“It’s a popular movie,” Susan said. “I bet someone took it home to see it.”
I stared at her. “Now who would do a thing like that?”
“I don’t know!” Susan blinked feverishly. I hoped she wasn’t going to burst into tears.
I hurried to the meeting room. “Sorry, there’s been a delay. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“Susan seems to think someone absconded with the movie,” an elderly gentleman said. “Is that so?”
I cocked my head. “I intend to find out. Be back as soon as I can.”
I hurried to my office, where Susan was rummaging through the shelves in the cabinet. When she heard me, she turned around. “It’s not here.”
“Call Trish. Ask her where and when she saw it last.”
Susan picked up the phone, seemingly glad to have something to do. I wished I knew what to do next.
“Where is that movie?” I muttered to myself as I made a mad dash to the shelves of movies on the odd chance someone had put it there. Or, if I was lucky, there might be another copy. Then it hit me: Dorothy had taken it!
This wasn’t her first bit of sabotage either. The day before, she’d called one of the monthly program presenters, identified herself as me, and told him the program had been canceled. Good thing Trish had called him shortly afterward because he was in the habit of mixing up his dates. And to think Dorothy was Evelyn’s niece.
Where did she hide that movie? I couldn’t very well insist on searching the reference desk. If it wasn’t there, I’d look like an idiot.
“Where did Dorothy put it?” I muttered to myself.
“So you figured it out.” Evelyn was walking beside me and keeping pace, quite a feat for an older woman. But then again, she was a ghost.
“It wasn’t difficult.”
“Don’t blame me. Dorothy inherited her spiteful tendencies from the other side of the family. Her mother—my sister, Frieda—was the most amiable woman.”
“Where is it?” I asked. Too loudly, judging by the scowl a patron sent my way.
“Nestled among the documentaries, I’m afraid.”
A minute later, film in hand, I rushed down to the meeting room. “I have it!” I inserted the DVD in the player, dimmed the lights, and walked slowly back to my office.
“Evelyn, are you still with me?” I whispered.
“Right beside you. I faded to conserve energy.”
“Tell me, what does your niece Dorothy hate?”
“Crowds, broccoli, people talking during a movie. Why do you ask?”
“Why do you think? What is she afraid of?”
“Flying, spiders—”
“Spiders!” I grinned. “Thanks, Evelyn. You’re a dear.”
A band of cold gripped my arm. “Promise me you won’t hurt her.”
“Of course not. I simply want her to stop harassing me.”
* * *
After lunch the following day, I browsed through the party store until I found exactly what I wanted—a big black rubber spider. Back in my office, I scribbled a note: “Any more of your little tricks, and you’ll find a real one in your desk. Or maybe your car. Or perhaps your bed.”
Of course, I hadn’t the foggiest idea how I’d get a spider into Dorothy’s car or bed, but I thought it best to cover all three bases. I worked with one eye on the reference desk and bided my time. The moment Dorothy headed for the ladies’ room, I dropped off the spider and note. When she returned ten minutes later, I grabbed my iPhone, but was too late to snap a photo. No matter. Dorothy’s shriek and expression of horror were fixed in my memory for years to come.
Chapter Three
I awoke on Thursday morning with a sense of anticipation. Like most people, I loved the idea of a cold case being solved, and I couldn’t wait to hear what former detective Buckley had discovered.
I stopped at the bakery on my way to work. It was the library’s policy to serve coffee and cake at major programs. Trish had offered to pick up a few cakes at the supermarket, but I wanted bakery cookies for my first big event. After some deliberation, I settled on a pound of chocolate chip cookies, a pound of mini Linzer tarts, and two pounds of blueberry yogurt cookies.
I hummed as I worked through the afternoon. My first major program! And such a fascinating subject. I could hardly wait for seven thirty to come.
