By Book or by Crook (17 page)

Unless the good stuff was stored someplace else, Diane was in for a big disappointment. These books
might bring in a few bucks at a garage sale. Five dollars for a bagful.

“I hear the library was broken into last night,” Diane said.

“Who told you that?” Bertie replied.

She waved her hand in the air. “Word gets around.”

“People are talking, Bertie,” Curtis said. “They’re saying that without Jonathan’s strong hand on the helm, the library’s failing.”

“Who’s saying?” I asked.

“People.”

“You have a strange definition of ‘failing.’” Bertie sipped her bourbon. “We’ve never been so busy.”

“You can’t cope with the crowds.”

“Jonathan,” Diane said, “wouldn’t have been so lax as to allow three volumes to be pilfered.”

“Only two,” Bertie said, “are temporarily missing.
Mansfield Park
is perfectly safe. It couldn’t, in fact, be much safer. I’m confident the police will recover the others in due course. This is excellent bourbon, by the way. I wasn’t aware Jonathan liked his bourbon.”

“I brought it over,” Curtis said.

“Making yourself at home, are you? How nice.” Bertie sat comfortably in her chair, her posture relaxed, her tone light, sipping her drink. I was beginning to know her well enough that I could recognize the pure fury emanating from her. “Do you have a date for Jonathan’s funeral, Diane?”

“What?”

“We at the library will wish to pay our respects, of course.”

“Oh yeah, we’ve been meaning to tell you,”
Curtis said. Bertie’s eyebrow rose at the word “we.” “The cops released the body yesterday. We’ll let you know. Now, about the library. Diane and I are going to call an emergency meeting of the board soon as the funeral’s out of the way. We have to choose a board chair soon. Someone has to be in command of this ship.”

“Mrs. Fitzgerald is in line to take over. She is the vice chair, after all.”

“Eunice Fitzgerald couldn’t control a rubber ducky in a bathtub,” Diane snorted. She finished her drink and poured another.

“Are you thinking of stepping into the post, Diane?”

“Oh no. Not me. I’m far too busy.”

“Diane’s an idea person,” Curtis said. “She’s great in that way, but not one for the day-to-day business of administration and managing folks. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Diane preened. Her dog studied me, not liking what he saw.

“I was reluctant,” Curtis said. “But at Diane’s urging, I’ve decided to put myself up for election.”

“Curtis will be wonderful!” Diane gushed. “He’s owned and operated his own business for years, you know. Hugely successful, too. He could have expanded all over the state, but he’s such an Outer Banks boy, he couldn’t bear to leave. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

Curtis smiled modestly.

“Oh yes,” Bertie said, “Gardner Beachwear, right?”

“We’ve six branches now. From Duck to Hatteras.”

“Very impressive. As long as there isn’t a board chair at the moment, I need Jonathan’s keys back, Diane.”

“What keys?”

“The keys to the library.”

Diane looked blank. “I don’t have them.”

“They would have been among Jonathan’s possessions. He kept the library keys on the same chain as his personal keys. I’ve seen them many times. Didn’t the police or the funeral-home director return them to you?”

“They gave me some keys. I am . . . rather, I was . . . his wife, you know. The cops gave me two keys. One for the car and one for the house. Jonathan changed the locks a short time ago. The key the police gave me opened the front door.”

“Why do you suppose he changed the locks?” I asked. Was it possible his killing had nothing to do with the library? Had Jonathan been afraid of something—or someone?

“I have no idea,” Diane sniffed.

The edges of Bertie’s mouth curled up, and I understood. Jonathan had changed his locks to keep
Diane
out. “You didn’t find any other keys lying around? Perhaps you didn’t recognize them as belonging to the library.”

“Where’s this going, Bertie? The police asked about this, and now you. Diane told you she doesn’t have your keys.”

“I don’t like to leave loose ends dangling.”

“You’re trying to shift blame for your mismanagement onto Diane, aren’t you? Those Jane Aston books . . .”

“Austen,” I said.

“Whatever. Those books are valuable. Worth a lot, so I’ve been told. I knew it was a mistake, leaving them sitting right out in the open for anyone to snatch. Come to think of it, Bertie, weren’t you the one who found Jonathan—poor guy—dead in his own library?”

“That’s not fair,” I said, indignation rising.

