A Murder for the Books

by Victoria Gilbert

  “I’d like you to accompany me on a fishing expedition.”

  “Fishing? I must confess I’m not much of an outdoorsy type, except for walking or gardening.”

  Richard laughed. “No, not that kind of fishing. I mean a search for more information on my great-uncle. Remember how I mentioned a foster child from back in the fifties? Well, apparently the guy has resurfaced. In fact, he actually owns a historic house just outside town. A second home, I expect, because he said he was only there on weekends. Anyway, he called yesterday evening and invited me for a visit. I’d love to pick his brains about Paul, but it does sound a little odd. I’m worried he might be angling for a piece of Paul’s property. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and get myself in legal hot water, so I thought maybe an observant librarian companion could come in handy. What do you say?”

  “A wealthy older man with an estate outside of town? You can’t mean Kurt Kendrick.”

  “Yeah, that’s the guy.”

  “But Kendrick never lived in Taylorsford before. Not from what I’ve heard. He’s one of those überrich art collectors who has a gallery in DC and a townhouse in Georgetown. Only lives here part time and doesn’t mingle with us lesser beings. I’ve never seen him, as a matter of fact. There was a photo in the paper once, when he donated money to fund a special exhibit at the National Gallery of Art, but otherwise he’s as intangible as a ghost. Even Aunt Lydia has never met him.”

  “That’s strange. He definitely said he was Paul’s ward at one time. Although he did mention changing his name for professional reasons.”

  “Weird. But sure, I’d love to accompany you, if only to see the house.”

  Richard rubbed at his chin with the back of his hand. “Hmmm, not sure what that says about me.”

  I fought back a smile. “Nothing wrong with your company. I just meant I know I’ll see you again since you live next door, while this might be my only chance to visit Kendrick’s house. It’s one of the oldest homes in the area, and rumor has it that the restoration is absolutely gorgeous. And I hear Kendrick keeps quite a collection of art there as well. I’ve been curious to see it for some time but never thought I’d get an invite.”

  “Then I’m happy to offer you this one. It will be useful for me as well, having someone along who knows a bit more about town history and the like. Anyway, thanks for the research lesson. And the brooch,” he called out as he headed for his own house.

  “No problem,” I called after him.

  But I was afraid that might be a lie. There could be a problem—a very big problem indeed—if he kept looking at me in that way with those sexy gray eyes.

  Chapter Six

  I received a phone call from Brad Tucker on Saturday, asking me to meet him at the archives’ building. He said he wanted me to confirm whether anything was missing from the collections.

  I didn’t tell him I probably couldn’t be sure since I hadn’t personally inventoried the archives after taking my job. But I knew Sunny had completed an inventory right before Ralph Harrison retired, so I called and asked her to join us.

  Brad was not pleased when the two of us showed up at the newly padlocked door.

  “I didn’t invite her.” He pointed a finger at Sunny.

  She simply squared her shoulders and tossed back her hair, a move that highlighted her long neck and thrust her breasts against her gauzy top.

  The deputy guarding the door openly stared at her before stepping aside.

  “Sunny knows more about the collections than I do.” I snapped my fingers to draw Brad’s gaze off my friend. “She conducted the last inventory, and we haven’t gotten around to doing another one yet.”

  Brad muttered something under his breath before replying, “So you’re telling me you might not know if anything has recently gone missing.”

  Poor Brad—facing two women who’d rejected him. No wonder he was rubbing at his jaw like someone with a toothache.

  “Nope, not saying that.” Sunny flashed a bright smile. “I always check after someone’s been in the archives. I suppose a patron could sneak something out, but really, not that many people use the materials anyway. I actually think Doris Virts was the last person who even asked to look at anything in here, and I can’t imagine her stealing old documents.”

  “But you don’t know for sure. I mean, apparently she did steal the key out from under your nose.” Brad tugged at the collar of his uniform. I wondered if it was the heat causing him to sweat or just his proximity to Sunny. “You can wait by the car if you want,” he told the young deputy as he waved him off.

