Although I will inform Brad of this encounter, I thought as I mirrored his insincere smile and wished him a good day.
He exited the library before Sunny returned to the desk. She apologized for leaving so long.
“It’s not a problem,” I said absently, still processing my encounter with Lance Dalbec. “I assume you were helping someone in the stacks.”
“Mr. George,” she said, as she circled around to join me behind the desk. “He’s giving a talk to the historical society and needs information on the lumber mills that used to operate around here.”
“Like the one owned by the Baker family?” I made a face. My great-great-grandfather, William Baker Senior, had established a successful lumber business back in the late nineteenth century. It had created great wealth that had unfortunately dwindled away by the time the inheritance was passed down to my aunt and mother. “You should tell him to talk to Aunt Lydia. She may be able to offer some useful family anecdotes.”
“I’ll do that,” Sunny said. “Now—what did you find out?”
I wasn’t about to share my research into Fred’s past, so I waved the piece of paper in my hand instead. “More details on that old scandal concerning a copy of the Kelmscott Chaucer.”
“Do you think it could be the same copy? I mean, the one that Mr. Kendrick and Mr. Selvaggio were fighting over?” Sunny twirled a strand of her long hair around one finger. “I thought maybe it was back on the market and that was one reason Selvaggio was so determined to buy it.”
I opened my mouth and shut it again without saying anything. Although Kurt had mentioned something about Oscar Selvaggio being desperate to purchase the book, I hadn’t thought of that possibility. I gave Sunny an appraising look. Sometimes I forgot that behind her beautiful, flower-child exterior lay a woman with a shrewd and brilliant mind. “I suppose it’s possible,” I said at last. “If it came on the market again, he might have thought it was his chance to put those rumors to rest, once and for all.”
Sunny flicked the coil of hair off her finger. “That was my first thought when I heard about him being involved in some old scandal involving that particular book.”
I laid the printed page on the desk. “I’d just started reading this article. Maybe we can look through it together.”
“Sure, but wait a minute.” Sunny pulled her aqua blue–framed glasses from the pocket of her sundress and popped them on her head. “Now, let’s see what this furor was all about.”
The article named the collector who’d been sold the questionable book as Jasper Brentwood, a wealthy philanthropist. He’d apparently inherited his fortune and had chosen to become a clergyman rather than pursue a business career. That made the charge that he’d participated in a fraudulent sale particularly damaging, as his reputation had been built on a life of honesty and moral rectitude.
“Sounds like someone had it in for that buyer,” Sunny said. “Like they were just waiting for him to slip up and used this incident as a way to tear him down.”
“Possibly. Or maybe it was engineered by someone who was angry because they wanted to buy the Chaucer and he beat them to it.” I frowned. That sounded more like something Kurt would do. He certainly wouldn’t have cared about anyone else’s morals, or lack thereof.
“Well, whatever the reason, they sure did a good smear job on the guy. It seems it contributed to him having a heart attack too.”
“Or so his children claimed.” I leaned in closer to read the final paragraphs of the article. “They brought a lawsuit against Oscar Selvaggio after the authorities refused to charge him with anything due to lack of evidence. Or at least one of them did.”
“The daughter, Maria.” Sunny looked off into the distance, as if contemplating the effect such a scandal would’ve had on a young woman whose father had just died. “I wonder what happened to her.”
“Something else to research,” I noticed that a couple of young women with small children clinging to their hands had cornered Bill at the edge of the stacks. They appeared to be peppering him with questions, which wasn’t really his responsibility. “But perhaps not now. It looks like Bill might need some help.”
“I’ll go,” Sunny said. “You can stay here and dig a little deeper into the unfortunate Brentwood family.”
I waited to dive back into my online research until I’d reviewed the status of a few books that had been dumped onto a table near the circulation desk. None were checked out, so I simply placed them in call number order on a book cart, hoping Bill would have time to return them to the shelves before his volunteer shift ended. After that, I turned to the desk computer to see if I could find anything more on Mr. Brentwood or his family.
It wasn’t difficult, especially after I pulled up the digital archives for a few papers that had been active in his home city during the sixties and seventies. I found a few mentions of Jasper Brentwood Junior, who’d continued his father’s charity work but also embarked on a successful legal career. Maria was a little harder to track down. There didn’t seem to be any mentions of her after her failed attempt to sue Oscar Selvaggio.
I widened my search to include any Brentwoods in the area. After several false hits, I spotted the name Maria in a heading and homed in on the attached article.
It was a wedding announcement, one of those extensive puff pieces detailing the nuptials of people who were part of high society. I peered at the grainy photograph for a moment, which showed a lovely blonde woman in a gorgeous pearl-encrusted lace gown, before reading the article.
All it took was a couple of sentences to make me step back from the computer, holding my hand over my mouth.
The bride, only twenty, already had an impressive résumé as a dancer, having studied at Jacob’s Pillow and performed for Agnes de Mille as well as the Martha Graham Dance Company. Although her first name was Maria, she always performed under another name.
She used her middle name, which was Adele, and she’d married a businessman by the name of Nathan Tourneau.
