A Murder for the Books

by Victoria Gilbert

  “We have Walt to protect us,” Zelda said, patting his hand.

  I met his concerned gaze. “But he can’t watch over you every minute. He’ll be at work a lot of the time.”

  “Oh, all we’ll be doing is talking to people,” Zelda said. “What harm could come from that?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “But I just have this feeling that maybe there was a kernel of truth to Clark Fowler’s wild ramblings. And if that’s the case . . .”

  “You and Richard Muir could be in danger too,” my aunt said firmly. “So let’s all agree to be careful and not do anything foolish.”

  “Agreed,” said Zelda and Walt in unison.

  “Agreed,” I said. I noticed Aunt Lydia drumming her fingers against the tabletop. She appeared hesitant about this turn of events. That was odd. She was typically the first one to leap headlong into a new adventure. But something was holding her back this time.

  I held her gaze for a moment before I turned and left the diner, but if she was hiding any more secrets, I couldn’t read them in her eyes.

  Chapter Twelve

  I spread the files that I’d pulled from the archives across the large wooden table that dominated the center of the library workroom. Despite reopening the library, the state investigators still didn’t want the archives used as a work space. However, they did allow me to grab specific files or boxes and carry them into the library—once they’d vetted the materials, of course.

  Since Richard had scheduled a research session, I’d assembled all the information I could find on the Cooper murder trial. Fortunately, this was not something the investigators deemed important to their own case.

  “Here he is,” Sunny said, ushering Richard into the workroom. “Now”—she pointed her finger at him—“don’t you keep Amy past six o’clock. She got into work very early to pull all this material for you.”

  He held up his hands, palms out. “I swear I won’t take advantage of the library director. I need her for my research, after all.”

  “Oh, as for taking advantage”—Sunny winked at Richard—“depends on what you mean by that.”

  I glared at my assistant. “Don’t you have story hour today?”

  “Yes, indeed. I have a date with The Very Hungry Caterpillar.” She tossed her blonde hair behind her shoulders. “A charming fellow, if a bit of a pig.”

  Richard smiled. “And if I were a small boy, I would be entranced. By the reader, if not the story.”

  Sunny wrinkled her nose adorably. “Only if you were a small boy?”

  “Well, I confess you remind me of my first crush. My kindergarten teacher, who was a beautiful blonde just like you.”

  “I’ll accept that.” Sunny placed one finger against her delicate jawline. “I do have my youthful admirers.”

  “No doubt,” Richard said. “Older ones too, I bet.”

  “A few.” Sunny cast him a beaming smile before leaving the workroom.

  “Here’s what I dug up on the Cooper case.” I motioned toward the table. “Surprisingly, not as much as I expected, but maybe that’s because the trial was held elsewhere. It may not even be as much information as you already have from your great-uncle’s research.”

  “Might be a different perspective, though.” Richard crossed to the table and sat on the work stool next to mine. “I have Paul’s articles but nothing from other journalists or the local paper.”

  I cast him a glance as I opened one of the archival boxes. “Sunny is a real catch, you know.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I can see that. Surprised she’s still single.”

  “She’s rather picky.” I fanned out some newspaper clippings in front of Richard. “And there aren’t a lot of eligible men in this area. Sunny sticks around because of her grandparents. They raised her after her mom, who was single and living with them at the time, took off one day and never returned. They have this organic farm, you see, and Sunny helps them manage that.”

  “Sounds like she’s a good granddaughter.” Richard picked up one of the acid-free transparent sleeves containing a clipping and studied it intently. “And she is quite lovely. But”—he glanced over at me—“I don’t think we’d work out. No spark, you see.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “We ran into each other in the shopping area near Clarion after one of my rehearsals last week. Sunny was buying shoes or something. Anyway, we figured we might as well take advantage of the opportunity and grab a bite to eat. Had a nice time, but we agreed there wasn’t anything there beyond friendship. So you can cease with the matchmaking. I know it’s coming from a good place, but it isn’t really necessary. Although I can tell you come by it naturally.” He shot me an amused look. “Runs in the family?”

