by Alice Duncan
"I love his books!"
"Good. Here we have The Wicked Marquis. It was published in 1919, but it still holds up today."
As 1919 was only five years prior, I imagined it did. "Thank you."
"And this is Jacob's Ladder, also by Mr. Oppenheim. I think you'll enjoy the tale of Mr. Jacob Pratt. He does have his ups and downs." Miss Petrie giggled again. I think the presence of the large, looming figure of Sam Rotondo by my side intimidated her. I'd never heard her giggle twice in one visit before. I didn't fault her for feeling daunted. Sam loomed rather like a gigantic, unhappy granite obelisk when one first met him.
I said, "Thank you," again, feeling positively joyful.
"But the best is yet to come," said Miss Petrie, her eyes sparkling behind her spectacles. As I've already said, it's long been my belief that she could be quite a pretty woman if she did something with her hair and used a little makeup. Not that it was any of my business. "Here we have The House Without a Key, by Mr. Earl Derr Biggers. I think you'll love his detective, Charlie Chan."
"Charlie Chan?" said Sam incredulously.
"Yes. He's a Chinese detective in Hawaii. And I do believe I read somewhere that Mr. Biggers is planning a move to Pasadena!"
"Goodness. Thank you!" I said in hope of preventing more comments from Sam.
I needn't have bothered. At that very second, an earsplitting shriek pierced the silence of the library. I dropped my pile of books. Fortunately, they landed on Miss Petrie's desk. Another scream followed the first one, and then we heard loud sobs coming from the biography section of the library stacks.
Miss Petrie leaped to her feet, and she and I ran toward where the commotion had emanated.
Sam bellowed, "Wait!"
Naturally, we didn't. I heard him thumping after us, and I could tell he was angry by the loudness his cane made when it hit the floor. His feet weren't terribly quiet, either. Sam was a big man.
"Whatever happened?" Miss Petrie whispered.
"I don't know."
We reached the biography section, and we both stopped in our tracks. There, before us on the formerly pristine library floor, lay the body of a woman, face-down in a pool of blood. Another woman with her hands pressed to her cheeks stood, trembling, beside the body. I presumed she was the shrieker.
"Good heavens, what could have happened?" Miss Petrie said in a hushed voice.
"I don't know," said I, likewise quietly. "She couldn't have been croaked with a gat, or we'd have heard the shot."
From behind me I heard a disgusted, "'Croaked with a gat?' Is that what all your reading has taught you?" Sam. Angry, unless I missed my guess.
And then I saw an old school fellow of mine, Mr. Robert Browning—not the poet—swing around the end of the biography stack, a bloody knife in his hand. He stopped dead when he saw the body on the floor, and his mouth fell open.
"Robert!" I cried, appalled. The last person in the entire universe I could imagine killing anyone was Robert Browning. Well, except me and a couple of other folks I knew.
"Wh-what happened?" he asked, sounding and looking dumbfounded. "Good God, is that a dead woman?"
"We don't know yet," growled Sam, pushing Miss Petrie and me aside so he could get to the body. He knelt beside her, even though I knew doing so would hurt his leg. He pressed a finger to where the pulse in her neck would be if she were alive. Then he picked up a hand and felt for a pulse there. Turning to Miss Petrie and me, he snarled, "Call the cops and an ambulance. Now." He got painfully to his feet. "And you," he said to Robert. "What the hell are you doing with that knife?"
"I-I found it on the other side of this row of books. It looked... out of place. I don't know why I picked it up, but when I heard the screams, I ran over here." He looked from Sam to me and back again. "I didn't do anything! I just found the knife."
"And picked it up." Turning to Miss Petrie and me again, Sam said, "Well, get going!"
So we got going.
Chapter 2
After Miss Petrie and I had fulfilled our duty as citizens and called for the police and an ambulance, we both hurried back to the scene of the crime. It had to be a crime, didn't it? People didn't just fall down dead in the biography section of a library in a conveniently handy pool of blood, did they? Then there was that bloody knife Robert Browning had held.
