by E. M. Moore
Mayor Sumner screeched. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I swiveled just in time to see her hand fly to her mouth. Slumped in the corner of the elevator, with blood pooled around him, was Mr. Sanders.
Chapter 2
What bad luck.
Not only a dead body on a stormy night during my first big event as librarian, but it was one of the richest men in town who had pledged to donate at least half the money for the elevator himself. Not to mention it was a tragedy, of course. A terrible tragedy. I wouldn’t be able to shake the sight of seeing George Sanders slumped over like that for a while. I was just relieved his face wasn’t visible. That would have been nightmare inducing.
Mrs. Ward, bless her, took control of the situation and moved everyone away from the scene. No wonder Jackson moved up the ranks in the police department quickly. His mother was a force to be reckoned with and he took after her no doubt. Jackson was in the most recent wave of new promotions for the city of Salem. He was Detective Ward now, not Officer Ward. It looked as if he would make it tonight after all. Not under the circumstances his mother would have liked, but when there was a dead body around, who could afford to be choosy?
As if on cue, he strode through the front entrance, stopping briefly to talk to the officers who’d arrived first. The crowd was getting antsy. No one wanted to stay in the same building as a dead man, let alone someone who looked as if he’d been killed.
Only a few seconds went by after the elevator doors first opened before ‘murder’ was whispered. There was just too much blood to think otherwise and everyone knew Mr. Sanders loved himself too much for it to be a self-inflicted wound. Now murder was the only thing anyone could talk of. The policemen were busy getting everyone’s contact information and had already asked me if I had a guest list. I did. Didn’t they know I was a librarian? It was alphabetized and everything. I had it in Excel and could sort it by last name, those who I thought would give the most, and those who used the library the most. Boom. That’s how awesome at being a librarian I was.
Murder? Well, I wasn’t so good at dealing with that.
Jackson lost all his detective facade when he saw his mother. He threw his arms around her and squeezed. I could see her nodding into his chest since he dwarfed her by about a foot. He pulled away and left his hands on her shoulders. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Maddie was closer than me,” she said, pointing my way.
Jackson turned and my heart twinged. The same as it always did when I saw him. Too many memories.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyebrows raising.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Just a little, you know, shaken.”
He looked back at his mom. “You’re not light-headed or anything? Let’s get you two some chairs and some snacks. Dezi,” he said, waving to a uniformed officer. “Can you get my mom and Miss Styles something to eat and drink?”
The officer nodded, and Jackson moved us behind the front desk where we usually sat. “I’m fine, Jackson,” his mother said as he fussed around her.
He stood, finally, giving in for the moment. “You’ll have to stay for a little while. The officers are working on getting everyone’s names and statements. We’ll get yours last. Start thinking about the last time you saw the inside of the elevator and Mr. Sanders.”
Now that, I could do. I took out my yellow pad of paper and wrote down everything I could remember. I had shut the elevator doors right after we closed for the evening earlier. Mr. Sanders was definitely not in there.
I’d hoped the closed doors would have a greater emotional effect than leaving them open. Open doors might still look like the elevator was functional when that was very much not the case. As far as Mr. Sanders, I hadn’t seen him in a week, but I had talked to him yesterday on the phone when he gave me every assurance of attending the fundraiser and pledging to pay for half of it. He was sure the other attendees would make up the other half.
Now, he was dead. Done. Final. There was nothing left of him except for a non-breathing body. And I had just talked to him.
Oh my Goddess.
God, I thought again, shaking my head. Oh my God.
Mrs. Ward’s hand covered my forearm. I blinked at it and then moved my gaze to meet hers. She smiled. It was small, but it was still comforting. “Everything will be fine.”
I nodded, my eyes filling with hot tears.
“Shh,” she said. “I promise you. Everything will be fine.”
I took a deep breath and swept my fingers under my eyes. Just then, Dezi came by with two punches and a plate filled with finger foods from the snack tables for us. “Thank you, Joshua,” Mrs. Ward said.
Oh…Joshua Destin. I recognized him now. It hadn’t been a name I thought of in a while. He gave me a reassuring smile. I tried to smile back, but I probably looked more like a demented hyena instead of a Library Director.
Hey, if we couldn’t make fun of ourselves, we were taking ourselves way too seriously.
“Here,” Mrs. Ward said, pushing a peanut butter cookie my way. “Eat this and drink some of that punch. I know you haven’t eaten since you’ve been here and you probably didn’t eat dinner either. Get some food in your stomach before something else terrible happens.”
Because getting an upset stomach was as worse as dying…
I looked out over the desk. The crowd started to thin. An officer was taking Mayor Sumner’s statement now. After her initial panicked scream, she’d recovered well. If you counted standing in the corner trying to look composed recovering well, then yes, she did. It was truly Mrs. Ward who took control of the situation. I’d have to tell Jackson as much when I got a free moment alone with him.
If I wanted a free moment alone with him and I usually didn’t.