  So he’d noticed Aunt Lydia’s efforts. Of course he had. She wasn’t exactly subtle.

  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  “Didn’t bother me.” He squinted as he peered at one of the documents. “More evidence that people back then did call Eleanora a witch. At least if this letter from one of the town matrons is to be believed. Interesting.”

  I fiddled with the elastic tie on the archival box. “Aunt Lydia did want me to reissue the dinner invitation. Hope that’s all right. I mean, we are neighbors. I’ll talk to her about cooling off on the matchmaking, though.”

  He turned to me. “Dinner sounds great. And I don’t actually mind all such efforts. Depends on the other party, doesn’t it?”

  A dinging from the front desk alerted me that a customer was waiting. Saved by the bell, literally. I jumped off my stool. “Sorry, I need to get that since Sunny’s doing the reading program.”

  “Sure.” Richard had his head down. Probably trying to hide his amusement at the flush creeping up my neck. “You do your job. I’ll be right here, reading through this stuff and taking notes. Oh, and Amy”—he lifted his head and looked me up and down—“there really does need to be a spark to make it work. Matchmaking, I mean.”

  “So you’re saying you’re in no danger, no matter what Aunt Lydia does?” I called over my shoulder as I stepped out of the room.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  I spun on my heel to meet Richard’s wicked grin.

  “Actually, I think I might be in a lot of trouble,” he said.

  “Excuse me, can I check these out now?” called the person at the desk. I closed my mouth, which had dropped open at Richard’s last comment, and turned to see one of our regular patrons holding up a stack of books.

  I rushed over to the computer. “Sure, sure. Just put them down on the counter.”

  A short line had formed behind the first patron, which was fine since it prevented me from glancing back into the workroom. After checking out books to several people, I busied myself by straightening the reshelving carts before compiling some statistics from our library circulation system for my report at the monthly town council meeting.

  While this wasn’t busywork, it did keep me occupied and out of the workroom.

  After about thirty minutes, Sunny bounded up to the desk. “I’m back. Caterpillar successfully transformed into a butterfly, and children happily entertained. So if you need to go help Richard with his research . . .”

  I straightened some library flyers. “I’m sure he’s doing just fine on his own.”

  Sunny stepped behind the desk. “Hey, Richard,” she called into the workroom. “I can spare my boss now if you’d like another pair of eyes on that material.”

  “That would be great,” he called back.

  I shook my finger at Sunny. “Enabler.”

  She brushed her hair back with one hand. “Who, me? I’m just suggesting you assist a library patron, that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh.” As I walked into the workroom, Richard looked up.

  “Did you know”—he waved a clipping envelope at me—“that Eleanora’s hometown no longer exists? At least, I can’t find any mention of it on current maps. Remember? Kurt Kendrick told us it was called Chestnut Gap. We
ll, I found that name mentioned in this article, but when I searched online with my phone, I found no matches, at least not in this area.”

  “You won’t.” I crossed behind him and took the offered clipping. “I found the town listed in another article and did a little Internet sleuthing earlier.”

  Richard tapped his phone with one finger. “So it just disappeared into thin air. What was it, Brigadoon?” He grinned. “Danced in that show once back in college. Never wanted to see a kilt again.”

  I cleared my throat, banishing the image of Richard in a kilt from my mind. “No, nothing quite that fanciful. Chestnut Gap was settled by Scotch-Irish immigrants back in the eighteenth century. And was wiped out by logging operations around 1926. Apparently some lumber company bought up the land, claiming the townspeople didn’t have proper deeds or papers establishing their ownership.”

  Richard swiveled on his stool and looked up at me. “Was it the Baker Company? That was your family’s business, wasn’t it?”

  “At that time, yes, although it was sold by Rose’s brother, William Baker, not long after. But fortunately, that’s one sin I can’t lay at my family’s door. They weren’t involved in the Chestnut Gap take-over.”