  “No, not absolutely for certain.” Sunny’s voice conveyed no anger over Brad’s jab. “But when she was in here before, she was just looking at old photos from the fifties. You know, back when her dad was on the town council and she was a little kid. It was one of those days when she seemed to be doing well, and I think recalling the past helps . . . helped keep her mind clear.”

  Brad leaned in with a key and released the new padlock. “You left her in here by herself?”

  “No, I wouldn’t do that, considering her health condition. Remember, Amy? I told you I had to stay with Doris that day. Although”—Sunny twitched her lips as she recalled the memory—“I did leave her for a few minutes because I had to use the restroom. But her son was with her ’cause he’d come to pick her up, so I thought it would be okay.”

  “Yeah, that was several months ago.” As I followed Brad and Sunny into the archives, I forced myself the stare at the floor. It was scrubbed clean, but the bleach mixture had left a pale oval ring on the age-darkened pine planks.

  “Well, take a look around. We’ve already dusted everything for fingerprints, so just let me know if you see anything out of place.” Brad stepped back, his bulky body filling the open doorway.

  I moved from file cabinet to file cabinet, opening drawers and peeking inside each one, while Sunny examined the items stacked on the metal shelves.

  “These obviously haven’t been touched,” Sunny said, sliding her fingers over a row of archival boxes. She held up her fingers. “Still covered in dust.”

  “This is weird.” I pulled an overstuffed file folder from one of the cabinets. “This folder’s dated 1958.”

  I laid the folder on the table.

  Brad strode back into the room, facing me across the worktable. “Weird how?”

  I flipped open the file. “Because the folder was shoved in the front of a cabinet housing material from the 1930s, so it was seriously misfiled. Which might mean it was moved recently.”

  “Damn it,” Brad stepped closer. “That needs to be checked for fingerprints, and now yours are all over it.”

  I held up my hands. “You already have them. Remember—our lovely town council requires all town employees to be fingerprinted before they start working in Taylorsford. So mine are on file at your office.”

  “Just don’t touch it again.” Brad glared at me before meeting Sunny’s amused gaze. “You either.”

  I dropped my hands to my side and examined the top document, a yellowed newspaper clipping with a headline that screamed, “Five Children and Cook Dead, Others Sickened in Apparent Accidental Poisoning.” “What the hell is this? I’ve never heard anything about an orphanage, much less people dying.”

  “Wow.” Sunny crossed to stand beside me. “You haven’t? It happened right next to your aunt’s house—on the old Cooper farm. She never mentioned it?”

  “No,” I replied, drawing out the word as my mind processed this information. It seemed Aunt Lydia had kept some secrets from me over the years.

  What else is she staying mum about? Maybe the real reason your mom won’t return to the family home? I frowned and clasped my hands behind my back. “Never even heard a whisper about any such thing.”

  Brad shuffled his feet. “Well, people don’t talk about it now. And your aunt was probably like, what—six or seven? So it makes sense you might not have heard of it, but it was a big scandal at the time, or so my fol
ks say. Dad was in college, and Mom was working in DC when it happened. They were told not to come back to Taylorsford until the hysteria died down. Missed out on Thanksgiving, I remember them saying.”

  I stared at the brittle newspaper clipping topping the pile of mimeographed circulars and typed town council minutes. “Mushrooms?”

  Brad scratched at his chin. “Yeah, supposedly the cook—Old Man Fowler’s mom, by the way—mixed in some poisonous ones with other wild mushrooms she’d collected. She died too, so it was assumed to be an accident. That was the story I’ve been told, anyway. Damn shame.”

  “I didn’t even know there was an orphanage.” I glanced at Sunny, who shrugged.

  “Even the grands have only mentioned it once in my hearing,” she said.