“Quite all right, Lucy. Curtis is concerned for the library. As are we all. And about who might have murdered Jonathan. He’s wondering who, after all, stood to gain by his death.” Bertie looked pointedly around the room. She put down her empty glass and stood up. I scrambled to follow. My own drink wasn’t worth finishing.

Night had come early as rain continued to fall. I wrapped my scarf around my neck. We got into Bertie’s car and she switched on the engine.

Diane and Curtis stood at the front door, illuminated by the hall lights, watching us. Their faces were in darkness, but I knew they were not smiling. Diane held the squirming dog in her arms.

“That was a waste of time,” I said as Bertie pulled into the road.

“Not at all. I learned a great deal. Diane doesn’t know what happened to the key. The woman’s no actress. If she were hiding it, she’d have come over all huffy and righteous at being accused.”

“So we’ve eliminated one person as a suspect. I don’t see that we’re much farther ahead.”

“All we know is that Diane doesn’t have a key to the lighthouse. Therefore she didn’t break in last night. As for Jonathan’s death . . . I so hate seeing her in that house, destroying his library.”

“His collection isn’t worth anything,” I said.

“No one ever said it was. He loved books and liked to have them around him. He’d buy new hardcovers by his favorite authors, but otherwise he got what he wanted to read from used bookstores or the remaindered bins. Diane doesn’t know enough about books to understand that.”

“What about Curtis? What’s his interest in the library?”

“Nonexistent. Curtis is interested in Diane. Now that she’s back on Arch Street, that is. Businessman? Give me a break. He inherited a grubby chain of stores from his father. It’s hard not to make a profit setting made-in-China souvenirs, children’s bathing suits, and beach chairs on the Outer Banks, but Curtis is doing his best to run the business into the ground. When we ask who benefits from Jonathan’s death, Curtis has to be right up there. That Corvette you told me Diane was spotted shopping for? Can you see Diane, whose greatest ambition in life is to be a respected Southern matron, driving a Corvette?”

“What about him being chair of the library board?”

“I will do everything in my power to see that doesn’t happen,” Bertie said.

“Surely the other board members won’t want him in charge?” I asked.

“If Diane found out about
Mansfield Park
going missing, then the rest of the board knows about it. Poison spreads, Lucy. Whispers are already swirling around us. Diane wants Curtis as chair of the board, and some of the other members will go along with it. They don’t want to rock the boat, and Curtis talks a good talk.

“Diane and Jonathan had a difficult, tumultuous marriage. I never thought they were suited, but that was their business. She finally gave him an ultimatum: the library or her. He chose the library, and she will never forgive him for that. I doubt she killed him, although it’s entirely possible—her rage was something to see—but now, even though he’s dead, she still wants her revenge. Before our well-meaning but ineffectual board knows what’s happening, Diane and Curtis will be hinting to the commissioners that the library isn’t viable. Idea person, my ass. Diane has one goal and one goal only: she’s going to destroy not only the library in Jonathan’s house, but the one he devoted a great deal of his life to. My library. Our library. I will not allow that to happen.”

“Why was Jonathan upstairs that night, anyway? If we know that, we might know something about why he was killed.”

“I haven’t told anyone this,” Bertie said, “but Jonathan and I had strong words before the guests began to arrive. As the chair of the library board, he wanted to unveil the notebook. I, well, I wanted to have that honor. I did all the work, along with Ronald and Charlene. Jonathan would hold court and
accept compliments all evening, while I helped Josie with the buffet and ensured everyone’s glasses were filled. I insisted on being the one to bring down the notebook. When he saw I wasn’t going to give in, he grudgingly relented. Pride goeth before a fall, doesn’t it? I should have been content with doing my job, but just this once I wanted a small bit of the glory for myself. I should have known Jonathan wouldn’t let anyone else have one iota of the limelight. When I was delayed in getting the notebook, he scurried upstairs, figuring if he had it, I wouldn’t wrestle it out of his hands in front of the whole reception. Poor Jonathan. All he wanted was to be a big man around town.”

“That book of maps was on the floor beside him, remember? Had he been looking at it, do you think?”

“The police speculated he’d been trying to protect it. Someone was attempting to steal it, and when he arrived, he was attacked. The book is of some value, yes, but not worth killing over.”

“We know Theodore was upstairs. I saw him go up myself. He says Jonathan told him to go back to the party. Do you believe him?”