A half hour later and it was just me, Mrs. Ward, some of the officers, the coroner, and Jackson left in the old building. Mr. Sanders’ body was on a gurney, a sheet over his still, lifeless frame. Not watching him being wheeled away was physically impossible no matter how many times I told myself to look in the other direction. It was torture and yet, my stare was glued to it. I held my stomach and was happy when the library doors finally closed, his body on the other side along with the flashing red, white, and blue lights lighting up the night sky.
Jackson strolled toward us, his face locked in a serious, somber mask. He came around the desk and pulled up one of the other chairs, the one Teddy usually sat in. He ran his fingers through his hair and then plopped a notebook on the counter. The pen rolled off and stopped after hitting the stapler. “Mr. Sanders was murdered.”
Mrs. Ward closed her eyes and breathed. Her lips moved, but she didn’t make a sound. It wasn’t until after she glanced upward that I realized she was praying.
Throat dry, I tried to ask how, but had to clear it and start over again. The sound that came out was broken. Finally, I pushed the question out, “How?”
“Stab wound,” Jackson said. “To the chest. It was quick,” he reassured us.
I guessed that was a relief? I’d never dealt with someone being murdered so the knowledge that he died quick, perhaps hypothesizing that it was less painful, was good news? Or as good as could be expected in the situation. The other part of me wondered if Jackson said those things automatically because that was his job, reassure the survivors. I could point to the bathrooms from anywhere in the library because that was my job.
“Do you have any information for me?” Jackson asked.
I wheeled over and took a paper off the printer. I’d written out everything I could remember on my yellow pad, but it was way too messy to hand over to law enforcement, so I booted up my computer and typed it up. At least it had kept my hands—and my mind—busy.
Jackson took the paper I offered him and raised his eyebrows. He scanned it and then looked up. “There’s even a line down here for you to sign.”
“Oh. Right,” I said, reaching for the paper again. I took it from him and grabbed the pen from the librar
y conference I attended a few months ago and signed my name as neatly as I could considering the circumstances. They were just going to have to forgive me for the crooked S.
“Okay,” he said. After accepting the paper again, he read through it. “Alright, so you closed the elevator at five right before you left to go home and change?”
“Yes,” I said. “Your mother was there with me. She can corroborate.”
“Yes, I can corroborate.”
Jackson pressed his lips together. “No need, Maddie. I believe you. Mr. Sanders wasn’t in the elevator at that time. His time of death was within a half hour to an hour before Mayor Sumner opened the doors.”
“I wonder why she opened the doors at all,” I said, turning to Mrs. Ward. “Wasn’t that weird? I mean, I was giving my speech. Kind of rude if you ask me.”
“Yes, it was so rude to have your speech interrupted by a dead body.”
Jackson’s curtness took me off guard. I reeled back. “That’s not what I was saying. The fact that Mayor Sumner was playing with the elevator while I was talking was rude. I wasn’t playing with it when she was talking. That’s all,” I said, looking toward Mrs. Ward and lifting my eyebrows in exasperation. Her son was always a pain.
“Of course that’s what you meant,” Mrs. Ward said. “Jackson just gets moody when he’s investigating.”
“I don’t get moody.”
“Yes, you do,” she said, giving him her stern look.
The hand clasping my statement dropped to his knees. “So what if I do? You try investigating dead people and not let it get to you.”
“See,” she said, nodding toward me. “I told you. He even yells at his own mother when she’s also had a traumatic day. Quite a bit more traumatic than his if you ask me considering he sees this kind of stuff all the time and I don’t.”
Jackson’s shoulders slumped. He rubbed his temples and stood up straighter when he addressed his mother again. “Do you have anything to add to Maddie’s elaborate notes?”
“No, I proofread them. Should I sign as a witness?”
“I can print it out again with a witness signature line,” I offered.
Mrs. Ward reached for the paper, but Jackson pulled it out of her reach. “No need, Mother. These are more than I get on a good day from one of the officers helping me.”
I smiled at Mrs. Ward. See, we were helping. There was no need for her son to be in a mood. “If I remember anything else, I can send it to you.”
“You do that,” Jackson said as he stood from his chair.
“Do you want me to email you? Or…?” Jackson kept walking, ignoring my questions. That was twice I’d been rudely interrupted this evening. Twice. “Was it something I said?” I whispered to his mom.
“Told you. Moody. I don’t know where he gets it from.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her he’d been that way since junior high. Actually, I should take that back. He was like that in elementary school, too. He once tattled on me for rearranging his desk for him. It was a mess. Almost like the garbage threw up inside it. The teacher tried to make me apologize to him, but there was no way that was happening. Jackson should have thanked me for making his things more organized.
Just like he should have thanked me for the notes. “You’re welcome,” I yelled after him.
He waved my notes in the air and continued until he stopped next to Josh Destin. They gestured toward the elevator and looked around the space. He folded my notes and put them in his front pocket. Folded them! That was utter ridiculousness. He could have used a folder. Those notes were important.
