Death Overdue (Librarian Mysteries) (7 page)

“There’s really only books in that room,” I said under my breath, thinking,
And what is more special than a book?

“We begin to talk about getting married, you know. Sally, she likes to be engaged. More official. But we don’t talk about a wedding yet. I think she is not sure I am a good man for marriage.”

This statement really surprised me. “How do you mean?”

“Well, yes, there is the villa, but Sally, she call it the villa palooza, saying it’s more trouble than it’s worth. My family home, but my family not take very good care of it.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Were you planning on living in England then?” I asked.

“No, no plans. Just come to get some money and see what happens next. That’s the way Sally like to live. Day to
day. But me, I miss the villa. I live there most of my life. To me it is
bella
.”

When Alfredo had resumed eating and Caldwell was doing the dishes, I excused myself and went upstairs. I was going to go down to our bedroom, but I stopped as I came to the library.

There were two doors to the room. One was strung with the barrier tape. The other had once opened into a hallway right by the bathroom, but it had been blocked off from the inside when Caldwell put up a bookcase in front of it.

I walked around to examine the second door. Looking up, I could see the transom over the door with the top of the bookcase visible above it. How hard would it be for someone, a tallish someone, to push open the transom, reach in and unhook the bookcase, and push it over?

The hook had not been pulled out of the wall, so it must have been undone. It was possible that Brenda had done that when she was doing her rare dusting in the room—but why? And how could someone push that heavy bookcase over without Sally seeing them?

Which led me to the all-important question: What exactly had happened to Sally last night?

T
he next morning we were all gathered in the garden room, having our first cups of tea or coffee, when there came a banging at the door, much louder than was necessary for us to hear it. Caldwell stood to answer it; I put down my teacup; Penelope put her hands to her mouth; Alfredo lowered the newspaper he was trying to read. Bruce didn’t budge from staring at a map of the city. Brenda came in and asked if she should get the door.

Caldwell said, “No, I’ll see to it,” and left the room.

I picked up my teacup and tried to pretend that everything was all right, but I saw bad news in the bottom of my cup.

A moment later I heard Inspector Blunderstone’s voice, unmistakable in its authority and loudness. Finally, not being able to stand it any longer, I stood, excused myself, and hustled down the hallway. Brenda followed me, I assumed on her way to the kitchen, but probably wanting to see what was going on.

“Your fingerprints were the only ones found on the bookcase,” Blunderstone was saying. “How do you explain that?”

“Easy enough. After all, they would be, wouldn’t they, since I’m the one who set the bookcases up and almost the only person who ever goes in there. There’s really no mystery to that.”

“But how do you explain the bookcase coming unhooked and tipping forward?”

“Possibly a small earthquake happened and unhooked it,” Caldwell said, sounding a mite angry.

Why was he taking the bait from Blunderstone? He knew better than that. This was serious business. I wanted to shush him, but instead I stood quietly by his side and resisted reaching out to take his hand.

“Yes, well, we’ll see about that.” The inspector was reacting as I would have expected—quite taken aback by Caldwell’s comment. “I’d like you to get your coat and come down to the station with me.”

At this request, Caldwell turned and looked at me. In
this glance, I read much—a sorry-for-having-to-leave-you look, a plea to take care of things while he was gone, and also fear that he was going to be blamed for something he hadn’t done. The fear was the only thing I could try to remedy.

I stepped forward and asked politely, “How long do you think you’ll be detaining Mr. Perkins?”

“As long as it takes,” Blunderstone barked.

“Yes, I understand, but he has a business to run, and it would be helpful to know when he might return.”

At this Blunderstone really looked at me. “We won’t keep him all day unless we have to. Some of my men will be staying on to search the house more thoroughly. The inquest will be held in a day or two. This will determine what the cause of death was and what more needs to happen.”

“Caldwell, would you like me to call your lawyer?” I asked, not knowing if he had an official lawyer, but sure I could track one down if I needed to.

“No, Karen. It won’t be necessary to call my solicitor. I have nothing to hide. This won’t take long, I assure you. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

And then Blunderstone left, taking Caldwell with him. He seemed unconcerned about this, so I decided I would try to act the same, even if I didn’t feel it.

I turned to find Brenda hovering behind me. “Well, Brenda,” I said to her, “could you clean up the breakfast
dishes? I think I’ll go out for a walk and be back shortly. Just need to clear my head.”

She gave me a dark look but nodded that she would do as I asked. I knew she was upset about Caldwell too.

When I went back into the garden room to let the others know I would be gone for a while, as would Caldwell, and that there would be officers searching the house and they might want to consider going out for a time too, I found Penelope and Alfredo sitting next to each other and talking quietly.

I told them the news.

Penelope said, “That will be fine. Alfredo and I were just discussing what to do about the funeral. I think we’ll have it here in London. My mum lives just out the way in Kingsland. A small service, as Sally requested, at the funeral home.”

It sounded so normal that I had a hard time connecting it with the tragedy of all that was happening to us: Caldwell taken down to the police station, a room cordoned off, and the possibility of foul play, as Inspector Blunderstone suspected.

