Valentine Murder (14 page)

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Authors: Leslie Meier

BOOK: Valentine Murder
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“Golly, I guess I touched a nerve here,” said Lucy, smiling. She glanced around Sue's stripped-down kitchen, which had evolved during the years she was working so hard at the center. The charming clutter of collectables was gone; it was now an efficient meal-preparation center. “I think you're just jealous.”
Sue snorted. “Trust me. There's some sort of deep, dark, disgusting secret there. Nobody is as perfect as Corney pretends to be.” She paused, helping herself to seconds of cassoulet. “And she's not the only one. Take Ed, for example. Sid had quite a laugh about that. Said the board would pick the one contractor in town who had a reputation for shoddy construction.” Sid was Sue's husband.
“Bill says people are always saying things like that about contractors and it's hardly ever true,” said Lucy, loyally defending her husband's chosen trade. “Besides, that new addition speaks for itself. It's beautiful, and it doesn't detract from the original building. That's a hard trick to pull off, believe me.”
“Okay,” said Sue, amused at her reaction. “But there's still what's-his-name, the college president.”
“Gerald?” Lucy asked in surprise.
“Yeah, Gerald. Newly retired from a prestigious job—that can be a very stressful time. All of a sudden he's got a lot of time on his hands. People aren't jumping to answer his every beck and call. It's something to think about.”
“Gerald's above reproach,” insisted Lucy. “Everybody knows that.”
“Those are the worst kind,” said Sue, smiling as Zoe came into the room. “Is the movie over already?”
“No.” She shook her head sadly. “Bambi's mother died.”
“That's a sad part.” Sue was sympathetic. “Tell you what. The movie gets better. How about if I come and watch it with you? You can sit in my lap—would you like that?”
Zoe nodded.
“Okay.” Sue got up and took the little girl's hand. “We'll let your Mom clean up the lunch dishes, okay?”
“That's not fair!” protested Lucy, pretending to be outraged. Zoe giggled.
“Don't make too much noise with those dishes,” advised Sue. “We want to hear the movie and we don't want to be disturbed. Isn't that right, Zoe?”
“Right!” agreed Zoe, delighted to be telling her mother what to do.
“Well, I guess I'd better get to work then,” Lucy said, her voice resigned. Actually, she didn't mind clearing up one bit; she enjoyed the way Zoe and Sue delighted in each other's company.
She scraped the few dishes and gave them a quick rinse, preparing to load them into the dishwasher. Moving automatically, she was wondering how long ago Josiah's Tankard was stolen. Perhaps there were photographs that could establish when the substitution was made.
She opened the dishwasher door and pulled out the wire rack, preparing to load it, but the subtle gleam of a piece of pewter caught her eye. She picked the piece up and held it in front of the window, amazed. It was a perfect copy of Josiah's Tankard, except for the fact that the bird in a bush design had been replaced with the seal of Winchester College.
“Sue!” she yelled, hurrying into the TV room. “Where did you get this?”
Sue looked up from the couch, where she was snuggling with Zoe. “What? That? We've had it forever.”
“But where did you get it? When did you get it?”
“Calm down, Lucy. It's not original.”
“I know that—it's got the Winchester College seal, for one thing.”
“Right. That's it. They made them when the college had its centennial. Sid was doing some work over there, and they gave him one. They were giving them out to everybody.”
“What year was that?”
“It was a long time ago—is there something on the tankard?”
Lucy looked closely at the seal on the tankard, and made out the numbers. “It says 1878. That means the centennial was 1978—just before Bill and I moved here.”
“That sounds about right,” agreed Sue. “But I don't see why this is so important. I bet most houses in Tinker's Cove have at least one of these things.”
“I didn't know that,” said Lucy. “Don't you see? This must be how the switch was made. It wouldn't be very hard to get rid of this seal—it's stamped very lightly.”
Sue nodded. “It would be easy enough to copy the design from Josiah's Tankard—it was made with a punch. All you'd need is a tenpenny nail and a hammer.”
“That's one mystery solved,” said Lucy, giving the tankard a little pat.
“Yeah—but I don't think it's going to be much help,” said Sue, sitting back down on the couch beside Zoe. “Now you've got a whole town full of suspects.”
“You're right.” Lucy sat down in the rocking chair and glumly studied the tankard. “You know,” she finally said, “the more I find out about this mess, the less I seem to know.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The littlest Billy Goat Gruff was afraid of the troll who dwelled beneath the bridge.
O
n the way home, Lucy stopped at the Quik-Stop to pick up a gallon of milk. Much to Zoe's disappointment, she left her in the car. If she allowed her in the store, the little girl would insist on choosing a treat and Lucy had no intention of getting involved in the endless negotiations such a purchase required. Besides, she could keep an eye on her through the store window.
In the parking lot, she noticed with disapproval the familiar litter of lottery tickets. Guiltily, she thought of the story she was supposed to be writing for
The Pennysaver
. She had to get it finished; Ted was expecting it in two days, on Friday.
