by Molly Macrae
Janet nodded in sympathy. “I met a few like that at my library. They put a strain on one’s ability to smile, don’t they?”
“If I’d only known Kenneth was still in town.”
“But from what you said the other day—something about close to home not working for various reasons—and from Kenneth’s reaction, I assumed it wasn’t his idea to step down from the committee.”
“It most certainly was,” Sharon said, pulling back. “Kenneth told me so himself. He said they’d sold the business and he was on his way. That’s why I was surprised to see him in the shop.”
From the way Sharon huffed at her remarks, Janet was afraid she’d strained the other woman’s ability to breathe normally. Janet wasn’t ready to let it go, though. “That’s funny. I was sure Pamela told me the same thing—that he was hurt when he was dropped from the committee. I must have been mistaken.”
“My mistake was in making that comment in public.”
“What did you mean by it?” Janet felt pressure on her right foot and realized Tallie was stepping on it. But did she mean for Janet to stop asking questions, or that she should keep asking and apply more pressure?
“He didn’t need to hear it,” Sharon said. “That’s all I meant.”
Janet decided to press. “But you said close to home hadn’t worked for various reasons. What were they? There must have been something behind your comment. And you thought he was threatening you.” This time Tallie’s message came through sharp and clear with a kick to Janet’s ankle. “But now I’m prying. I’m sorry— Oh, hello.”
Tallie’s ankle message might have had a dual meaning. Ian Atkinson lounged in the doorway.
19
Janet wondered how many of her prying questions and Sharon’s testy answers Ian Atkinson had overheard. His doorway pose— right shoulder against the jamb, right ankle crossed over left, hands in pockets, a quietly humorous look on his face—might have been copied from a male model. Or is he really that smooth? she wondered. He came into the room and as he passed behind Sharon, his foot caught a leg of her chair and he stumbled, answering Janet’s question.
“Ian,” Sharon said. “Nice that you could join us.”
“Always my pleasure,” he said. “And how absolutely brilliant to find not one, but two more lovely ladies in the room.”
He stood with his hands on the back of the chair next to Sharon’s, in what looked to Janet like another studied pose. The humorous look was back in place after having tripped with the rest of him over the chair leg. He was taller and younger than he looked in his author pictures. An interesting accomplishment, Janet thought. In her experience, authors went on using publicity shots long past the photos’ sell-by dates. From the pictures on Ian’s book jackets, she’d assumed he was fifty, give or take a few years, but standing in front of her he looked closer to Tallie’s late thirties. His dark hair, slicked behind his ears, touched the back of his collar. Was he trying to look like a rock star? Maybe, but it tickled her to think that instead he looked more like a selkie. She swallowed the urge to laugh and felt another tap on her ankle from Tallie. Apparently she’d missed something.
“Janet and Sally are the new owners of Yon Bonnie Books,” Sharon said.
“It’s Tallie, actually. We’re both pleased to be on the committee.”
“I don’t doubt it. And I’ll refrain from stating the obvious, but I find the increasing internationalism of our corner of the world refreshing.” He sat down and planted his elbows on the table, knitting his fingers together. “Welcome to our wee village, as we like to say.”
“Ian’s from Slough, just outside London,” Sharon said. “He’s picking up the local accent fairly well, though.”
“I can do John Wayne, too, little lady.”
“So amusing,” Sharon said.
“Una always thought so.”
“Una was under the mistaken impression she had the talent and only needed a nationality transplant in order to write the great American novel.” Sharon stood abruptly. “I left my lunch in my office.” She walked stiffly from the room.
“I’ve been told I have the comic timing of a pathologist,” Ian said. “It’s more of a problem when I’m under the gun with a deadline.”
“Stress and grief affect us all in different ways.” Janet said.
“Stress, grief, ennui, gas.” He smoothed the hair over his ears with the palms of his hands. “It’s terrible.”
“Sorry?” Janet said.
