“I don’t see who else they could have been discussing,” Susan agreed.
“Then the man says that it’s a good thing she didn’t hit you or anything …”
“Hit me?” Susan was confused; were they talking about the murder or weren’t they? The answer came to her as Chad explained.
“They were talking about stealing your purse. They were saying that Mrs. Armstrong stole your purse. I’ve thought about it, and that’s exactly what they were talking about. Then I did something really stupid. I fell against the window and rattled it, and they both jumped like they were scared out of their wits, and I just dropped that damn snake and took off.”
“That’s very, very interesting, Chad, and I think you ought to tell Brett.”
“I thought of that, but when I saw that Mrs. Armstrong was at the dining room table, I thought I should wait.”
“You’re right. You need privacy. Why don’t you go on into the study, and you can watch TV until I bring your dinner? I’ll ask Brett to come in and talk with you as soon as I get a chance to see him alone.”
“Okay. I have a test in biology tomorrow, though, so I’ll just turn on the stereo.”
“Fine.” She smiled at her son. “Don’t worry about telling Brett.…”
“I won’t.” He shrugged. “Brett’s cool,” he called over his shoulder, leaving the room.
“That he is.” Kathleen agreed, opening the back door and sticking her head into the room. “Someone lose a friend here?” she asked, walking into the kitchen holding a very dirty, slightly damp stuffed snake in her hand.
“That was part of Chad’s Halloween costume.”
Kathleen looked the thing in its face. “I thought I recognized the poor guy. Chad and his friends came in and entertained Bananas last night. They made faces, danced around, and even gave him some candy corn to play with. He loved it!” She shook the snake. “I think this guy was looking a little better then.”
“Trick-or-treating can be pretty rough,” Susan commented as she finished fixing Chad’s dinner.
“If that’s for Chad, I can take it out to him.” The women turned around as Brett came in from the dining room. “I’ve been wanting to talk with him for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”
“No. Is something wrong?” Susan asked. “I mean,” she added, “something new?”
“No. I just thought I’d like to chat with him, if that’s okay. There were a lot of Halloween pranks pulled last night, and most of them were by kids in junior high school. Nothing serious, and I know that Chad is beyond all that now, but since I don’t know any other kids in town, I was hoping that Chad might give me some clues to what’s going on. I’m not asking him to squeal on his friends; I just hoped for some information—and then, when people call to make complaints, I can assure them that I’m investigating.”
“Actually, Chad has something else that he wants to talk with you about. He’s in Jed’s study. It’s right behind the living room. You probably don’t remember where it is?”
He picked up the tray. “I’ll find it, don’t worry. Hi, nice to see you again,” he added, nodding to Kathleen as he headed out the door.
Kathleen smiled at his departing back and, pausing to hang the snake over a rack provided for dish towels, sat down at the kitchen table. “So what’s for dessert?”
“Have some candy corn—it’s in the dish over there on the counter,” Susan said, removing the snake and tossing it down the basement stairs. “I’m not going to win a prize for being the perfect hostess. I used your idea about melting candy bars for ice-cream topping.”
“And everyone thought it was wonderful, right?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t made it back into the dining room since the main course.”
“They did. Everyone always does.”
“I can give you some coffee, though. Decaf. And you can tell me why you’re here.”
“Bananas fell asleep early, and I was hoping you and I could talk about the murders on the way to the library.”
“The library?”
“You forgot, didn’t you?”
“Forgot what?” Susan started putting the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.
“We were going to go listen to that writer at the library tonight. You know, the woman who writes those travel books is speaking.”
“Oh, no! She wrote the book about the subways in London and that one about ferry trips around northern Europe and Scotland. I’d completely forgotten. I really wanted to hear her speak. I think being a travel writer would be the perfect life, and Jed is anxious to see the Orkney and the Shetland Islands, so I was thinking about starting to plan our vacation.”
“It doesn’t start till eight,” Kathleen glanced at her watch. “We can still make it.”
“I …”
“Charles Grace will be there.”
They exchanged significant looks.
TEN
“And in conclusion …”
The sigh of relief was almost universal. Members of the audience, gathered in the largest meeting room of the Hancock Public Library, swallowing yawns, surreptitiously stretching tired limbs, and, having tried not to look too bored for the last hour and seven minutes, disguised their feelings with loud applause.
“If Scotland has a tourist bureau, they should seriously think about hiring someone to silence that woman. No one who hears her will ever go there!”
Susan grinned at Kathleen. “I smell coffee. Where … ?”
“Back of the room. They always set up the refreshments there. Charles Grace will be nearby. He likes to stand at one end of the table collecting compliments on the program.”
“You go to a lot of these evenings, don’t you?”
“Ever since Bananas was born. Jerry’s usually home in the evening to take care of him, and it is nice to get out regularly.”
Susan remembered those days; it could be difficult living with a toddler. She should help out more.
As Kathleen had predicted, Charles Grace was stationed at the end of a long, bountiful table, but whatever compliments he was receiving weren’t making him at all happy. He was scowling down at the woman standing before him.
