“Richard. Yeah, although I didn’t do the work. Not bad with a hammer, but I had no time, so I hired contractors.” Richard looked Sunny up and down. “I bet you go by ‘Sunny,’ don’t you?”
“How’d you guess?” Sunny straightened and flashed him another gleaming smile. “Are you psychic or something?”
“No, that name just fits you.”
“Well, it’s good you aren’t a psychic, seeing as how your home is haunted,” Sunny said.
“So I’ve heard.” Richard turned back to me. “What do you think, Ms. Webber? Seen any ghosts flitting around my house?”
“It’s Amy, and no.” Forgetting the rip, I tugged on my blouse again, tearing loose another bit of hem. “But then, I don’t believe in such things.” I curled my fingers around the tattered edge of my shirt.
“Me either, although I like to keep an open mind. Anyway, now that I have some time, I’m interested in digging into the past. It was my great-uncle who last owned the place, you see.”
So that was the other reason he looked so familiar. Aunt Lydia kept a framed photo of her former neighbor, novelist Paul Dassin, on a bookshelf in her library. “Paul Dassin was your great-uncle?”
“Yep. I inherited the house. Well, my parents did. They signed it over to me a few years ago, when I’d scraped together enough money for a decent restoration.”
Sunny looked him over. “You’re going to live here and work at Clarion? That’s kind of a long commute every day, isn’t it?”
“I used to do it,” I said.
“But you were staying over at Charles’s place half the time.” Sunny tossed off this information as she stepped around the desk.
I wanted to clap my hand over her mouth, but Sunny was just telling the truth. I had lived with Charles when I worked at Clarion, although I had returned to Taylorsford on the weekends to help Aunt Lydia with the house and garden.
Richard cast me a sympathetic smile. “Well, that’s the thing, I had a similar setup. I was living with my fiancée in an apartment near the university until she decided to run off to New York and marry someone else. So I thought, ‘Why not move into my renovated house in Taylorsford instead of selling it?’ I finally have the full-time position to make it affordable, so I can live here and fulfil a lifelong goal.”
“Oh?” Intrigued by this proclamation, I decided my tattered hem was irrelevant and dropped my hand. “What’s that?”
“Prove once and for all that Eleanora Cooper was innocent of her husband’s death.”
Sunny widened her blue eyes. “That’s a tall order in this town, Richard. Everyone thinks Eleanora Cooper was guilty as sin even though she was acquitted. The old folks still say she got away with murder before she up and disappeared.”
“I know, but my great-uncle never believed that, and I want to prove him right.” Richard turned to me. “Thought I’d start by doing a little historical research. Someone told me the library held the town records. Is that right?”
“Yeah, in the archives. But we keep that material in a building out back. I’ll have to get the key. Just a minute.” I walked behind the circulation desk and into the workroom, leaving Sunny to chat with Richard.
She’ll probably snag a date with him before I reappear. Not that she shouldn’t. After the Charles debacle, I’d sworn off all men for a while, especially handsome men involved in the arts. But single men were few and far between in Taylorsford. If Sunny could start up something with Richard Muir, good for her.
In the workroom, I frowned as I rummaged through the key box. Designed to be locked, its own key had been lost long ago. I hadn’t been particularly concerned when I’d discovered this situation, considering it unlikely that anyone would want to steal a key, especially since the workroom could only be accessed from behind the circulation desk.
But despite this precaution, the archives’ key was missing.
We could still open the archives since I had personal copies of all essential library keys. But I couldn’t allow a lost key to float about where anyone could find it. Especially not that key.
I strode out of the workroom. “The key’s not there. Did somebody borrow it?”
“I haven’t touched it in days.” Sunny met my gaze and mouthed, Doris?
I bit my lower lip. If Doris had been a library volunteer, she probably knew where that key was kept. She could’ve swiped it before Sunny chased her from the workroom.
