I held the door open and Kendrick bounded through, his athletic grace belying his seventy-one years. “Flip on that switch for more light,” I told him. “The paintings are on one of the tables in the reading area. You can take a look while I collect something from the workroom.”
After dropping off my tote bag and grabbing the cashbox, I made my way over to the reading room, where Kendrick was intently examining my uncle’s paintings.
“He was pretty good, wasn’t he?” I lifted the larger of the two works—a landscape that captured the fields behind Richard’s house while they were draped in snow. Behind the white-and-gray scene, the Blue Ridge Mountains rose like azure thunderclouds tipped with silver.
“He was very good.” Kendrick tapped the back of the stretched canvas before holding up the other painting, a smaller piece enhanced by an elaborately carved gold-painted frame.
“That one’s heavy, isn’t it? Mostly the frame, though. Seems like he repurposed an antique frame from some other work.”
“Apples and oranges.” Kendrick carefully laid the painting back onto the table before meeting my questioning gaze. “The title of the still life, according to the tag on the back. It’s a play on words too, you see.”
I stared at the painting, which I judged to measure about eighteen inches by two feet. It was smaller than most of my uncle’s other works, but I supposed that suited the subject, which was indeed a bowl of apples and oranges. The luscious, warm tones of the fruit, which played off the cool gray of the simple bowl, were picked up in the vivid paisley print of the scarf draped over a cherry table.
The sideboard, I thought with a smile. I recognized the bowl as well. Aunt Lydia still used it for decoration—although on a shelf in the sitting room, and filled with a dried flower arrangement instead of fruit.
“Well, I must get outside and make sure everything’s ready,” I said. “Could you let yourself out the back? The door will lock behind you.”
“Afraid to be seen with me?”
I met his amused grin with a lift of my chin. “Yeah, because Aunt Lydia is one of the volunteers. We could waltz out there together, but you’d have to explain the situation to her.”
“No, no.” Kendrick lifted his hands in mock horror. “I’ll just go out the back. But what about my offer to buy the paintings? We haven’t settled that.”
“Sorry, but I don’t think so. Not right now, anyway. Come around to the library sale table later in the day and make an offer. Mel Riley is expecting me to put out those paintings this afternoon, and she may have told some friends, so…”
“Very well, I’ll come back later.” Kendrick cast one last look at the paintings. “But shouldn’t you put these in the workroom until then? I thought the library was opening for business today as usual, despite the sale out front.”
I slapped my forehead. “It is. I wasn’t thinking. Could you grab the gold-framed one and help me carry them into the workroom? We can lay them on the table in there.”
Kendrick complied with my request before wishing me a good day and heading out the back. I waited for him to leave the building before I exited through the front doors.
Aunt Lydia and Zelda, who were arranging items on the sale table, paused long enough to greet me. Sunny stood off to the side, instructing a few other volunteers who were unboxing stacks of donated books. I grinned when I saw what she was wearing—a bright-blue peasant top decorated with white embroidery over a cobalt dirndl skirt. She’d also plaited her golden hair into a single braid. She looked beautiful but also rather like an actress from a roadshow production of The Sound of Music.
“I see you got into the spirit. At least to celebrate the German heritage portion of the festival.” I waved my hand, indicating my plain navy sweater and worn jeans. “Guess I should’ve put in a little more effort.”
Sunny flipped the braid over her shoulder. “I just think it’s fun to play around with different looks.” She pointed at the sales table. “Everything’s ready and the Friends have worked out a schedule for covering the table as well as the circulation desk, so we should be good to go.”
“Thanks,” I said, setting the cashbox on the table. “Sorry to be so late. I overslept.”
Aunt Lydia shot me a concerned look. “Are you feeling okay, Amy?”
“I’m fine,” I replied, forcing a neutral tone. “Just a lot on my mind, I guess.”
There was no way I’d tell her what was really bothering me. I had no proof that my late uncle was a forger, and even if I did … I studied my aunt’s fine-boned face and shook my head. No, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her such a thing.
