Death Overdue (Librarian Mysteries) (14 page)

T
he next day I woke up to a lovely dream. I was lying in bed and a gentle hand caressed my face. Then I felt the lightest kiss on my forehead and I heard a voice saying, “I’m so glad to see you, my love.”

I opened my eyes, and two big brown eyes were staring at me. It took me a long second to realize it was Caldwell, and then I threw my arms around him, dragging him down on top of me.

We kissed as if we hadn’t seen each other for years. As we lay next to each other, I finally was able to speak. “How did you get here?”

“I broke out.”

I hoisted myself up on an elbow. “Really?”

“No, I’m out on bail. Remember? You posted it.”

“Yes, but Mr. Snotworthy Princess-Drip said it might take days for you to be released.”

“Mr. Clotworthy Prentiss-Hipp doesn’t like to get one’s hopes up. But he can be very effective when he chooses to be.”

I had to ask the question I was afraid to hear the answer to. “Do they really think that Sally was killed and it wasn’t an accident?”

“Yes, that’s what they told me. That a forensic guy looked over the room and the bookcase and determined there was no way for it to have fallen on its own, and Sally couldn’t have pulled it over because she was facing away from it when it fell on top of her.”

“Oh my,” I said as a slightly stronger phrase came to my mind. “And they think you were the one who did it?”

“My handprints are all over the bookcase and I was the first one on the scene. They feel these facts make me the most culpable.”

I sat up in bed and said decisively, “Now we must find out who really killed Sally.”

Caldwell sat up next to me and said in an equally determined voice, “Karen, I want you to stay out of this. This doesn’t involve you, and it could get nasty. Maybe you should go home for a while.”

“It’s already been nasty—you in jail for days—and it most certainly does involve me. Why, I’m sure I’m one of their suspects, and we need to clear your name. Plus, someone killed Sally, and we need to find out who.” I sank down on the pillow next to him. “You don’t really want me to go home, do you?”

“No, not very much. I’m just worried.”

“But this is just another test of our compatibility. If we get through this, then we’ll feel more certain of our relationship.”

“Yes, if one of us doesn’t end up in jail for a very long time.”

“My point exactly. We know neither one of us did it—so all we have to do is find out who did. It can’t be that hard. It can only be one of four people who were in the house that night: Alfredo, Penelope, and Brenda. I don’t see how Bruce can be a suspect. He knew no one, except you. At the moment, I’m leaning toward Penelope.”

“Why?”

“Because of the ring.”

“What ring?” he asked, puzzled.

“Did you ever see Sally wear a very ornate Victorian ring with emeralds and diamonds?”

He cocked his head like a robin looking for a worm and pondered, then said, “I remember a ring that Sally liked to flash around once in a while. She called it her cocktail ring. Very gaudy.”

“Yes, sounds like the very ring. It had been given to Penelope and, as she feared, Sally took it. Do you know where it is? Did Sally take it with her when she left for Italy?”

“I haven’t a clue.” He thought for a moment, then asked, “So you think that Penelope killed her sister over a ring? Seems a bit mad. And why now? Why here, of all places?”

“I think the ring might have been the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. According to their mother, Penelope was awfully jealous of Sally. Why now? Probably because this was the first real opportunity she had when there were other people around that could be blamed—like you.”

“Sally’s mum told you that? How did you happen to talk to her?”

“I went to see her after the funeral. Just to ask her a few questions.”

“Which is exactly what I don’t want you to do. This is not your problem, Karen.”

“Yes, anything that involves you is my problem. Get used to it.”

He smiled and said, “I’d like to.”

We kissed again. But Caldwell still had questions. “Penelope visited Sally in Italy. Why not there?”

“Because I don’t think the ring was there. Maybe that’s what Sally was looking for in the library. Maybe she hid the ring there and was trying to find it.”

“There are many maybes in your thesis.”

“One has to start somewhere.”

He rolled out of bed and stretched. I liked looking at his solid body. Even though he was a book person, he had the body of a healthy farmer, dimpled and hard.

“I’d like to start with breakfast,” he said. “How does a real English fry-up sound to you?”

I grabbed my robe. “I feel like I haven’t had a decent meal in days.”

“I
haven’t
had a decent meal in days,” he muttered.

“Was it awful?” I asked as we both shuffled down the hallway to the stairs.

“Not my usual clientele. A rough lot they were. But I was treated all right. Just had to wear this gray overall that didn’t fit very well.”

“Gray isn’t one of your best colors.”

When we got to the bottom of the stairs, Caldwell took hold of me by the shoulders. “I don’t want to go back there.”

“You won’t. We’ll figure this out.”

Once in the kitchen Caldwell went to work. So far all he allowed me to do was toast the bread. He had a lovely silver toast rack—the British like their toast cold so it doesn’t melt the butter. Don’t ask me why they like solid butter. I was getting used to cold toast.

I popped bread slices in the toaster and, when they were done, placed them carefully into the rack while Caldwell fried up some eggs, sausages, bacon, and a tomato. My favorite
part was the fried tomato. Plus, it was probably the only thing that was fairly good for me.

“What about our guests?” I asked as we sat down to eat in the kitchen. “What are they going to eat?”

“They’ll have to understand that nothing is normal right now. Are they even here? I haven’t heard any noise upstairs.”

“I’m pretty sure they were here last night. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, so I didn’t check in with them. I know Penelope wasn’t at her mother’s because I was there, plus I don’t think they allow sleepovers at the old folks’ home.”

“That’s where Mildred is now? At an old folks’ home, whatever that is. It sounds awful.”

“Mildred? I never got her first name. She’s not quite all there these days. It’s not such a bad place. She thinks she’s staying in a hotel. The hard part is that she doesn’t even remember what happened a few hours earlier. I had to remind her of Sally’s death.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. She must be in her eighties.”

