Late Checkout

by Carol J. Perry

  I nodded agreement, but my attention was on the man entering the front door. I tapped my aunt’s shoulder. “Look,” I whispered. “It’s him.”

  “Who?” she said, following my stare.

  “It’s Professor Mercury.”

  I watched as Dave pointed to where we sat and, smiling, Jerry Mercury moved toward us with long strides, right hand outstretched. “Ms. Barrett,” he said, not using his library voice. “They said I might find you here.”

  There were a few annoyed “shushes” from nearby readers and browsers. Aunt Ibby raised a displeased eyebrow, which is usually sufficient to quiet loud-voiced offenders. It didn’t deter the oncoming professor. “Jerry Mercury,” he boomed. “Remember me?”

  Automatically, I put one index finger to my lips in the universal sign for “hush.” He glanced around in apparent embarrassment and approached the desk where we sat. “Oops. Sorry,” he whispered. “I guess I’m more accustomed to being on stage than in a library.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “What can we do for you?”

  “I called the television station looking for you,” he said, “and the young woman said you might be here.” He gestured toward my aunt. “I beg your pardon,” he said, giving a little bow in her direction. “I’ve been rude. I’m Jerry Mercury, and you are . . . ?”

  “I’m Isobel Russell,” she said. “Maralee’s aunt. I’m happy to meet you.”

  “My pleasure.” Again, the little bow. He turned toward me, blue eyes focused on mine. Kind, friendly blue eyes. Why had I thought they were creepy? I looked away, concentrating on his words. “I’ve talked with Agnes and Rob today,” he said, “and of course they both say they’re thrilled with the idea of getting together for the station’s anniversary.”

  Yes. I know that. I talked to them too. “Good. We’re very pleased about it.”

  “There may be a problem and I wanted to tell you about it right up front, before too many plans are made.”

  This didn’t sound good. “Yes. Go ahead.”

  “It’s about Rob.” He’d found his library voice. I had to lean forward to catch what he was saying. Aunt Ibby leaned forward too.

  “About Rob Oberlin?” I whispered.

  The blue eyes looked down toward the floor. “We think he might have done something—something very bad.”

  “We?” I asked. “You mean you and Agnes?”

  He looked up. “Yes. Of course. Agnes and I agree.” Had the voice become a little testy?

  My aunt tipped her head to one side. “Exactly what do you and Agnes think he’s done?”

  “We could be wrong,” he said. “We certainly don’t want to accuse anyone—especially an old friend—” His voice trailed off.

  “If it’s something that affects the station I think you need to tell me what it is. We have considerable time and resources invested in the anniversary project,” I fibbed. Just my time so far, and no money at all yet. “Mr. Doan doesn’t like surprises,” I added, and that part was completely true.

  “It has to do with what happened at the library—to Willie.” Eyes downcast again.

  “Perhaps we should discuss this in the break room,” my aunt suggested. “I’ll ask Tyler to take over here. Maralee, show the professor the way.”

  I stood and motioned for Jerry Mercury to follow me to the closed door marked “Library Staff only.” The room was still empty, the coffee maker and the cinnamon buns still on the table. “Coffee?” I asked. He shook his head no. We waited in silence for my aunt.

  We didn’t have to wait long. “Well then,” she whirled into the room, closing the door behind her with a firm click. She stood at the head of the table. “What’s all this about Rob Oberlin being mixed up in the death of that man in the stacks?” I could tell that so far, she didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking one bit. “Speak up,” she commanded.

  It was apparent that Jerry Mercury wasn’t used to being told what to do. But he was on her turf, and there’s always something pretty intimidating about a head librarian no matter how old you are, or how important you think you are.

  “It was about the old woman they showed on television,” he began. He stood facing her from the opposite end of the table. “I was at Agnes’s house to talk about the anniversary show. Her television was on and they were showing pictures of some people the police are calling ‘persons of interest.’”

  “Did you recognize the old woman?” I asked, excited by the idea that we might at last have an ID. Since neither of them had taken a seat, I remained on my feet too.

  “Maybe.” A half smile. An irritating half smile. “We didn’t actually remember her. We remember who is pretending to be her.”