Not a bad hypothesis, Amy. Doris probably hoped to hide in the archive building to escape her phantom pursuer.
If that were the case, they’d find the key on Doris soon enough, and I wouldn’t have to change the lock on the archives door, or—more important—explain the situation to the town council. Which would definitely make my life easier. I shook off my sense of foreboding and forced a cheerful tone. “Richard, it seems we’ve misplaced the extra key. I can let you in, but I’ll have to accompany you.”
“Don’t you usually do that?” Richard asked as I stepped out from behind the desk.
“Not really, because there are only two of us working here most of the time. Oh, I know—valuable records and all that. But honestly, only a few people ask to visit the archives, and we usually know them pretty well.” No use mentioning my theory about Doris stealing the key. Why cause an uproar when the problem might resolve itself? I shoved a straggling lock of my straight brown hair behind my ear. “Sunny, can you hold down the fort?”
“Sure, but would you do me a favor?”
“Of course, what do you need?”
“Just check to see if there’s still a black car parked on the side of the road right outside our parking lot. It’s snazzy and sleek like a sports car. I spied it when I ran to my car to grab my cell phone earlier. I forgot it again and needed to check for any messages from the grands.”
Richard cast her a questioning glance. “Something unusual about a parked car?”
“On that road there is.” Sunny crinkled her nose as she often did when she was puzzled. “It’s really almost an alley, so most patrons park in our lot unless it’s full. Which it wasn’t. Maybe it was just some tourists, parking in the first place they could find so they could walk around town. But it was such an expensive-looking car. One of those with the big cat as a hood ornament.”
“A Jaguar?” Richard raised his eyebrows. “That is a pricey ride.”
“Yeah, not something you usually see around here. I thought it was weird, someone parking that sort of car in a spot where it might get sideswiped. And”—Sunny twisted her bangle around her wrist—“it almost looked like someone was sitting in the car. I guess I should’ve investigated further, but I didn’t want to leave the desk unsupervised that long. Not to mention the whole thing made me a little nervous. So I just grabbed my phone and came back inside.”
“Smart move,” I said. “Don’t worry. If we see the car, I’ll give the sheriff’s office a call. No one is supposed to park there anyway. Road’s too narrow. Also, I don’t like the idea of someone loitering out back for whatever reason. Okay?”
“Yep, sounds great. Well, don’t let me keep Richard from his research. I’ll take care of things while you’re gone.”
I flashed Sunny a grateful smile before heading for the back door. “This way, Richard. I can show you what type of records we keep, although you may want to come back another day to dig into them. It’s Thursday, and we close at five on Thursdays and Fridays these days.” I spread my hands wide. “Budget cuts.”
“No problem. I don’t really have much to do until the new academic year begins, so I can return easily enough.” Richard gazed over the hedges that bordered the gravel lot separating the library and a small stone cottage. “No fancy black car that I can see.”
“No, thank goodness.” I shaded my eyes with one hand as I peered at the side street. “It is a little strange, someone choosing to park there, especially when the free town lot is rarely full.”
“I agree. I usually use that one myself. It’s more centrally located, bu
t I guess tourists might not realize that and park here instead.”
I headed for the archives’ building without looking back at him. “Sometimes. We don’t really mind, as our lot isn’t often full, although it is needed for staff and volunteer parking too. The historical society prefers we not park on the street. Out front, I mean. ‘Destroys the illusion of stepping back in time,’ they say.” I shrugged. “Always considering that tourism angle.”
“Can’t say I blame them. This part of Taylorsford is certainly quaint. Now, the strip mall and car dealerships as you approach town, on the other hand . . .”
“Not so quaint. But needed, I guess.” I pulled my key ring from my pocket. “Just a second.”
“Is this original to the site?” Richard pressed his hand against the oak doorframe.