Zelda and my aunt shared a conspiratorial look. “Of course, my dear. There’s so much dreadful stuff happening lately, what with poor Rachel LeBlanc, and you and Sunny being held at knifepoint.” Zelda patted my arm. “And I’m sure you must hate being stuck here and missing Richard’s performances too.”
I caught the lift of Sunny’s golden eyebrows as she glanced at my aunt.
“Is there something going on that I should know about?” I asked, straightening a pile of crocheted doilies.
“No, of course not.” Sunny fiddled with the end of her braid in a way that made me suspect she was lying.
But I couldn’t pursue that thought because it was nine o’clock and Brad Tucker’s deputies had opened up the barricades. After that it took the combined efforts of Sunny, me, and all the volunteers to handle the waves of visitors who engulfed our sales table.
Chapter Fourteen
Brad stopped by around noon, bringing Sunny something to eat from the stall Bethany Virts had set up outside her diner. Taking one look at Brad’s weary face, I shooed them both off to the library break room to enjoy their lunch.
“Go on,” I said, when Sunny protested. “It might be the only chance Brad gets to sit down today.”
Aunt Lydia and Zelda left around the same time, after some additional Friends of the Library volunteers finally showed up. The two women argued with me, but I insisted they’d done enough. “You’ve been on your feet for at least five hours. Why don’t you two go home? Everything’s under control here.”
They thanked me and headed off to Zelda’s house for lunch and, I suspected, a few glasses of wine or sherry.
Which left me alone with the volunteers, and Mel.
“Time to bring out the Talbot paintings,” she said after we sold a set of miniatures painted by a local folk artist.
I looked out to see if I could spot Kurt Kendrick’s white hair among the crowd. If he was truly willing to pay top dollar for Uncle Andrew’s paintings, I wanted to give him that opportunity. The library could certainly use the money.
His towering figure was nowhere to be seen, but I did spot another man who made me do a double take. It was the dark-haired stranger from earlier, still wearing his mirror-lensed sunglasses. But from his posture and body language, I could tell that he was staring across the street, directly at the library.
No, at Mel. I tugged on the sleeve of her jacket. “Do you know that man?” I whispered to her when she looked down at me with annoyance.
She lifted her head and followed the trajectory of my surreptitiously pointed finger. “What?” Her face paled until her carefully blended blush stood out like the imprint from a slap. She grabbed the edge of the sales table with both hands. “No, I’ve never seen him before.”
Obviously that was a lie, but seeing her discomfort, I didn’t press her. “Do you want me to get Brad Tucker? He’s just inside.”
“No, no.” Mel tightened her grip on the table until her knuckles blanched. “Just go get those paintings, please.” When she glanced up at me, I was shocked by the look in her green eyes. “Please, Amy.”
Fear, that’s what it was. Absolute terror. I glanced out over the crowd again and glimpsed a tall figure. Not Kurt Kendrick, but someone far better, at least as far as Mel was concerned. “Hey, Trey!” I called out, waving him over.
He made his way to the table. “Hi, Amy.
Mom, is everything all right?”
Mel released her hold on the table and straightened. “I just felt a little faint. Standing too long, I guess.”
“You should rest for a minute. Let me take you inside. I’m sure they can spare you for a bit.” Trey sent me a questioning look.
“Of course,” I said. “We actually have enough volunteers to provide coverage until five if you want to go home, Mel.”
“No,” she replied. “Just take me inside for a minute, Trey.”
I told the other volunteers I’d be back soon and followed Trey as he guided his mother into the library. “Glad you showed up when you did,” I told him.
“I meant to get here earlier, but business interfered.” Trey settled Mel in one of the reading room chairs.
“Feeling better now?” I asked Mel.
She just waved me aside. “Don’t make such a fuss. You either, Trey. I’m perfectly fine. I just need to rest for a bit. Meanwhile, you two go and get those Talbot paintings and carry them out to the sale table. Hurry along now.” She made a shooing motion with both hands.