I suppose we should have expected that everyone in the library that day would gather around the dead woman. Poor Sam had his hands full shooing folks away.
"Step back, all of you!" he hollered. Spotting Miss Petrie and me, he said, "Can the two of you stand at each end of this aisle and keep people out? And hold that man there." He pointed to Robert.
"I-I didn't do anything," stammered Robert.
"I don't care. I have to talk to you," growled Sam. He could be a formidable man, could Sam Rotondo.
Carefully, Robert set the knife on a library shelf and stood there, looking helpless. I shooed Miss Petrie to his end of the stacks, and I took my place at the other end. Folks tried to push past me to see, but I ordered them to stay still. Oddly enough, they obeyed me. I suspect the imposing form of Sam had something to do with their compliance.
Not long after we'd called them, three uniformed policemen showed up. I remembered one of them from other occasions. His last name was Doan. Don't know what his first name was.
"What happened here?" demanded an officer who wasn't Doan.
"Somebody stabbed this woman," came Sam's gruff voice. Using a shelf as a lever, he heaved himself to his feet with an audible grunt of pain.
I noticed his cane a few feet in front of him and grabbed Officer Doan's uniform sleeve. I nodded at the cane and Doan, clever devil that he was, picked up the cane and handed it to Sam, who grabbed it most ungraciously. Doan didn't seem to mind. I guess once you knew Sam, you knew how he reacted to things like being forced to use a cane and limp and so forth.
"No one leaves this library until I say so," commanded Sam.
Mumbles from the sparse crowd burbled up. Good thing it wasn't a weekend when all the school children in Pasadena would be in the library studying for various tests, researching for reports and writing essays.
"Take everyone's names and addresses," said Sam.
Another officer who wasn't Doan had already begun to do so, leading me to believe these fellows knew their jobs.
Sam glared at me. "Do you know who this woman is?" He gestured for me to move a bit closer. The officer recording names and addresses took my place at my end of the stack.
"I-I can't see her face," I said, feeling the least little bit sick.
"Well, dammit, look, will you?"
"You don't need to swear at me, Sam Rotondo."
Naturally, Sam rolled his eyes. In spite of him, I moved closer to the body and knelt beside the fallen woman, steering clear of the blood puddle.
I gasped loudly. "Oh, my heavens, it's Miss Carleton!"
Miss Petrie uttered her own gasp. "No!" cried she.
"Who's Miss Carleton?" asked Sam.
"I don't know her first name. She was a librarian here. Maybe she still is." I glanced up at Miss Petrie. "Does she still work here?"
"No," said Miss Petrie, her hands plastered to her pallid cheeks. "She left when she was accepted for a library position at Throop Institute. I mean the California Institute of Technology."
She staggered a step, and Robert Browning laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, and I couldn't tell if she was grateful for his support or appalled that he might have murdered a former colleague of hers. Why in the world had he been holding that bloody knife?
Glaring at the bunch of people at Doan's end of the stack, Sam said, "Did anyone see a person hurrying out of the library?"
Various shakes of heads and murmurs of "No" came from the crowd.
"And you people?" He said, addressing Miss Petrie's end of the aisle. "Did you see anyone leaving the library? Whoever it was might not have been hurrying."
More shakes of more heads and more mur
murs of "No" came from that end, too.
"Do any of you know this Miss Carleton?"
One man said haltingly, "I-I knew her from when she worked here. She helped me find a book about automobile mechanics. But that was a few years ago. I haven't seen her since."
"What about you?" Sam asked me.
"Well, I knew her slightly when she worked here, but I haven't seen her since she left."
"And you?" he demanded of Miss Petrie.
"We worked together for about a year. Then she left, and we haven't kept up our acquaintanceship."
"Why was that?"
"Why? I-I don't know. We were never particularly close or anything. We only worked together. Not that we didn't like each other. It's just..." Her voice trailed off.
"Huh." Sam turned to his copper friends. "Lock the library doors and don't let anyone in or out. Then continue collecting everyone's particulars. We'll have to question them all individually. Why are they here? When did they arrive? You know what to do."
