Bookmarked For Death (Berkley Prime Crime Mysteries)

by Lorna Barrett

  "I know she didn't go to jail." That confirmed what Frannie had said. "As far as I know, she had never been in trouble before that. And her niece had just come to live with her. I believe the girl had no other relatives."

  "Did you ever read Zoe's books?"

  The older woman shivered and crossed her arms across her chest, warding off the cold. "I took the first one out of the library. I was surprised it was so good. I wasn't expecting it to even be readable."

  "Why?"

  "Because she wrote it. It was actually interesting. The characters were believable. Look at her house. Would you think someone that talented would live in such an uninteresting house?"

  No. Tricia thought about Zoe, sitting at the table in Haven't Got a Clue. She'd been dressed in a plain white blouse, a black skirt, and black pumps. She'd worn no makeup or flashy jewelry, and her short salt-and-pepper hair, cut to frame her face, would never be called stylish. But just because the outside package was unexciting didn't mean the woman couldn't have lived a vicarious life of adventure through her characters.

  "Zoe wasn't a native of Stoneham, you know," Gladys offered, disapprovingly.

  "No, I didn't."

  "She came from some little town in New York," the woman said, as though that was somehow despicable. What would she say if Tricia admitted she was originally from Greenwich, Connecticut?

  Tricia decided she'd have to make nice with Kimberly and get inside that house, see where Zoe had created her much-loved characters Jess and Addie Martin. Then again, many a famous author had decided that staring at a blank wall--and piece of paper or computer screen--was far less distracting to the creative mind than a fascinating vista or seascape.

  Tricia changed the subject. "Do you know Zoe's niece, Kimberly?"

  Gladys pursed her lips. "She was a mouthy teenager. I was glad when she went off to college. At least I had peace during the school year."

  "I understand Zoe lived most of her time down south."

  "For the last couple of years, yes. I wasn't surprised when the for sale sign went up the other day."

  "Why now? She must've made a fortune on her books. Why do you think she didn't take this step before now?"

  The old lady shook her head. "As I said, we weren't friends. You'll have to ask her niece that. As far as I know, she's the only one in town that Zoe ever trucked with." The old woman took a step back, allowing the door to almost close. "Oprah will be on soon. I really have to go." And with that she closed the door, leaving Tricia standing on the cold concrete step, staring at Gladys's welcome wreath and feeling anything but.

  Few residents answered her knocks as she visited the rest of the homes along Pine Avenue. One angry goose charged at her, hissing and flapping its wings, when she tried to walk up one driveway, and Tricia had to abandon her task. By late afternoon, she was chilled and had little left in the way of stamina. Still, she had a few more places to look for the facts concerning Zoe's background, and she did not want to return to the Cookery to face Angelica--or worse, the wrath of her two employees, who were little more than indentured servants until Haven't Got a Clue could reopen. A call to the sheriff's office had not rewarded her with good news. Sheriff Adams was not available. Her message would be relayed. Thank you, and have a nice day.

  Not!

  It was nearly five when Tricia pulled into the Stoneham library's parking lot, which was nearly full. The library had once been in a quaint little Cape Cod house, but with the explosion of new tax revenue from the revitalization of Main Street, the village had built a new library--complete with retention pond for containing storm water runoff-- only eighteen months before. The concrete walks and beautiful landscaping would have welcomed her as she stepped out of her car, except, like most of the rest of the village, the library hadn't escaped the onslaught of the Canada geese, who had left their messy calling cards.

  Sidestepping the droppings, Tricia entered the lowslung brick building and strode up to the front desk to ask the woman behind a computer terminal if she could speak to the head librarian. She disappeared behind a wall festooned with posters encouraging one and all to read and returned a minute later with an older, bespectacled, grayhaired woman in a drab brown woolen skirt and a crisp white blouse.

  Lois Kerr looked as stern as any head librarian Tricia had ever met--until she smiled; then her expressive eyes hinted at the warmth of her personality.

  Tricia held out her hand. "Hello, my name is Tricia Miles. I own the mystery bookstore in the village, Haven't Got a Clue."

  "Yes, I believe we've spoken on the phone several times. I'm very happy to meet you at last." Her smile waned. "I heard about the unpleasantness at your store last night."

  "Extremely unpleasant," Tricia agreed. "One of the villagers suggested I come see you." She noticed several people at the checkout desk looking in their direction. "Is there someplace more private we could talk?"

  Lois nodded. "My office has a door. This way."

  Tricia followed the woman to a small office behind the circulation desk and took the chair the librarian offered. Lois sat down behind her desk and folded her hands on the uncluttered top. "How can I help you?"

  "Did you know Zoe Carter?"

  The old lady nodded, as though she'd expected the question. "Although not well," she admitted. "She'd come in here on Saturday mornings to read a week's worth of the Wall Street Journal."

  "What for?"

  Lois shrugged. "It certainly didn't pertain to her writing. And I would've thought she could afford a subscription."