Al Buckley’s upcoming talk had stirred up both interest and controversy. Laura Foster’s older son, Ryan, had called Sally a few times to try to convince her to cancel the program. He doubted Buckley had unearthed any new evidence regarding his mother’s murder and thought he was only after publicity for the book he was writing about the case. For once, Sally was unsure of what to do. I advised her to go ahead with the program. She agreed, but I think it was only because she knew it would draw an audience large enough to fill all sixty seats in the library’s meeting room. She asked both Trish and Susan to be on hand to deal with the mob we expected. My two assistants were only too eager to oblige.
At five, I asked our two custodians to start setting up chairs in the meeting room, which was long and narrow and devoid of windows and character. The proposed library renovations included plans for a stadium-seating auditorium. I couldn’t wait for the work to begin in the coming year.
At seven, Trish filled the large coffeemaker while I arranged the cookies on trays. I placed a glass and bottle of water on the table our guest would be using. At seven fifteen, the man himself strode into the room carrying an iPad and a huge board, which he placed on the easel he’d requested we provide. Former detective Al Buckley stood about six feet tall and had brown eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. He appeared to be about sixty, imposing rather than handsome in his black turtleneck and gray sports jacket. He was well on his way to developing a paunch, which led me to believe he was a big fan of beer or desserts.
“Good evening, Detective Buckley. I’m Carrie Singleton, the head of programs and events. It’s my pleasure to welcome you to the Clover Ridge Library.”
He placed his iPad on the table and took my hand in both of his. “I’m glad to meet you, Carrie. Call me Al, why don’t you?”
His grasp, like his voice, was firm yet gentle. He gazed into my eyes, making me the focus of his attention. He must have been one hell of a detective. I hardly knew this man, yet in his presence I felt protected from the evils of the world. I had to look away so he couldn’t see the tears that had sprung to my eyes. The last time I’d felt this way, I was ten and in my father’s arms—minutes before he took off on one of his long absences.
Al gestured to the doorway, where Sally was standing guard until seven thirty. “I see we have a good-sized audience tonight.”
“People are eager to find out what new information you’ve uncovered about the case,” I said.
“I’m glad Laura’s nearest and dearest are here. I want to hear what they have to say.”
Startled, I said, “You mean you’d like them to hear what you have to say.”
“That too.”
“Did you know they’d be coming?”
“Laura’s son Jared filled me in this afternoon.” I must have looked surprised, because he added, “We’ve kept in touch.”
“His older brother wanted us to cancel the program.” I felt drawn to this man and wanted to prepare him for possible hostile comments.
Al’s smile held amusement and irony. “Still, Ryan couldn’t resist showing up. Along with their lawyer, I see. The guy called last night to warn me I run the risk of being sued if, in the course of my presentation, I defame anyone’s character by falsely accusing him or her of having murdered Laura.”
“How odd. You’d think they’d want to know who killed her.”
“You’d think.”
“What did you tell the lawyer?” I asked.
“I hung up on him. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
Al turned on his iPad, and I headed for the refreshment table. Too late, I realized I should have asked how he liked his coffee. At least
I could bring him some cookies to munch on before the crowd descended and devoured them all. I selected a Linzer tart, a chocolate chip, and a blueberry yogurt cookie and carried the plate to his table. Al nodded his appreciation without looking up from his iPad.
“Coffee?” I asked.
“Black. Thanks.”
I brought him his coffee and then joined Sally. The sound of voices coming from the hall on the other side of the door was surprisingly loud. Sally put her hand to her temple as though she had a headache.
“Trish and Susan are out there on mob control. Keep the first row empty for the family. Bryce Foster and his two sons are here, along with their lawyer. Jared expects his uncle George will show up as well.” Sally lowered her voice. “Though he probably won’t sit with them. George Ruskin’s convinced Bryce killed Laura or had her killed.”
“The husband’s always Suspect Number One.”