  “Who’s that?” I pressed for more information. “Do you know who the woman is or not?”

  “We believe the woman is actually Rob Oberlin. And Rob is dressed up as old Mrs. Blatherflab.”

  “Of course,” Aunt Ibby exclaimed. “I should have recognized that big purse with the cat on it she always carried. Remember, Maralee?”

  “I think so. Vaguely,” I agreed. “She wasn’t a regular.”

  “When Rob gained weight and got too fat to be the cowboy or the cop, they cancelled his show and put together the old lady costume, so he could work out his contract with appearances on Agnes’s show. He hated being Mrs. Blatherflab.” Jerry Mercury spoke slowly, as though we were too dense to follow his story. “Agnes fixed it up with the station. She and Rob used to be lovers.”

  “And now you believe Rob put on that dress and killed Willie?” I wasn’t buying it. “Why?”

  He held up two fingers. “Two reasons. One, because Willie had something Rob wanted, and two—and most importantly—he hated Willie because of the things Willie had done to those racehorses.”

  I didn’t comment on that. I knew Rob had good reason to be furious about the horses. And he surely knew all about the Honus Wagner card. He used to guard it. But he’d told me he thought it was a fake. Was that some kind of a cover-up? I didn’t want to think that Rob (who I still thought of as Ranger Rob—childhood idol) would harm anyone, let alone kill somebody—even if the somebody was a true low-life creepy villain who had a card worth a million dollars.

  My aunt, however, didn’t hesitate to comment. “Nonsense. Absolute nonsense, sir. You haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Her expression proved that she wasn’t kidding.

  Jerry Mercury seemed surprised, at least momentarily. He took a small step back from the table. It looked to me as though he wasn’t used to having anyone disagree with him, and it also looked as though he didn’t like it one bit when someone did. “You might want to have a little talk with Agnes, then, Ms. Russell.” The smirky smile was back in place. “She’ll tell you that the Mrs. Blatherflab outfit has gone missing.”

  I found my voice. “Missing from where?”

  “Oh, didn’t Agnes tell you? She wound up with all of the old costumes. Actually, she was the only one who had room for them. Of course she made it clear that we could help ourselves to them anytime. Especially at Halloween.” A nonchalant shrug and another smirk. “I certainly didn’t want any of them and I’ve always provided my own magician gear.” He paused. “And Rob was too fat to fit into most of them.” Snarky laugh.

  This conversation had begun to wipe away all my fond memories of the wise professor who’d taught me to love science, who’d fostered much of my curiosity of how things worked, who’d used a cute beeping robot as a valuable teaching aid. Another disturbing thought intruded. If I’d been wrong about brilliant and entertaining Professor Mercury, could I have been wrong about the brave, handsome ranger who’d taught me and thousands of other kids about honesty and justice and loyalty, and who’d used a cute little guy in a sombrero to underline those basic truths?

  Aunt Ibby wasn’t out of questions. “Have you gone to the police with your suspicions, Mr. Mercury?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “I thought I’d run it by you two first.” He loo
ked at me, the blue eyes still kind and friendly. “I’ve heard that you might have seen the killer up there in the stacks, Ms. Barrett. Did you?”

  “No!” I blurted. “I didn’t see anyone. Who told you that? Agnes? Rob?”

  “Rob doesn’t confide in me. He told Agnes you two were over at his place. Asking questions about the old days. About the costumes.”

  “And Agnes wound up with all those old costumes?” my aunt asked.

  “Sure. They’re all stuffed in an old trunk in a little utility room in her carport. She showed me. It’s not even locked.”

  “I think you’d better report your suspicions to the police,” Aunt Ibby said, pulling her phone from a pocket. “Shall I dial them for you?”

  “No thanks.” He smiled. “I’ll take care of it.” He backed away from the table. “I’ll be going along. I’m firming up plans for a magic show at the Doans’ Halloween party. I expect I’ll see you there, Ms. Barrett?” He walked toward the door. “Shall I let myself out?”

  Neither of us answered. He pulled the door open and walked away, not looking back.

  Chapter 36

  “What in the world . . . ?” Aunt Ibby didn’t have to finish the question.

