by Eva Gates
Anyone who thought we still lived in Bedford Falls would have had a considerable shock as they stepped through the front door of the Bodie Island Lighthouse Library on the afternoon of October 31st.
The preschool children’s program had just ended, and a pack of highly excited, wildly costumed toddlers descended the stairs in a rush, clutching their Halloween treat of juice boxes and homemade cookies decorated and cut into ghost shapes by Ronald and Nan. Parents gathered up their noisy offspring and headed out to their cars. A group of women wearing tall, pointed black hats over purple and pink wigs chatted by the magazine rack. A high school–age boy was coming down the stairs from the research room, dressed as Darth Vader (carrying his helmet so he could watch his footing), and Charity, the oldest Peterson daughter, followed wearing a loose white dress tied with a thin gold belt, her long dark hair wrapped in cinnamon-bun loops around her ears. Louise Jane had arrived in ship-wrecked-sailor costume and was arguing—loudly—with Bertie about the placement of her ghost ship. She was being supported by Diane Uppiton, who some might incorrectly think had come in costume as a politician’s wife. Incorrectly, because a pink Chanel suit with pearls was her regular getup. Mrs. Fitzgerald, in poodle skirt, black and white loafers, and ponytail wig, was arguing on Bertie’s side. Louise Jane was scheduled to be the entertainer at the teenage-focused party at five and then the later adult one.
Charles sat on a bookshelf high above the fray, eyeing the cat on the deck of the Rebecca MacPherson and following the conversation with much interest. I hadn’t been the first to arrive this morning, and when I looked at the model ship, the captain was in his correct position on the quarterdeck. Someone must have found him on the floor and picked him up.
Ronald, black eye patch in place and stuffed green parrot bobbing on his shoulder, saw the last small child out the door and then joined the group. “Be sensible, Louise Jane. We’ll have overstimulated children running through here.”
“Isn’t it your job, Mr. Children’s Librarian, to keep them under control?”
“I do the best I can,” he said. “But I can’t do anything about the overstimulated adults coming in later.”
“Enough!” Bertie said. “The ship cannot occupy the center table, and that is that. Put it on the small table in the alcove.”
Diane opened her mouth to continue arguing, but Louise Jane, clearly realizing which way the wind was blowing through her tattered sails, huffed loudly and did as she’d been told.
The group began to disperse, and Louise Jane was the first to notice that I’d come in. “There you are, Lucy. I’d been wondering when you were going to show up. Must be nice to have such long lunch hours.”
“Everything all right?” Bertie asked.
“Fine,” I replied. “No new developments.” We’d been so busy this morning, I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Bertie about the murder investigation. Not that I had anything to report. I was dying to find out if Watson had managed to confirm Anna’s location at the time of Jay’s death, but I didn’t dare phone him and ask. I wanted to talk to Greg about his employment situation, but I couldn’t think of a way of politely finding out what I needed to know, which was how desperate he was to keep the curator job. And Lizzie and Norm were unlikely to confess to murdering Jay Ruddle in a disappointed rage, if I did call them.
Once again I’d come to a dead end.
“Developments in what?” Louise Jane and Diane chorused.
I didn’t reply, and Louise Jane said, “No matter. Now that you’re finally here, we need to get the chairs arranged for my lecture. Good thing we decided to move the ship off the center table and get it out of the way. We’ll be able to get more chairs in. Ronald and Lucy, you can do that while Diane’s fetching the chairs from the third floor.”
“Chairs?” our board member said. “I’m dreadfully sorry, Louise Jane, I have an important appointment. I’m going to be late as it is, but I wanted to pop in and make sure everything was under control.” She bolted for the door. “It’ll be tight, but Curtis and I will be back in time to hear you speak. You’ve arranged for someone to pick up the cookies and tarts?”
“Cookies?” I said.
“Diane and Curtis,” Bertie said through gritted teeth, “thought it would be nice to splurge on refreshments for the Halloween parties. No packaged treats this time.”
