Bait and Witch

by Angela M. Sanders

  Darla joined me as I stared out the kitchen window. “Sad, isn’t it?”

  “Devastating. They seem like lovely people, but it’s like tearing out Wilfred’s heart.”

  She let her cheerful façade drop. “Yeah.” She toyed with the dish towel, then tossed it onto a stack of plates she’d brought up from the diner. “Josie, I owe you an apology.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m sorry for bringing you out here on false pretenses. You’ve been such a good sport and made such a great case for the library. In less than two weeks, you’ve really come to feel like one of us.”

  Strangely, I had. I’d come from the other side of the country—practically another world. Wilfred had welcomed me, protected me.

  “I’ll miss it here.”

  She patted my back. I hugged her, then went to my office. I needed a few moments alone.

  On my desk, the phone Sam had given me flashed. I had a message.

  “Good news,” Sam’s voice said. “We have Richard White in custody. Wilfred is cleared. You’re safe.”

  I’d heard this promise before. This time I believed it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  By nightfall, the library was bursting with Wilfredians. Slices of pie disappeared rapidly, and rumors had it that bottles of whiskey were available for sampling, if you knew where to go. Everyone knew where to go.

  Sam hadn’t shown up. I didn’t know if he was somewhere on the Richard White case, or if he simply wanted to be alone. He couldn’t have returned to Los Angeles yet. Surely he would have said good-bye.

  Roz was still entranced by her bouquet. She’d brought it home—must have had trouble edging it through her front door—and I even caught sight of Lyndon at some point. Darla led the kitchen brigade. Lalena was in the parlor at the center of a discussion about ghosts. Two patrons said Marilyn Wilfred haunted the library, but Lalena insisted she was at rest. The pro-retreat faction had tactfully stayed away. Maybe they were at Duke’s trailer toasting each other. I didn’t know.

  No one seemed to notice when I fetched my coat and wandered outside. Rodney might have been somewhere near, but in my non-magical state, he hardly noticed me. I’d miss the little guy. It didn’t make sense to fly him to D.C. with me now. I’d make sure Lyndon took care of him.

  At Big House, a pale light glowed in the kitchen. I couldn’t tell if it was the light Sam left on to greet him when he returned, or if he was home and simply didn’t feel like a party.

  “Will you miss us?” Sheriff Dolby, beer in hand, joined me in the stretch of garden between the library and Big House.

  “I will. I haven’t even been here two weeks, but my entire life has changed. Does that sound crazy?”

  “Not crazy. Wilfred is special.”

  We both looked down past the river to the glow of porch lights in the trailer park and the speckled lit windows of the houses across the highway.

  “This town has made me better,” I said. “I came from D.C. thinking I knew everything I needed to know about life. I lived in a big city, after all, and the Library of Congress is about as hallowed a workplace as a librarian can get. But Wilfred has taught me so much about what people really need, and what a library can mean.”

  “I hate to see the library go.” Bert Dolby drew a swig from his bottle. “But I’m happy you’re more relaxed now that Richard White is in custody.”

  “There’s just one loose thread, one thing that bothers me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The FBI has Richard White locked up. The library’s fate is sealed. Even Roz and Lyndon are working it out. But who killed Bondwell’s fixer? In all the craziness of the last few days, it seems to have slipped everyone’s mind.”

  “I guess it wouldn’t slip yours, considering.”

  Considering that I’d found the body, he didn’t have to say.

  “We’re close to making an arrest.” He wiggled his bottle. It was empty.

  “Who?”

  “That’s all I can tell you. You’ll know soon.”

  When it became clear he wasn’t going to reveal more, I looked toward Big House. “Have you seen Sam? He seemed kind of—I don’t know—nervous, I guess, earlier. I thought for sure he’d stop by.”

  “Hmm,” the sheriff said. It was hard to remember he was a sheriff in his jeans and western shirt. “I bet he’s frying up the trout I dropped off this afternoon. He used to beg to go fishing with me when I was a teenager and he barely knew his ABCs.”

  “He does like to cook,” I said, trying to picture Sam as a boy.

  “You’ve gotten attached to him, haven’t you?”

  “He’s married,” I said flatly.

  “It’s not a bad idea to keep your distance. Maybe he isn’t exactly what you’d thought.”

  I faced him. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “Nothing. Forget what I said.”

  “Seriously, Bert. You’re trying to tell me something about Sam, and I want to know what it is.”

  He let out a bearlike sigh. “There’s too much chance we’ll be overheard.”

  He looked toward the trail along the river toward the woods. No way I was walking down there in the dark.

  “Why don’t we go up to my apartment? No one will bother us there. We can take the service entrance and bypass the crowd.”

  “I guess that’s all right,” he said reluctantly.

  We opened the Wilfred mansion’s side door to a roar of conversation rippling with laughter. So much for libraries as bastions of silence. Still, it was good to hear happy people on what could have been a maudlin night.

  As I’d figured, the service staircase was empty. I unlocked my apartment and invited Bert into the living room.

  “Have a seat.” I clicked on a few glass-shaded lamps and gestured toward the Victorian sofa.