Sally glared at me, her eyes bright with fury. “Watch what you say, Carrie. I’ve known Bryce Foster all my life. He’d never kill anyone, least of all the wife he adored.”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
She blinked as though she were emerging from a dark place. “Forgive me. This program is difficult for everyone who knows the Foster family. I’ll be happy the moment it’s over.”
When the minute hand on the clock above us moved to six, Sally opened the door. Men and women spilled into the room, making a mad dash for the chairs in the front. It took all my strength and effort to keep the first row free.
“You’re welcome to coffee and cookies, then please take your seats,” I shouted to be heard above the din. “The program will begin in ten minutes.”
Sally pointed to the four men walking toward me. The family entourage. Two were in their fifties. The two younger men—Laura’s sons—were in their late twenties, early thirties. Both were good-looking, with dark hair and eyes and nice, even features. I assumed the taller, scowling brother was Ryan.
“We’ve saved these seats for you,” I said.
“Thanks.” Jared flashed me a smile, which I returned.
“Much appreciated,” muttered one of the older men. His face was red, and the sweater he wore under his open jacket stretched across his bulging stomach. I figured he must be either Laura’s husband or her brother because the handsome, gray-haired man beside him wore a three-piece suit, announcing to one and all that he was the family lawyer, attending the program in his professional capacity.
A fifth man trailed after the others. He was tall and well built, like Laura’s sons, and looked dapper in a brown leather jacket and charcoal slacks that appeared to be expensive. He walked over to Jared and whispered in his ear. Jared said something to the red-faced man sitting next to him, whom I’d decided was his father, Bryce. Father and son exchanged animated whispers until Jared, Bryce, and the lawyer moved down a seat so George Ruskin could sit between his two nephews.
A woman in her fifties rushed over to the first row and, with various squeals and giggles, hugged each family member in turn. She was plump and attractive in a look-at-me sort of way. Her bleach-blonde hair framed her heart-shaped face most becomingly, and the purple scarf draped stylishly around her neck set off her green-and-purple outfit.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I told the family group, “but please help yourselves to coffee and cookies before we begin the program.”
I pointed to the line snaking past Al’s table as people made their way to the refreshments in the far corner of the room. Still chatting with one another, the Fosters joined the queue.
I glanced at the clock. It was seven thirty-eight. The line was almost as long as it had been five minutes ago. People were in socializing mode, as if they were attending a party. No way was this program getting under way in two minutes. My stomach quivered. I’d miscalculated. I had to tell Al there would be a delay. He’d probably timed his talk down to the minute and wouldn’t appreciate its being cut short.
But Al wasn’t at his table. The quivers turned into spasms. Where on earth could he be?
Frantically, I looked around the crowded room and gave a sigh of relief when I saw him, coffee cup in hand, talking to Jared a few feet from the refreshments table.
I hurried over to them. “Al, I’m afraid we’ll be starting a bit later than planned. I didn’t expect this part to take so long.”
He smiled. “Not to worry.” He gestured with the hand holding his coffee. “Jared, meet Carrie Singleton. Carrie, Jared Foster.”
Jared and I exchanged smiles again. This time we shook hands.
“Pleased to meet you, Carrie. And thanks for setting up this program. I can’t wait to hear what new evidence Al’s uncovered. I want my mother’s murderer put away, no matter how long it takes.”
“I can well imagine,” I said. “But I must admit, tonight’s program wasn’t my doing. I only took over this position last week.”
Trish appeared at my side. “Sally’s pissed,” she whispered in my ear. “She’s begun another line to the refreshments so we can get started ASAP.”
Sure enough, about fifteen people were following Sally across the back of the room. “Oh, no! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“My bad. I should have remembered we always form two lines when there’s a crowd like this.” Trish turned to leave and almost collided with Ryan Foster stomping toward us, his gaze fixed on Al.
“So what’s this new evidence you have, Buckley? Don’t you think you should bring it to the police instead of writing a book about it?”
“I talked to them,” Al said. “What they’ll do with it is another matter.”