All three officers nodded and herded their personal small groups of people off to be interviewed.
More library staff had showed up at the periphery of the two groups of patrons. I pointed them out to Sam. "Some of those people work here."
"Huh. Everyone who works here stay right where you are. I'll interview you individually."
A couple of librarians (or maybe they were library clerks) uttered unintelligible syllables expressing dismay. One of them asked, "Who is that on the floor?"
No one answered her.
"And you," Sam said, pointing at Robert Browning. "Don't go anywhere. I need to talk to you."
"You can't think Robert did this!" I cried. I know I was in the library, but that point who cared?
"I don't think anything at the moment," growled Sam. "Come here, Browning." He turned to Doan. "Pick up that knife with a paper or something and take it to the department to get any prints from it."
"Yes, sir," said Doan, saluting. Golly, I didn't know folks actually saluted Sam. I was impressed. Robert stepped hesitantly closer to Sam, pointedly ignoring the body on the floor.
"Good. Miss Petrie, you and Daisy, please go to your desk. Browning, you can go with them for now, but don't leave the library."
"Yes, sir," said Robert. His face was kind of ashen. I'd read about this phenomenon in books, but had never seen it for myself until then.
"Come along with me, Robert. I'll introduce you to Miss Petrie, and you can tell us why you're in the library today."
"It wasn't to kill anybody," said Robert, grumbling slightly.
"I know that."
"My goodness, I can't believe someone was murdered in the library," whispered Miss Petrie. There was no need for her to whisper by that time, but I guess she was used to it. "And Miss Carleton! I just can't believe it."
When we got to Miss Petrie's desk, Robert pulled up a couple of those heavy library chairs, and he waited until Miss Petrie and I were seated before he sat, too. A true gentleman, Robert Browning.
"Miss Petrie, please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Robert Browning. Robert, Miss Petrie."
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Petrie, even under these unfortunate circumstances."
"It's nice to meet you, too," said Miss Petrie, holding out her hand for him to shake, which he did. I noticed her cheeks were a little pinkish. The blush became her, and again I thought she could be quite pretty if she took more care with her clothing and makeup. Not that it was any of my business. However, if you believed Sam and my father, that's never stopped me yet.
"Robert works at the Underhill Chemical Company, Miss Petrie."
"Oh. Are you a scientist, Mr. Browning?" she asked.
"Yes, actually, I am, although I'm now co-managing the company under the company's founder's son, Mr. Barrett Underhill."
"I see."
"I didn't know you were a scientist, Robert!" I said, surprised. "I thought you always worked in the offices there."
He smiled at me. "Well, I do work in the offices, but I earned my graduate degree in chemistry at the University of California at Los Angeles. Formerly known as the Los Angeles Normal School."
"I read about the change of name and location, Mr. Browning," said Miss Petrie.
"Chemistry!" I gaped at Robert. "My world, I could barely get through algebra. When I tried to take chemistry and they started talking to me about valances, all I could think of were kitchen curtains. I don't understand it at all. So I dropped out of chemistry and took Spanish instead. That was much easier."
Robert chuckled. "For you, maybe. I've always had a scientific leaning. Couldn't learn Spanish if you paid me."
"I thought mathematics and language skills often went together," said Miss Petrie.
"Not in me, they didn't," Robert and I said together. Then we grinned at each other.
"I must admit I've always been drawn to literary works," said Miss Petrie as if she were a failure somehow.
"And I, for one, am glad you are," I told her. "I don't know what I'd do without you." I turned to Robert. "Miss Petrie picks out all the best books for my family and me to read. She's a wizard at her job."
"Are you now?" Robert smiled at Miss Petrie, whose blush got a little deeper. Yup. She was prettier when her cheeks were pink.
"Speaking of books, why were you here today, Robert?"
He shrugged. "I had to take a late lunch, and I figured I'd come to the library and pick out a couple of biographies. I enjoy reading biographies."
"Were you looking for a biography of anyone in particular?" asked Miss Petrie, her librarian face back in place.
