Keith strode from the room, arms outstretched as if to give me a quick hug. However, Eddy had other ideas. He tugged me into the room and dove under the couch, backing out with a worn plush toy of indeterminate age, which still squeaked as the dog happily chewed.
“Looks like I know which guy wins out.” A silly grin slid across Keith’s face.
“He definitely has more fun with a squeaky toy than you would.” I sashayed up to Keith and planted a kiss on his cheek. “But I don’t think you really have anything to worry about.”
Keith’s eyes darkened for the briefest moment before he cleared his throat. “Okay, then. Let’s get Eddy’s things.”
As most of the officers seemed to be working downstairs, we started upstairs. I followed Keith and our police officer escort from room to room, silently taking in the home as the two men spoke quietly to one another, I assumed about the case. In each room, the sad display of yesteryear’s worn-out finery continued. But with each opened door, Eddy poked his head in eagerly, as if expecting to find his missing owner. My heart broke a little more each time his excitedly wagging tail slowed at the sight of an empty room.
We finally stumbled into what appeared to be the master bedroom. A huge four-poster bed dominated the large room, and an equally imposing dresser and chest of drawers stood against other walls. I cringed when I saw the gaudy mural painted on the ceiling. Although faded, I could make out several cherubs surrounding a man and woman in bed while they slept. There was no way I would have been able to sleep under that.
Eddy tugged me to a corner on the other side of the bed where a large dog bed lay. Several toys littered its surface, and Eddy sniffed each one before putting his feet on the side of the bed to peer over the top, again seeming to look for Linus.
I noticed a patch of dog hair on the bed’s cover, and I smiled, remembering the feel of the dog snuggling against my feet at the foot of my bed. I’d never had a dog before, and I could definitely get used to that.
I knelt and stroked Eddy’s head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know Linus would be here if he could. He loved you so much. You’re such a good boy.”
Eddy licked my cheek once and settled onto his dog bed, head on paws and a forlorn look on his face.
“Is he okay?” Keith knelt beside me.
I shook my head. “He keeps looking for Linus.”
“Poor guy.” Keith scratched the dog’s head. “I wish there was some way to make him understand.”
I looked into the dog’s eyes. “I think he does. He just wants to be wrong.”
Another officer had been sent to the kitchen to find a garbage bag, and he returned, offering it to Keith.
“Okay, boy, let’s get your bed and toys packed up.” He stood and motioned to Eddy, who slowly stood and stepped off the bed, watching with a drooped tail as his belongings slid into the black plastic bag.
I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a kiss and a hug. “It’ll all be okay, sweet boy. I promise.” With a lump in my throat, I stood and grasped the makeshift cummerbund leash again.
The second officer took the items to the front parlor to wait while we looked for more of Eddy’s belongings. In the kitchen, we discovered his real leash and collar of sturdy leather. I shook my head at the deceased librarian’s sense of humor. The bronzed tag inset on the leather collar said “Edition.” So that was Eddy’s full name.
After replacing the dog’s bow tie and Keith’s cummerbund leash with Eddy’s own matched-leather set, I located a large bin filled with dog food, a scoop lying on top of the bin, and laid the makeshift leash set on top of its closed lid.
As we moved through the first floor of the house, I looked for a reason to snoop, hoping to find something, anything, which would say I wasn’t to blame for Linus’s death, that his time in my store hadn’t been the trigger, that his death so near my store and so closely following the event was merely a cosmic coincidence, that I wasn’t responsible for the broken heart of the sweet, sad boy at my heel.
I moved through the downstairs, looking into what would be called a family room today, a formal dining room, a solarium, and of course the parlor where Eddy had found his squeaky toy. I peeked into one last room, one that seemed to be a library-study combo. Here, at least, there was order. The furniture seemed to uphold the antique theme, as with the rest of the home.
My gaze slid around the room over the ornately carved wooden shelves full of what seemed to be old, likely antique, books. A huge desk with a brass desk lamp dominated one corner, and a big, comfy-looking, corduroy chair and a long couch with several cross-stitched pillows on it stretched along the right wall.
A lateral file cabinet stood behind the desk, and papers lay stacked on both the desk and the coffee table in front of the couch. The room seemed clean and orderly, and it gave the impression of a welcoming warmth.
“It’s almost cozy in here.” I ran my gaze over a colorful granny-square afghan draped across the back of the corduroy chair.
“It does look like he spent all his time in here when he was home.” Keith stepped up beside me.
I pointed at the couch, pillows piled high, and another crocheted afghan draped over one arm. “Maybe he slept here, too, sometimes.” I remembered the ugly cherubs above the master bed and knew I’d prefer this room to that one.
Grunt. “Apparently Talbot spent time in here researching old books he’d purchased on his buying trips for the library and staying up to date on the latest trends in book repair and binding techniques.” Sutter’s grating voice sounded behind my shoulder.
I turned to view the rumpled, older detective. “Nice to see you, Detective.” I knew my smile didn’t reach my eyes.
