The Magic Library Mysteries Collection: The Complete Series, Books 1-3

by Hillary Avis

  Strangely, the apartment looked smaller now that it was empty of furniture. If it weren’t for Emily’s height measured in pencil marks on the dining room doorframe, Allison wouldn’t recognize it.

  Pogo yipped and scampered to the door where his leash hung on a hook. Allison chuckled and clipped it to his collar. “You’re right. We should get going.”

  Downstairs, the bakery was dim and thick with the scent of flour, even though she hadn’t gotten a new delivery in weeks. The rising sun shining through the windows made the red “SALE PENDING” letters blare backward through the plate glass, assaulting her eyes that had not yet adjusted from the dark stairwell. She pushed out the front door and the bells jangled as loud as her nerves.

  Would this be the day that Paul remembered?

  Once she was on the street, though, the rhythm of her steps slowed her heartrate a little bit. She was even able to enjoy the stiff breeze that was shooing the clouds away, revealing a sparkling blue sky over the Cascades in the east. She could understand why Paul had kept his appointment to walk Tiny every morning, even when it rained. It was nice being outside this early.

  She and Pogo made good time walking until they hit Highway 19 and the school traffic was backed up almost to the bridge. They had to wait for the minivans and SUVs to inch their way forward. Finally the line of cars moved far enough down the road that they could pass, and they jogged across the two-lane road.

  She glanced ahead down the block toward Golden Gardens and was dismayed to see a white-and-blue coroner’s van and the sheriff’s car out front. It wasn’t so unusual for an ambulance to be there, given that the average age of the residents was over eighty. At that time of life, any fall was a serious fall, any illness a serious illness. But the coroner meant that someone wasn’t just sick. Something really bad must have happened.

  Allison quickened her pace. Please, not Paul.

  She veered off the sidewalk, cutting across the lawn to the front door. Just as she was about to ring the buzzer, the long, pale face of Sheriff Leroy Gauss appeared in the glass. He shook his head no and pointed to the sign taped in the window.

  No Admittance. Police Business.

  She frowned. She had a right to know what was going on—she at least deserved to know if her own husband was OK. “Is it Paul?” she mouthed.

  Leroy made a zipping motion across his mouth and shook his head.

  “What does that mean?” Allison asked Pogo. He cocked his head to the side. “Is he saying it’s not Paul, or is he saying he can’t tell me?”

  She knocked on the glass. “You better just tell me, Leroy. You know I’m going to find out one way or another.”

  The sheriff crossed his arms and shook his head, and then, glancing over his shoulder, motioned her away from the door. She just had time to scoot backward and scoop up Pogo before two men wheeling a gurney came barreling out of the double-doors and down the path toward the van. To Allison’s horror, the stretcher held a black, zippered body bag. Allison didn’t even have a chance to ask them who was inside before they slammed the door on their vehicle and pulled out.

  The sheriff had disappeared from view. Well, the front door wasn’t the only entrance, was it? Allison marched around the building to the side door and stood on tiptoe to peer through its small glass window. Pogo yipped and she shushed him. She spied Myra with her back to the door—in teal scrubs today, with a matching scarf tied around her hair—talking to Leroy.

  Allison decided to wait for him to leave before she let herself in. No point in getting sent away for a second time. She leaned against the door, listening to the faint murmur of voices inside. When it’d been a minute or two since she’d heard a noise, she looked back through the window and saw that the sheriff had left the kitchen. She slipped her key into the lock and gently cracked open the door. Myra spotted her immediately.

  “I was hoping to see you. Come on in.” Myra motioned her and Pogo inside, swiftly glancing over her shoulder toward the activity room to make sure no one was watching. “Let’s talk in the pantry.”

  Allison obeyed, carefully closing the side door so it didn’t make a sound. As soon as she was safely among the shelves of canned tuna and dry pasta, she whispered, “Tell me it isn’t Paul.”

  Myra shook her head. Her usually warm brown complexion was ashen; Allison had never seen her look so shaken. “It’s not, don’t worry yourself.”

  Allison peeked around the edge of the pantry doorframe. She could just see out the kitchen door. A bunch of people in uniform were milling around, but she couldn’t tell what was going on. “What happened? Who passed?”