  "I understand that before she became published, she was a bookkeeper for Trident Log Homes." She waited to see if the librarian took the conversational bait.

  "Yes, the Chamber of Commerce is now housed in what was formerly their main sales office. They went out of business . . . oh, maybe ten years ago."

  Until today, Tricia had always assumed it had failed because there were so many log-home businesses located in New England.

  "People seem to remember Zoe played a part in Trident's demise, but no longer remember the details. Embezzlement, wasn't it?"

  The librarian lowered her gaze. "I believe so. I don't know the details, and even if I did, I wouldn't feel comfortable talking about it. It all happened a long time ago, and now the poor woman is dead."

  "Yes. It wasn't long after the whole Trident affair that Zoe's first book was published."

  Lois nodded, and seemed relieved to talk about something else. "That book always puzzled me . . . as did the ones that followed, if truth be told."

  "Why?"

  "Because Ms. Carter never came to us to help her with her research. I suppose for her later books she could have done it all on the Internet . . . but she could have read the Wall Street Journal on her computer, as well. If she had one, that is."

  "Did she read historical novels?"

  "Not that I recall. In fact, I don't think she had a library card. She never showed any interest in fiction, or books for that matter, at all."

  That was odd. Most authors were voracious readers. Then again, Zoe hadn't talked about her writing much at her "appearance" the night before. She'd been cordial, and spoke about the book, reading a passage and answering questions--but only what pertained to the book itself. She'd bragged about her awards to Grace, but she hadn't really talked about the work itself, or how she approached it. And she'd mentioned more than once that the series had ended with no hope of her returning to it.

  "What are you really saying? That you think she had help writing the books?"

  "I didn't mean to imply anything," Lois said, spreading her hands in a placating manner. "I'm merely stating what I know, and that's the fact that Zoe Carter didn't read fiction."

  "Lots of people don't visit libraries to take out books. I haven't visited a library in years."

  "Is that something you're proud of?" Lois asked pointedly.

  "No." Tricia quickly backpedaled. "It's just, I've always been lucky enough to have the means to buy every book I've ever
wanted. And it's a large part of why my lifelong ambition was to become a bookseller--even if I embraced that career only in the last year."

  "Sadly, for many people, the only means they have of reading a book--be it fiction or nonfiction--is through a library. Stoneham is lucky the Board of Selectmen realizes the importance of a strong library. Without sufficient funding, we'd have to cut hours and staff. We could lose accreditation with the statewide system, which would hamper us in many ways, one of which is that we couldn't participate in interlibrary loans. We can't obtain every book published, and without interlibrary loans, our patrons would be cut off from borrowing works owned by other libraries."

  "I didn't realize that."

  "Sadly, a lot of people don't. A library is more than just books. These days, we're total media centers. And that takes money."

  Duly chastised, Tricia cast about for another subject. "Um, do you know Zoe Carter's niece, Kimberly Peters?"

  "Her," Lois said with contempt. "She was banned from the library several times during her teenage years. Inappropriate behavior. She'd meet boys. They'd visit the more remote shelves and . . . let's just say they did their own brand of research on human biology."

  "Oh, dear." Tricia sighed. "Zoe hinted that Kimberly had been a handful growing up. And after spending an hour or so with her last evening, I have to say she hasn't changed. They had a bit of a tiff, but it certainly wasn't anything worth killing Zoe over."

  "Pent-up resentment perhaps? It doesn't take much to snap a fragile mind."

  "Kimberly didn't give that impression. She seemed more bored and . . . maybe frustrated? She asked one of my employees why she worked in retail, intimating it was beneath her. I wonder if she felt that way about her own job as Zoe's assistant."

  "Why don't you ask her?"

  Tricia nodded. "I think I will."

  "You might also want to talk to Stella Kraft. She taught English at the high school for over forty years. I'll bet she taught Zoe, and maybe even Kimberly."

  Tricia blinked. "I was told Zoe wasn't a native of Stoneham--that she came from somewhere in New York."

  The librarian sighed. "Some of our citizens are very territorial. The truth is, we can't all be from Stoneham. I myself am originally from Reading, Pennsylvania."

  "Yes, I have noticed an 'us versus them' bias from some of the villagers."

  "It might die out--in another couple of generations," Lois said with a wry smile. "That is, if they can keep the young people from escaping en masse. Already the majority of villagers come from other places."

  Tricia smiled, too. "How can I get in touch with Stella Kraft?"

  "She's in the phone book." Lois swiveled her chair, reached for the slender book behind her desk. Adjusting her reading glasses, she flipped through the pages of the phone book until she found the entry, grabbed a scrap of paper, and wrote down the number, then handed it to Tricia.

  "Tell her I sent you to her. She'll talk to you."

  Tricia stood. "That's very kind. Thank you."