Over Sutter’s shoulder, I spotted a yellow tennis ball under the ornate wooden desk. Bingo! This time when Eddy tugged, I released my grip on his leash, hoping it looked like an accident. The dog raced to get his toy, and I followed him into the room, stooping to gather his leash. As I stood, I glanced quickly over the desk and noticed an open appointment book.
“Miss Quinn, please control the dog. This is an active investigation.” Sutter’s rough voice made me jump.
Oh crap. Busted. How had he crossed the room so silently? “I’m sorry. Eddy saw a toy and pulled out of my grasp. I came in to get him. But while we’re in here, could we look for his vet records and license records?”
“Fine.” Grunt. Sutter gestured to my tagalong police officer to look through the file cabinet in search of pet records. His eyes narrowed when he glanced at the desk’s surface, and he flipped the appointment book closed. “But I think you can wait in the parlor for us to bring them to you.”
He herded me into the parlor where I sat with Eddy, me on the surprisingly comfortable Victorian sofa and the dog on the floor, while Keith carried the dog’s items to the car. I gnawed my bottom lip, processing what I’d seen in the appointment book, judging its worth.
“Keep your nose out of this, Miss Quinn.” Sutter plopped a folder onto the table. “Let us do our jobs.”
“Of course, Detective. I wouldn’t dream of interfering.” A man had died after an event I’d invited him to—a man I liked and respected—and he’d been killed with a prize he’d won at said event. Yes, I would let the police handle it … if Keith were involved. But he wasn’t. Couldn’t be. And I knew for a fact how Sutter could get things twisted up and miss the boat when it came to finding a killer. However, I pasted what I hoped was a demure smile on my face, scooped up the folder, and headed for the door.
As I got into my car, Keith leaned in my window. “Do you want to come to my place, or should I meet you at yours so you can tell me what was in the appointment book?”
Chapter Five
“But I have to go talk to her.” I resisted the childish urge to stomp my foot. I was not giving in on this. I plopped down on one of the bar stools beside my kitchen island and crossed my arms.
“And what are you going to do if that makes you a target? For all we know, Talbot was killed for wh
at he was about to tell her.” Keith stared me down, hands on hips and fire in his gaze.
“Look, I can’t help it that I happened to notice the name of the reporter he had an appointment with today.” I knew I was being churlish, but I couldn’t help it.
“No, but you can be sensible and not go off half-cocked to talk to her.” Keith flung his hands up in the air and let them flop down in a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you gesture.
“I am not half-cocked!” I rounded on him. “I am not breaking any laws by speaking to a reporter, and I don’t need your permission to do so.” I jabbed my finger in his direction to punctuate my statement.
Keith plopped onto the stool next to mine. “No, I suppose you don’t.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But I don’t want to see you get hurt. Or worse, see you come crosswise with Frank Sutter. You know how he can get.”
That took the wind out of my sails, and I sighed and sagged back against the island. “I know. But I can’t just sit here. The man died leaving an event in my store. I invited him there. It’s likely I also invited his killer. I even provided the murder weapon. In a roundabout way, it’s my fault.” A lump formed in my throat, and tears threatened to fall. How could I make him understand I needed to see this through?
Keith turned my stool to face his and encircled me in his arms, letting me bury my face against his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Jenna. You didn’t kill him.”
I leaned back, looking up at him. “But—”
He put a finger against my lips. “No buts. Whoever killed him would have done it, whether after your event or at another time. You didn’t cause that.”
“No, I guess not.” I wiped at a stray tear that trickled down my cheek. “But I still feel like I need to do something.”
Keith lifted my chin so I would make eye contact with him. “Until we know who killed him, I want you to promise me you’ll be careful.”
I nodded and leaned my head into his shoulder again, letting his warmth chase away the chill of murder.
* * *
Two hours later, after repeatedly promising to call Keith the moment I was through, I waited in The Weeping Willow, a glass of sweet tea in front of me. I thought about the first time I’d been inside the pub, the day I’d seen the news blurb about Mason’s arrest for my uncle’s murder. I shuddered and turned my back on the wide-screen television that hung behind the bar, choosing instead to think of the pleasant meals I’d had since that day.
A tall, willowy woman entered and crossed the pub in my direction. “Jenna Quinn?” She extended her hand.
“Yes, and you must be Deandra Lynoir.” I smiled as I shook the woman’s well-manicured hand. I’d have to remember to ask her secret. Comparing her nails to mine, I realized how awful my hands looked, probably from handling dry books all day long.
“Call me Dee.” She turned to the just-arrived server and ordered a beer, then returned her attention to me. “I’m glad you called. I wanted to ask you a few questions about the events after your party.”
I watched her pull a tape recorder out of her purse and switch it on. “Ms. Lynoir … Dee. Wait.”
She pressed the “Stop” button and looked at me expectantly, her thumb still on the “Play” button.
I pointed at her recorder. “I didn’t call you to spill my guts about last night. I called to ask you why Linus Talbot had an appointment to talk to you today.”
Dee leaned back in her seat and studied me through narrowed eyes. “I see. And what do you plan to do with this information? Are you selling it to another reporter? Is it Gary Long over at WHTC?”
My eyebrows rose. “No, I’m not selling anything, and I’ve never heard of Gary Long. I only want to find out why a man died after my event.”