  I had no answer. What was that? Was Jerry Mercury seriously accusing Rob Oberlin of murder? Would he take my aunt’s suggestion and call the police? This was no time for Nancy Drew. I called Pete and told him what had just happened—what Mercury had said.

  “He sounded serious, Pete,” I told him. “I don’t know whether he’ll call you or not, but do you think the idea that Rob has something to do with Willie’s murder is even possible?”

  “Mercury hasn’t contacted the department, Lee,” he said, “but we’re looking into all the possibilities. And yes, we’re aware of the old lady costume Oberlin wore on that TV show. Actually, Chief Whaley’s mother recognized it. Oberlin has voluntarily agreed to come in for questioning.”

  “What about Agnes—Katie the Clown? Don’t tell me she’s a suspect too.”

  “All the possibilities, babe. All of them—including Mercury. Gotta go. Call you later.”

  I followed my aunt back to the main desk, where Tyler Dickson waited, wide-eyed, holding a long-stemmed red paper rose. “Who is that guy? Some kind of magician? He made this flower appear right in front of me!”

  I had to smile at her reaction. “Yes,” I said, “he really is a magician. When I was a kid he had his own TV show. He called himself Professor Mercury back then.”

  “He seems nice,” she said, “and he has such pretty eyes.”

  My aunt and I looked at each other and didn’t comment on Jerry Mercury’s niceness. “Thanks for holding down the fort, Tyler,” Aunt Ibby said. “Anything interesting happen while I was away?”

  “No. Pretty quiet. The genealogy group is meeting in one of the study rooms and Dave is still standing over there like a wooden Indian.” She gestured toward the front door with her rose. “Looks like a real cop, doesn’t he?”

  He does. The right costume is important. If it wasn’t for her voice, I never would have recognized Agnes as Katie the Clown. I’m positive I wouldn’t have recognized Rob Oberlin as Mrs. Blatherflab. I was sure that the many faithful fans of Tarot Time with River North wouldn’t identify the glamorous night show star when she wasn’t made up and costumed. “Dave is one of those men who looks good in uniform, no doubt,” I told her. “He was a security guard when he was a young man, then served in the military for almost thirty years—Special Forces, I understand—then came back to security work. Uniforms all the way. In fact,” I added, “I’ve never seen him out of uniform!”

  “He still looks good,” she said. “I’ll get back to checking out books.” Carrying her rose, she returned to her desk.

  Checking out books! “Aunt Ibby!” I spoke a little too loudly and drew a raised eyebrow from my aunt and a “shush” from a nearby patron. I dropped my voice to a more acceptable pitch. “Pete didn’t check that book out and the buzzer went off. How did whoever took it from the stacks get out of the building without tipping off the tattle?”

  “You’re absolutely right. It should have sounded. Unless. . .”

  “Unless they got out without passing the sensor,” I finished the thought.

  “I don’t think you could jump over it like a subway turnstile,” she said, “and I know it doesn’t work to kick a book through on the floor. That’s been tried.”

  “So we still have no clue as to how they did it,” I said, almost talking to myself. “Up and down stairs, in and out of doors, back and forth, forward and back. Now, according to Jerry Mercury, we can add ‘in and out of costume. ’”

  “I could tell that you didn’t like it when he suggested that Rob could be a killer,” she said. “I didn’t like it either. What did Pete say about it?”

  “Pete says they’re considering all options. They already knew about the old lady costume and Rob has agreed to come in for questioning. They haven’t discounted Agnes or Mercury either.”

  “I thought they’d have it solved by now,” she said. “I didn’t like it when Mercury suggested that you might have seen the killer.” A quick “tsk-tsk.” “And now that old lady costume is missing.”

  “I’m going to ask Agnes about it,” I said, “but first I think I’ll go up to the mezzanine and do a little WICH-TV anniversary show work rather than trying to fight the traffic between here and Derby Street.”

  “Wise choice,” she said. “I’m right here if you need me.”

  “You always have been,” I said, and headed for the short flight of stairs and somewhat steep wheelchair ramp that led to my favorite space for studying and thinking. I would have liked to spend the afternoon in the Saturday Business Hour set. There were still personnel folders in the file cabinet I hadn’t examined. They’ve been there for over forty years. They’ll still be there tomorrow.