“That was thoughtful of you.” I’d eat Louise Jane’s ship, sailors and all, if Diane and Curtis would be putting their hands in their own pockets. “I hope it didn’t cost you too much.”
Diane laughed lightly. “What are library budgets for, if not indulging ourselves—I mean, our patrons—now and again? Don’t forget, Bertie, to send someone around to Josie’s to pick them up at three.”
“I thought you were doing that, Diane,” Bertie said.
“No time. No time.” Diane Uppiton bustled off, a flurry of pink busyness.
“I’ve just come from town,” I said. “I could have brought them with me.”
“She wanted us to serve wine and beer also,” Ronald said. “But I pointed out that these events include children and teenagers, so maybe we don’t want to set a bad example.”
Louise Jane clapped her hands. “This room isn’t going to get itself organized, people. Let’s get to it. Lucy and Ronald, move the Rebecca MacPherson, and be careful with it. Then you can bring out the chairs.”
“We can, can we?” Ronald muttered under his breath.
I ran into the staff room to toss my purse into the closet, and came back to give him a hand while Charles and Louise Jane supervised.
* * *
At four thirty, I was standing outside on the steps, getting a breath of air before the teenaged patrons descended.
“Where’s your costume?” a voice said to me.
I blinked and glanced down. Batman, a very short, very small Batman, was looking up at me.
“What?”
“Today’s Halloween. Where’s your costume? Everyone wears a costume on Halloween.”
“Now, Bobby, don’t bother Ms. Richardson.” A flapper—fringed dress, hair in a bob, long string of pearls, elbow-length white gloves—took him by the hand.
“This is my costume,” I said. “I’m dressed as an undercover police officer.”
“Cool,” he said. His mother gave me a wink.
I laughed and went back inside. Our library was looking more like a haunted mansion than a public library. A few more gravestones had appeared out of nowhere, more spider webs had been wrapped around the iron staircase, and more skeletal sailors added to the wreck of the Rebecca MacPherson.
Bertie had gone to Josie’s to pick up the Halloween-themed treats, and they were arranged on the circulation desk, looking devilishly tempting indeed. Ronald had called Nan and asked her to bring a metal ice bucket made to resemble a skull, into which we’d put cans of soda. He really did have some strange things. The paper plates and napkins continued the theme, decorated with orange pumpkins on a black background.
Bertie stood in the door to the hallway, studying the preparations. Instead of a smile on her face, her mouth was turned down, and a fine line ran between her eyebrows.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Tell me this isn’t disrespectful and tacky. A Halloween party so soon after someone died one floor above this very room. I notice you’re not in costume.”
“I’m okay with doing the events for our patrons, but dressing up myself didn’t seem all that appropriate somehow.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I mentioned our plans to Julia yesterday, and she wants to come. She says her grandfather liked to see a library that was the center of the community.”
Bertie broke into a smile. “That does make me feel better. Thank you, Lucy.” She glanced toward the door. “Looks like your guests are here now.”
Julia was accompanied (no surprise there) by Greg and Theodore.
I hurried across the room to greet them. “
I’m so pleased you came, Julia.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” She studied the room. “Everything looks great.”
“Why don’t you help yourself to refreshments and then take a seat. Be sure you try one of Josie’s justifiably famous pecan squares. The sugar cookies are fabulous too. Louise Jane will be beginning shortly. You’re welcome to stay until seven, when we’ve planned a second event for the adults, with all different stories.” Additional baked goods and drinks were stored in the break room, waiting for round two. At the moment, Louise Jane was also in the staff room, preparing herself.
Theodore and Greg tripped over their own feet gathering cookies and squares for Julia. Theodore presented her with a glass of lemonade, and Greg brought her tea. She gave them both a smile and said, “Good heavens, I can’t eat all that. You gentlemen go ahead.” They plopped themselves down on either side of her with their paper plates and plastic glasses.
“Boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats,” Bertie said. “We’ll be starting in a moment.”