  “Well, it kind of explains why no one came looking for Eleanora after she disappeared. And maybe why she never showed up in Taylorsford again. She probably went back home, then moved with the rest of the town a year later.”

  “Yeah, but”—I sat on the stool next to Richard—“to leave the house and land behind and never make a claim on them? That’s odd.”

  “True. Apparently, according to my parents, that’s the thing Great-Uncle Paul never understood. Eleanora was Daniel’s rightful heir. Why not claim what was hers? I bet that was one reason Paul bought the property when it fell into receivership.”

  I smoothed the surface of the envelope before sliding it back into the storage box. “You think Paul was holding it for her, hoping she’d return one day?”

  “Yeah, I think he probably was.”

  “A very romantic gesture. Poor guy, I guess he really was in love.”

  “Well, if we take Kendrick at his word, apparently Eleanora was Paul’s one true love, and he vowed to remain devoted to her alone. I can believe that since my family never heard of another woman connected with Paul in any way.” Richard picked up a handful of papers and clippings. “I’m done with this lot if you want to refile them.”

  As he handed them over, his fingers brushed my hand, and I felt a zing of energy.

  “Static,” I said, refusing to meet his eyes. “This building’s humidity controls are nonexistent.”

  I carefully placed the rest of the items back into the storage box before glancing up to meet his smile. “One thing I couldn’t find in my research and Kendrick never mentioned—if he loved her so much, why didn’t Paul Dassin travel to this Chestnut Gap place and try to find her? After the trial, I mean.”

  Richard shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess the fact that he loved her doesn’t mean she loved him. I’ve always gotten the impression that Eleanora was totally devoted to her husband, even after his death. So maybe my great-uncle thought it wise to give her some space.”

  “That makes sense. And if he did try to find her later, she’d already disappeared again. Sad.”

  “Yeah, and they didn’t have the Internet or other simple means to trace someone. People could disappear back then. Well,” Richard added thoughtfully, “they actually still can, if they are determined enough.”

  “But it’s not so easy these days. Sometimes I wish it was.” I snapped the elastic loop back over the button on the acid-free box. “Like when I left Clarion. I guess you heard about that incident. Everyone did.”

  “No, but I was traveling a lot last year.” Richard spun on his stool to face me. “So why did you leave?”

  “Oh, well . . .” Damn, why had I brought this up?

  “If you’d rather not say, it’s fine.”

  “No, it’s just a little embarrassing. But maybe you’ll understand, considering your former fiancée married someone else and all.” I placed my hands in my lap, fighting my urge to clench them together. “Okay, so I caught my boyfriend with another woman. At a party. And I made a scene. In front of several deans and other administrators.”

  “Wait”—Richard leaned forward—“you’re the woman who threw the glass at that reception?”

  I rubbed a fold of the soft fabric of my tunic top between my thumb and fingers. “See, you did hear about it.”

  “I just heard it was Charles Bartos’s girlfriend.” Richard tipped his head to the side. “That couldn’t have been you.”

  “It was. We’d been dating for over a year at that point. I thought it was serious.”

  Richard studied me with narrowed eyes. “Hard to imagine someone like you hooked up with a guy like Bartos.”

  I swallowed hard. Of course he wouldn’t expect it to be me. Why would someone like Charles—handsome, famous, and wealthy Charles—be dating someone like me?

  “You know Charles?” I gripped my knee with one hand to still the sudden tremor in my leg.

  “Not well. I only know he’s the biggest pompous ass on campus.” Richard reached out and gently pried my hand from my knee. “Bartos played for one of my student recitals once. Only once, despite the university’s desire to promote cross-discipline programs.”

  “Why?” I allowed my fingers to relax in Richard’s warm grip.

  “He yelled at my dancers because they wanted to rehearse the piece a few more times than he thought necessary. Made a couple of them cry. Never apologized. I sized him up as a total jerk then and there. Honestly, you’re well rid of that egomaniac.”