  I ducked into one of the small study alcoves overlooking the parking lot—and the house next door. I pulled a handful of clean index cards from my purse, spread them fanlike on the blonde wood desk. I decided that our visit in the break room with Jerry Mercury counted as anniversary show research. After all, the information he offered was about his fellow WICH-TV kid show actors. On the first card I wrote, “J. Mercury says that he thinks Rob Oberlin, wearing a costume from Agnes’s show (Mrs. Blatherflab) killed Willie.” On the second I jotted down, “All the costumes from the old shows are in a trunk in an unlocked utility room at Agnes’s house.” I stared at the card for a moment, then added, “O’Ryan on a trunk in my vision. Important?” That comment sent me off onto another train of thought. I made a note on a card about the missing tattle tape, and on another I wrote, “Does Agnes really believe Rob is guilty or is Mercury lying? Mercury says Agnes and Rob once were lovers.”

  I stopped writing then and looked out the window. I could see the telltale black circle on the side of the house next door that marked their security camera. It must be the one that captured the picture of the old lady. It must record everyone who uses the book drop too, I thought. It must have picked up an image of whoever returned The Boys of Summer. Does Pete have that image? Time to stop writing and start phoning.

  I called Pete and told him about the tape that didn’t tattle and asked about the security cameras next door. “Could you tell who returned the book to the book drop?”

  “We think so. Looks like it was the old lady. She came out the side door and dropped the book.”

  “But she wasn’t in the stacks. And nobody even saw her come into the building in the first place.”

  Pete sighed. “I know.”

  “The backpack guy had plenty of time up there.”

  “I know, babe. Maybe the cameras are screwed up. Maybe we are. Maybe backpack man and the old lady are working together somehow. But don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. Want me to bring something over to your place for dinner tonight? Have siren, will travel.”

  “That would be great,” I said. “I have some more note ta
king to do here, then I’m going to try to see Agnes before I go home. I’d like to get a look at those costumes.”

  “That’s on my list too, but chief says we can’t spare anyone right now. Halloween craziness everywhere. Fingerprints at Agnes’s won’t mean much. All the prime suspects have been there recently and the room is apparently left unlocked.”

  “I guess Agnes doesn’t have a security camera,” I said.

  “Nope. See you tonight. Love you.”

  “Love you too. Bye.” I picked up a card and wrote, “The old woman may have put the book into the drop,” then returned to staring out the window. Thinking.

  I called Agnes and asked if I could come by for a few minutes. She said she’d be thrilled to see me. “I don’t have a lot of company these days.” She didn’t say it in a sad way. Just matter of fact.

  “I’ll be along as soon as I can,” I told her. “Lots of traffic all over.” I looked out the window again. Costumes. One costume anyway. The old lady. I didn’t like the idea that Ranger Rob could be a killer. And wouldn’t he be smart enough to wear a different costume—one that hadn’t been made especially for him? After all, Agnes had a whole trunkful of them. If Agnes wanted to do something terrible, she surely wouldn’t do it in Katie the Clown’s costume. And Jerry Mercury wouldn’t wear his magician’s cape and top hat to commit murder. All of the WICH-TV’s alums had a variety of looks to choose from.

  Except Dave. I remembered how I’d just told Tyler that I’d never seen Dave out of uniform.

  Dave, who had access to all of the library. Dave, who had a set of keys to every door, every room—including the door to the old kitchen, including the emergency door to and from the stacks. Dave, who knew Willie, who’d worked for Larry Laraby, who’d even guarded the Honus Wagner card.

  I hated the thought. But, reluctantly, I selected another blank card and wrote one word. Dave.

  Chapter 37

  I pulled the new cards into a pile and added them to the rubber-banded stack in my purse. I looked out the window for a few moments longer, gathering my thoughts—trying to get things straight in my mind. I looked at my watch. Well past noon. I wasn’t hungry yet and Pete would bring dinner later. It would be a good idea to get started for Agnes’s house right away. It would take a while to get to Highland Ave, I was sure, what with bands of roving witches and goblins and assorted princesses all over town. I’d trust Siri to find a circuitous route to get me there.