“Yes, I’d guess she is. She seems quite happy, but not aware of what’s going on. Her short-term memory is shot, but she could remember things from when the girls were young.”

Just as we finished up our meals, there was a rather tentative knock on the front door. Caldwell looked down at his robe and then shrugged and went to answer it. I walked behind him. I wasn’t letting him out of my sight. I didn’t want anyone to take him away from me again.

A rather official-looking man in a long gray coat had an envelope in his hand. “I am to deliver this to a Mr. Alfredo Remulado. Is he lodging here at present? And if so, may I see him?”

“Yes,” Caldwell said, reaching for the envelope. “I’ll see that he gets it.”

“No, this has to be given to him personally.”

Just then Alfredo came walking down the hall in his silk pajamas.

“Letter for you, Alfredo,” Caldwell told him.

We stepped out of his way, and the man handed him the envelope, then turned and left.

“What is this?” Alfredo asked.

“Open it,” I suggested.

He opened it and read. “I’m not sure I understand what it says here for me.” He handed the letter to Caldwell, who skimmed the contents quickly, then looked up at Alfredo.

“For what it’s worth, Sally made someone named Giuseppe Molto her beneficiary,” Caldwell said.

“Giuseppe, that is me.” Alfredo threw an arm around Caldwell’s shoulder. “Then we will be partners together.”

“B
ut on the second thought I don’t want it.” Alfredo pushed the letter away as Caldwell tried to hand it back to him.

“Why not?” I asked, surprised at his reaction. “And who’s Giuseppe?”

“That’s my real name. Alfredo my nickname. I cannot be here anymore. I must go back to Italy. I see how much work the B and the B is. It is too much trouble to run such a place as this.”

Caldwell took Alfredo’s hand and gave him the letter.
“But if, in fact, Sally has a legal claim to the B and B, then I would have to buy you out.”

“Buy me out?” Alfredo was puzzled.

“Surely you must understand this, man. I would pay you for your part of the B and B, minus what I’m owed for keeping the place going. You wouldn’t have to do anything.”

“Oh, that is much better,” Alfredo said, smiling and nodding.

“I thought it might be.”

“How much would this money be?” Alfredo asked.

“We would have to get the house and business appraised and then also factor in the years that I ran it on my own.”

“I understand very little of this.”

Penelope walked in off the street, right into the middle of the conversation. She was wearing a flowered dress and looked younger and brighter than I had seen her before. “Hullo, hullo. What’s this confab about?”

“I have some news.” Alfredo held up the letter and shook it.

“I hope it’s good. I need to hear something good,” she said, putting down her packages.

“Depends on whose point of view you look at it from,” Caldwell said, with some slight glumness.

“Things need to be worked out.” I couldn’t help but reach out and take hold of his hand.

“Tell me,” Penelope said.

“I am sharing this inn with Mr. Caldwell,” Alfredo said with delight. “He will pay me some money for it.”

Penelope looked askance. “What?”

“What he’s trying to say is he just got a letter from Sally’s lawyer informing him that he has inherited a share of the B and B,” Caldwell said.

“Oh, he did?” Penelope said, and looked rather baffled. “How could that have happened?”

“It is because of Sally. She does it. She does it for me.” Alfredo smiled, then added, “Even though I was not always the best for her. Especially now that she is dead. I cannot even thank her.”

I couldn’t tell if Alfredo was having trouble with the language, was incredibly naïve, or was just a simple soul. Maybe a mixture of all the above. He seemed oblivious to how bad the three of us felt about this news: Caldwell because he would have to deal with Alfredo and lose a share of the money from the B and B, Penelope because her sister had left her nothing, and me because I wanted Caldwell to get it all—as he deserved.

Penelope closed her eyes for a moment, then said, “How nice for you. Excuse me. I need to go upstairs with my things.” She picked up her packages and bolted.

“I too have things to attend to, in the kitchen,” Caldwell
said, then left me standing in the hallway with the beaming Alfredo.

“I think we might have a drink,” he said. “I bought some grappa for everyone to enjoy.”

Nice to do after you’ve cleaned out Caldwell’s liquor cabinet,
I thought. “Grappa?” I asked.

“It is the best. You will love it. It is made with the leftovers from making the wine. Very good for you.”

I followed him into the garden room. I thought Caldwell needed some time alone, plus I was curious about something that Alfredo had let slip.

He opened a very plain bottle with a simple white label. He poured each of us a thimbleful in Caldwell’s sherry glasses.

“
Salute,
” he said, and chugged his drink.

Things couldn’t get worse,
I thought, so I followed suit. The grappa hit my chest like an explosive oomph. My eyes watered, my nose ran, and I started to choke. “Wow!” I managed to exclaim.

“It’s very good, no?” Alfredo asked.

“If you like to get blown away.”

“Yes, this is good. It opens up the whole body.”

When my body had closed up a bit, after I’d wiped my eyes and blown my nose, we sat looking at each other. Alfredo poured himself another drink, but I passed. This was my chance.

“So you mentioned that you weren’t always the best for Sally. What did you mean by that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing really, but I was going to tell her something on this trip and I never got the chance.”

“What?”

“Well, it matters not at all now, because she is gone. As you say, she is passed away. But I did not love Sally as much as before. I had changed in my thinking and in my feeling for her.”

“So you didn’t want to get married?” I asked, surprised by what he was telling me.

“Not really. Not anymore. This is hard for her to understand because everyone loves Sally for a while. But she is hard to be with for a long time. She is a very . . .” He searched for a word and put his arms out as if encompassing a large ball. “She takes up much space in the world. Sometimes this makes me very tired.”

“Yes, I understand. Did you know that she was going to leave you anything?”