  Lois stood as well. "Kindness has nothing to do with it. I'm a bit of a mystery fan myself. I can't wait to see how this unravels."

  s i x

  It was still too early to head over to Russ's house for dinner, so Tricia wandered the library, checking out its mystery section and finding a few books she'd never read. Since she'd left her to-be-read pile of books by her now inaccessible bedside table, her visit had proved to be a godsend. She applied for and received a library card, and settled down to start the latest book in the Jeff Resnick mystery series.

  The next time Tricia looked at her watch, a full hour and a half had passed. She stuffed the piece of paper with Zoe's schoolteacher's name and number between the pages as a bookmark, gathered up her purse and the other books she'd checked out, and headed for the door.

  Tricia arrived at Russ's house ten minutes late, knocked on the door, and was soon rewarded with Russ's smiling face. "I wondered what happened to you. You're usually so punctual."

  "I got sidetracked," she said, her nose wrinkling as she stepped across the entryway's threshold. She detected a kind of fishy odor. "What is that . . . aroma?" she asked.

  He brightened. "You like it?" Apparently he hadn't heard the touch of sarcasm in her voice. "It's my mother's specialty: tuna noodle casserole. I figured that after what you've been through, you might need some good, oldfashioned comfort food."

  Tricia couldn't quite suppress a shudder. Her life didn't revolve around food the way Angelica's did, and there were few things she found truly unpalatable. Unfortunately, warmed-over tuna was one of them. Was it something to do with the canning process that changed the flavor of the fish when it was heated? On other occasions, Russ had made barbeque or splendid seafood pasta dishes. Why had he resorted to this? And since her mostly uneaten sandwich still sat in Angelica's little demonstration area's fridge, Tricia suddenly realized how ravenously hungry she was.

  "Let me take your coat," Russ said.

  Tricia shrugged out of her jacket, glancing into the living room. Russ had assembled a plate of cheese and crackers on the chrome-and-glass cocktail table, and she made a beeline for it.

  "Can I get you a drink? Some sherry, perhaps?" Russ asked, over the squeal of his police scanner.

  Tricia glanced across the room at the hated little black box that sat atop Russ's TV. She turned back to him. "I'd love it," she said, seating herself on the leather couch and grabbing the cheese spreader, smearing some Brie onto a butter cracker. She wolfed it down, glad Russ wasn't in the room to notice. Maybe if she filled up on crackers, she wouldn't have to eat the casserole.

  Russ returned with a cordial glass of sherry for Tricia and his usual Scotch and soda, setting them down on the cocktail table and taking a seat next to Tricia. She was more interested in the Brie.

  "You said you were sidetracked?" he said, raising his voice to be heard over the scanner.

  "Yes. I've had a very long day," she shouted in response.

  "Looking into Zoe's past, no doubt."

  "I need to get my store open and running again, and I'm sure Wendy Adams won't be in any hurry to help me with that. She'd drag her feet for months on this investigation if she thought she could get away with it."

  "What?" he asked, over the squawk of the scanner.

  "Can you please turn that down?" she practically yelled.

  "Sure thing." He got up and turned off the scanner, plunging the room into silence. He took his seat next to Tricia and daubed cheese on a cracker for himself. "What were you saying?"

  She sighed. "I said Wendy Adams would probably keep my store closed forever if she thought she could get away with it."

  "Aren't you being a little hard on her?"

  "No. You haven't heard her tone when she speaks to me. She blames me for something I never did. There's no way I can change her misperceptions of the past."

  "I guess," he said, and took a sip of his drink. "What else did you do today?"

  "First of all, I had to soothe my employees' ruffled feathers. They're not happy working for Angelica, and I can't say as I blame them. My sister's managerial style is more militaristic than altruistic. I'm surprised she doesn't strut up and down her shop carrying a riding crop, in case one of them steps out of line. She gives them orders, then hovers over them, waiting for them to make mistakes. Not the best way to build trust."

  "I can see why she loses so many employees."

  Tricia nodded, and spread Brie on another cracker. "I spoke to Frannie at the Chamber. She's the eyes and ears of Stoneham, but even she hadn't heard much about the investigation into Zoe's death." She took a bite.

  "So far there isn't much to tell."

  Tricia swallowed. "Oh?"

  "I have a few friends in the Sheriff's Department," Russ admitted, "but they're not talking, at least not about specifics. What else did you do today?"

  "I spoke to a couple of Zoe's neighbors, and Lois Kerr at the library. Do you know her?"

  "Only most of my life."r />
  Tricia picked up the cheese spreader and had another go at the Brie. She wasn't about to tell Russ about the possibility that Zoe hadn't written the Forever books. Shocked? Yes. Appalled? Definitely. And how could it possibly be true? Could someone get away with that kind of deception for almost a decade? Still, both Gladys and Lois had known Zoe for years, if only from a distance, and had had plenty of time to observe her conduct and speculate what she was capable of, whereas Tricia had had only a little over an hour to observe her.

  She took a sip of her sherry and noticed that the smell from the kitchen seemed to be growing stronger. She picked up another cracker and grabbed the knife again, overloading it with cheese.