  “I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”

  Probably a smart move, given his size and the sofa’s daintiness. “So, what is it you want to tell me about Sam?”

  Bert Dolby wandered to the window and lifted the lace curtain. Seeming satisfied with what he saw, he faced the room with the stance of a sheriff. “There’s his heritage. He’s a Wilfred.”

  “Of course. Great-great-grandson of the original Thurston Wilfred.”

  “He’s not happy about the library’s sale.”

  “True.” This I was sure about, although I still wasn’t clear on the sheriff’s meaning.

  “I just—” He turned to me. “Look, you’ll be out of town soon. I just don’t want you to be surprised about what comes up next. I owe you a warning.”

  “I don’t understand.” Hoots of laughter wafted up from the atrium. Someone else must have found the whiskey stash.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. They made the shape of balled-up fists. “I told you we were making an arrest soon.”

  “You mean . . . ?” Not Sam, I thought. Couldn’t be. As I spoke, the library began to pull at me. Even with my magic shut off, I felt the books urging me to act. The thing was, I couldn’t understand what it was they wanted me to do.

  “Sam Wilfred,” he said.

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  The sheriff put up a palm. “Let me explain. You know he still owns the old mill property.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Sam’s going through a difficult divorce. He could use extra cash. He came to Wilfred to sell the old mill site.”

  “He’s with the FBI. He’s here because of me. They asked him to fly up when they found out he was from Wilfred.”

  “You were his excuse for being here. He petitioned for the assignment, not the other way around.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The county sheriff’s office has been working with the Bureau, remember? I was talking with one of the other agents, and she told me.”

  I let this sink in. “Why would Sam kill someone? That’s what you’re getting at, right?”

  “He doesn’t want the library to sell.
He wants the old mill to be the retreat site.”

  I couldn’t take this on my feet. I collapsed to the sofa. “The old mill?”

  “Sure,” the sheriff said. “He doesn’t make a cent if the library sells. Say the library is tossed out of the running. The mill site is a contender. Sam is the sole beneficiary. Think about it. Big bucks.”

  “Then why did he vote for the library’s sale?”

  “It’s his cover. Makes him look innocent. You were right about Craig being framed, by the way. Sam planted the murder weapon while Craig was at Lalena’s. January Stephens had brought ten thousand dollars with her to bribe you. Sam hid that, too, intending to pick it up later.”

  “I don’t believe it,” I said. “Why would he kill someone? How does it help him?”

  “It delays the library’s sale, gives the area a bad reputation. Thanks to his connections, he knew the gal—the fixer—was coming to Wilfred. He could kill her and use it to his purposes.”

  “Ilona and Duke claimed the murder was a great reason the library should be sold,” I pointed out.

  “A miscalculation on Sam’s part.”

  Lame. Super lame. How could the sheriff even think this was a good motive? I knew Sam. He didn’t even seem to care about money. All he cared about was opera and cooking. And justice.

  “I shouldn’t have said anything,” the sheriff said.

  “What about the money? Why would he hide that under your sister’s trailer, of all places? There must be a hundred safer spots.”

  “He couldn’t keep it at his house, could he?” The sheriff turned toward the window and Big House. “Soon we’ll know for sure—tomorrow at the latest. I can’t tell you anymore.” He crossed the room. “We should be getting back to the party.”

  “No,” I said suddenly, remembering Darla’s offhand remark at the diner. “It couldn’t have been Sam. He was in Forest Grove. Darla ran into him.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “Couldn’t be. I would have seen him driving home. I was at the speed trap all evening.”

  “I really think you have this wrong. Let’s go see Sam now, let him explain.”

  “Absolutely not.” His voice, his stance, made it clear the discussion was closed.

  I remembered back to my first night in Wilfred, Lyndon piloting the old pickup into town. No. Bert Dolby had not been at the speed trap. Lyndon had slowed down and made a note of it. The sheriff had lied to me. He was lying to me now.

  I looked away. “Of course.”

  Pieces began to fall together. Duke, on his way to spray paint graffiti on the library, had stumbled upon something he refused to tell me. Could he have seen the sheriff?

  Bert Dolby’s gaze intensified, and his voice changed subtly. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “Believe you?”

  “What do you think happened?” He took a step forward.

  I caught my breath. Every instinct told me to return to the safety of the crowd. I stood. “I just don’t see how Sam could be guilty, that’s all. He’s never shown a hint of it.” I edged toward the door and fought to keep my expression calm. “Anyway, I guess you know best.”

  The sheriff turned toward the window overlooking Big House. I took another step toward the door.

  “He’s so high and mighty,” he said. “At the first sign of trouble, the Wilfreds skip town. There’s a lot you don’t know.”

  I froze. “Like what?”

  The sheriff shook his head, and his tone took an edge of forged steel. “Forget I said anything. And now he’s down there making dinner, thinking his life is just fine. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s struggling with his guilt even now. By tomorrow, it will come to an end.”

  My pulse leapt. I needed to get to Sam. Now. “This is such depressing talk. Let’s join the party.”

  “Josie. Stop.” The command in his voice made me turn. “You want to run to Sam. I can tell. That’s not going to happen.”

  “I just think it’s time to join the fun. Come on.”