Leaning forward, Dee placed her elbows on the table. “In that case, we’ll exchange information. I’ll tell you something, and you tell me something.”
I hesitated, searching for a way around the woman’s offer. I really didn’t want to sensationalize anything that had happened in the store, and I knew anything I told her would end up in the next edition of the paper. But then, that could be a good thing, as I’d control what she knew. Maybe I could avoid the gossip mill’s eventual bloody-massacre version. After a moment, I nodded.
“Why was Linus Talbot at your store last night?” Dee asked.
“I inherited the store from my uncle, who passed away a little over two months ago. Last night we had our grand reopening event. Mr. Talbot was one of my uncle’s valued customers, so he was on the guest list, along with quite a few other people.”
“This is the same store that was owned by Paul Baxter, the man who was murdered inside that store recently?” Dee scribbled notes on a pad she’d pulled from a briefcase she’d brought with her.
“Yes. It’s the same store.” I wondered how long it would take before the first thought into people’s minds when they heard of my store wasn’t about my murdered uncle.
“I see.” Dee made another note. “And what was the relationship between you and Linus Talbot?”
I swiveled my chair to face her and crossed my legs, my hand fidgeting with my tea glass on the table. “I believe I’ve answered two of your questions so far. I think you can answer one of mine.”
Dee flashed a smile. “Sure. Shoot.” She put her pen on the table and picked up her just-delivered beer to take a sip.
“Why was Linus Talbot coming to speak with you today?”
“Let’s just say he was coming to see me about a dog.” Dee winked.
I folded a napkin and placed it under my tea, soaking up the condensation where it had puddled on the table. She wasn’t going to get away with giving me vague hints when I’d been open with her. “I’m assuming you mean his dog, Eddy. Why would Eddy interest you?”
Dee leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table. “Because the dog used to belong to Bradford Prescott.”
My eyes widened, and my jaw dropped. I snapped it shut again and tried to fit that piece into what I’d witnessed between Linus, Eddy, and the state congress candidate. I realized Dee had spoken again. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
“For the third time, what was your relationship with Linus Talbot?” Dee held her pen poised.
I shook myself and answered. “There was no relationship. Uncle Paul and I both used him as a resource to authenticate rare books, should one pop up. Last night was the first time I’d met him in person. Now it’s my turn again. How did Linus end up with the Prescotts’ dog?”
“I asked him that.” Dee flipped through her pad of notes. “All he would say is that he’d adopted the dog from a local shelter after Prescott dragged it back in when the press coverage died down.”
Dee apparently recognized the confusion in my gaze. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
I shook my head and sipped my tea, letting the cold, sugary drink clear my thoughts.
Dee leaned back and crossed her legs. “I forgot you’re relatively new to town. The election is next month, so you’ve missed all the campaign tactics and theatrics. In a nutshell, Prescott has pushed hard. He’s pulled out all the stops to show himself as the everyday man, the working man, the professional man, the man of leisure, the animal lover, the education advocate, and the town’s best friend. He’s made every effort to point out where his competition is doing a poor job—at least in Prescott’s mind—and presenting how he would have handled it and will handle it when, not if, he is elected.”
“Isn’t that a rather broad platform?” I swirled my tea in my glass, fidgeting as my mind tried to piece together how Eddy fit into all of this.
“It is.” Dee nodded. “But Prescott has backers with deep pockets who are assisting with expenses. They’ve laid the groundwork, making every effort to ensure their candidate walks into that state house in the spring.”
“And the dog?”
“The dog was a PR stunt. One of Prescott’s platform points is better animal cruelty laws and better fu
nding for local no-kill shelters in the state.” Dee leaned forward and ticked items off on her fingers. “First, he gets a dog from the local shelter. Second, he makes sure the media knows. Third, he ensures he takes the dog to events where dogs are allowed, and he makes sure the press is there to see it and notice, giving him a chance to give a spiel on how wonderful he would be in office. Fourth, he includes the dog in every home photo, every home-based interview. Fifth, he openly plays with and walks the dog in full view of the community.”
“So, what went wrong?” I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like what I heard.
“The public got bored.” Dee chuckled and sipped her beer. “The news media makes money when the public is interested enough to buy newspapers, watch the news channels, and buy the news magazines. When sales start to dip because the headlines aren’t fresh enough, the press moves on to other issues. After a month, the dog was simply no longer news. He slipped quietly out of the picture, unnoticed and unremembered. Prescott pulled that stunt too far before the election.”
“And Bradford took the dog back to the shelter?” My heart broke for the dog, who seemed only to want to be loved, and I gulped down a swig of tea to push away the lump forming in my throat.
Dee nodded. “Apparently not in the best of shape. It was a couple of months later. I went by the shelter, and according to the staff, the dog was half starved, his coat was a mess, and he cowered in the corner any time there was a loud noise or someone moved too fast. It was nowhere near the sweet dog they’d adopted out to Prescott. He’d originally belonged to an elderly lady who had passed away. He’d had no emotional issues, other than missing his first owner, when Prescott adopted him.”
Murder by the Bookend Page 5