“Yes, the library director used to live here. It was a necessary perk since the town couldn’t pay much. Still can’t, actually, but in the fifties, when the archives outgrew their alcove in the main building, the town took over this space.” As I inserted the key in the lock, the door swung inward. “Wait, why is it unlocked?”
Doris must’ve let herself in. Which meant she could still be inside. I took a deep breath and considered how to deal with a confused, and possibly terrified, patron.
“Careful. Let me go first.” Richard used his foot to push the door open wider.
“Not necessary. I’m sure everything’s fine. I think one of our older patrons might have borrowed the key without asking, that’s all.” Not wanting to spook Doris any more than necessary, I crossed the threshold in front of Richard. I stopped short as sunlight glinted off an object lying on the wood-plank floor. “There’s the key, but why would she toss it . . . ?”
I flicked on the light switch and peered into the shadowy interior.
The archive building was a single room with a large pitted-wood table situated under a dangling fluorescent light. The shuttered windows blocked any view of the outside. Old metal file cabinets lined three of the walls, while shelving stuffed with archival banker’s boxes covered the fourth wall.
Everything looked perfectly normal.
Everything except for the body lying facedown on the floor with blood pooling around its head.
Chapter Two
I shrieked and dropped the key ring, which hit the floor with a clang like an old bell.
This can’t be happening. It must be a hoax. It must be. I blinked rapidly and looked again, but the body was still there. Still motionless. Still haloed in blood spattered with what I could only assume was brain matter.
Richard grabbed me around the waist and pulled me backward with a grace that spoke of his experience partnering dancers. “We shouldn’t disturb anything.”
I pointed a shaking hand at the figure. “I know that outfit; she wears it all the time. That’s Doris Virts.”
Richard kept one arm around me as he slid his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll call nine-one-one.”
“Shouldn’t we help? She might still be alive.”
“Doubtful.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off of the prone form. Yes, with all that blood, it was unlikely Doris was alive. The contents of my stomach sloshed like dirty water in a bucket.
“Dispatcher says the police will be here any minute.” Richard pocketed his phone. “We’ll need to answer questions. You okay with that?”
He still had his arm around my shoulders. A strong, well-muscled arm. I would’ve shaken off his hold except I was trembling so much I feared sliding to the ground. “Have to be, I guess.”
“We shouldn’t talk about it.” Richard gave my shoulder a squeeze before guiding me to a concrete bench under a redbud tree. “They’ll want our stories, direct from each of us. No collaboration.”
I eyed him as I sat down. All color had fled his face. “Sounds like you’ve done this before.”
“Yes, unfortunately. Not a murder, but . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll tell you another time.” He looked up and over the hedge. “Listen, there are the sirens.”
I clasped my hands together until my knuckles blanched. “I can’t understand this. Who’d want to hurt Doris Virts? She’s a sweet old lady. I can’t believe she has any enemies.”
Richard glanced down at me. “Who knows? People keep secrets.” He ran his hands through his short dark hair. “Just tell the police what we saw. Don’t worry. I doubt they’ll keep us long.”
“Won’t we have to go to the station or something?”
“Eventually. But hopefully they’ll take statements now and ask us to come in later for a more formal report.”
The back door of the library opened, and Sunny peeked out. “The sheriff just pulled up, and sirens are blasting. What’s going on?”
I waved her back. “Stay where you are. Don’t come out here.”
“Why?” Sunny’s eyes widened as she glanced toward the open door of the archives. “Is a patron ill? There’s someone on the floor . . .”
“Just go inside. I don’t want you caught up in this.”
Obviously astonished at the sharpness of my tone, Sunny snapped her mouth shut. She backed through the door and closed it behind her.
Bradley Tucker, the county sheriff’s chief deputy, dashed into the lot, barking orders. He was followed by two men in suits and an older officer whose uniform didn’t quite fit. Probably a part-time deputy. Taylorsford couldn’t afford a full-time police force, so the town deputized a few people with military or security backgrounds to assist the sheriff and his staff. I didn’t recognize the older man, but that wasn’t surprising. If he’d never visited the library, I wouldn’t know him. I tended to spend most of my time either at work or at home, with occasional trips to buy food and other necessities.