Bertie let out a long sigh. “I don’t know what I believe anymore, Lucy. I’ve always been secretly rather fond of Teddy, although keeping an eye on him is such a bother. I’ve insisted all along he would never have killed anyone for a book. But now, with
everything that’s happened, I don’t know. Have you considered it odd that no attempt has been made to take the notebook?”

“What do you mean?”

“In strict monetary terms, the notebook is much more valuable than the first editions. After all, it’s Jane’s own book. In her handwriting.”

“No one could ever sell it.”

“No, but a fan would love to own it,” Bertie said. “A rabid fan. Or a dedicated collector.”

“Like Theodore?”

“Jonathan and I had kept the existence of the notebook a secret until the party, but word always gets out. Is it possible Teddy was upstairs after it? Or just snooping in his usual way? Jonathan came across him and thought Teddy was intent on stealing either the map book or the journal for his collection, and Teddy struck out. Or maybe Mr. Uppiton grabbed the map book to defend himself. That might have frightened Teddy so much, he’s now afraid of touching the notebook.”

“But you think he didn’t steal
Mansfield Park
?” I said.

“I’m sure of it. So sure that I have to consider that if Teddy, God forbid, murdered Jonathan, then the theft of the books is an altogether separate situation.”

“My head is spinning.”

B
ertie dropped me at the library after our visit to Diane. It was just after seven, and both Ronald’s and Charlene’s cars were in the parking lot. The library’s interior lights were all on, and as I put my new key in the lock and opened the door, I was hit by a shock wave of Eminem.

Charles was curled up on the circulation desk, holding his head tightly against his body. He lifted his head and threw me a plaintive glance. Charlene moved to her music while she watched Ronald lay out his sleeping bag in front of the Austen alcove. As well as the bag, he’d brought a pillow, a blanket, a cooler containing refreshments, a sports bag with a change of clothes, and two books. One of the books was an educational treatise on developing reading skills in grade-one students from low-income families, and the other a science-fiction paperback the thickness of the front steps with a rather lurid painting of hard-muscled men and equally hard-muscled women loaded down with futuristic weaponry.

No accounting for reading tastes.

“Hey,” Charlene said, spotting me. “Welcome to the party.”

“Are you really going to sleep here all night, Ronald?”

“I will protect the remaining books with my life.” I wasn’t entirely sure if he was kidding.

Charlene opened the cooler, and I peered over her shoulder. “At least you’ll be well fed.” Charles leapt down to also have a peek.

The cooler was packed full of cans of soda, sandwiches, cookies, and bags of potato chips.

“Breakfast.” Ronald laid his pillow neatly on top of the sleeping bag and stood back to admire his work.

Charles curled himself into a black-and-tan ball in the center of the pillow.

“At least you won’t be lonely,” Charlene said. “Mind if I . . .”

“Help yourself. Nora was concerned that I might starve without immediate access to a fully stocked refrigerator.”

“How about some pizza?” I said. “I have a microwavable one upstairs. I can heat it up and bring it down.”

“Pizza’d be great,” Charlene said.

I ran upstairs and popped the pizza into the microwave.

We sat in a circle on the floor, a pile of Ronald’s snacks and the piping-hot but rather tasteless pizza between us. Charles got up from the pillow, stretched mightily, and settled into my lap with a contented purr.

“How did Charles come to live here?” I asked. “Did one of you bring him?”

“He belonged to one of the kids in my reading program,” Ronald said, tearing open a bag of chips. “The family moved to Germany for her mother’s
job, and it would have been too complicated to take the cat. The poor little girl was beside herself with grief at leaving him and worried over what would become of him. So I said he could be a library cat. I send her pictures regularly of him in our reading group, or posed with books I’d like her to read.”

“You’re a good man, Ronald,” Charlene said.

He laughed and grabbed a slice of pizza.

“I thought you had dinner at home?”

“Good men always have room for pizza.”

We started at a knock on the door. I was closest, so I removed Charles from my lap and got up to answer it. Connor stood there, his head and shoulders heavy with rain. “I saw the lights on and know Tuesday’s early closing. Thought I’d better check.”

“Come on in,” I said. “Have you had supper?”

“No.”

“Then you’re in luck.”

“You’re not busy enough here?” he said, with a laugh, shaking off rain. “You’re turning the library into a campground?”

We started to explain about the theft and subsequent locating of
Mansfield Park
.