“What really happened?” Trey asked as we walked around the circulation desk and entered the workroom.
I glanced at his concerned face. “I’m not sure. It was like she saw something in the crowd that startled her.” I almost mentioned the strange man but decided it was probably best to say nothing about a possible PI tailing Mel. If she was embroiled in an affair, it wasn’t my place to inform her son.
Although I would tell Brad. Just in case my theory was wrong. After all, there was a murderer possibly still lurking in the area. I couldn’t imagine what might connect Rachel LeBlanc to Mel, but I needed to make sure the sheriff’s office knew about this strange individual trailing the older woman. She might not be my favorite person, but I certainly didn’t wish her harm.
I offered Trey a reassuring smile. “Like she said, it was probably a spell of weakness brought on by being on her feet for too long. You know how older folks can be—they don’t want to admit they can’t do everything just like when they were young.”
“Boy do I ever.” Trey gave me a quick grin before turning his attention to the worktable. “So, I see one painting. Was the other carried out already?”
I looked down at the table, where the larger of the two paintings lay. Although Kendrick had placed it beside the landscape, the still life in its gold frame was nowhere to be seen.
As a few expletives burst from my lips, Trey added his own colorful words. I glanced up at him, surprised that he looked almost as distressed as I felt. Which was odd. It wasn’t his head on the block.
But perhaps it was just the thought of having to explain the loss to his mother, which frankly also gave me the shivers. That was even more frightening than the idea of telling Aunt Lydia that someone had stolen one of her beloved husband’s paintings.
“You’re sure it was here?” Trey asked.
“I’m sure. I never moved it outside, and I haven’t seen anyone else do so, which means”—I rubbed at my forehead with one hand—“someone has stolen it. Right out from under our noses. Not sure how they could have, but it isn’t here…”
“You need to report that right away.” Trey laid his hand on my arm, and I didn’t pull away. The warmth of his fingers was comforting.
I nodded. “Fortunately, the chief deputy is sitting in the library break room at the moment.”
When Trey offered to go get Brad, I weakly nodded my agreement.
Staring at the landscape painting, I racked my brains to recall if I’d seen anyone suspicious enter the library earlier in the day. Someone carrying a satchel or other bag they could’ve used to stash the painting. Of course, I thought, all it would’ve taken was a coat. Someone could’ve wrapped the painting, tucked the coat under their arm, and just strolled out of the building.
But why that painting? The landscape was the more attractive work. Although, if I was honest, I had to admit that perhaps the thief hadn’t cared about the painting at all and only wanted the antique, gold-painted frame.
I walked out to the circulation desk and quizzed the volunteer, who admitted that she’d had to leave the area for a few minutes to help patrons in the children’s room.
“You should’ve come and gotten me,” I snapped in exasperation, before I realized what I was saying. “Sorry, you would’ve had to leave the desk to do that too.” I gave her an apologetic smile. “Not your fault. I should’ve locked those paintings up somewhere. It’s on me. Sorry.”
She shrugged. “Who’d have thought someone would steal from the library? Especially a donation? Losers.”
“Yeah, they undoubtedly are.” I stepped away from the desk to meet Brad and Sunny, who’d rushed out of the break room, followed more slowly by Trey.
I explained the situation to Brad, who told me to secure the landscape painting as evidence and said he’d send another deputy to take statements from me, Sunny, and all the volunteers. “But I have to be honest with you, Amy,” he said, brushing some crumbs from his uniform jacket. “We can try to lift some prints from the remaining painting, since it’s possible the thief touched that one too, but it’s unlikely we’ll find the perpetrator. You don’t have cameras…”
“Town won’t pay for them,” Sunny said.
“Be that as it may, you don’t have any surveillance equipment. And apparently no one saw anything, or at least no one who has spoken up yet. Then there’s the crowd today and all the strangers in town…”
I groaned. “Impossible, is what you’re saying?”
