“Every time she does this, it reminds me a little of those cars at the circus that dozens of clowns pop out of,” Jed commented, picking up a Swiss Army knife that had toppled into his lap.
“I don’t think anything is missing,” Susan said.
“Do you happen to remember how much money you had in your wallet?”
“I’d just cashed a check for two hundred dollars the day before,” Susan muttered, opening the red leather envelope and counting the bills inside. “Let’s see. I had picked up Jed’s shirts at the cleaners, been to the grocery store and the pharmacy—oh, no, I charged everything there—but I also paid cash for getting a couple rolls of film developed, and I filled the car with gas. There’s seven dollars in here—that’s about right. I don’t think anyone took anything.” She began to restore order to her handbag, tucking a tiny ceramic frog into the side pocket. Jed and Brett exchanged a look, but neither of them asked. “It seems strange that someone stole my purse, didn’t take anything, and then returned it to you, doesn’t it?”
“It does indeed,” Brett agreed. “I think we can assume that the mugging was a diversionary tactic rather than a theft.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that your wife’s purse was taken to throw her off guard rather than for monetary gain.”
“Maybe the mugger got disgusted with how little money was in it,” Susan suggested.
“If the motive was money, wouldn’t he …”
“Or she,” Susan reminded him.
“Or she have at least kept what was in there? Besides, the pillbox has some value and maybe even these?” Brett suggested, pulling tiny earrings made of pearls and emeralds from the messy pile.
Jed raised his eyebrows at his wife.
“Yes, they’re … they’re beautiful, aren’t they? Jed gave them to me for Christmas last year. They are a little heavy, though,” she explained to her husband. “But I’m sure they’re worth quite a bit, so you’re probably right,” she continued to Brett, slipping the jewelry into the pocket of her short denim skirt. “But I wonder why the purse was brought to the police station. Why not just dump it into a garbage can or throw it in the ocean?”
“Good question.”
“But no good answer?” Susan asked, filling everyone’s coffee cups.
“No way of knowing what is the correct answer, at least,” Brett explained. “That’s why I was hoping that something had been stolen. Then, at least, we could guess what the thief was after.”
“Maybe that’s why nothing was taken. To confuse us,” Susan suggested.
“Might be, might not be. We’re going to have to wait and find the answer to that one. I do think, though, that we can assume the mugging had something to do with Jason Armstrong’s murder.”
“I thought you were asked not to talk about the murder with anyone.” An angry Hilda Flambay stood in the doorway. She turned her attention to Brett. “And I don’t know who you are, but if you repeat anything about this murder to anyone, I can assure you that it will do you absolutely no good.…”
“I’m Brett Fortesque … the chief of police here in Hancock, Miss … ?”
It would be rude to grin at Hilda’s discomfort. Susan did it anyway.
But Hilda recovered quickly. “I apologize. If I had known who you were, I certainly wouldn’t have spoken the way I did. You probably understand as well as anyone the need for discretion in a situation like this.”
“Maybe a little better than anyone,” Susan suggested, still smiling.
“I’m Hilda Flambay.” She offered her hand to Brett.
“She’s from the network,” Susan added.
“My boss sent me here to help Rebecca, and the Henshaws have been very generous in allowing me to stay with them while she’s here. I don’t know what we all would have done without them.” She smiled warmly at Jed. “But I would appreciate speaking with you, Chief Fortesque. I know you must be absolutely swamped right now.…”
“Actually, I was going to ask for a few words with you.”
“Then why don’t we go to the living room?” Hilda suggested, opening the door. “And maybe,” she added, “Susan would bring us both some coffee?”
What else could Susan do? She brought the coffee. When the muffins were finished, she brought them on a tray with butter and three flavors of jam. And an hour later she repeated the process when Rebecca got out of bed and joined them. Susan was still seething as she parked in the lot by the library, ready for her meeting with Charles Grace.
Oh, well, she thought, at least he wanted to speak to her and wasn’t looking for maid service.
Apparently he wasn’t even looking for her, she discovered when the woman at the checkout desk explained that Mr. Grace had been needed urgently at the town office and had asked Susan to excuse him if he was a little late.
There are, of course, worse places to wait for someone than in a library. In fact, the library was one of Susan’s favorite places. She headed over to the magazine section. Maybe this month’s Runner’s World could tell her what to do about aching hips.
“Checking out the scene of the crime?”
Susan found that she was looking at the woman who had been crying in Charles Grace’s office yesterday. If only she could remember her name …
“Marion Marshall,” the woman identified herself, possibly realizing there was a problem.
“Of course … I’m so terrible at names.” Susan offered the standard excuse.
“You’re Susan Henshaw. I’ve read your name in the paper—you investigate crimes … murders.” Marion whispered, either because it was the habit of her profession or because she was embarrassed to be overheard talking about such matters.
“Yes,” Susan answered, running her hand through a pile of magazines.
“Can I help you find something?”
Susan was surprised by the offer. “No, thank you. I’m just looking,” she answered as though she were on a casual shopping expedition.
