Booked for Trouble (22 page)

“Must be tough,” I agreed.

The shadow drifted closer. A shape of darkness against the dark of the night.

“When Karen started giving me lip, I'd just about had enough. I was going to throw it all in. Then you arrived, Sue, and I knew everything would be all right. You weren't very nice to me when we first met. But I didn't mind. I knew I could win you over. Just like I did all those years ago.”

Mom's eyes rolled. She lifted her left hand, and stroked the one George had around her throat. No, not a stroke, just a slow gentle moving of her fingers. I flexed my knees and got ready to run. We might die out here waiting for the Lady to make her move.

Bad choice of words.

I tried to control my breathing. I could not give in to fear and the instinct to panic.

“Did you take the necklace as a gift for Mom?” I asked. What could I do, except to keep talking and hope George would eventually let go of Mom, or we would be saved by a ghost that was nothing more than a shadow darker than the night?

“That worked out even better than I'd planned,” George said. “I knew Sue would be confused and frightened at being suspected of stealing it, so she'd rely on good old George to help her out. Just like she did back when we were in school. Do you remember the time those boys were calling you names, Sue? I stood up to them and chased them away. You were so grateful.”

I didn't ask him about Karen. This didn't seem like a good time to remind him that he was capable of killing a woman.

“Your gratitude didn't last, did it, Sue?” he said, his voice turning harsh. “Oh, no. You decided you wanted something better than George Marwick. But now, after all these years, you finally understand that I'm the only one who can take care of you. Don't you, Sue?”

Mom made a strangled noise he took as assent.

“That meddling Karen was going to ruin everything. If she told you that I'd taken that necklace, you would have been angry at me, wouldn't you, Sue? Karen would have made it sound like something tawdry, like I was a common thief. I couldn't let that happen, so I had to get rid of Karen. Now everything's going to be okay. Get back in your car, Lucy, and go away. I'll let Sue write to you when we're settled.”

The Lady was almost on them. She was nothing but a dark shape, black on deeper black. The light from the Fresnel lens flashed, but it served only to throw her deeper into shadow.

My mom moved. She raked her fingernails down George's arm and screamed as she tried to twist away. I saw the fond reminiscence leave his face, to be replaced by pure thwarted rage. He screamed, put both his hands on her neck, began to twist.

“No!” I yelled. I ran forward, but I wouldn't be able to reach them before he broke my mother's neck.

At that moment, the light went into its 22.5-second dormancy. I heard a high-pitched, unworldly howl and then George screamed, not in rage but in pain, followed by the solid thud of a heavy weight falling to the ground.

I ran forward blindly. A brilliant light came on, and for a moment I thought the thousand-watt bulb had fallen at my feet. Pain shot through my eyes, and I threw my hands up to cover my face. The light moved away, although it did not go out.

I opened my fingers and peered out. My mother was standing in the field, stock-still, staring at her feet. There lay George, manager, face-first in a mud puddle. He groaned, and tried to turn over. A foot pressed down on his neck and a voice growled, “Don't even twitch.”

I had not expected the Lady to have a deep, gravelly voice.

The light moved again and gradually I could see. The Lady was dressed, not in a cloak and gown, but in a long baggy sweater and a calf-length skirt above bony ankles and black boots. The hood of the sweater was thrown back and I could see a face. A real, live, human face.

The Gray Woman.

“You watch him,” she said to me, pulling a phone out of her sweater pocket, “while I call the cops.”

B
etween the Gray Woman, Mom, and me, we were able to keep George facedown in the mud. Soon we heard the wonderful and so welcome scream of sirens heading our way, and red and blue lights washed the lane and the parking lot. Women and men in uniform ran toward us and we stepped back. The spluttering, complaining George was hauled to his feet.

“Sue,” he said, “I only wanted us to be together. You belong to me. I would never hurt you. Tell them!”

“This man kidnapped my mother,” I yelled. “He was about to kill her. He killed Karen Kivas.”

“Let's go, buddy,” one of the officers said.

“I wouldn't kill her. Not my Sue. Tell them, Sue, tell them!” George screamed as they led him away.

“Detective Watson's on his way,” an officer told us. “He said you're to stay here.”

The moment the police had arrived, my mother and I had fallen into each other's arms, weeping. Mom was the first to recover. “I'm not standing out here in the dark and cold.”