  “Nobody talks about it. Well, except Clark Fowler, and then only to spew conspiracy theories. I get it, he doesn’t want his mom blamed, but he can turn overly aggressive. I’ve had to step in a few times when he’s gone on a rant.” Brad toyed with the gold badge pinned to his uniform. “Anyway, that Paul Dassin fellow who bought the Cooper place donated most of the land to the town for an orphanage where kids would be taught to farm. Named it after Daniel Cooper. Town said okay—mayor was thinking of running for state senate or some such thing and thought being charitable would help his chances, I guess.”

  I unclenched my hands and tapped the worktable with one finger. “You mean Lee Blackstone, the current mayor’s dad?”

  “That’s the one. Never did get elected to any office higher than mayor of Taylorsford, though. After the deaths, the town sent the rest of the kids to other homes and razed the building to the ground. Luckily it never made the national news back then, so most people just pretended it never happened.”

  I examined Brad’s troubled expression with interest. “Why be so secretive if it was just an accident?”

  Brad wiped his damp brow with the back of his hand. “I dunno. Clark Fowler has these notions that there was some kind of cover-up. He says the kids and his mom were sick even before they ate those mushrooms. Claims the town didn’t listen to his mom’s complaints and waited too long to send in the doctor, or didn’t provide the best care, or something. Seems to want to blame the Blackstone family, among others.”

  “Well, Bob Blackstone did purchase that land on the cheap. Before he became mayor, but still . . .” I said.

  Sunny twisted her golden bangle around her wrist. “And now he’s all set to sell it for that awful housing development. When his dad was mayor, the town put up all kinds of restrictions, and the land just sat empty for years and years, but all of a sudden, it can become a subdivision? I call that convenient.”

  “Don’t you get started on that.” Brad tugged on his collar again. No doubt he’d already heard Sunny’s opinions on this deal. Bob Blackstone was in negotiations to sell the land adjacent to the Cooper farmhouse, which he’d bought a few years before, to some big developer. Sunny was part of a group opposing this move. She was prone to talking about the situation daily, so I was sure she’d bent Brad’s ear about it when they were dating.

  But she wasn’t the only one upset about the possible sale—Aunt Lydia called the deal “a lot of shenanigans.” Not just because the subdivision would be close to her house, but also because she was convinced that her second cousin, Sylvia Taylor Baker, was Bob Blackstone’s silent partner.

  Sunny and I quickly finished our examination of the rest of the archives while Brad looked on, but the folder was the only thing we discovered out of place.

  “Well, if you’re done, let me take that folder in to the office. Not sure what significance it has, but since it was misplaced . . .” Brad pulled a pair of blue nitrile gloves from his pocket as he stepped around the table. He picked up the file folder and held it away from his body. “Just gonna put this in the cruiser. I think I have a couple of evidence bags in the trunk. Lock up that door when you step out, would you?”

  Sunny and I trailed him out of the archives’ building. While Sunny walked with Brad to his car, I paused to latch the padlock.

  “You’ll be sure to bring that folder back when you’re done with it?” I called out as I gave the padlock a tug to make sure it was secure.

  “Sure, not like the department needs to store more paper files indefinitely.” As Brad pulled a heavy plastic bag from his trunk and stuffed the file into it, a slight, dark-haired man dashed through the back gate. The deputy made a move to jump in front of Brad and Sunny, but Brad told him to stand back.

  “You!” yelled the man. Shading my eyes with one hand as I crossed the parking lot, I realized it was the dentist, Donald Virts. I didn’t run into him often since he never frequented the library. Which was fine by me.

  Brad slammed down his trunk lid with the evidence bag stowed safely inside. “Hello, Dr. Virts. What can I do for you?”

  “You can tell me how my mother died, for one thing. And who killed her.” Don, who was a good foot shorter than Brad, stabbed his finger at the chief deputy.

  “I can’t, actually. You’ll be getting the full report soon from the sheriff, just like we told you yesterday.”

  Don twitched his nose like an angry rodent. He was slender but wiry and had a wide mouth at odds with his sharp features and beady eyes. He wore his thick dark hair longer than was fashionable.

  Probably because it’s his only good feature except for his artificially perfect teeth, I thought, then chided myself for being mean.