With another shrug, Robert said, "Not really. I... Well, I just wanted something to read in the evenings after work. It gets kind of lonely at home. Not that I should complain," he added with a small smile.
Oh, dear. Poor Robert. He'd lost the love of his life, Miss Elizabeth Winslow, about two years prior. I guess he still had a difficult time coping. I understood completely.
"I can recommend some good biographies for you," said Miss Petrie in her bright librarian's voice.
"Could you? I'd appreciate that. I never quite know what I'm looking for when it comes to books."
"Miss Petrie does," said I. "She always picks out the very best mysteries and detective stories for my family and me. Well, and western novels for my father."
"And don't forget Tarzan," said Miss Petrie.
"Who could forget Tarzan?" asked Robert, laughing a little. I was pleased to see his sad expression ease.
"Indeed," said I. I glanced at the biography section, where police work was still going on. I noticed someone had fastened a string at the near end of the particular aisle where poor Miss Carleton had met her end, and I suspected the police had tied another string at the other end. Glancing around, I saw policemen interviewing people. "But I guess you can't get any biographies today." I shuddered slightly.
"No. I expect not," said Robert, sad-faced once more.
"Oh, dear," said Miss Petrie. "I can't imagine who would want to kill Miss Carleton."
"Miss Carleton?" said Robert, sounding surprised.
"Yes," said Miss Petrie. "Miss Mary Carleton."
"Good Lord," whispered Robert.
"Did you know her?" I asked him.
"Er, yes. Yes, I did. She was a dear friend of Elizabeth's. I can't imagine why anyone would want to harm her."
"Maybe it had something to do with her job at the Institute," I said musingly.
"Perhaps," said Miss Petrie doubtfully.
"And you won't go snooping around the university, Daisy Gumm Majesty."
I jumped at the sound of Sam's voice. Turning to look up at him, I said, miffed, "I wasn't going to snoop around."
"Huh." He glared at Robert Browning. "All right, Browning, you come with me."
The two men walked off to another corner of the library, where Sam had Robert sit and started questioning him; none too gently, if I were to judge.
"Poor man," said Miss Petrie.
&
nbsp; "Indeed. He's a very nice young man, too. I know he had nothing to do with Miss Carleton's death."
"It would be hard to imagine such a thing."
"Say, Miss Petrie, this probably sounds stupid, but I didn't know Cal Tech had a library."
"Oh, my, yes. The Millikan Library, named after Robert Andrews Millikan. He's a physicist."
"Physics sounds almost as deadly as chemistry," I muttered.
Miss Petrie laughed softly. I noticed her gaze had strayed to where Sam Rotondo and Robert Browning sat. "Dr. Millikan won the Nobel Prize in physics in 1923."
"Merciful heavens. He must be brilliant."
"I'm sure he is." She cleared her throat. "Mr. Browning seems like a nice man."
"Oh, he is. He and Billy graduated from high school together, but he must have gone on to college and university."
"An intelligent man."
"Indeed. And a nice one." I figured what the heck and went with the sympathy angle. "The poor fellow lost his fiancée two years ago to influenza. It turned into pneumonia, and the folks at the Castleton couldn't save her. He's had a hard time coming to grips with her loss."
"I'm so sorry."
"I'm sure you could help him if you can find him some good books to read."
Miss Petrie patted her hair, which was, as ever, pinned in a tight little knot on the top of her head. "I can certainly help him find reading material." She sounded a bit melancholy.
"Um... Miss Petrie, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
She blinked at me but said, "Not at all. What is it?"
"Do you live alone? Or do you live with your family?"
"I don't have much family left," said she. "My mother and I shared a sweet little bungalow in a row of courts on South El Molino Avenue. She died two years ago, and I live there alone now. And no, I don't have cats," she added bitterly. "I swear, Mrs. Majesty, it seems as if the whole world thinks all spinster ladies have cats."
"Do you like being a spinster?" Good heavens. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me."
"No, it wasn’t. I wouldn't mind finding a good man, but there seem to be precious few of those around these days."
"True. Thanks to the war and ’flu, there are lots fewer men for women to marry than there used to be."