I knew Brad, of course. He’d lived here all his life and, as chief deputy, covered most criminal activity in Taylorsford. Not murders, of course. There’d never been a murder except for that old Cooper incident, and that case was never solved.
Drug dealing, domestic disturbances, vandalism, and other crimes weren’t uncommon. But not murder. Not until now.
Brad studied me and Richard, lines wrinkling his broad brow. “So these are our witnesses?” Although he now sported a slight paunch, Brad still resembled the football star he’d once been twenty-some years before. Now forty, he kept his blond hair short, his uniform neatly pressed, and his face shaved smooth as an egg.
He was examining us with displeasure. I thought I knew why.
Brad was considered one of Taylorsford’s most eligible bachelors, at least according to Sunny, who’d dated him briefly before declaring his “red-meat attitude” bad for her aura. But I’d rebuffed his one and only attempt to ask me out—partially because I had still been too raw from Charles’s betrayal to consider dating anyone, but primarily because I’d thought we would have little to talk about. Although Brad’s obsession with sports occasionally brought him into the library to peruse magazines, I questioned whether he’d opened a book since high school. Not used to being dismissed so coldly, he hadn’t taken my rejection well.
Brad wasn’t winded, although his fellow officer was puffing and clutching his side. “Where’s the body?”
Richard pointed toward the archives’ building.
Brad cast a sharp glance at me. “You stay put.”
More people ran into the area, including the sheriff and a doctor who doubled as the local coroner. They swarmed the archives, examining the grisly scene.
The two suits approached us, and I realized they must be plainclothes detectives.
“You, come with me,” one of them barked at Richard. “Miss, stay where you are.”
As Richard walked off, the other detective sat down and bombarded me with questions.
I answered, fighting to keep a quaver out of my voice. But after detailing my actions for the fifth time, I doubled over, fighting off a wave of nausea. The vision of blood speckled with brain matter kept flooding my mind, no matter how I tried to suppress th
e image.
“Sorry. We just have to make sure we have all the facts.” The detective twitched his lips, producing what he probably thought was a comforting smile. He was wrong. But then, very little could comfort me in that moment.
I swallowed the ball of bile that had rolled up my throat. “I understand. But really, there isn’t any more to tell. I didn’t see Mrs. Virts or hear anything. She was killed by a gunshot, I assume?”
The detective nodded.
I swallowed before I could continue speaking. “And you’ll have to ask my assistant, Sunshine Fields, for the details about that fancy black car. She’s the one who saw it. I only heard about it secondhand.”
“Someone is questioning her right now, so we’ll get to the bottom of that. As for noise from the gunshot, the thick stone walls of the archives’ building and your library would muffle that. Or maybe the killer used a silencer.” The detective’s piercing gaze swept over me again. “So you believe the victim stole the key?”
“I expect so. My assistant said Mrs. Virts was in the workroom earlier, where the key was stored, talking about being followed.” I rubbed at the back of my neck with one hand. My muscles felt as rigid as steel cables beneath my fingers. “Like I said, I think Doris took the key and came out here to hide in the archives’ building because she thought someone was after her.”
“But although Ms. Fields told you about sighting an unusual vehicle on the side street, you personally saw no one other than regular library patrons? No strangers or anyone behaving suspiciously?”
“No, and even that mystery car was gone before I came outside with Mr. Muir. Of course, if someone else was outside, waiting for Doris . . .” I gripped my upper arms with both hands to still my shivering. “Please understand—Mrs. Virts suffered from dementia, so it’s hard to tell if what she said was real or just a delusion. It’s likely no one was following her. Maybe she just came out here to hide and stumbled over someone looking to rob the closest vulnerable target.”
A Murder for the Books Page 2