“It’s terrible being so rude. I never seem to get it right with that woman. Una and I got on better. We were compadres. She had literary pretentions and she thought I was a literary snob, but only because I told her I never talk about my work in progress. Not the best basis for a friendship, but she understood the pressure of pent-up ideas and words.” He circled his fingertips on his temples, staring at the table.
Thinking about Una, Janet wondered, or easing the pent-up pressure? Whatever goal he’d set for his mini-massage, he met it quickly.
“But enough about me,” he said, looking at them and smoothing his hair over his ears again. “I might have heard something about you. I wonder what.” He didn’t wonder long, though, and looked away again, missing Janet’s mouth opening to tell him they were his neighbors. “I spend most of my time manacled to my keyboard. Not literally, but as good as. I don’t get out much. And to be honest, the few times I set foot in Yon Bonnie Books, I didn’t feel the love, as they say. I hope that will change with the new management.” He smiled at them again—more correctly, he smiled at Tallie. Then he threw himself back in his chair and sighed toward the ceiling. “But that’s another terrible thing about me, you’ll find. I rarely buy books these days, and I rarely read. I haven’t the time.”
“I hope you’re at least making time to read the contest entries, Ian.” Sharon returned with two file folders and sat at the head of the table, leaving Ian alone on the side opposite the Marsh women. She’d apparently forgotten her lunch again.
“I’m making an incredibly noble effort,” he said.
“We all feel blessed, then. Now, I promised to keep this meeting short. With that end in mind, why don’t we forgo lunch and get right to the meat.”
“If my nose doesn’t deceive me, they brought the meat with them,” Ian said. “Pasties?”
“Bridies from Paudel’s,” Tallie said.
“Do you recommend them? Wait—I’ve seen you somewhere. How is that possible?”
“You live in this town,” Sharon said. “She lives in this town. People see each other.”
“Yes, bravo,” said Ian. “Brilliant detective work. You should write crime novels. Or try your hand at an ultra-short mystery in that benighted poetry form you’re so fond of, Skye-ku.”
“Tcha.” Sharon snatched up the file folders. “Come to order.”
But Janet, much as she wanted the meeting to start and get over with, couldn’t resist jumping in and answering Ian’s question herself. “It was the night of the murder,” she said.
A split second later, Sharon brought the file folders down fast and hard, so that their edges hit the table with a sharp smack.
“The crack of the librarian’s whip,” Ian said. “A good title for a certain type of book.” He spoke to the table, though, without a smirk or smile, and no sign he’d heard Janet.
Sharon made no comment, either, and the meeting got under way. To Janet’s surprise, it ran as smoothly and quickly as Sharon had promised, perhaps because Sharon had snapped herself into line with her librarian’s whip as much as she had Ian. She explained the rubric for scoring the entries, passing each of them a folder with ready-made scoring sheets. She thanked Janet and Tallie for stepping into the void created by the sad death of a valued member of the community. She wiped an eye.
“You’re on your own at this point,” Sharon said. “Read, enjoy, score, and we’ll meet again in two weeks. Questions?”
Janet fought the urge to raise her hand. “I’m adding my thanks to Talli
e’s. We’re honored to be on this committee and part of the literary festival. I have one question, if you don’t mind, although it’s possibly not pertinent.”
“By all means,” Sharon said.
“I love impertinence,” Ian murmured.
“You’ve had previous meetings?”
Ian looked at Sharon. “Two?”
“Three,” Sharon said.
“But you’ve just now handed out the rubric. What did you cover in the other meetings?”
“Nothing that couldn’t have been covered in one quick meeting, but that was impossible to achieve, for various reasons. Thank you all for coming. Jill, it was a pleasure to meet you. We’ll meet back here in two weeks.”
After Sharon had gone, Janet turned to Tallie. “Tell me, Jill,” she said, “do you think the phrase ‘various reasons’ is a generalization or a euphemism? Whatever it is, she seems overly fond of it.”