The last rush for the treats table began, and then everyone found a seat. Mrs. Peterson had brought all five of her daughters, and they were all in some sort of costume. The Darth Vader boy I’d noticed earlier with Charity plopped down beside her, tossing his black cape over the back of his chair. They wiggled their seats closer together. Mrs. Peterson gave the boy a piercing look, to which he paid not the slightest bit of attention. “Dallas,” she snapped, “change places with Charity.”
“Why?” Ten-year-old Dallas said around a mouthful of chocolate-chip cookie.
“Because I said so,” Mrs. Peterson said.
“Oh, Mom,” Charity groaned.
Grumbling, the girls did as they were told. The boy’s disappointment was written all over his face. I caught Ronald’s eye, and he winked at me. I smothered a laugh. Poor Mrs. Peterson had some hard years ahead of her. Five daughters who were not likely to wait for their mother to arrange suitable suitors in the traditional, genteel Southern manner.
“Lucy,” said a hissing voice from the hallway. “Lucy!”
“What?”
“I told you to turn out the lights at five after.”
“Oh, right.” I flicked the main switch, leaving the room softly lit by a gentle glow from the lighting over the shelves and in the alcove. Louise Jane swept into the room.
I knew that some of these teens would be here under protest. They’d rather be out throwing eggs and dispensing toilet paper, not sitting in a library under the watchful eye of their parents. At the beginning of Louise Jane’s talk, there was a lot of shifting in seats, nudging with elbows, and surreptitious checking of phones, but they soon settled down as she wove her spell. Nothing teenagers love more than ghost stories. Even I found myself enraptured. She talked mostly about the legend of the Rebecca MacPherson. As this audience wasn’t only teens but also younger children like the smaller Peterson girls, she kept the tale light as she drew out the story of the doomed ship, fated to wander the seas for all time when the cowardly actions of its captain and crew brought about the destruction of a companion ship. I was pleased that she didn’t talk about Frances, called the Lady, who supposedly haunted my apartment, and glossed lightly over other tales of haunting of the lighthouse.
I glanced at Theodore to see how he was reacting to the stories. He didn’t appear to be too bothered by the ghostly tales. After all, this was just Louise Jane, who he’d known most of his life. Judging by the way he was sneaking glances at Julia, seated next to him, he probably wasn’t hearing a word anyway.
Louise Jane finished to considerable applause and smiled happily.
“Thank you so much, Louise Jane,” Bertie said. “Please, everyone help yourself to more refreshments. The library is still open if you’d like to take out some books.”
“I’d be happy to answer questions,” Louise Jane said.
But there weren’t any questions, and as interesting as the teenage boys had found the lecture, nothing could compete with cookies and squares. Soon all that remained on the platters were crumbs, and not many of those.
“I enjoyed that very much,” Julia said to me, after taking a moment to thank Louise Jane. “Thank you for inviting us. You’ve all been so kind to me since Grandfather died.”
“Allow me to see you back to the hotel,” Theodore said. “You must be tired.”
“Oh, no. I’d like to stay for a while. Louise Jane said she has different material in the next talk.”
“Don’t take anything Louise Jane says as fact.” Charlene joined our little group. “She has been known to embellish on occasion.”
“Ghost stories.” Theodore laughed uncomfortably. “All nonsense.”
“Isn’t embellishment the heart of good storytelling?” Julia said.
“Not if it’s supposed to be nonfiction. Hi—we haven’t met yet.” My colleague put out her hand, and Julia accepted it. “I’m Charlene, the reference librarian here. Nonfiction is my bread and butter, so I get defensive when people think history needs to be improved upon.”
“Julia Ruddle. Your work must be fascinating. I’m familiar with some of the history of this coast, and I agree with you that it needs no embellishment.”
“Is history an interest of yours?” Charlene asked.
“Naval history in the Age of Sail in particular, but only as an enthusiastic amateur. I might not be leaving your lovely town for a few more days. Can I come around tomorrow and talk to you?”
“I’d enjoy that,” Charlene said. “We have a substantial collection of rare books and private papers that I’d be happy to let you have a look at.”