“You can wait in my car. I'll turn the heat up,” the officer said.

“We'll go into the library,” I said. “I have a key.”

“I guess that's okay.”

I led our small group into the lighthouse. As soon as I opened the door and switched on the light, Charles leapt into my arms. I gave him a giant hug. The poor creature must have been watching the whole thing out the window, and been distressed at his inability to come to our aid. I flexed my wrist. It was sore, but nothing seemed to be damaged.

“You both wait here,” I said. “I'll put the kettle on.”

I carried Charles into the break room. I was still carrying him when I came back out. It had been difficult to fill the kettle, get down mugs, and lay out milk and sugar with the cat in my arms, all with a sore wrist, but he wasn't letting go, and neither was I.

The Gray Woman was arranging the shawl from the circulation desk chair over my mother's shoulders. As she fussed, she chatted as though she were trying to comfort a fractious three-year-old. Any other time, I would have expected Mom to swat her away, but tonight she let herself be fussed over.

Officer Franklin was standing at the door, arms crossed. She was smiling.

“Okay,” I said to the Gray Woman. “Not that I'm not grateful or anything, but first things first. Who the heck are you?”

She took a seat, folded her sweater around her. “My name's Irene Dawson. I'm a time and motion consultant, specializing in libraries.”

“And you're here because . . .”

“My firm was hired by concerned individuals to
investigate what some members of the community considered to be improper organizational procedures.”

“Which means you were hired by Diane Uppiton and Curtis Gardner.”

“I am not at liberty to reveal the specific names of our clients.”

I wondered where Diane and Curtis had found the money. Raided the library budget, probably, disguising it as something else.

“In the short time before we're all dragged off to be questioned by the police, what are your conclusions?” I asked.

“That you run a highly unorthodox library. Regular police visits, book club members being murdered. Talk of ghosts and spirits. Even a cat free to wander about at will.”

I bristled. “The children love Charles, and it's hardly our fault that—”

She held up one hand. The edges of her mouth turned up in a surprisingly warm smile. “Highly unorthodox. But extremely efficient and wildly popular with both local residents and visitors, even under difficult conditions that are out of your control. My recommendation to my clients will be that Ms. James be allowed to continue to run her library as she sees fit.”

“Thanks,” I said, exhaling a huge sigh of relief.

“Yes, yes,” Mom said. “Whatever. But what were you doing tonight? Outside, prowling around in the dark.”

“A regular nighttime security check.”

“This is a lighthouse,” I said. “No one can get in once the door's locked.”

“It's a standard part of our service,” Irene Dawson said.

That settled to my satisfaction, I turned to my mom. “What did George mean when he said something about saving you like he did the other time?”

Mom shook her head. She looked genuinely sad. “I find it hard to believe that he's obsessed over that trivial incident all these years. We were at a football game at another school. A couple of boys catcalled my girlfriends and me. George Marwick rushed up, full of indignation, and told them not to be rude. I said thanks. It was nothing at all, but I made a joke about him defending my honor. For the next several months, George followed me around like a lost puppy dog. He never asked me out on a date. I suspected he didn't have the nerve, which was just as well as I didn't want to hurt his feelings. Really, Lucy, I had no idea he was so infatuated with me that it lasted almost forty years. Although,” she touched her hair, “I shouldn't be surprised. He was a strange boy.”

“Who grew up to be a strange man,” Irene said.

“So you weren't almost engaged?” I asked. “Like he said when we first ran into him?”

Mom rolled her eyes. “In all our school years, we never exchanged more than half a dozen sentences. Until tonight, I've never been alone with George Marwick in my entire life. And believe me—that one experience was more than enough.”

As we talked, we could see vehicles coming and going and watch people moving about the grounds.

Sam Watson came in, followed by Butch Greenblatt and Connor McNeil. All three men were dressed in sneakers, shorts, and sweat-stained T-shirts.

“George Marwick?” Watson said.

I nodded. “He kidnapped Mom. He would have killed
her without the intervention of Ms. Dawson here. I'm positive he murdered Karen.”

“I'm all ears,” Watson said. “Lucy, you do the talking.”

I glanced at Butch and Connor. “Why are you two here?”

“Our regular Tuesday night pickup basketball game,” Connor said. “Sam got a call, and headed out of the gym double-quick.”

“So I followed him,” Butch said.

“And I followed Butch,” said Connor. “As soon as I heard the word ‘lighthouse,' I thought I'd better come.”