Chapter Thirteen
As soon as I collected my thoughts, I printed out the newspaper article and shoved it into my pocket. When Sunny returned to the desk, I pulled her into the workroom and explained what I’d found out about Adele’s connection to Oscar Selvaggio, but asked her not to share that information with anyone until after I’d had a chance to talk to Brad.
“I also want to give Richard a heads-up about the situation,” I said. “He’s known Adele a long time and respects her as a person as well as a dance coach. I don’t want him blindsided if the investigation’s focus suddenly shifts to her.”
“Understood. I will keep it to myself until you let me know otherwise,” Sunny said, making a zipper motion across her lips.
“Thanks. I guess I should inform Brad right away. Can you keep an eye on the desk while I make that call?”
Sunny gave me a mock salute. “Sure thing, boss. And … tell him hello from me,” she added, in a softer tone.
“I will.” I examined her face for any signs of sorrow but found none. “You really are over him, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. Anyway, he’s involved with Alison Frye now, and it seems to be serious. Which is great, as far as I’m concerned. I still like him as a friend and wish him all the best.”
I patted her hand. “Someday, some other guy is going to luck out. Or maybe”—I winked —“that day is already here?”
An uncharacteristic blush colored Sunny’s cheeks. “Don’t go all matchmaker on me. You always complained about your aunt and Zelda doing that to you.”
“Sorry,” I said, turning to head into the workroom. But I really wasn’t. Even though Sunny always swore she would never get married, I still hoped she’d find a more serious, long-term relationship one day.
Calling Brad Tucker’s office, I shared the information I’d uncovered about Adele Tourneau’s past.
“Combined with her wandering through the woods, you spying her filling a glass with a dark liquor in that pantry, and the
info about Mr. Selvaggio having cognac in his system, this is pretty vital information. Too bad we didn’t know all the details earlier.” Brad’s stern tone betrayed how displeased he was with me. “You should’ve disclosed everything you knew about Ms. Tourneau’s actions at the party right away, Amy.”
“Sorry, but I didn’t immediately think her behavior had any possible connection to Selvaggio’s death. I mean, I didn’t know it wasn’t a heart attack or something natural until just the other day, and I did share the information about Adele fixing a drink then. Anyway, I just discovered her connection to Selvaggio, which I admit does put another spin on things,” I said, before promising to email him a copy of the wedding announcement as well as the information concerning Adele’s father.
“Good work.” Brad’s voice betrayed the fact that he was mollified by this offering. “We really should put you on the payroll.”
“I wouldn’t object, especially since I seem to be your go-to person for research,” I replied. “But honestly, I enjoy being able to help. Although I don’t like the fact that this might implicate Ms. Tourneau in any way.”
“We won’t take any direct action until we check all this out,” Brad said. “And of course, there are others we’re looking into as well.”
“I know.” I grimaced as I thought about my recent visit to Kurt’s home. Respecting his wishes, or perhaps I should say demands, I didn’t want to share all the details of that encounter with Brad, but I thought I should at least mention the presence of a suspicious stranger in town. “By the way, I saw something curious the other day. There was a man on a motorcycle who almost”—I fumbled for words that covered the incident without giving too much away—“knocked me over.”
“You didn’t recognize him?”
“No, and he has a very distinctive appearance. If I’d ever seen him before, I’m sure I would’ve remembered him. Then to further complicate things, the same man showed up at the library, after apparently tracking me down, in order to apologize to me. Which struck me as very suspicious. He told me his name is Lance Dalbec.”
Brad asked for a description of both the man and his motorcycle, which I provided. “Thanks, Amy. We’ll keep a lookout for the guy, as we do for any strangers. Especially ones that show up around the time of a crime.”
“That’s good,” I said, glad that I could at least put Kurt’s attacker on the sheriff’s department’s radar. “And I’ll keep digging into the past. Maybe there’s more information connected to copies of the Kelmscott Chaucer that can help your investigation. It’s worth a try, anyway.”
“Definitely, and thanks again, Amy,” Brad said, before telling me good-bye.
Glancing at my watch, I realized that it was about time for me to head home. Or rather, to Richard’s house, as we planned to have dinner together. But instead of immediately grabbing my purse, I stood in the middle of the workroom for several minutes, tapping my cell phone against my palm while I pondered the best way to tell my fiancé that one of his favorite mentors might be a murderer.
* * *
“Lydia had no idea who might’ve sent that necklace?” Richard asked as we cleaned up after dinner.
I slapped my forehead, forgetting that I’d just stuck my hand into a pot of soapy water. Bubbles burst and ran down my cheeks, prompting me to grab a kitchen towel to blot my face while I let loose a few choice phrases.
“Nice language,” Richard said, amusement rippling through his words.
I turned to face him, waving the towel. “You’d swear too. Admit it.”
“I would, and worse than that. Did you get any soap in your eyes?” He placed one hand on my cheek, his gaze searching my face.
“No, thank goodness.” I leaned my face into his hand. “It’s still embarrassing, though. I’m such a klutz sometimes.”
“An adorable one,” he said, before kissing me.