“Lucy!” Mrs. Peterson trilled. “Lucy, we’re waiting to check out books here.”
I hurried to the circulation desk. Mrs. Peterson had a death grip on her eldest daughter’s arm. The younger girls held books, and Charity was gazing across the room into the adoring eyes of the boy who’d tried to sit next to her.
“Did you enjoy the presentation?” I asked Dallas.
“It was great. They should make a movie of that story about the ship. It’d be awesome.”
“They could film it right here in Nags Head,” Primrose, age twelve, said. “Maybe I could have a part. I’m going to be an actress, you know.”
“As if,” Dallas snorted. “You need to be pretty to be in movies.”
Primrose stuck out her tongue.
“I wasn’t at all pleased,” Mrs. Peterson said. “Louise Jane should know better than to be telling such graphic stories in front of children.” I wondered if Mrs. Peterson had any idea what was going on in movies and TV these days.
I checked out the books, handed them to the girls, and they left, Mrs. Peterson dragging Charity along behind. I helped other patrons, and when I again looked up, Julia was still deep in conversation with Charlene. Theodore and Greg stood at opposite sides of the room, alternately watching Julia and eying each other suspiciously.
Gradually, most of the teens and their parents departed, and a new round of guests began coming in. Ronald and Bertie brought out more refreshments. Louise Jane had disappeared, presumably to once again prepare herself. No one had turned the lights back up, and the room was full of a delightfully gentle glow, which I found not at all spooky. Diane arrived and immediately hit the replenished trays of baked goods. “Mr. Gardner won’t be joining us,” she said to me as she bit into a raspberry tart, although I hadn’t asked. “A last-minute business emergency.”
More likely, I thought but didn’t say, he decided not to come when he heard we were not providing free beer.
“I hope everything’s all right,” I said. “It must be stressful managing a successful chain of stores.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Lucy. Curtis is responsible for the livelihood of his employees and their families. A responsibility he takes seriously.”
I nodded. I’d heard the staff turnover was high at Gardner Beach Wear. Any local teenager who could get a better summer job didn’t stay
working for Curtis for long. “How admirable.”
She sighed, and then she leaned closer to me. I caught a whiff of heavily applied perfume. “It’s hard enough running a successful company without other people trying to force you out of business.”
“Is someone doing that to Curtis?” I asked, all innocence.
She tapped the side of her nose. “Let’s say, Lucy, that sometimes death is not entirely undeserved.”
Diane wandered away, leaving me gobsmacked. Had Diane Uppiton just confessed to killing Jay Ruddle to save Curtis’s business?
One thing I know, from a lifelong reading of mystery novels, is that killers, those who aren’t total sociopaths or professional criminals, often get caught because they have to confess—or brag—to someone.
I’d considered that Curtis might be the killer. I hadn’t even thought about Diane. But she’d been at the lecture on Saturday. She knew her way around the library.
I couldn’t keep this to myself. I’d have to give Detective Watson a call, whether he wanted to hear from me or not.
While all these thoughts were running through my head, I was trying to keep my distance from the refreshments table. Josie’s pecan squares were the definition of heaven on earth, but since coming to live in the Outer Banks, I’d enjoyed a few more of them than I should have. My wobbling resolution to remain strong was saved when Theodore noticed me standing alone and slid up beside me. He’d given in to pecan square temptation, and I gestured to him to brush the crumbs off his sweater. He did so. He hadn’t come in costume tonight, but wore his new jeans and a collared blue shirt under an oatmeal sweater. Other than when he’d escorted Anna yesterday, I hadn’t seen him in his English-scholar getup since he’d first met Julia. Even the fake British accent was gone. I was pleased he’d realized he didn’t need the pretense to impress her. “Nothing to report, I’m sorry to say, Lucy.”
“Report?”
“On Greg’s job prospects. Unfortunately, I don’t have the resources the police do, but an intense survey of the Internet didn’t reveal any cases of embezzlement, being fired for cause, or criminal activity, petty or otherwise.”