“You do have a way, Lucy, of being at the center of any incident,” Butch said.

I hid a smile. They'd rushed to the rescue. My two knights in shining armor. I looked at Irene, the Gray Woman. Tonight, she'd been my knight. In more ways than one, it seemed.

Mom glanced between Connor and Butch. She looked at me. She smiled.

Charles also smiled. Then he jumped off my lap and took his place on the returns cart to hear the story.

Watson allowed me to serve the hot tea, and then I told him everything that had happened. Irene and Mom added bits and pieces of their own.

“Marwick told you he'd stolen that necklace?” Watson asked me.

“Yes. He also said he killed Karen because she knew he'd stolen it.”

“He told the officer who drove him to the station that he didn't mean to kill her. It was supposed to be a tap on the head, a warning.”

I shivered. “She was a heavy smoker. There's no smoking in the library, of course, so she must have
stopped for a cigarette after leaving that night. George was probably waiting behind the trees in the loop. Saw she was alone and took his chance.”

“In the initial search of the area, we found a half-smoked cigarette on the ground next to her car,” Watson said. “We didn't know if she'd smoked it in the car on the way to the library and put it out when she got here, or had lit it after book club.”

“I'm very tired,” Mom said. “May I go now?”

“Of course,” Watson said. “I'd like to talk to you again tomorrow, to get some details straight. Officer Greenblatt will drive you back to the hotel.”

“I'm never stepping foot in that place again. I'd like to go to my sister's. Oh, dear. I never did tell her we were coming, Lucy.”

I got to my feet. “I'll call her.”

“You go with your mother, Lucy,” Watson said. “You shouldn't be here alone tonight.”

“No,” I said firmly. “This is my home. I am safe and comfortable here. And that is that.” I waited for them to object. No one did. “But I have another call to make, as well. Would you gentlemen and Irene mind waiting outside for a few minutes? This is private.”

Connor and Butch threw me concerned glances, but they followed Sam Watson out the door. Irene Dawson went with them.

I used the library phone to call Aunt Ellen. I told her briefly what had happened and that Mom couldn't return to the hotel. She said she'd send Amos to the hotel for Mom's bags and have the guest room ready.

I put down the receiver and turned to my mother. “You ready?”

She nodded. She stood close beside me, and I dialed.
When the phone was picked up at the other end, I said, “Hi, Dad.”

“Lucy!” his deep voice boomed down the line. “I called you earlier, but your phone seems to be out of service.”

I thought of it lying in the Ocean Side Hotel parking lot. “It had a small accident.”

“I'm starting to get worried.”

I threw Mom a glance. My dad's normal speaking voice was so loud, she had no trouble hearing him.

“Worried about what, Dad?” After the evening I'd just had, talking to my father didn't have me quaking in my boots.

“Have you, uh, spoken to your mother in the last week or so?”

“Why?”

“She left the house abruptly last week. You know your mother—she likes her little ‘me time' on occasion, so I thought nothing of it. But it's been a week and no one's heard from her. Not me, not your brothers.”

“Did you call Aunt Ellen?”

“You know Ellen and I don't get on all that well.”

Yeah, I knew. My aunt couldn't stand him.

“Suzanne took her car, packed a suitcase, and told Maria she'd be away for a few days and couldn't say when she'd be back. Some . . . uh . . . shopping was delivered to the house the other day. A rather excessive amount, actually. That's normal behavior for your mother, but I am starting to get worried, Lucy. I'm beginning to think I should call the police.”

Mom's eyebrows rose.

“Has she seemed upset about anything lately?” I was touched by the concern in his voice, but I wasn't going to
come straight out and tell him she was standing right beside me. Let him wiggle around on the hook for a while, draw it out.

“There's been some . . . uh . . . changes at the office, and I've been preoccupied. If you're talking to your mother, please tell her that Mrs. Ferguson's replacement didn't prove to be suitable for the job. We found her another position on the fourth floor.” I was relieved to hear that he hadn't done like aristocrats and executives of old and simply thrown the discarded mistress onto the street. That was nice of him. Then again, this was the twenty-first century; she might have threatened to sue him.

Mom held out her hand. I put the receiver into it.

“I'm here, dear. I'm safe. I'm enjoying my daughter's company. Is there any particular reason I should come home?”

I walked out of the library and left them alone.