Lucy yanked open the door, intent on dashing over to the dairy case and getting out of the store and back to the car as quickly as possible. Instead, she ran right into Gerald Asquith, trim and distinguished as ever in his camel hair coat.
“I'm sorry!” exclaimed Lucy, growing rather red in the face. “I wasn't watching where I was going.”
“Lost in thought, no doubt, thinking about your next writing project,” he said, smiling down at her benignly. “No harm done, I assure you.”
“I'm glad I ran into you, no pun intended,” began Lucy, with an apologetic little smile. “There are a couple of things about the library that I'd like to discuss with you.”
Actually, Lucy wanted to find out more about those Winchester College tankards, but didn't want to come right out and say so.
“I can certainly understand that,” said Gerald. “You must be wondering why you ever agreed to join the board. I hope you're not thinking of resigning.”
“Oh, I wouldn't do that. After all, I just agreed to join the nominating committee. In fact,” she continued, improvising, “that's what I'd like to talk about with you.”
“Well, why don't we get together for an hour or so?” He withdrew a leather-covered calendar from his breast pocket and opened it. “I'm free tomorrow morning. How would that be?”
“Fine,” said Lucy, a little surprised at his promptness. He seemed almost eager to schedule the meeting. “About ten?”
“Ten's fine. Now where shall we meet? Would you like to go someplace for coffee?”
Lucy was flummoxed. She really wanted to get a peek at his house in hopes of learning a little more about him. The way things were going, she wanted to know as much as possible about her fellow board members.
“Oh,” she sighed. “I'm trying to lose a few pounds—I'm afraid I gained some weight over the holidays. But I have no will power at all, so I've been avoiding coffee shops.” She lowered her eyes as if sharing a shameful secret. “I can't resist the muffins—especially the chocolate chip ones.”
He responded just as she hoped he would and chuckled indulgently. “Well, we can't expose you to temptation, can we? How about my house—I have an office there.”
“That's fine. I'll see you at ten.” agreed Lucy.
As he turned to push open the door, she added, “And remember—no muffins!”
He turned back, gave her the high sign, and left.
Lucy looked past him, checking that Zoe was behaving herself, and was relieved to see the little girl was sitting quietly in her regulation car seat, no doubt hoping that her good behavior would be noticed and rewarded. Finally completing her errand, Lucy joined her a minute later.
“Did you get me something?” Zoe's voice was hopeful.
“I sure did,” said Lucy, handing her a foil-covered chocolate heart. “That took longer than I thought it would, but you waited very patiently.”
“Thank you,” said Zoe, taking the candy and unwrapping it. “Who was the man?”
“Mr. Asquith, from the library.”
As Lucy started the car and slipped it into gear, her thoughts returned to the murders. That's how she thought of them—murders. After talking to Ralph and Sue she was more than ever convinced that Hayden had not committed suicide but had been killed, most likely by the same person who killed Bitsy.
Horowitz thought he had the case all wrapped up—Bitsy was murdered by Hayden because she somehow discovered the theft of the tankard. Fearing discovery when Lucy began inquiring about the tankard, Hayden had killed himself. It was all nonsense, of course, just like his allegation that she had been instrumental in Hayden's decision to kill himself. It was so unfair. So frustrating. And worst of all, Horowitz would consider the case closed and the real murderer might never be discovered.
She glanced in the rearview mirror, checking on Zoe. The little girl was chewing contentedly, studying the bright red wrapper. Returning her eyes to the road, Lucy noticed that snowflakes were starting to hit the windshield.
“Uh-oh,” she said out loud. “I think it's starting to snow again.”
“Yay!” exclaimed Zoe, kicking her heels against the seat.
Lucy couldn't quite share her daughter's enthusiasm. “Haven't you had enough snow yet this winter?” she asked.
“Nope.” Zoe shook her head. “I like snow.”
“Well, maybe we won't get too much,” said Lucy hopefully, thinking aloud. If this turned out to be a big storm, she might not be able to keep her appointment with Gerald. The flakes were falling more thickly now, and she looked at the sky but its whiteness gave her no clue. This could be just a flurry, or a blizzard. She flicked on the aging car radio, hoping for a weather report, but today was not one of its good days and it just buzzed. The uncertainty was driving her nuts, she realized. She wanted to know what to expect.
And that wasn't all, she realized. More than anything she wanted to know who killed Bitsy and Hayden, and why, but if she tried to investigate she ran the risk of angering Horowitz even more. She had no doubt he would file charges against her if he thought she was meddling in the case.
The thought gave her pause. Certainly Horowitz couldn't construe her meeting with Asquith as meddling in the investigation. She was a director, after all, and was responsible for the library. She had every right to talk with the other directors about library business. And there was plenty of business that needed to be settled. Who was going to replace Bitsy? Not to mention Hayden. And what about that security system? The theft of the tankard was even more proof that such a system was needed.
No, she concluded as she turned into her own driveway, there was no way Horowitz could object to her meeting with Asquith. She had plenty of legitimate reasons for the meeting, even if she did nurture the hope that she would discover something that would shed light on the deaths.