“Not impossible, but very difficult. Still, I’ll put someone on it.”
I thanked him and told Sunny we probably should lock the other painting in the tall metal cabinet where we stored billing information and other papers that included patrons’ personal information. Although we always shredded that material at the end of every fiscal year, we had to keep it long enough to reconcile our books.
“Only you and I have a key to that,” I reminded her.
“High security for papers?” Trey asked, widening his eyes.
I met his gaze squarely. “Libraries take the protection of patron information very seriously. A few librarians have actually gone to jail rather than turn over circulation records without a warrant. It’s for the security of your reading habits as well as your personal information.”
“We don’t want discrimination leveled against anyone based on what they read or research,” Sunny added when Trey continued to look puzzled.
“Ah, okay.” Trey glanced over my shoulder. “Mom, you don’t need to get mixed up in this.”
Mel strode up to the desk, demanding to know what was going on. When I explained what had happened, her face changed color again, but this time she flushed red rather than blanching.
“Unbelievable! That someone could just march in here and steal a painting from the workroom, pretty as you please.” She cast her glare over our little group but rested her angry gaze on me. “What kind of security do you have in this library anyway?”
“Very little,” I admitted.
“Taylorsford won’t give us cameras,” Sunny said again, “even though Amy has asked for them numerous times. Maybe you should take that up with the town council, Mel. You might have more influence.”
“Perhaps I will.” Mel huffed and turned away, but not before she cast one glance at her son, who had made no move to join her.
A curious look—more questioning than angry. I wondered what that meant. Maybe Mel thought that her son was shifting his allegiance to me, or Sunny, rather than her?
I touched Trey’s arm as he watched Mel leave the building. “Perhaps you should take her home? This latest shock might be the last straw, and since she basically passed out earlier…”
His stern expression softened. “You’re probably right. Mom’s so dynamic, I forget that she might not be able to handle bad news as easily as she once could.”
Sunny stepped up beside him. “Yeah, I get that with the gr
ands. They can still do everything like before, but unexpected events really throw them off their game.”
Trey touched the back of her hand with the tips of his fingers. “A wise observation, Sunny. I think I will go and see if I can convince Mom to head home.”
“That would be sweet of you.” Sunny returned his warm smile with a dazzling one of her own.
A loud series of coughs erupted behind us. I glanced over my shoulder and caught Brad tugging at his collar while frowning darkly. “Better lock up that other painting,” he told Sunny.
She wrinkled her nose and wished Trey a good afternoon before turning to Brad. “I’ll get to it.”
“See that you do. I don’t want to have to chase down another lost artwork.”
Trey frowned as he looked from Sunny to Brad and back again. “Well, let me go talk to Mom. And if she doesn’t feel like coming back tomorrow, I promise to volunteer in her place.” He turned his focus on me before he smiled again.
I had to give Trey credit for attempting to diffuse the situation. Judging from Brad’s expression, he’d definitely caught wind of Sunny’s interest in the other man. I lightly tapped Trey’s arm. “Thank you. Now go take care of your mom. We have this under control, right, Brad?”
Brad muttered something that sounded like a yes before he raised his voice to address all of us. “I’ll walk out with you. Need to get back on the job anyway.” He glanced at me. “I’ll send someone in for those statements as soon as I can find a deputy who can be spared from festival duty.”
“Thanks,” I said, and waved at both men as they headed for the front doors.
“Let’s go lock up that painting,” I told Sunny, ushering her back around the circulation desk. “Just make sure to handle it with gloves so we don’t contaminate any fingerprints.”
When we entered the workroom, I sat on one of the stools at the table as she carried the landscape to the storage cabinet. “You know you just pissed off your boyfriend, right?”
Her back was to me as she locked the painting in the cabinet. She lifted and dropped her slender shoulders before stripping off the pair of white cotton gloves. “Why do you say that?”
Shelved Under Murder Page 13