  But Don Virts was not a pleasant person. I’d once seen him humiliate his wife and children in public, not to mention his poor treatment of his sister.

  “Very sorry for your loss, Dr. Virts,” Sunny said.

  “Yeah, sorry.” I was certain my expression conveyed less compassion than Sunny’s, but I didn’t care. I’d save my real sympathy for Bethany.

  Don waved off our condolences. “I just never thought I’d see the day when my innocent, addled mother was murdered. And in Taylorsford, of all places.”

  Brad leaned back against his car and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Murders happen everywhere.”

  “Not when law enforcement is up to the mark.” Don shoved his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants, as if he was afraid he might otherwise take a swing at Brad.

  “I don’t think that’s quite accurate, but it’s true we’re not used to this sort of thing in these parts.” Brad’s eyes narrowed as he studied Don’s belligerent face.

  It’s usually the family . . .

  I shook my head. Despite my personal dislike of the man, it was hard to believe Don would kill his mother. It wouldn’t be for money since, as far as I knew, he didn’t stand to inherit anything. In fact, according to Bethany, Doris had had nothing but her social security checks and what little they shared from the diner’s profits. And since Bethany often complained about her brother’s lack of assistance, I was sure Don was not inconvenienced in that regard.

  But you never knew. I examined Don, wondering if I was facing a murderer.

  “So why are these two here?” Don stared pointedly at Sunny and me.

  “Sheriff’s office business,” Brad replied.

  I glanced up at his calm face, surprised that Don’s aggressive attitude hadn’t brought out any animosity in Brad. Perhaps he was less of a macho guy than I had thought.

  “Is that right? Well, I’d take what they say with a bucket of salt. This one”—Don jerked his thumb toward Sunny—“is probably looking to throw the blame on me. Her and her bleeding-heart tree-hugging friends have it in for me anyway.”

  “That’s not true.” Sunny smoothed her silky hair with one hand. “I and my friends simply oppose Bob Blackstone’s subdivision project. Didn’t know you were that involved in it, actually.”

  “I just might be one of Bob’s investors. Which is none of your business,” snapped Don.

  Brad rolled his eyes while I mentally filed this information away for later. Don’s involvement in a lucrative land deal could be a motive, but only if Doris
had had some connection to the sale. Which didn’t seem likely. Still, it was worth investigating.

  Sunny lifted her chin. “I’m sorry, but it is my business. Taylorsford doesn’t have the infrastructure to support everything we have now, and you want to pile on more houses?”

  Don’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’ve got Bob’s promise that he’ll personally pay for the wells and septic tanks that will be needed if we can’t extend the town water and sewer system in time. And his guarantee that we will expand the town’s services, eventually.”

  “Promises I’ve heard before.” Sunny placed her hands on her hips and faced off with Don. “Just ask the Blackstones about those sidewalks. Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “This is not the time or place. Dr. Virts just lost his mother,” Brad said, shooting Sunny a sharp glance.

  Sunny shrugged. “Doesn’t act like it. But I suppose people have different reactions to grief.”

  Sarcasm dripped off this last statement. I slid my hand through Sunny’s crooked elbow and pulled her two steps back. “Brad is right. This isn’t the best time to bring up your opposition to the development.” I eyed Don, whose lips curled into the semblance of a smile. It wasn’t a pleasant expression.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to see what was going on. Keep on top of things, you know,” Don said, addressing Brad.

  Murderers often return to the scene of their crimes . . .

  I shook my head. Even if he could be considered a possible suspect, why would Don shoot his mother in a public place like the archives? Surely with his access to dental supplies, including drugs and anesthesia, he could have achieved the same result with less mess and little chance of discovery.

  Brad cleared his throat before speaking again. “Like I said, you’ll be one of the first people notified when we have more information. Right now there isn’t any.”

  Don cast a glance back at the archives’ building. “So you didn’t find anything more in there?”

  “Nothing significant, no,” Brad said.