  I met Richard’s sympathetic gaze. “I thought maybe you couldn’t see him dating someone like me because I’m not . . . an artist or famous or anything.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re far too good for him. He and that blonde in his trio make a better match. Both narcissists. They deserve each other.”

  “Oh.” I was so shocked that I just sat there while Richard continued to hold my hand.

  “Seriously, Amy, you can do better.” He gave my fingers a squeeze before releasing them.

  Just in time, as Sunny dashed into the workroom, her eyes very wide.

  “There’s been another murder,” she said with a quaver in her voice. “Brad came in to update us on the Virts investigation and got a call.”

  I jumped up and ran out of the workroom with Richard on my heels.

  Brad was barking orders into his phone. “Get a full forensics team out to the Fowler place immediately. I don’t care how short staffed we are; this is a priority.”

  “What did you just say?” I grabbed the edge of the desk to steady myself.

  Brad ignored me, but the next words he spoke into his cell phone rang in my ears, loud and clear: “And make sure the coroner examines the body before anything is moved.”

  “Bob Blackstone,” I blurted out.

  Brad held the phone at arm’s length and stared at me. “What?”

  “It’s probably nothing. I mean, I’m sure it is . . .”

  Brad leaned over the counter. “If you know something, tell me.”

  I released my grip and stepped back, almost falling into Richard, who placed his hand on my shoulder to steady me.

  “They had a fight yesterday. Well, not a real fight. But an argument. In the diner.”

  Brad’s gaze bored into me. “A fight? Bob Blackstone and Clark Fowler?”

  “Yes, over that old orphanage tragedy. Mr. Fowler was making accusations. Something about Bob’s dad and others on the town council at the time covering up the truth.”

  “Did Blackstone threaten Fowler?” Brad’s intense scrutiny made me lean back against Richard, who tightened his grip on my shoulder.

  “Well, sort of. Yeah, I guess he did. But I doubt he meant it that way . . .”

  “You let me decide that. Clark Fowler is dead, and it doesn’t look to be due
to natural causes.” Brad turned away, speaking into his phone again before glancing back at me. “Others saw this fight?”

  “Sure. Bethany and everyone in the diner. Aunt Lydia was there if you need another witness. And Walt Adams and Zelda Shoemaker.”

  Brad headed for the door, calling over his shoulder, “Stay put, at least until one of my deputies can get the basic details on the diner altercation. Shouldn’t take too long, but if you could just wait here for a half hour or so . . .”

  “Sure,” I said as he headed out the door.

  “Looks like we all might have to stay past closing hours today,” Richard observed, dropping his hand.

  “Well, not you. Or Sunny. You guys weren’t at the diner.” I pressed my palms against the circulation counter and bent forward. Of all things, to be caught up in another murder investigation. I breathed deeply, trying to calm my racing heart.

  Sunny leaned in and covered one of my hands with hers. “We’re staying with you, though.”

  “And I’ll make sure you both get home safely. I don’t want either one of you to walk on your own, not with this new murder,” Richard said.

  “Well, I have my car, and the farm is some ways outside of town.” Sunny tapped her nails against the counter as she studied us. “But Amy walked. So you should stay long enough to escort her home.”

  “Happy to.” Richard laid his fingers over my other hand.

  Facing the prospect of another interview with law enforcement was so daunting, I didn’t try to pull away, not even when I caught Sunny’s sly smile.

  Chapter Thirteen

  We were able to leave the library a little before seven, though only after one of Brad’s men asked me to detail the incident in the diner three or four times. He probably would’ve demanded a fifth recounting, but Richard stopped him, stating that he surely had enough information, and anyway, the sheriff and his deputies knew where I lived.

  Sunny had closed up the building at six, so I only had to make sure the front door was locked before Richard and I headed toward our homes.

  We walked in silence until we reached the final block. “So Fowler was killed last night.” Richard was walking so fast that I had to jog to keep up with him.