“Do we actually know your name?” Ian asked Tallie as the three left the staff area and walked down a short hall to the public area of the library.
“Tallie. A nickname for Natalie.”
“That’s not so difficult. But as your mother said, stress and grief play tricks with our minds. It’s nice to meet you, Tallie.” He maneuvered so he could take her hand, effectively leaving Janet to walk behind them.
“What did you cover in those earlier meetings?” Janet asked with extra oomph to be heard through Ian Atkinson’s rude back.
Tallie stopped beside a rack of DVDs, positioning herself so Janet would be between her and Ian.
“You must be a glutton for meetings,” he said. “Logistics, for the most part. I’m sure Sharon thinks I wasn’t paying attention. And who knows, maybe I wasn’t. But from what I do remember, she explained the database for tracking entries, went over the rules entrants were meant to follow, and the definitions of the categories they submitted to. If that’s the sum total of what we covered in not two, but three meetings, then she’s right. We could have done it all in one go. Mea culpa. Do people understand mea culpa in America?”
“Mostly we just yell yee-haw and go about our business,” Tallie said, “because we’re all, like, carpe diem.”
“You’re awfully jolly, Ms. Tallie. Would you like to come see my bothy sometime?” Now he was talking over the top of Janet’s head, and she expected him to make himself comfortable by leaning his elbow on it at any moment.
“I say, Ian,” she said, making her accent as flat as central Illinois. “Do you remember the night Una was murdered?” She’d thought that might get him to make eye contact with her. She’d been right. But she hadn’t expected the rest of his reaction.
He grabbed her elbow. And because he caught her by surprise, he was able to pull her and she stumbled along with him the few yards back down the hall toward the staff entrance. He stopped at the door and she ended up backed into the corner with him looming over her.
Until Tallie came up behind him, aimed the sole of her shoe for below the back of his knee, placed it, and pushed. Just hard enough.
Ian didn’t go all the way to the floor, and as he started to collapse in one direction, Janet slid away from him in the other. She joined Tallie, so that when Ian recovered his balance and turned around, he faced the combined censure of the Marsh women. The episode was over in a matter of seconds with little commotion.
“Don’t move,” Janet said, holding her phone up. “Speed dial.”
“I actually think I’m all right—” Ian touched his forehead where it had met the wall.
“And speed foot,” Tallie said, raising hers. “Don’t move.”
“That was you? I thought I’d had sudden cramp. Or a stroke.” He looked at her, head cocked. “One gentle shove?”
“Next time you’ll think a mule kicked you.”
“No, no, no. What you did was fantastic. Effective as a kick, but not as debilitating. Genteel and gutsy, just like my protag’s lady friend, and perfect for a spot she gets into further along in the new book. It’ll be brilliant.”
Neither Tallie nor Janet joined him in rejoicing.
“You’re angry,” he said.
“Shush. You’re in a library.” Janet, eyebrows drawn and index finger to her lips, was the perfect picture of a librarian rampant.
“And are you really that clueless?” Tallie asked. “The whole world thinks you’re a genius, but right now, you’re coming across as a total idiot. You accosted my mother. In a library.”
“Is that going to be your refrain? ‘In a library’?’”
Both women put their fingers to their lips.
“Yes, yes, all right. I’ll whisper. We’ll carry on our heated discussion, in a whisper, in a library.”
“We aren’t having a discussion,” Janet whispered. “I asked you a simple question and you dragged me into a corner. Why?”
“Which puts us right back where we started. Why are you so interested in the night Una died? What exactly do you know about it?” He started to loom again, and Janet raised her phone. He took a step back and sank his hands in his pockets, his shoulder against the wall. But the look didn’t come together as well as it had when he’d used it in the doorway of the meeting room. Between keeping a wary eye on Janet’s phone and Tallie’s foot, he looked more nervous than smooth or casual.
“Tell us why we shouldn’t call the police,” Tallie whispered.