Susan and Kathleen, who had been sitting together at the front of the audience, followed the crowd (for the speech had been very well attended) to the back of the room. There they poured decaf coffee from a large urn and selected slices of pumpkin and apple bread from a lavish display of food. By the time they made their way to Charles Grace, he was smiling benevolently upon his flock of library patrons.
“Interesting speech.” Kathleen, being first in line, was first to offer her polite lie.
“She’s quite a writer,” Charles Grace insisted. “And very generous. She has donated copies of all her own work to us as well as many books that are sent to her—she reviews books for two or three major publications, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.” Susan answered for Kathleen. “She lives in Hancock?”
“Yes. For quite a few years. We’ve been trying to fit her into our lecture schedule for a while, but, as you can imagine, it’s been very difficult. She must travel so much, you know.”
“Naturally, we would expect that of a travel writer,” Kathleen answered. Susan was no longer paying attention. In fact, she surprised Kathleen by wandering away. She had seen Marion Marshall alone in a corner of the room and was curious to know why she was crying.
However, Marion didn’t give her a chance to ask questions, but, forcing a smile onto her face, she started to speak. “She was a wonderful speaker, wasn’t she? Charles is so pleased that she could be with us tonight.”
Susan planted herself between Marion and the rest of the room before she answered. “So why are you so upset? Is there anything I can do?”
The smile melted. “No.” A sniff. “It’s just that Charles is so distressed, and I think he blames me.”
“For what?”
Marion looked over Susan’s shoulder before answering. “This is,” she bega
n slowly, “confidential library business.”
“I won’t run all over town talking about it,” Susan promised.
“Of course, you might be able to help us find them,” Marion said.
“ ‘Find them?’ ” Susan had been thinking about women upset to discover that their cozy read was being interrupted by an imaginary sex act. Who was “them”?
“Books. But not just any books,” Marion continued the story. “Very, very expensive books: art books, medical and law books—some of these things cost well over one hundred dollars.” She paused.
“You know …” Marion said the words slowly. Susan assumed that this idea was a new one. “You know, maybe that man stole them!”
“That man?”
“The homeless man. He’s always hanging around. He annoys our patrons, pesters the librarians asking thousands of questions that he cannot possibly use the answers to, he drives Charles crazy by spending all day, every day, in the library since it opened. You know, if he’s a murderer, he certainly wouldn’t think there was anything wrong with stealing books.…”
“I don’t think he’s a murderer,” Susan insisted quietly. “And I don’t see why he would steal books.”
“For resale!” Marion argued. “There is a fabulous market for some of the books we have on our shelves!”
“How would someone who is homeless find this market?” Susan tried to keep the irritation from her voice, but she did not appreciate every problem the town had being blamed on this one poor man, the one man least able to protect himself.
What Marion did might have been called a snort in anyone less feminine. “Just because he’s homeless doesn’t mean he’s the stupidest man alive. He watches, he listens, he could have picked up that information, believe me.”
“Then …”
“And if he isn’t taking them, we need to find out who is. The library cannot possibly afford to buy these books twice, and Charles is very, very distressed over all this.”
“Listen, I heard something else about Charles Grace—about something else that he’s probably distressed over,” Susan interrupted.
Was it her imagination or was Marion instantly on guard? “You’re not talking about the murder this time, are you? Because I had a long talk with Charles this afternoon, and I am now convinced that he had nothing to do with that.”
“No. I’m talking about complaints that he is recommending the wrong books to elderly ladies in town.”
“What … ?” Marion’s voice rose an octave, ending in something resembling a screech. “Wherever did you hear that ridiculous story?”
“It’s not a ridiculous story—it’s not a story. Someone is so serious about it that they’ve called the police to investigate.”
“They have it in for him,” Marion insisted, eyes flashing. “Charles is a very successful man, and many people are jealous of him. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
“These are not idle rumors,” Susan answered.
“Maybe it would be better if we spoke to Mr. Grace himself,” Kathleen suggested, coming up behind the two women.
“Don’t you think he has enough to worry about?” Marion asked. “So much is happening these days! Charles is under terrible pressure—”
“But maybe Susan could help,” Kathleen interrupted. “Maybe if she could just speak to him for a few minutes.”
“He is a very busy man,” Marion explained.
“Just a few minutes,” Susan pleaded.
“And think what a relief it would be for him if Susan can help solve just one or two of his problems,” Kathleen added.
“Maybe I could arrange for you to have a minute or two.” Marion sounded doubtful.
“Now that’s an excellent idea,” Kathleen said enthusiastically. “I have to hurry home to my family, but Susan …”
Susan was not so enthusiastic about returning to her houseguests. She was very anxious to find answers to some of her questions. “I can stay. I’ll just find a neighbor to drive me home—or I can give Jed a call.”
“Why don’t you wait up in Charles’s office? I’ll make some excuse and bring him to you.”