  Myra’s expression was grim. “Ms. Gertrude. I found her this morning when I went in to wake her up.”

  Allison felt a pang of guilt for her general dislike of Gertrude. Well, at least she’d been considerate of Gertrude’s nap yesterday. Gertrude hadn’t seemed sick, but it wasn’t too surprising that she’d died, given that she was over eighty. But why was the sheriff here, along with what looked like half the deputies in the county?

  Myra seemed to read her mind. “Leroy is pretty sure Ms. Lilian killed her.”

  “What?” Allison’s jaw dropped and she couldn’t help looking through the kitchen and out into the activity room again. Sure enough, now she saw Lilian and Gertrude’s room was sealed with police tape. Several law enforcement types were loitering nearby, and this time she noticed that one of them, a tall, tan woman who looked more like a beach volleyball player than a police officer, was standing guard at another one of the bedroom doors. The sheriff must have moved Lilian in there. “I’ve known Lilian for years. She doesn’t even like it when I smash a spider in her room! How could she possibly kill another person?”

  Myra nodded. “I know. But Ms. Gertrude was stabbed with one of her knitting needles. No matter how sour a woman she was, she didn’t stab herself.”

  Allison remembered how she’d wound up Lilian’s ball of light purple wool yesterday morning and placed it on the nightstand between the two women’s beds. The metal needles she stuck into the ball of yarn weren’t sharp, of course, but they sure would hurt if someone stabbed you with them.

  “But anyone could have grabbed them off the nightstand!” she protested, her voice rising. “Why would they think Lilian did it?”

  “Sh,” Myra cautioned, glancing out of the pantry to see if anyone had overheard. “We have cameras in the main room and sensors on the bedroom doors. Nobody went in or out of their room after lights-out. Not even a caregiver. So it had to be Ms. Lilian. I don’t know what they’re going to do with her, though. I mean, can they really put a sweet old lady with dementia in jail? It’s not like she can remember what she did.”

  Allison chewed on her lower lip. “She didn’t do it. She couldn’t have! I’d believe Gertrude stabbed herself out of spite before I’d believe Lilian committed a murder.”

  Myra rubbed her forehead, her cheeks slack with worry. “There’s no other explanation. I don’t like it either, but it’s just a fact. Nobody came or went out of that bedroom.” Myra worried the hem of her scrubs top, pleating it between her fingers and then snapping it straight. “And you know she and Gertrude always squabble. Those two were like oil and water. I should have moved them to separate rooms. I just thought they could work it out.”

  Allison tried to imagine Lilian doing something so out of character. It was impossible—although, two years ago she’d have said it was impossible to lose two or three decades of memories overnight, too, and that happened. Maybe Lilian had a stroke or some other medical event that made her do something terrible. Something murderous.

  Pogo suddenly perked up his ears and pulled excitedly on his leash toward the door to the hall, his nose snuffling the air. Allison tugged his leash. “Come on, boy. Stop that.”

  But Pogo just leaned harder on the leash and paddled his legs, his toenails slipping on the slick tiles. Maybe he needed to go potty. Allison followed him out of the pantry as he headed for the back door. When he got there, in
stead of waited for her to let him out, he plastered his little nose to the bottom of the door, drawing in deep breaths of the outside air through the tiny crack.

  To Allison’s surprise, Pogo jumped back and began barking in sharp, high-pitched bursts. Panicked, she tried to pull him away, but he lunged forward, standing on his hind legs to scrabble at the door handle. She picked him up. “What’s gotten into you?” she whispered. “You’re going to get us in trouble with all your noise.”

  But instead of quieting down, Pogo barked right in her face.

  “What in the world—” she began, but her thoughts came abruptly to a halt as she crashed backward into someone. Allison turned and saw the sheriff standing there with his hands on his hips, Myra’s horrified face emerging from the pantry behind him.

  “Well, well, well,” he said, taking in Allison’s guilty expression and Pogo’s relentless yapping with one glance. “What have we here?”

  “I was just leaving!” Allison said quickly.

