Death Overdue (Librarian Mysteries) (5 page)

I had a hard time not standing up and going with them to protect Caldwell. He seemed so undone, as if the stuffing had come out of him.

Just as they were leaving the room, Alfredo spoke up and pointed at Caldwell. “He did not want my Sarah to be back. He was going to sell the house without her knowing. He wished her dead . . . and now she is.”

S
omehow, after our hour-of-the-wolf awakening, we made it through the morning. While I had a sense that the inspector wanted to blame someone for this horrible death, he was biding his time. Photographs were taken of the scene, cops tromped up and down the stairs, one even came in and took all our fingerprints.

Four of us sat in the garden room and ate and read and watched it rain outside. For to make the setting perfect, a slow, cruel drizzle had started—the sky a dreary slate gray, the precipitation steady and relentless.

When we were finally allowed upstairs, only Bruce went
to change. The rest of us remained in our nightwear. At least Penelope and I had grabbed bathrobes; hers was flannel and had teddy bears on it, mine was my new white satin robe. Caldwell was in his pin-striped cotton pajamas, and Alfredo was wearing a T-shirt and silk pajama bottoms.

Caldwell turned up the heat to accommodate us all and made us a meal of eggs, bacon, and toast. Penelope barely touched her food, and so Alfredo cleaned her plate as well as his own.

Shortly after that, Bruce strolled into the garden room, looking well rested and well dressed. He was wearing a light linen shirt with a seersucker sports coat over it and jeans, nicely straddling the line between dressy and casual.

“Is it possible to still get breakfast? I have a busy schedule today,” Bruce said in a chipper voice.

I could clearly see how little Sally’s death had affected him. I envied him. He could just go about his day as if nothing had happened. I felt like my life had been blown apart. To see, once again, how random life is—you get up in the night to find a book to read and you die. How was this possible?

Finally Caldwell spoke. “Yes, coffee’s ready. What else would you like for breakfast?”

“Just a couple pieces of toast. I don’t suppose you have any marmalade?” Bruce asked.

We sat and watched Bruce devour his meal, but when he
tried to leave for the day, Caldwell restrained him, saying the police would want to talk to all of us. No one was to leave.

Just after noon, Inspector Blunderstone came into the garden room and announced they were done for the day. He issued us orders: “Don’t go into that room. Don’t touch anything or move anything until I give you the go-ahead. And I would like all of you to remain here in London for the next few days.”

“Do you think it was an accident?” Penelope asked.

“She was hit full force by the wall of books and fell straight backwards. Her arms were down at her sides, not up as if she had been reaching for a book up high. All of this raises many questions,” he said, and gave each of us a glare.

This news hit me like a ton of books. If she had been killed, it would have been by one of us sitting in this room. Well, not me, that was all I could be sure of. And, after only a moment’s thought, not Caldwell. He just didn’t have a mean or violent bone in his body. Plus, his reaction to Sally’s death was not that of a murderer—he seemed truly upset and sorry.

Yet I knew if the police were looking to pin Sally’s death on someone, he would be their first choice. It was his house, his bookcase, his books. And he certainly had the best motive of us all. Sally had come back demanding her fair share of the B and B, whether she deserved it or not.

That left Alfredo and Penelope and Brenda, maybe even
Bruce, as long as one was suspecting. However, Bruce had no connection to Sally. With her obvious affection for Sally, I found it hard to believe it could be Brenda either.

So it was down to Penelope and Alfredo—both relatives in a sense, and that was usually who killed people, their relatives.

If it turned out Sally’s death had been foul play, my prime suspect would have to be Penelope. There was obviously some bad blood between her and her sister—but how could it be so bad that she would think to kill her? What would Penelope have to gain by Sally’s death?

Still, it wouldn’t do to overlook Alfredo. What did we know about him and his relationship to Sally? Maybe they hadn’t been as in love as he’d like us to believe. Had she written him into her will, or was she waiting for their marriage to take care of that? Again the question—what did he have to gain by her death?

C
aldwell and I had to go out that late afternoon as we had set up an appointment to see a space that we might rent for the bookshop. We both felt strange leaving the house, but the library room had been locked by the police and Alfredo and Penelope had gone into their rooms to nap and Bruce had gone out to peruse more bookshops. Brenda hadn’t come out of her room since the coroner had taken the body away. We had told everyone we wouldn’t be long, but it still felt unnerving to be leaving the B and B unguarded.

We climbed into Caldwell’s smart car and he started the vehicle, but we sat there for a moment; then he turned
to me and said, “I would never have done anything to hurt Sally.”

“I know that,” I assured him.

“I was mad at her, once upon a time, but not now, not anymore. After meeting you, I saw more clearly than ever that she was never right for me.”

I was so happy to hear this. I thought I knew it, but having something said out loud really solidified it. “Thanks.”

