think you should stay out of this one.”

  We spoke a few minutes more, then said goodnight. I went into my office and turned on the computer. After checking my email, I typed in Leila Bevins’s name. Sure enough she had a Facebook page filled with entries and photos. Lots of photos. I read her bio. She’d grown up in Virginia and attended college in Connecticut, where she’d married her husband. They had three children—two girls and a boy. She’d taught school for several years. More recently, she was working in a women’s boutique in town called Trendy Elegance.

  I glanced over at Leila’s many photos. Most were of her grown children in the midst of outdoorsy activities like waterskiing and skiing. There were a few of a wedding of one of her daughters and many of a baby in pink. No mention of her husband, who’d either died or they’d divorced. But there was one of her and Fred in glamorous clothes. Interesting. I wondered when that had been taken.

  Could Fred and Leila have planned the murder together? Perhaps Fred had knocked Dorothy down outside the supermarket. Then, when that failed, Leila ran her off the road.

  I wondered if John was aware that Fred and Leila were seeing each other again. John had never mentioned finding the car that had sent Dorothy to her death. Would he know to check out Leila’s car for damage or to ask her for an alibi the night that Dorothy was murdered?

  Hmm. John had told me to stay out of the investigation. Was it my obligation to tell him what I knew?

  Chapter Twenty

  Thursday morning I asked Sally if our Haven House activities planning group could meet in the conference room that evening since it was free. She agreed. I thanked her and left word at the hospitality desk for whoever was attending the meeting. Later on, I’d ask Susan to set up coffee and hot water for tea shortly before our meeting time of eight o’clock. That taken care of, I went to my office to start my day’s work.

  I spent twenty minutes chatting with a chef about the program he’d be presenting at our library. Though he wouldn’t be coming until May, I felt a surge of excitement. Charles worked in one of the most famous restaurants in the area and was a frequent guest on TV cooking shows. Our first food program was scheduled to take place the first week in February. Patrons had rushed to sign up for it as soon as registration opened. Fifteen minutes later every slot had filled, with twelve standbys in case of dropouts.

  Evelyn appeared shortly before Trish was scheduled to show up for work. I told her I’d run into Fred and his lady friend in the restaurant the previous evening.

  “I still don’t think Fred has it in him to kill Dorothy,” she said when I finished.

  “Any thoughts about Leila Bevins?” I asked.

  Evelyn’s mouth fell open. “That’s who he’s seeing—Leila Bevins?”

  “Yes. Why? Do you know her?”

  She snorted. “I’ve known Leila for years. She sold me some of my favorite outfits. Fred and Leila Bevins! I wouldn’t think she’d give Fred a tumble, let alone kill someone for him.”

  “We’re back to square one,” I said, “but I’m not giving up. I’ll be meeting with a few Haven House people in the conference room tonight. I hope you’ll be there. There will only be five or six of us, but you might pick up a comment or bit of information that I miss.”

  “I’ll be there, though I hate to think that any relative of Dorothy’s—and mine, for that matter—might have murdered her.”

  “I can imagine how awful that must be for you.” I gave her a searching look. “But we have to consider that Dorothy was on to something when she said that the person who killed you also was trying to kill her.”

  “I thought you’d discarded that idea,” Evelyn said.

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t have. Just think—who might have had it in for Dorothy? A relative, a colleague from the library, and Ernie Pfeiffer. Except for a few of her blackmail victims, you had relationships with the very same people.”

  I gave her a minute to think this over. “That’s true,” she conceded.

  “Your niece or nephew might have been angry that you left all your money to Dorothy. You and Dorothy both had run-ins with Ernie Pfeiffer.” I cocked my head, trying to be tactful about what I was going to say next.

  “Then there’s Sally and Harvey Kirk.”

  ‘Yes? What about them?” Evelyn asked.

  “Were you on good terms with them both?”

  Evelyn shrugged. “Good enough, I suppose.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. “I wish you’d explain.”

  Evelyn let out a whoosh of an exhalation—as though she found my questions exasperating when, in fact, the shoe was on the other foot. “Let me put it this way. Sally and I didn’t always see eye to eye. She’s mellowed quite a bit this past year—actually in these past few months since you’ve become head of P and E—but when she came to work here, she was rather overbearing.

  “True, I was only an aide, but the previous director had recognized my bookkeeping skills. I filled out purchasing forms and helped keep financial records for years before Sally became director.”

  I laughed long and loud.

  “What’s so funny?” Evelyn demanded.

  “So that’s why you encouraged me to take the position. You thought I’d be a thorn in Sally’s paw.”

  “Kind of,” she admitted. “And then the two of you became good friends.”

  “Did you ever have a serious argument with Sally?”

  “A few times. The worst was the day I … became deceased.”

  “You never said.”

  “You never asked.”

  Wow! “I never knew to ask,” I said. “Tell me what happened.”

  “The situation had escalated to the point
that we could barely hold a civilized conversation. I no longer had anything to do with purchasing forms or financial records. Sally was doing all that herself and making a right mess of things. So I learned when I stopped by her office to tell her something. She was out, but the accounts were spread across her desk. I was surprised at how our expenses had suddenly skyrocketed in the past few months. At that rate, we’d be spending way beyond the budget allotted for the year. Then it occurred to me—Sally was making gross errors, overspending, or out-and-out stealing.

  “She walked in and started yelling at me when she saw me looking over the accounts. I told her if she was thinking of making fraudulent claims, I’d inform the board that she was embezzling library funds.”

  “That was the day of your accident?”

  Evelyn nodded. “I think I managed to put enough fear into her to stop her from doing anything foolish. At least when I looked at the records months later—from this side—everything seemed in order.”

  “What were Dorothy and Sally fighting about the day before Dorothy was run off the road?”

  Evelyn shook her head. “I don’t know. For a while they were good friends, until Dorothy used a confidence that Sally had shared with her and held it over her head. Silly girl. Not a good way to keep friends.”

  Something to look into. “What about Harvey Kirk?” I asked.

  “What about him? Do I like the man? No, I do not.”

  “Why not?”

  “I had a problem with my laptop. Harvey was kind enough to fix it. But when the same problem cropped up again, he turned cranky. He said he was glad to help me with my problem once, but he didn’t have the time to fix it again and again. He offered to recommend a techie who was reliable. When I alluded to the fact that money was tight, he laughed and said a fool and his money are soon parted.”

  “And you did—what?”

  “Added a touch of salt to the mug of coffee he’s always holding in his hand.”

  “And he found out,” I finished for her.

  “He did.”

  “I can’t believe you’d do that.”

  “It’s not something I’m proud of.” Her eyes pleaded with me not to be turned off by what she’d just admitted. “I only get that way when someone pushes my buttons.”