“Well, just let me know if you need me.” Marion wandered back into the stacks.
Susan continued to browse, keeping one eye out for Charles Grace’s return. She was very hungry and thinking about giving up on her appointment and returning home for some lunch when Marion Marshall reappeared at her side. “I know this sounds strange, but I really need to speak with you—privately.”
“Of course.” Susan had become accustomed to that particular statement over the past few years. “But I’m waiting for an appointment right now.”
“It will only take a few minutes. We could borrow Mr. Grace’s office. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.…”
“As that’s who I’m waiting for, I think we can take the time to talk. As long as you don’t mind if I break it off when he gets here.”
“What time was your appointment for?”
“Ah … noon.”
The other woman glanced at her watch. “It’s not even quarter after yet. Mr. Grace probably won’t be here till twelve-thirty. He’s usually late. We’re all used to it. In fact, we laugh about it.”
Susan didn’t generally find amusement in people wasting her time, but she didn’t think this was the moment to mention it. “Then we have a while, don’t we?” was all she said. She insisted on leaving a message with the librarian at the desk before following the other woman up the stairs to Charles Grace’s tower office.
Once there, Susan sat down in the chair provided for visitors, expecting Marion to take the one at the desk. Instead she wandered over and stared out the window. Susan waited patiently. This, too, didn’t come as a surprise. People frequently insisted on talking to her and then, apparently, couldn’t figure out how to start. Usually all they needed was a little time.
“Most people don’t understand Mr. Grace.” Marion surprised Susan with her choice of topic.
“Maybe they don’t know him all that well,” Susan suggested when Marion didn’t continue.
“Well, of course that’s true. He’s only been in Hancock for a few
years. But in such a short time, he’s done so much for the library.” Marion sat down and leaned closer to Susan. “I came here six years ago, right out of library school. It was an entirely different place then.” She grimaced. “It’s not just that the building is different—that’s not what I meant.” She stopped talking, and Susan wondered if she had forgotten exactly what she was talking about when she realized that they were no longer alone. Charles Grace had joined them, mounting the stairs too quietly to be heard.
“Mrs. Henshaw, I’m so sorry to be late. I hope Marion has been entertaining you?” He looked at his employee without smiling.
She didn’t appear to notice the omission. “I … I was just speaking with Mrs. Henshaw …” she began.
Susan was surprised by Marion’s nervousness. After all, they hadn’t been talking about anything particularly noteworthy.
“I appreciate your interest, Marion, but I think Mrs. Henshaw and I had better be left alone now. I have some very important things to discuss with her, and also a very busy afternoon ahead. If you don’t mind?” He nodded down the stairs.
Marion scurried from the room, reminding Susan of a chubby mouse. Some women really shouldn’t wear gray. And no one should be so subservient! She turned her attention to Charles Grace, but her expression betrayed her feelings.
“You’re probably thinking that I was rude to poor Marion,” he said as the door at the bottom of the stairs clicked closed. “But, believe me, that is the only way to deal with her. I’m afraid that she has gotten to be something of a problem. You must understand, I’m the only single male here and, of course, an authority figure to the poor girl. She has developed a schoolgirl crush on me. It’s only become a problem recently—the other librarians have noticed it—it would be impossible not to notice it. She’s always offering to help me with something or other, she stays around every afternoon until I am ready to leave, walking me to my car like I’m a schoolboy.… She even baked these cookies for me,” he added, taking a tin from his drawer and laying it on top of his desk. “I know I should be more understanding, but it is quite annoying and making my job substantially more difficult than it has to be! I’m afraid I am becoming very intolerant.
“You don’t mind if I eat in front of you,” he continued, unwrapping a huge corned beef on rye. “I have so little free time in my day.”
“No, I’ve … I’ve eaten already,” Susan lied. Certainly she had had the impression that he was inviting her to lunch with him, but what could she do now?
“Then perhaps we should get right down to business.” He took a huge bite from the sandwich.
Susan waited while he chewed carefully. She had always guessed that there had to be someone who listened when the advice to chew each bite one hundred times was given; how unfortunate Charles Grace had to be the one. The question of whether she was going to starve to death while he ate his lunch was becoming more interesting than what he had to say.
“In fact,” he continued after swallowing noisily, “some of the other girls have come to me and suggested that she needs psychiatric help. She is really complicating my management of this library, and, to be completely honest, I don’t know what to do about it.” He took another enormous bite.
“Is it Marion that you wished to speak to me about?”
“Heavens, no!” He forgot himself long enough to speak with his mouth full. “I make it a policy never to speak about personnel matters outside of the library.”
“Well, then …” Susan began again, wondering just what he thought he had been doing.
“I do, however, believe in making exceptions to rules after I have considered whether it is absolutely necessary, whether there is any other way to deal with a situation. And if there isn’t, I believe in going ahead and speaking freely.” Swallow. “You do understand, don’t you?” Bite.
“No.” She waited for him to chew and swallow.
“It was no accident that man was killed in my library.”