“Of course. If there’s anything we can do, let us know. I’m so sorry,” I said. However, I was glad to see that Alfredo and Penelope had decided to work together on this instead of fighting over whose dead body it was. I was sure that Penelope had all rights to her sister and that she was being kind to Alfredo, which made me like her better.

Just then a group of four officers came in and asked to have the keys to all the rooms. I had them follow me to the kitchen and asked Brenda to stay and make sure they had everything they needed.

“How long will this take?” I asked of the tall officer who appeared to be in charge of the crew.

“That’s rather hard to say, ma’am. But a half day’s time might be a fair reckoning.”

“What are you looking for?” I couldn’t help asking.

“We often don’t know until we find it.”

I thought how true that is in many instances.

As I went up to my bedroom to make sure everything was in order, wondering if there was any incriminating evidence there. Then I shook myself. What a silly thought. They would find Kleenex and books in the bedcovers, revealing some of our bad habits; my American passport in the bureau drawer, making me an alien; and plans for the bookshop spread out on the desk.

What might the police make of that—the fact that Caldwell was planning on changing careers? Could that be seen as suspicious?

After grabbing my purse, I went downstairs, said good-bye to a scowling Brenda, and walked out the door without the slightest idea where I was going. Away. I just wanted and needed to get away. Once again a lovely trip to England was being ruined by an untimely death.

I wandered down streets, turning left, then right until I almost didn’t know where I was. Most unusual for me. I always knew which direction I was facing and rarely got lost, but this was an exceptional time.

Finally I found myself in front of a shop with the most wonderful blankets and quilts in the window. A small sign said:
ON OFFER
. I was pretty sure that meant there was a sale going on. I felt drawn into the shop.

When I went inside I found the most delightful and comfortable interior: small velvet couches with piles of woven woolen blankets, baskets with embroidered pillows, shelves full of nicely folded quilts. I ran my hands over the closest coverlet.

“All from Wales,” a tall, stork-like woman with dark hair appeared from behind a screen and told me. “Handmade, some quite old. Some more recent.”

“I’m just looking,” I said, having no intention of buying anything.

“We’re all just looking,” she intoned back to me. “I’m sorting out some things, but give a call if you need any assistance.” And with that she disappeared behind the screen.

I felt like I had stumbled into someone’s country estate. Truth be told, I wanted everything in the shop. But I walked toward a pile of blankets and found myself pulling out a golden striped one with just a thread of red running through it.

Wouldn’t that look nice at the end of our bed?
I thought. Which made me think of Caldwell, and a huge weight descended on me. I sat down on the couch next to the pile of blankets and held the golden one in my lap, petting it as if it were an animal that could comfort me.

Did Caldwell know something about Sally’s death that he hadn’t told me? Would he have wanted our dream of a bookshop to come true so badly that he would have done something to his ex-partner? But even as these questions rose in me, the thought of him, how dear he was, grew, and I knew there was no way he could have harmed her.

I stood up, shaking these possibilities out of my mind, causing the blanket to fall to the floor.

The stork woman must have heard me; she rounded the screen again and found me folding up the golden blanket.

“Oh,” she said, “that is a most unusual and lovely piece. I found it in a small town called Rhayader, right in the middle of Wales. I would think it’s over fifty years old, and in absolutely perfect condition. Yes, you’ve chosen a particularly nice example of Welsh woolens.”

Regretfully, I set it down on top of the pile. “As I said, I’m just looking. Not in a place to buy anything,” I confessed.

“Well, if you change your mind come back quickly. That blanket won’t last long. Especially now that everything’s on offer.”

“Thank you,” I said, and, with one backward glance at the golden blanket, I left the store. I had no future to count on—not knowing what I wanted, not knowing what was to happen to the B and B or to Caldwell.

It was no time to indulge in a blanket, even if it did offer the only comfort available at the moment.

I
sat by myself in the late-afternoon sun that was coming in the garden room window, waiting for Caldwell to return. The remains of Sally’s untended garden showed through the windows. Although the neglected flower beds made me feel bad, gardening was simply not an interest of Caldwell’s, and I certainly wasn’t ready to take it on.

Alfredo and Penelope had gone off to make arrangements for Sally’s funeral. Brenda had left to visit her mum. Bruce had a long list of bookstores he was going to check out. I felt very much alone.

So I did what I often do when I’m feeling lonely—called
Rosie. If my timing was right, I’d catch her right before the library opened and maybe she’d have time to talk for a few minutes.

“Sunshine Valley Library,” she answered.

“You have any good books on how to handle the coppers in England?”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Shut up! Karen, what is going on?”

“Rosie, it’s too terrible. Caldwell’s old girlfriend, Sally, showed up at the B and B.”

“No,” she said.

“Yes, but that’s not all. Her sister, Penelope, was here too, and Sally brought her new boyfriend.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“But wait. She wanted to take back her share of the B and B. And maybe even Caldwell as well.”

“No way.”

“But then things got even worse.”

“How?” she asked.