Death Overdue (Librarian Mysteries) (20 page)

I
gathered everyone in the garden room, inviting them—one by one—there for refreshments. Everyone accepted with alacrity. They all seemed in need of a drink. Penelope took a small glass of white wine; Alfredo, a large glass of Campari; Bruce, a wine spritzer; Brenda said she wouldn’t mind a taste of the wine; and I poured red wine for Caldwell and me.

Caldwell, still slightly befuddled from his nap, took the glass of wine I handed him and gave me a look that said, “What are you up to now?”

I kissed the tips of my fingers and put them gently on his lips, hopeful that I was saving him.

“Trust me,” I said.

When the doorbell rang, I went to answer it and found the inspector standing there with a slight frown on his face.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said.

“I do too.”

I ushered him into the room and watched the faces of the gathered, noticing who looked more worried than surprised. What I saw strengthened my decision to go ahead with this private inquest.

Caldwell asked, “What brings you here? Are you going to take me away again?”

“You or someone else,” the inspector said.

I could feel the tension in the room. Alfredo and Penelope moved closer together, Brenda wrung her hands, Bruce kept looking at the books on the low shelves, and Caldwell offered the inspector some wine.

“I’m on duty,” he said.

“Of course you are,” Caldwell agreed. “What is this all about, Karen? You seem to know what’s going on.”

The room became very still as everyone looked at me.

“Why don’t we sit?” I suggested, thinking it would be easier to accuse someone of murder if they were all seated and it was done in a civilized manner.

As was only appropriate, Alfredo and Penelope took the love seat. Even after all I had told her about his subterfuge, they seemed to be holding together. Brenda perched on a
stool near the fire. Bruce took what was usually Caldwell’s chair, and Caldwell sat in a chair near me. The inspector leaned by the fire, and I stayed standing.

“I’ve been going over in my mind what happened to Sally and trying to figure out who would want her dead,” I explained.

All eyes were boring into me. I took a big swallow of the red wine, hoping it would bolster my courage.

“I went over all the possible motives. Penelope, her sister, had always been jealous of Sally. Sally had even taken a precious ring Penelope had been given, just to tease her. And Penelope had fallen in love with Sally’s boyfriend, Alfredo. Plus, she must have assumed, not knowing that Sally had changed her will, that she would get Sally’s estate, if she died. She seemed to have the strongest reasons for killing her.

“Alfredo knew about the change of the will. Even though he told us otherwise. He had also fallen in love with Penelope, but had yet to tell Sally. If Sally died, he would get whatever Sally’s estate was and Penelope.

“Caldwell, unfortunately, also had a good motive. Not that I thought him guilty for a moment. But he might certainly have done it for revenge and not wanting Sally to be able to claim any of the B and B.”

By this time they were looking at one another as if trying to guess where I was going with this analysis.

“And lastly, I myself had an excellent motive. Maybe fearing that Sally would get some of the B and B and also claim Caldwell once again.” I finished my glass of wine, preparing myself for the coup de grâce.

“Then, when I fell down the stairs this morning, I realized I was looking at the problem from the wrong direction. Sometimes a shock will do that to people, jolt them out of the box they’re in.”

Caldwell nodded at me to continue.

“So I saw that I was asking the wrong question. I was trying to figure out who might have wanted Sally dead, and suddenly I saw that the right question might be, Who were they really trying to kill?” I paused, then said, “It wasn’t Sally.”

Penelope’s eyes grew wide, Alfredo murmured,
“Sacre bleu,”
Bruce stopped looking at the books and turned his attention to me, and Caldwell shook his head. I knew he would not like what I was about to say.

“Unfortunately—after I considered everyone—I saw that I was most likely the intended victim,” I revealed.

Caldwell reached out and took my hand. “Karen?” he said.

I squeezed his hand and went on. “We all wondered what Sally was doing in the library that night. It was only by chance that the door was left open, and no one but Sally, who tried the door and got into the room, and I, who had left
the door unlocked, knew this. So whoever saw someone in the room would have to assume it was either Caldwell or myself. Because who else would have the key?”

Stunned silence.

“Also, as I thought back to how Sally was dressed when we found her in the library, I remembered that she was wearing white night wear. I have a new white robe that Caldwell gave me when I arrived. So someone peeking into the library that night would see a woman wearing white and assume that it was me.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that Sally wasn’t the intended victim, but I was.” I watched as this statement made a ripple around the room. Bruce stood as if to leave, but Caldwell pushed him back down.

“Only two of you—other than Caldwell—knew that I had this robe. That would be Brenda and Bruce, who had both seen me wearing it from the days before Sally’s demise.

“Then we come to motive. Who would want to kill me?

“I couldn’t think why Bruce would want to kill me—unless his intention was not to kill me, but to create a diversion by knocking over the bookcase and, in the ensuing pandemonium, steal a valuable book that he was attempting unsuccessfully to buy from Caldwell. For a time I tried to believe this was true. It would have meant that no one was trying to kill anyone.

“But today I talked to Brenda and realized something.” I
walked to where Brenda was sitting and pointed at her. “She was the one who killed Sally.”

Brenda pushed me over and tried to make it to the door, but Caldwell grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her around, depositing her back in her chair. She collapsed, and the room exploded with everyone talking: Caldwell asking me if I was sure, Penelope and Alfredo finding themselves in each other’s arms, the inspector on the alert in case Brenda tried to bolt again. Brenda, however, was sitting quite still.