“No?”
“No.” The subject interested him so much that he stopped eating for a minute. “You’ve probably heard what people are saying.”
“I’ve been busy,” Susan answered. “I can’t say that I’ve heard anything. I don’t even know who the victim was.”
This appeared to startle Charles Grace. “I thought the police told you everything.” He sounded as if he was accusing her of lying to him.
“I can’t imagine why you thought that,” Susan said. “I have helped the police with one or two murder investigations, but I certainly have no official standing with the department.”
“I thought you and the new police chief were very close.”
“I think you’ve misunderstood. I am not close to Brett Fortesque—in fact, until yesterday, I had not seen him for more than three years. And, to be honest, Mr. Grace, I still don’t know why you wanted to speak with me today.”
He stood up so abruptly that only some quick action kept his sandwich from falling to the floor. “In that case, I’m afraid I have called you here unnecessarily. I misunderstood the situation. It looks like you won’t be able to help us after all. Perhaps I should stop wasting your time and wish you good day.”
“Perhaps you should.” Susan didn’t bother trying to keep the anger from her voice. As she left the room, she noticed that Charles Grace’s distress at Marion’s offerings didn’t extend to spurning them. He was happily munching on cookies as she slammed his office door behind her.
She walked out into the startled faces of those in the building. Once again she had broken the traditional silence of the library.
Marion Marshall hurried to her side. “You weren’t in there very long,” she said.
“It turned out that we didn’t have much to say to each other.”
“I have a lot to say to you. I’m on my lunch break now. Will you join me? We could eat on one of the benches down by the pond. I bring my own lunch, and I always bring more than enough for two—in case someone forgets theirs,” she added. Both women glanced up at Charles Grace’s office. “Please,” Marion begged.
“Okay. If it won’t take too long. I have a house full of guests.”
“Oh, I promise you I’ll take up as little of your time as possible.”
Why was it that Susan always felt as though she were talking to an overly mannered child when she was with this woman? But it was best to hurry. She noticed Amy Ellsworth leaning against a computer talking with someone whose back was to her. Amy was always explaining how busy she was, but Susan had noticed that she seemed to have more than enough time to do what her mother would have called talking everyone’s head off. Susan certainly didn’t have time for that now. Marion pulled an old-fashioned straw picnic basket from behind the desk, and Susan followed her outside.
The library was a couple of thousand feet from the duck pond. As a convenience to the citizens of Hancock and to protect the lawn, three trails had been devised leading from the building to the path around the water. A half-dozen willow trees leaned toward the water, and geometric beds of autumn chrysanthemums completed the picture. The town had constructed numerous benches from which to view it. Marion led the way to one almost hidden in the trees.
“No, wait!” She stopped Susan from sitting down. She pulled off the calico cloth that had been covering the basket and unfolded it, spreading it across the bench. “There’s a lot of pollen in the air, as well as bird … uh, bird effluence,” she explained delicately, gesturing for Susan to sit. “Now, I have cold avocado soup, crab salad, cheese and rolls, green salad with raspberry vinaigrette, and madeleines.”
“Is this a special occasion? Your birthday or something?” Susan asked, accepting the silverware and napkins offered. Apparently Marion always carried a spare set.
“I just like to come prepared. Like the Girl Scouts, you know.”
Susan was just beginning to know. It looked to her like Marion was truly always prepared for a guest. And, possibly, sadly, always hoping that Charles Grace would be that gue
st. Marion’s next words were to prove her wrong about that.
“Actually, I was hoping I would get the chance to talk with you today.” She busied herself laying out the elegant (china, not plastic) meal, and Susan waited until she was ready to speak again. “I need something from you, Mrs. Henshaw.”
Susan was glad to see that Marion didn’t emulate her boss’s mastication habits. “Thank you.” She accepted a full plate gratefully. “What do you need?”
“There’s only one way to say this, and that is just to say it.” Marion took a deep breath and followed her own advice. “I know you’re friends with the new chief of police. I … I hope you’ll speak to him. Tell him what a wonderful person Mr. Grace is, and how the murders yesterday had nothing to do with him or the library that he has worked so hard to create!”
Now Susan took some time to chew her food. (The crab salad was wonderful!) “You think Charles Grace has something to do with the deaths,” she said finally.
“No, of course not. But Mr. Grace has enemies who will use this event to take his job away from him, to run him out of Hancock!”
Susan thought this was a strange conversation, but she did need some information. “Did you see the murder victim when he was still alive?” she asked, pulling the crust from a roll and tossing it in the direction of a large gander.
“Oh, yes. He even spoke to me. I was at the front desk, checking out books, when he came up and asked about the library.”
“He lived in Hancock?”
“I don’t think so. I’d never seen him here before, and I do usually recognize most of the people in town. But he was interested in the library. You know, the new building and all. He asked how long it had been open and how a small town like this managed to build something so spectacular. We’re always getting questions about it. The library is really special.”
“Did he ask about anything in particular?”
All Hallows Evil Page 9