Mrs. Ward patted my forearm. “Don’t let him get to you, Maddie. He might have some weird quirks, but he’s a good detective. Chief Arnold told him so.”
The night dragged on. After the forensics team took all their pictures and the crime scene was completely clean and disinfected, Jackson made his way over to his mother and I again. “I see you have security cameras set up. Any of them pointing toward the elevator?”
“Not directly,” I said. “We have them focused on the displays. We get sticky fingers for the new fiction titles.”
“That’s true,” Mrs. Ward said.
I nodded. “We might get the very corner of the elevator in one view. I don’t know if it would be helpful to you.”
Jackson jotted notes down in a small notebook. “No cameras inside the elevator.”
“No,” I said. “It’s in the plans for the new elevator though. If we ever get it.”
“We’ll get that elevator,” Mrs. Ward said. “You’ve worked too hard not to.”
Jackson squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Can we please focus? It’s late and I have a long night ahead of me. I need to get the footage from the cameras. You can hand it over to Dezi.”
Library security footage? He must be joking. I started to laugh, but the look on his face was evidence he wasn’t joking at all. “I, um, I can’t do that, Detective Ward.”
His eyes narrowed. “Can’t do what? You don’t know how?”
“I know how to use my security system, thank you very much. But I can’t hand the tapes over without a warrant.”
Jackson closed his notebook and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re not going to give me the security tapes?”
“Not without a warrant.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Language,” Mrs. Ward scolded.
“Mom,” he said, looking over at her, his mouth open and eyes wide. “I need those tapes.”
“If Maddie won’t give them to you, there has to be a good reason.”
I nodded. “There is. Thank you. Patron privacy is a serious bibliographic issue. I’ll hand the tapes over when you give me a warrant.”
“You can’t be serious, Maddie. Those tapes might reveal who the killer is.”
“I just…” I clamped my mouth shut and looked at Mrs. Ward and then back at her son. It was a patron privacy issue. I didn’t know how else to explain it. Jackson Ward didn’t know the first thing about being a librarian and I wasn’t going to be made to feel bad that I couldn’t give him the information he needed yet. “I’m sorry, I can’t do it. If they’re that important then you shouldn’t have an issue getting a warrant.”
“Only that it takes up time.”
I shrugged. I felt bad, I really did, but there was no way I was giving up those tapes without a warrant. This past summer, I’d attended the most fascinating session at the American Library Association’s conference about patron privacy. There was no way I would give up my patron’s rights to privacy so easily. It was a global issue.
I would’ve tried to explain as much to Jackson, but he looked as murderous as could be now. He even muttered something about bibliographic issues. Well, to each their own. I didn’t tell him how to solve murders, did I?
“Fine,” he said, his teeth clamped shut. “I’ll get you the warrant. I think we’re through here then. Let’s wrap it up,” he said, motioning toward the other officers.
“Will I be able to open the library tomorrow? There’s no reason to keep it closed, right?”
“None whatsoever. I just need you to be available tomorrow because as soon as I get that warrant, I’m contacting you and I want them right away.”
“No problem,” I said, smiling. “I’ll be happy to turn them over as soon as we get the warrant.”
He opened his mouth to say something and then shut it again. He looked between me and his mother and then walked away shaking his head.
“Good for you for standing up in what you believe in,” Mrs. Ward said as she came to stand next to me.
That was exactly what I thought.
Chapter 3
Jackson insisted on taking his mother home, but I told him I was fine after Mrs. Ward suggested I ride with them. The drive home was short after all, and in fact, if I wasn’t wearing a fancy dress, I could have walked. I walked to work a lot in the summer. It was refreshing and the city was beautiful whether morning or night.
As soon as I unlocked my apartment door, Maxie ran up to me. He jumped at my knees and I knelt to pet him. “Ah, I have to get your nails cut, buddy. Are you okay? Mommy had a bad day.”
Maxie, as he usually did, looked up at me with the sweetest look. He licked my chin, and I nuzzled his neck. “Come on, boy. Let’s get you outside. I was gone longer than I wanted to be.”
I took Maxie out and walked him toward the ocean’s edge and then down an alley and ended up near the wharf. Living in this part of town had its perks. It was the perfect place to let Maxie run around a little during the summer. A grassy area surrounded the wharf. Residents and tourists alike brought their pets to play here when the weather was nice.
After he did his business, Maxie led me toward the huge rock wall I sat on most nights, but I pulled him back toward the alley. “It’s too late. Maybe in the morning.”
I brought him up the stairs and into the apartment. The phone rang just as I stepped over the threshold. I looked down at my watch. “Jeez, it’s midnight. Who could that be?”
Jackson? Maybe he got the warrant that soon. If it was him, I was getting out of this dress before heading back over there.
“Hello?”
“Where have you been?” Mel shouted into the phone. “I’ve been calling you all evening after I heard about Mr. Sanders on the news.”
“I just got home, Mel. Chill.”