 
 
Gerald lived in one of the big old sea captain's houses lining Main Street, and Lucy was conscious of the aged condition of her Subaru as she drove between the imposing brick pillars on either side of the circular driveway and parked. The bright sun was merciless; yesterday's dusting of snow had melted, revealing every dent and bit of rust.
The brick steps were wet with the melting snow as Lucy climbed up to the door that was exactly in the center of the Federal-style mansion and tapped the shiny brass knocker. She didn't have time to admire the handsome pinecone wreath before the door opened and she was admitted.
“So nice to see you,” said Gerald, taking her hand and drawing her into the center hall. Lucy had a general impression of Oriental rugs, gilt mirrors, and a sweeping stairway before she was installed in Gerald's study. The study, tucked under the stairs, was a cozy, book-lined room featuring a huge, leather-topped desk. She sank into one of the oversized armchairs and wished that she could spend the entire day here, immersed in one of her favorite mystery novels.
“This is a lovely room,” she said. “It's a wonderful place to curl up with your favorite book.”
“I suppose it is,” said Gerald, brushing some crumbs off his desk. “I'm afraid I don't really appreciate it. My wife tends to shoo me in here during the day—she's not used to having me home, you see. I only retired a few months ago.”
“I'm awfully glad you could see me,” began Lucy. “I've been terribly upset about all this business with the library.”
“I really feel that I should apologize—what a terrible time to take up the duties of a director. This is all most unusual, of course. Nothing like this has ever happened before, at least not in the twenty-odd years I've been on the board. First Bitsy, and now Hayden,” he said, looking rather bleak. “It's overwhelming.”
“I know,” said Lucy, staring out the window at the snowy trees. “Do you really think Hayden killed Bitsy?”
“The police think she discovered he'd stolen the tankard,” said Gerald.
“You know, something's been bothering me about the tankard,” Lucy began slowly. “I'm no expert on pewter, but I don't think the tankard that was found with Hayden is really Josiah's Tankard.”
Gerald's jaw dropped. “You don't?”
“No. I had a chance to look at it quite closely, and it seemed awfully light in weight for a really old piece. And then I learned about the commemorative tankards the college had made, and it seemed a substitution could have been made.”
“The college tankards had the Winchester seal . . .” began Gerald.
“I know, but the seal could have been rubbed off easily enough, and replaced with the design. That's why I wanted to ask you about the tankards . . .”
“Have you told anyone about this?” demanded Gerald, cutting her off.
“Only Lieutenant Horowitz.”
“Good.” Gerald nodded, and once again brushed at the papers on his desk. “I don't think you should tell anyone else. Not until we know for sure.”
“Didn't Horowitz tell you about this?” Lucy was puzzled.
Gerald looked at her blankly with his pale blue eyes, and his Adam's apple bobbed. “Maybe he did,” he finally decided. “It may have slipped my mind.” He attempted a little chuckle. “One of the penalties of old age—I don't seem to remember things as well as I used to.”
Lucy smiled sympathetically. “The other thing that's been bothering me is whether the library has an alarm system. In light of everything that's happened I really think it ought to be a priority.”
“I must say that I agree with you. Some of us wanted it included in the new addition, but we were told it was unnecessary.”
“Who said that?” Lucy's interest was piqued.
“Well, a few members wanted to keep costs down, anyway, and Ed Bumpus assured us the building would be virtually intruderproof. Something like that.” Gerald gave a little nod and brushed his hand across the desk.
Lucy wasn't sure if it was a nervous habit, or if some sticky crumbs were indeed clinging to the papers.
“Will the library be opening soon?” inquired Lucy. “If you need volunteers to staff the desk, or anything else for that matter, I'd be happy to help.”
“Thank you, but that won't be necessary. Eunice is a thorough professional. She was one of the college librarians until she retired a few months ago and I asked her if she would take over temporarily. Actually, she jumped at the chance.”
“That's wonderful,” said Lucy enthusiastically. Then an unwelcome thought struck her. “You are sure she'll be safe?”
“Of course. Why not?”
“Well—two people are dead,” said Lucy, feeling that she was restating the obvious.
Gerald pursed his lips and drummed the table with his long, slender fingers. He touched the latest issue of
The Pennysaver
, just out that morning. “According to this, the police say the investigation is closed. They're the experts, and they're satisfied. I think it's time to move on.”
“You're right,” conceded Lucy. “The most important thing we can do right now is to get the library up and running again.”
Gerald opened a folder, taking out a sheet of paper. Once again, he brushed it off. “We were planning on dedicating the new addition in a few weeks, but I think we ought to postpone it until all this has died down.”
“That's probably best,” said Lucy, standing to go. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with me.”
“No problem at all,” said Gerald, taking her hand in his.
Lucy was shocked. His hand was icy cold, and his grip was unpleasantly tight.
“Please remember,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. His usual smile was gone and his jaw was set in a hard line. “Investigations of this sort are best left to the police. You have a family to think of. If, as you suspect, the murderer is still at large, well, I wouldn't want to see you become the next victim.” His lips twitched, almost as if he was attempting a smile but couldn't quite manage it. “Take care.”

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