Ryan’s expression grew angrier with every word. “What’s your big find? Something you overlooked fifteen years ago?”
The air crackled with hostility.
“I admit I made mistakes during the investigation,” Al said. “I regret it every day.”
“Mistakes! You screwed up royally.”
Jared put a hand on his brother’s arm. “Chill out, Ryan. You gave your word you wouldn’t make a scene.”
Ryan shrugged free. “He’s just playing with us, aren’t you, Buckley? You’re bored, with nothing to do, so you pretend you’ve found our mother’s murderer.”
Any minute now, Ryan was going to take a swing at Al. I had to do something.
“That’s enough!” I was amazed at how assertive and calm I sounded. “Our program’s about to begin.” I cleared my throat. “Our program’s about to begin,” I shouted so everyone could hear. “Please take your seats.”
Thank goodness the audience took heed and began to settle down. Those still in line grabbed a cookie or two and returned to their seats. Jared shot me a look of gratitude. Al was halfway to his table. I hurried after him, mentally running through what I’d planned to say in my introduction.
I told the audience about Al’s work in the police department, something most of them already knew, then took the last seat in the first row as he started his lecture. He described his role as the detective in charge of the investigation into the death of Laura Foster. He explained that Laura had been alone in the house that night because Bryce had gone to a meeting and the boys were out—Ryan visiting a friend and Jared at basketball practice.
He walked over to the easel, which held a large diagram of the floor plan of the Foster home. “There was no sign of a break-in, which means Laura probably knew her killer.”
“We know all this. Where’s your new evidence?” Ryan called out.
“All in good time.” Al sipped his coffee, then ate the Linzer tart I’d brought him earlier.
Like everyone else in the room, I watched him chew as I waited to hear what he’d say next.
“Many of you here knew Laura as a friend or neighbor, a member of the civic association, or a library aide. Before I talk about the evidence I’ve uncovered, I’m asking those of you who knew Laura to share your memories about her.” He paused. “Especially those memories that are yours alone.”
Murmurs coursed through the
audience as couples and friends turned to one another. Al finished off the chocolate chip cookie in two bites. Two cookies remained. Interesting. I’d placed three cookies on his plate. I supposed he’d brought another one over from the refreshment table.
As he lifted the blueberry yogurt cookie to his mouth, I noticed the remaining cookie was dark brown. Chocolate! No wonder. Al was probably a chocolate freak. Someone must have brought it, because I didn’t remember buying any chocolate cookies.
Silence reigned. I nearly sighed with relief when Sally began to speak.
“Laura was a valued aide here at the library. She was warm and friendly to patrons and put everything she had into the job. Once, she spent an entire hour researching an obscure fact for someone. That was the Laura Foster I knew.”
“Thank you, Sally.” Al chomped on the last of his blueberry yogurt cookie. “Anyone else?” He grinned, looking mischievous. “Anyone remember Laura doing something out of character? Something completely un-Laura-like? Did she hate anything? Or anyone?”
Ryan leaped to his feet. “This is pathetic. A thief murdered my mother.”
“Is that so?” Al asked calmly.
“Yeah!” Ryan answered. “Her antique peacock pin was stolen, along with her favorite gold bracelet. Or have you forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Al downed the last of his coffee. “We always knew robbery was a possible motive, though no other jewelry was taken.” He bit into the chocolate cookie. “Was Laura really as perfect as everyone claims?”
Bryce’s red face turned redder. Laura’s brother, George, started to rise and then sat again.
“Does anyone know something Laura did that was less than ideal?” Al asked.
“She hated ironing,” Jared said.
A rumble of laughter spread through the audience.
“Laura told me something important,” said the bleach-blonde woman sitting with the family in the first row. “I feel bad about betraying her confidence, even after all these years.”
“Now’s the time to speak up,” Al said, “so we can get to the truth of the matter. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”
Death Overdue Page 3