  Leroy pursed his thin lips and stared at the dog in her arms. “Were you? Looks to me like you were disobeying my instructions and sneaking in the back way with an uncontrolled animal.”

  “It’s the side way, actually. The back door goes to the back y—” Allison broke off as she saw the growing irritation on the sheriff’s gaunt face. “My husband lives here. I just wanted to know if he was OK. And he is! So then we were talking about what happened and—anyway, the dog is on a leash! He’s not uncontrolled.”

  Leroy rounded on Myra. “This is police business. You can’t let any old person traipse in here while we’re trying to sort this out. I could charge you with interference in an investigation, and I’m of high mind to do so!” He punctuated his words by poking his finger toward her face.

  Myra didn’t flinch. She raised her chin slowly and looked him in the eye. “Allison isn’t any old person. She is my guest, and I don’t like the way you’re treating her.”

  The sheriff snorted. “She’s not your guest anymore. I’m the only one who can issue invitations to a crime scene.” He turned on his heel, then thought better of it. Turning back to Allison, he added, “You have thirty seconds to exit this building before—”

  “Before what?” Myra blazed. “You bust out your pepper spray? Don’t you be messing up my facility, Sheriff. I will tell your mother. She and I share a pew at church.”

  Leroy gave an embarrassed cough. “Before I escort her out,” he finished lamely, the wind taken out of his sails. He turned and stormed back out to the activity room, throwing furious looks at them over his shoulder.

  Allison sighed. “I guess I better go.” She set Pogo down and pulled open the door, revealing a surprised-looking Theo Curtis outside, his heavy canvas mail bag weighing down his left shoulder. Pogo immediately sat back on his hind legs, his front paws raised to beg. So that’s why he was sniffing and barking at the door—he knew Theo was just on the other side.

  “Morning, ladies,” Theo said as he wiped his feet on the mat. “What’s going on? I saw the sheriff’s car out front.”

  Allison stepped aside, nudging Pogo so Theo could get past them to the mail area. As he passed, she noticed that his face was unshaven, and the circles under his eyes that were way too dark for his age. It was no wonder, though. He and his wife, Shadi, had five little ones under six years old at home, including a pair of twins and a new baby. If his children were anything like he was as a kid—well, Allison had watched him for his parents when she was a teenager. Though he was still in diapers back then, he was such a terror that he’d made her swear off babysitting for good. Multiply that by five, and it’d wear anyone out.

  Plus, on top of any normal parenting challenges, his middle child, the four-year-old, was sick. Really sick. So sick the children’s hospital in Portland had taken her off the kidney transplant list. Every store in town had a little jar with Ella’s picture taped to the front on the counter to collect for her medical expenses.

  Myra shot a look at Allison as Theo began whipping envelopes into boxes. It said you tell him about Gertrude. Allison shook her head firmly no. She wasn’t going to dump today’s tragedy in the lap of someone who was already dealing with so much. Myra pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side. Allison could tell she was hemming and hawing about how to break the news.

  Finally, Myra held out her hand. “I can take Ms. Gertrude’s mail to put aside for her family. I’m sad to say she passed away last night.”

  “What a shame. I’m so sorry.” Theo’s shoulders stilled and his head bowed momentarily. Then he raised it and riffled through the envelopes remaining in his bag, pulling out a small stack joined with a rubber band. He passed them to Myra. “Hang on a minute and I’ll have Paul’s mail for you, too,” he added, nodding to Allison. He dipped into his bag again and handed her a few envelopes. She could tell at a glance they were all junk, but she smiled gratefully at him.

  Before she could thank him aloud, Pogo rushed toward Theo, unable to contain his excitement any longer. He jumped up to nuzzle the mail carrier’s knees for attention. Theo chuckled and reached down to ruffle the fur on top of Pogo’s head. “Cute little guy.”

  Myra grinned. “Never thought I’d see a dog who liked the mailman.”

  “It’s probably the peanut butter,” Theo explained. “The kids like to hug me on the way out the door, so I always get a little souvenir of their breakfast.”

  He was right. When Allison looked more closely, she saw he had tan smudges up to the knees of his blue pants. Pogo’s dedicated courtship of Theo’s right pant leg was more about the fabric’s flavor than about any affection he had for the person inside them.