Well, at least Marion had cheered up, Susan thought, agreeing to the plan. “But I think I’ll get some more coffee and cake,” she insisted, really wanting a minute or two with Kathleen.
“Good idea.” Marion positively bubbled. “When you’re done, go on up. I’ll make sure Charles talks to you just as soon as the last guest leaves.”
“So what do you think?” Susan asked when Marion had skipped off on her errand.
“I think it’s about time. This mystery started in this building; it’s possible that there are a few answers around here, too.”
“But do you think I should ask him about the books he recommended or just—”
“Ask him about anything and everything. Who knows what might lead where.… Are you really going to eat all that?”
Susan was filling a large plate with sweet breads, coffee cakes, muffins, and a large bunch of purple grapes. “I was worried about Chad at dinnertime and didn’t eat very much. He’s fine,” she added, seeing the concerned look on her friend’s face. “He just got home a little late.”
“Oh. I wonder how I’ll stand it when Bananas is going out on his own?”
“You have a long time before then,” Susan assured her, picking up the last blueberry muffin. “Are you leaving?”
“Hmmm.” She pulled a bulky green heather wool sweater over her head. “Call me after you’ve spoken with him. I’ll be up late. Bananas is cutting his two-year molars. The doctor says he’s never seen them come in so early, but the poor little guy is in a lot of pain.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll be just fine once they break through. I’ll call the moment I get home.”
“Fabulous. Don’t forget. I’ll be waiting.”
Susan and Kathleen walked together to the bottom of the stairway to Charles Grace’s office. “Do you think he’d mind if I went up?” Susan asked, discovering that the door was unlocked. “Although I suppose I could always wait for him here …”
“Go on up. That’s what Marion thought you should do, isn’t it? We both know that she wouldn’t do anything to upset her precious Charles. You can sit down comfortably and eat your snack. Who knows how long you might have to wait? Just be sure to call me. I’m dying to know what’s going on with that man.”
“Me, too.” Susan said her good-byes and started up the stairs, balancing her full plate and taking care that coffee didn’t slosh out of her cup.
She needn’t have bothered. The light above the librarian’s desk was turned on, and his heavy trench coat hung over the chair. Susan was so surprised to see the light, she spilled her snack. Luckily there was a roll of paper towels sitting under a bookshelf, and Susan hurried to sop up the mess. She didn’t want her meeting to begin with an explanation of why she was crawling around on the floor.
She shouldn’t have worried. There was plenty of time. The floor got mopped, the paper towels were replaced, and Susan was seated in the spare chair in less than ten minutes. She put her plate down on the corner of a file cabinet, selected a slice of pumpkin pecan bread, and started to eat. In the dim light, the room looked more interesting than it had the day before. The green-shaded light’s reflection was repeated in the windows around the room. There were more books than Susan remembered. Books towered on tops of cabinets. Three large piles covered most of the surface on the desk. An even larger pile was tumbling over on the floor. Susan was afraid that her awkwardness had caused that one to unbalance, and she brushed the crumbs from her hands and began straightening it.
The books were new, and Susan couldn’t resist peeking at them. Apparently the ones placed on the floor had been chosen by size: they all looked like they were headed for the “oversize” shelf behind the fiction department. A fabulous book on Chagall sat on a world atlas, and a volume on nineteenth-century Russian folk art was sliding off a collection of copies of all the baseball card
s ever printed. The tapes had not yet been glued on the spines of these books, but it was obvious that their placement had nothing to do with either the Library of Congress or Mr. Dewey. Susan picked up a tome on Fabergé jewelry and continued to snack while slowly leafing through the pages. She never expected to fall asleep.
Susan awoke with a start, and the large book in her lap fell to the floor. Or had the sound of the book hitting caused her to wake up? She was disoriented, feeling that something was wrong or strange and not knowing what it was. The gentle hum from below had stopped, and she knew that she must be alone in the building. Glancing out the windows, she realized that there was no traffic on the roads. She looked at her watch. It was almost midnight. Well, once again Charles Grace had escaped talking with her. She was beginning to believe it wasn’t accidental. There was one final muffin on the plate, and she picked it up and tasted it without thinking. Her family must be worried about her. She reached for the phone. It was dead. Or maybe it went through a switchboard that was turned off in the evening, she reminded herself. The thing to do was go downstairs and see if the phones there were working.
It was a good idea—if only someone hadn’t locked the door at the bottom of the stairway. Susan just stared at the polished wood. Now what was she going to do? She walked slowly up the stairway, reminding herself that there was no reason to panic. The library opened in less than nine hours, and certainly the staff came to work earlier than that. Besides, her family would be missing her. They would come look for her. She sat down and looked out the windows. It was a long drop to the ground, and she certainly was in no position to try getting out that way. The windows didn’t open, and if she broke one, she might freeze to death before anyone heard her. She wondered if someone would notice that the desk light was on before remembering that the bell tower was always lit up at night. She had always thought the sight most charming, not knowing it was something as prosaic as a desk light. Of course, if it was always on …
All Hallows Evil Page 17