After a few minutes of this delightful distraction, I pulled away and looked up into his face. “And no, to finally answer your question, I completely forgot to ask Aunt Lydia about the necklace. I carried it up to my room with the intention of questioning her later, but then other things came up and I never did.” I ran my fingers through his dark hair. “I promise I’ll mention it to her tomorrow.”
“It’s no real crisis. I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“Me too, but then there’s all this other stuff …” I dropped my hand and stepped back. “Could we go sit in the living room? There’s something I need to share with you.”
“Sure.” Confusion flitted across Richard’s face. “Nothing bad, I hope.”
“Not really. Maybe a little worrying, but I’m sure it will turn out to be nothing.”
“Now you have me intrigued.” Richard motioned toward the sink. “You go ahead and grab a seat on the sofa. I’ll put these pots in the drying rack and join you in a minute.”
“Okay.” I flashed him a smile. “Maybe bring along some wine?”
“Sounds like a plan,” he replied with an answering smile.
When I reached the living room, I noticed a slight problem with our plan. Two cats had already staked a claim to the sofa. “Hey, guys,” I said as I stood over them. “You’re going to have to move.”
Loie opened one emerald eye and twitched her tail, while Fosse just rolled over, all four paws waving in the air.
“Yes, you’re cute, but you still have to move.” I scooped up Fosse and sat down still holding him. “You can sit in my lap if you want.”
Fosse sprang out of my arms and stalked off, his yellow-and-orange-striped tail switching like a windshield wiper set on high. “Or not,” I said.
Richard appeared, holding a full wineglass in each hand. “I’m going to need that seat,” he said, directing his words at Loie.
“You’ll have to remove her. I’ve already ticked off Fosse. I don’t need two cats angry with me at the same time.”
“Take this.” He handed me a wineglass before setting the other down on the coffee table. “Now, Loie, are you going to get down on your own, or must I move you?”
The tortoiseshell cat simply yawned, displaying her needle-sharp white teeth.
“Forcible removal it is, then.” Richard lifted Loie, ignoring her yowl of protest. He sat down, placing her on his lap.
“Watch your glass,” I said, as the cat leapt onto the coffee table.
Fortunately, Richard grabbed his wine just as Loie’s tail sliced the air beside it like a rapier.
“That was close,” I said as he settled back against the sofa cushions.
“Catlike reflexes.” Richard opened and closed his free hand. “Beats cats behaving badly.”
I took a sip of my wine before shooting him an amused glance over the rim of my glass. “This time.”
He grinned as Loie dashed up the stairs, followed by Fosse. “Look at them. They’re probably on a search-and-destroy mission.”
“Did you close the bathroom door? Because you know how Fosse likes to unroll the toilet paper and drag it all over the house.”
Richard narrowed his eyes as he gazed at the now-empty steps. “Hmm, good point. I think I did, but if not, I’ll sort it out later. For now”—he turned to me—“I need to know what you’re so eager to discuss.”
“I’m not really that eager; I just feel it’s necessary.” I set my glass on the coffee table before pulling my legs up onto the sofa and stretching them across Richard’s knees. “It concerns a friend of yours.”
“Oh?” Richard rested a hand on one of my upper thighs. “Who might that be? Not Adele, I hope.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“You really think she might be involved somehow? I know she was acting a bit suspicious at the party, but surely she has no reason to murder anyone.” Richard’s fingers nervously tapped my leg.
I took a deep breath before launching into what I’d discovered about his former coach. “Maybe it’s all coincidental,” I said as I finished my spiel, “but I did find her messing around with a drink in the
privacy of the butler’s pantry, and from what I’ve read about aconite, when dissolved in a tincture, its presence can easily be masked by something with a strong taste.”
“Like cognac, you mean.” Richard’s expression shifted from thoughtful to concerned. “I suppose you told Brad Tucker this already?”
“I felt I had to. Not that I wanted to get Adele in trouble, but facts are facts, and where murder is concerned …”
“No one is above suspicion?” Richard leaned back, staring up at his high ceiling. “You did the right thing. I just hate that you had to.”
I swung my legs off his lap and scooted close enough to lay a hand on his shoulder. “I know. It’s terrible to think that Adele could’ve taken such a drastic step. But if she believes Selvaggio’s behavior was a factor in her dad’s untimely death, it’s almost understandable.”
“I suppose.” Richard covered my hand with his. “I do remember her once alluding to some tragedy in her past. It was when she coached me on Fall River Legend. I was having trouble getting in touch with the proper emotion for a dramatic scene, and she talked about using a memory to access the anguish I needed for that moment.”
“That’s the Agnes de Mille contemporary ballet?”
“Yes, the one based on the Lizzie Borden case.” Richard lowered his head and met my questioning gaze. “Not a cheerful story.”
“I guess not. So Adele said something about a tragedy in her own life?”
“I thought it was a reference to the death of her husband.” Richard released my hand, adjusting his position to allow him to slip his arm around my shoulders. “He died young. Some sort of boating accident. She never really talked about it, so I figured when she mentioned a tragedy, that had to be what she meant.”
A Deadly Edition Page 13