Caldwell shook her shoulder and said, “Brenda? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Brenda stood up and said quietly, “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s crazy.”

Then her voice grew louder and higher as she turned to me. “You come in here and take over like you own the place. Well, Sally had much more right to be here than you.”

Brenda had walked right into my trap. “Yes, that was the motive. Brenda was hoping if I was out of the picture that Sally might step back in and Caldwell and she could go back to being the happy family they once had been.”

Brenda said, “You can’t prove anything.”

“You gave yourself away today, Brenda. I thought it might be you because of the similar white night wear and then because of the rolling pin you put on the stairs, hoping I would fall and break my neck. Which came from your domain—the kitchen. But after we talked today, I realized that when Sally
died you were not downstairs in your bedroom as we had all assumed and as you said. You were actually upstairs, probably hiding in the bathroom after you had pushed over the bookcase.”

“How do you know that?”

“You told me as much. When I suggested to you today that Caldwell might have done it, you said absolutely not. You said that you had heard him down in the kitchen.
Down.
If he was down, then you had to be upstairs. Which you were—pushing over the bookcase.”

At this point, the inspector stepped in. He asked, “Is this true? Were you upstairs? Did you push over the bookcase?”

Brenda looked around, wild-eyed as a mink caught in a trap.

Then Bruce stepped in and said, “Yes, she was. I can confirm that she was upstairs. I walked into the library after most everyone was in there. But I looked back down the hallway as I went into the room, and I saw Brenda coming out of the upstairs bathroom. I didn’t know it was important or I would have said something about it earlier.”

The inspector took Brenda by the arm.

She shook him off. “But I didn’t think the bookcase would kill anyone. I just wanted to throw a scare into Karen. Frighten her away. I wanted Sally to be back here. She was always so good to me. If that woman took Caldwell away and he sold the B and B, where would I be? Out in
the cold. I just wanted to hurt Karen. I didn’t mean for anyone to die.”

The inspector spoke to her in a clear and authoritative voice. “You are under arrest for the murder of Sally Burroughs. It doesn’t matter what you meant to do. This is an obvious case of transferred malice.”

“T
ransferred malice,” Caldwell explained to me later that night, after the inspector had taken Brenda away, Alfredo and Penelope had announced they were going out for a quiet dinner, Bruce had gone up to his room to gloat over his books, and we two sat down to have another drink in the kitchen, “is a doctrine that states a person who intends to harm someone and then kills someone else in the process is guilty of murder.”

“Oh,” I said. “You are so smart.”

“I looked it up on the Internet.”

“But she’ll be charged with murder?” I asked.

“We have to face facts. This is what happened. Brenda was trying to hurt you but instead killed Sally.”

“Yes, but she didn’t mean to
kill
me.”

“No”—he reached out and grabbed my hand as if reassuring himself—“but if it had been you in there, hit by the falling bookcase, you might have died.”

I drained my glass of wine and said, “I can’t believe that. Somehow I don’t think the books would have killed me. After all, I’m a librarian. I work with them every day.”

Without asking he poured me another glass. “I won’t argue with you about that. I think it’s best you believe that books are your friends. But you figured out what happened to Sally and why.”

“With your help. You gave me the piece about the rolling pin, telling me that it had been put in the wrong drawer.”

“Yes, and I had been wondering about Brenda, but it was just so hard to believe. After all, she had been with me for such a long time. She was a good worker. I hope you don’t mind if I say I will miss her.”

“No, not at all. She didn’t like me, but she did know how to keep this place clean. I’m not much of a housekeeper,” I admitted.

“I’m neither disappointed nor surprised by this deficiency in you. I’m sure we can find someone else to do the work. That is not why I love you.” He reached out for me, and I fell into his arms.

We kissed for a long time, standing by the table. Then I thought it might be best if we moved our embrace to a more intimate location.

“Let’s go to bed. I’ll collect the other glasses from the garden room,” I said, and reluctantly pulled myself away.

“Okay, but the dishes can wait until morning,” Caldwell said.

I heard voices as I walked down the hall. Taking a few more steps, I was able to see that Alfredo and Penelope were still sitting in the love seat, closer together than ever.

“But now I tell you the truth. You see, I am nothing,” Alfredo said, raising his empty hands.

She pushed his hands down, taking hold of both of them. “There’s nothing wrong with being a tour guide,” Penelope said.

“I have no money.”

“You’ll surely get something from the B and B.”

“But this place, the share of the B and B should be yours. Sally did not know what was in my heart. If she did . . .”

“I’m happy she left it to you.”

“You mean this?” he asked.

“Yes, I didn’t fall in love with you because you were rich or noble, I fell in love with you because you were you.”

I stopped and watched as Alfredo slid off the love seat and onto the floor. Gracefully and on purpose. Down on one knee, he took Penelope’s hand and said, “Please, I wish to marry you.”

“Oh,
sì,
” Penelope said.

“Sì?”
he said.

“Yes,
sì,
” she said.

He kissed her hand. Then he said, “But I have no ring.”

Penelope reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the diamond and emerald ring. “But I do.” She handed it to him.

He sat back down next to her and gently slipped the ring onto her finger. “It is beautiful, like you.”

They kissed, and I decided to leave them alone.

For Penelope, Alfredo’s love was enough. Maybe I could learn from her. I turned back down the hall. The glasses could certainly wait until morning.