“I heard about that,” Connor said. “I’m afraid the story’s all over town. And growing in the telling, I might add.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Ronald said. “Anyone who wants to steal
Emma
, the next book if they’re taking them in order, will have to get past me.”

“And me,” Charlene said.

Charles meowed, and we all laughed.

Connor dropped onto the floor beside me and accepted a can of soda from Ronald. Our mayor was
dressed in a dark suit and plain tie, probably on his way home from a meeting with the board of trade or the chief of police, but he looked as though he belonged here, sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating microwaved pizza and potato chips.

We sat there for a long time, munching on high-fat snacks, drinking soda, telling our life stories, and enjoying each other’s company. It was easy to forget that a man had been murdered right over our heads, that someone was stealing valuable books, and that there were people in town determined to see our library closed.

Charlene was the first to yawn and say it was time to head home.

“Fortunately,” Ronald said, “I don’t have far to go.” He nodded toward his cozy nest.

“You’re really going to bunk here every night?” Connor asked, waving good-bye to Charlene.

“While the Austen books are here, yes.”

“Amazing. I’m off, too.” Connor pushed himself to his feet.

I tried to stand, but my left leg had fallen asleep. It gave way under me and I staggered. I would have fallen had not Connor grabbed my arm. “That’s the second time in two days I’ve saved you.” His lovely blue eyes twinkled, and I felt myself blushing.

“I won’t ask,” Ronald said. “Lucy, do you want me to see you to your apartment?”

“That’s hardly necessary.”

“In that case,” Connor said, “why don’t you walk me to my car? It sounds as though the rain’s let up.”

Not only had the rain stopped, but most of the clouds had cleared, revealing a bright white moon.
The sea was a low murmur of waves drifting onto shore. Out of sight, but not of hearing, a handful of cars moved past on the highway.

“That was fun,” Connor said.

“It was.”

“I’m glad Ronald’s staying here. It seems silly, but it should scare our thief off.”

“Charlene’s going to do some shifts, too.”

“Good. And not only because of the books. Are you safe here, Lucy? I don’t mean to frighten you, but strange things have been happening.”

“I’m fine. I got a new lock and a bolt and chain on the door to my room. To be honest, Connor, I absolutely love my apartment. I wouldn’t want to leave it for the world.”

“You keep your phone charged and with you at all times?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Okay, you’re right. It’s your decision.”

“Is the library going to be all right, Connor?”

“If I have anything to say about it.”

“There’s going to be a new chair of the board. If it’s who Bertie thinks is after the job, she’s worried he’s going to try to have us shut down.”

“I’m not on the board, but I do have some influence in this town. The commissioners grumbled mightily about the injunction of funds, but that’s what they always do. I pointed out the amount of business the library’s bringing to town, with nothing but extra work to show for it, and they, still grumbling, agreed.”

“Thanks, Connor.”

“This business of the books being stolen,
though . . . Not everyone loves Bertie or the library, and knives are coming out.”

“That’s ridiculous! It’s hardly Bertie’s fault.”

“I’m on your side, Lucy. Yours and Bertie’s. The Bodie Island Lighthouse Library’s one of the jewels of this part of the coast.” He smiled down at me. His eyes were warm, his lips full. I wondered if he was thinking of kissing me.

I wondered what I’d do if he did. Suddenly, I was that fourteen-year-old girl again, protected, innocent, having a walk on the starlit beach with the first boy I’d ever loved.

“You’d better go in,” Dr. McNeil, the mayor, said. “I’ll watch until you’re safely inside.”

“Good night, Connor.”

“Night, Lucy.”

I gave him a wave from the open doorway and remained there, watching as the lights of his car moved down the access road, stopped at the highway, and then sped away. While we’d been talking, the clouds had moved back in to cover the moon, but at the moment I turned to go inside, a wisp of cloud parted. A sliver of moonlight bounced off glass on the opposite side of the loop road, beneath a cluster of trees, and I could see a car, dark in color, the headlights switched off. This road led to nothing but the lighthouse, making a big circle in front of the building, providing only one entrance off the highway.
Could it be a couple of lovers seeking a private quiet spot? I peered closer, willing the moon to come out in strength.

The engine started up, breaking the silence. It didn’t switch on its headlights, and the dark shape glided behind the trees, keeping to the far side of the loop. Only once it turned into the highway did the lights come on. The night was too dark for me to make out the color or the model. I shivered, scurried inside, and slammed the door firmly behind me.