“Norman says he’s been helping the specialists. Acting as a consultant,” Janet whispered to Tallie without taking her eyes from Ian. “Was that your attempt to interrogate me?” she asked him. “Because I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Apprise me of it.”
“Mom?” Tallie nudged Janet.
“It’s all right,” Janet whispered. “He obviously doesn’t realize we’re his neighbors.”
“Mom.”
“We have a vested interest in everything that happened that night,” Janet whispered to Ian, “because it happened in our shed. So our question is, what do you know about it?”
“That’s why I recognize you,” Ian said, no longer whispering. I saw you standing on the deck behind the house next door. I haven’t seen you much since, though.”
“We haven’t moved in yet.”
“No? Well, this must be one of the odder ways to meet new neighbors. So sorry if I frightened you earlier.” He put his hand on Janet’s shoulder, and she slipped her phone into her purse. “You’re right. That was my heavy-handed attempt to elicit information. Una and I had our differences, but her death hit very hard. And the problem with real life, in comparison to writing fiction, is that I can’t edit my own actions. I find myself saying mea culpa far too often.”
Janet expected a response from Tallie. If not a restrained “Yee-haw,” at least a grudging “Hmm.” But Tallie had already walked away.
“Meeting adjourned, apparently,” Ian said. “See you around, neighbor.”
Janet caught up with Tallie at a computer near the circulation desk, where she was filling out a membership application.
“Fill it out online,” Tallie said, “and pick up your card at the desk.”
“Or renew the old one. I kept mine. What’s bothering you about the way that ended with Ian?”
Tallie looked past Janet toward the circulation desk, and Janet turned to see what attracted her attention. Ian Atkinson was there talking to a young woman.
“Mom, I really don’t mean to criticize, but it wouldn’t hurt for you to bone up on how to ask questions. How to avoid asking leading questions, especially.”
“Is that what I did?”
“Yeah, it kind of is. Well, not even kind of. You did.”
“And you tried to warn me. Bugger.” Janet looked around guiltily.
“It’s possible he’d have given the same answers anyway. But you did feed them to him. On the other hand, if he was lying, now he’ll think you’re gullible, so he’ll be off his guard.”
“An accidental ploy, but a good one.” Janet kissed her daughter
’s cheek. “Thank you, darling. You have a gift for turning—”
“Honey into mead?”
“I was going to say cow flops into flowers, but your way is kinder. He’s over there chatting up that young woman, so on my way to get my library card I’ll walk past and put him even more off guard by flashing a warm, friendly, deceptive good-neighbor smile.”
“I’ll flash with you,” Tallie said. “For this to work, we can’t play the neighbor version of good cop-bad cop. We need to be good neighbor-good neighbor. I still want to kick him, though.”
“Keep your foot handy, then. You’ll feel better.”
They performed their smile-by of Ian on their way to the circulation desk. As Tallie finished the process of registering for membership, the young woman who’d been talking with Ian approached Janet. She looked to be in her mid- to late twenties and sure of herself. She wore her baby-fine red hair piled loosely on top of her head so that wisps floated around her face. The wisps did nothing to soften the look in her eyes.
“You’re Janet Marsh?”
“Yes, and you?”
“My husband and I used to live in your house.”
“Oh, how nice to meet you. You’re Lauren Pollard—”
“Not nice at all.”
“I beg your—”
“I wish we’d never set foot in your house.”
Janet was mortified. The young woman didn’t shout, but her vehemence made her hiss.
“My life became a hell,” she said, “and I hope that bisom who made it so has gone there as well.”
20
Ian Atkinson came to the rescue, bundling Lauren Pollard out the door, but not before she hissed one more time at Janet, telling her that Una had tried to ruin her marriage by seducing her husband.
Janet let Tallie put her arms around her. “I’m so tired of people having fits and meltdowns around me,” she said. “I didn’t seduce her husband, for heaven’s sake. And to blame it on the poor house? Thank goodness Ian was still here.”