“Thank you for being so steadfastly by my side.”

“It’s where I want to be,” I told him.

“Well, here we go,” he said, and we set off in the small car to go to the book mecca of London—Charing Cross Road.

The space we were going to look at had been an antiques store, but the owner had died a few months ago and Caldwell had heard through the grapevine of his bookish friends that it was up for grabs. It was only a block away from Any Amount of Books, a wonderful used bookshop, and both of us felt this was to the good. People looking for books don’t usually stop at only one bookshop but would easily walk over and see what we might have to offer. We would be able to ride on the coattails of this well-established shop.

Luckily we found a place to park a few blocks away, and the rain had quit as we walked the dampish streets. I breathed in deeply and wondered how many times I would stroll to what might become our new shop. The lease was
pricey, but between the two of us we had the money—if Caldwell could sell the B and B, if all the proceeds were his, and if we found a cheap place to live together.

An old man met us at the front door. He introduced himself as Darcy Dickens. I had never met a real Darcy before—only knew of the one in
Pride and Prejudice
. There was a hint of the lord of the manor about this man, but he was well past the marriageable age.

“Top-notch, this place is,” he said as he opened the heavy wooden door and waved us in. “Can’t find a better spot for a shop than this.”

When we walked into the space, the first thing that hit me was how enormous it felt, with its high, vaulted ceilings and rumpled brick floor. The second thing was how cold it felt, since it had been empty for a while. And the third thing was the smell, which was, as close as I can describe, a combination of moldy shoes and wet dog, with a hint of urine. Not a pleasant bouquet.

But when I glanced over at Caldwell, I could see he was sold. The building was long and narrow, and as we walked down the floor, I could tell he was imagining it filled with bookcases.

“It’s twenty meters long,” he said.

After quickly calculating that was about sixty feet, I was impressed and had to hold my tongue not to mention that it looked to be about twenty feet wide. Twelve hundred square
feet could hold a lot of books—I was sure more than we had together. It was about ten times the size of his library. How in heaven’s name would we fill such a huge amount of space?

“The location couldn’t be better,” he said.

I nodded.

“He’s right about that,” Mr. Dickens said. “All the swells shop here.”

There wasn’t much light in the space, with windows only at the front and a small one at the back.

“With some lighting,” Caldwell said, “I think it will be very cozy.”

I walked to the back and ran my finger down the dirty windowpane. A good scrub would clean that right up.

“What do you think?” he asked.

I didn’t want to explode his balloon, which was what I thought I would do if I said anything halfway realistic. “It’s not bad,” I said.

“Is this American understatement?”

“I do like where it is,” I said truthfully.

“Can’t you just see it with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, a counter by the front door, three or four easy chairs scattered about for easy reading? I actually think I might need to buy more books to fill the space.”

And now I did say the truth. “I have a hard time visualizing. I’m rather a literal person. Feet on the ground.”

“And that’s a good place for them to be,” Mr. Dickens told me as he stamped his on the floor.

“Yes,” Caldwell said as he put his arm around my waist. “And you will keep me grounded too, won’t you?”

I envisioned Caldwell and his balloon sailing up into the sky with me dragging him down by his feet. I wasn’t sure that was the role I wanted to play in his life. I liked it that he had such lovely dreams. “Not always,” I said.

“We don’t have to decide today,” Caldwell assured me.

“Yes, take your time. I haven’t shown it to another soul, and it won’t be advertised for another week,” Mr. Dickens said.

I didn’t really think a week was time enough to make such a big decision. “What kind of lease would you want?”

“The usual. A five-year lease.”

I smiled while I quickly did some calculations and came up with an astronomical figure that made my heart sink. “Yes, well, we need to talk about this. It’s a big decision.”

Mr. Dickens turned from me and looked at Caldwell. “You won’t find anything finer than what’s right in front of you.”

I had to agree with him when it came to Caldwell.

We said our thanks and good-byes to Mr. Dickens and then were quiet on our walk back to the car.

When I was seated in the car, I burst out, “I don’t know. It seems overwhelming.” I wasn’t sure if I was talking about the shop or this huge change in my life.

“Yes, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—to get a shop right here in the heart of the book world. I’m just not sure we should pass it up.”

“But it’s happening so fast, and it’s so much money.”

“If this book I’ve found is worth half what I think it is, we could easily put down enough for a deposit on the place.”

“But, Caldwell, we don’t really know what we’re doing yet.” I decided I wouldn’t mention the demise of Sally or the possibility that the B and B would no longer be solely his.

He said, quietly, “We don’t?”

“Not yet. Remember I’ve come on a trial run,” I answered quietly. “And I think this space is too much for us. Too big and too expensive.”

“Oh,” he said. The pin had come out and popped his fantastic balloon. It had to happen. We had to be sensible.