  “Want me to grab you a paper towel?” Myra asked.

  Theo shook his head. “Nah, I don’t mind. It means the dogs on my route love me. Maybe more postal carriers should try the Curtis technique. Apply peanut butter to the lower twelve inches of your uniform,” he joked.

  “How are the kids?” Myra asked gently. Allison bit her lip. She knew what Myra was really asking. How’s Ella?

  Theo stood up. Allison recognized his smile because she’d seen it so many times on her own face in the mirror. It was the kind that stretched thin over a mountain of sadness. “Well, the twins are looking forward to kindergarten.”

  Myra nodded. “That’s good. The baby sleeping through the night yet?”

  “He is. I wish I could say the same for the two-year-old.” Theo forced a laugh, but then his voice tightened, cutting it off. “And Ella’s up and down, but she’s being very brave.” The corners of Theo’s mouth turned down and his chin wobbled the slightest bit. He cleared his throat and shook his head, as if hoping to shake the dark thoughts from his mind.

  Myra patted him gently on the back. “You know what my midwife said to me when I was in labor with Crystal? I was whining about how much it hurt and how I couldn’t do it, and she said, ‘Get it together, Myra. This ain’t the hardest thing you’re going to do for your child.’ And you know, she was right. That was nothing compared to the rest of life. Now, I’m packing up some cookies for you to take home. Don’t you eat them on your route, Theodore Curtis. They’re for the children.”

  “I won’t. Scout’s honor.” Theo held up two fingers and rearranged his face into a smile, though Allison could see that tears still brightened his eyes.

  Myra disappeared into the kitchen and came back moments later with a fat, parchment-paper bag and handed it to him. “You take care. And you tell Shadi she is a saint. A goddess.”

  “Oh, I know,” Theo said as he tucked the cookies into his mailbag. His smile broadened and became genuine. “Trust me—she never lets me forget it. Oh, that reminds me...I just saw the ‘sale pending’ sign in the window of the bakery, Allison. Don’t forget to fill out your change of address form after your move.”

  Allison nodded and pushed down the sick feeling that rose in her throat. The little apartment above the bakery had been her home for so long that the idea of leaving it was still unreal,
even though she already had a key to the house on Rosemary Street and most of her possessions were already in a storage unit. “Thanks, I will.”

  “Great. Bye, buddy,” Theo said to Pogo on his way out. “Come around and see the kids sometime.”

  Pogo gave a sharp, excited bark in response, and Allison darted a guilty look down the hall and through the kitchen to the activity room. She’d almost forgotten about the sheriff and the investigation in progress. Myra followed her gaze, and together they watched as Leroy Gauss spoke quietly to the female cop on guard duty. The cop opened the door to the bedroom where they were keeping Lilian and went inside, closing it behind her.

  Allison and Myra shared a look.

  “We have to get in there,” Myra said. “No telling what they’ll get Ms. Lilian to say.”

  Chapter 5

  “We should probably call a lawyer for her.” Allison flipped through her mental Rolodex, but the only lawyer she knew was the one who helped draw up the contract for the sale of the bakery. It seemed unlikely that a real estate attorney would be able to help much in this case. The only other lawyer she knew was Zack, and he was probably in court right now. “Do you know any?”

  “I try to avoid them.” Myra chuckled, but then her face grew serious again. “I don’t think we have time to waste looking for one, anyway.”

  Allison nodded and made a beeline out of the kitchen and through the activity room with Myra and Pogo on her heels. She raised her fist to knock at the bedroom door the cop had entered, then changed her mind and turned the handle.

  The room was the same layout as all the double rooms at Golden Gardens. Two beds were separated by a shared nightstand, and the window faced the street. A pair of dressers stood opposite the beds, with a single chair for visitors tucked between them. Allison was relieved to see that Lilian wasn’t handcuffed but instead propped up against the headboard, much as she had been the day before, in her own room. Today, she wasn’t knitting, though. She had her arms crossed tightly and her mouth set in a firm line as the police officer bent over her, adjusting the pillows behind her.