  I yanked open the door. An amplified guitar duo had joined the ruckus downstairs, and it was nearly impossible to hear. Get downstairs—now, the books urged.

  I made it as far as the hall before Sheriff Dolby looped an arm around my neck, crushing my windpipe.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The pressure of the sheriff ’s forearm made it hard to breathe and impossible to scream. He grabbed my hands in one palm and shoved me down the hall.

  He wasn’t going to throw me over the railing into the atrium, was he? I kicked, but he lifted me as if I weighed no more than a kindergartner and forged ahead. My flailing legs couldn’t reach the walls, and my thwarted screams were too dull to draw attention against the party roaring below.

  We passed the entrance to the service stairwell. There was only one place we could be going. The tower. My mother’s vision. It was coming true. Fear ripped through my body. The sheriff planned to push me off the tower.

  At the end of the hall, he pinned me against the wall, my throat still wedged against his arm. With his other hand, he felt above the doorway and drew down a skeleton key.

  “Still there, after all these years.” He pushed me in and bolted the door behind us.

  I hit the floor and scrambled to a seated position to catch my breath. The tower clearly hadn’t been used in years. Dust carpeted the floor, and mouse droppings scented the air. My birthmark seared my shoulder.

  “You killed her,” I said. “It was you.”

  The sheriff towered over me. Moonlight through the dirt-streaked windows half-lit his face. “You’re right. It was me.”

  He didn’t bother to hide it. He didn’t mean for me to leave the tower alive.

  “It was a mistake, wasn’t it?” I said. “You thought she was someone else.”

  The sheriff ripped a filmy curtain from the window and tore it down the center. “A mistake. One you should be glad for.” He snorted, as if laughing at a joke. “Funny how it all comes full circle.”

  Bert Dolby couldn’t have known about the fixer ahead of time. No one knew, except the FBI. He’d told everyone he was at the speed trap. He wasn’t. The sheriff had been at the library for a different reason.

  Craig Burdock had been there, too—or he’d been intending to come, but Lalena had waylaid him. “You couldn’t have confused the fixer with Craig,” I said. I backed to the wall. Bert was between me and the exit, but I had to try.

  He didn’t reply. He twisted the curtain into a rope and tested it between his hands.

  “What did Craig Burdock have on you?” I asked when I could finally speak. “He had something on you, something he thought you’d pay for. You thought the fixer was your blackmailer and killed her instead.”

  I made a dash for the door and flipped up the bolt. My hand had dropped to the doorknob when I was knocked to the ground. The sheriff pushed me toward the opposite wall and tied my ankles with the twisted curtain. I scratched and pounded, but my efforts might have been flies pestering him for all the difference they made. With the other half of the curtain, he tied my hands behind my back.

  He raised an eyebrow at my screams. “I’m not going to bother gagging you. No one can hear you up here.”

  He was right. We could barely make out the sounds of the party below. I could yell myself hoarse with no effect.

  “Why?” I asked. “Why did you do it?”

  “Listen, I’m sorry, but it’s got to be this way. The Dolbys have been Wilfred’s backbone since there was a Wilfred. I won’t have anyone blacken us.”

  “You’re talking about your father, aren’t you?”

  “You’re like everyone else and want to simplify it. Life isn’t black and white, Josie. It isn’t good guys and bad guys. My father didn’t have a choice.”

  My brain whirred. There had to be a way out of here. But how? With my hands and feet tied, I couldn’t attack the sheriff. The room held nothing but crates of rotting books, long forgotten.

  “Does this have to do with the old
mill?” I said.

  “You think it’s cut and dried. Not so. Unionizing the mill would have brought its end for sure. Mills were shutting down all around here. Add labor demands, and it would have been a matter of months, tops, Wilfred could have survived. All Dad did was help end it without violence. The Wilfreds aren’t innocent, either.”

  Now it became clear. Someone died when the mill burned down and the Wilfreds skipped town. The sheriff was complicit. Somehow Craig Burdock had found out about it and had been blackmailing the sheriff.

  “Murder is violence,” I said.

  “So is destroying the futures of generations of mill workers.”

  Sam and Bert were doubles, in a way. Yet Sam had taken a different route. Bert Dolby had cited honor as his reason to cover up his father’s misdeeds. Sam didn’t bother with that. He simply lived an honorable life.

  “So, you’re letting Sam take the rap,” I said in a low voice.

  “No. He won’t be around to take the rap. Not after tonight’s trout dinner.”

  The sheriff threw open the tower window, and my every muscle tensed. The sound of a few beer-loosened voices drifted up. He shut the window.

  “We’ll wait. I’ll be back when the party’s over. Too bad you’ll have an accident.”

  The bolt thunked into place behind him.

  * * *

  I didn’t think twice.

  I closed my eyes and let my lips recite the words, “. . . and the King and Queen and the whole court waked up, and gazed on each other with great eyes of wonderment. And the horses in the yard got up and shook themselves, the hounds sprang up and wagged their tails, the pigeons on the roof drew their heads from under their wings . . .”

  I couldn’t remember the rest, but it didn’t matter. Something inside me ripped open. The spell lifted. I choked in a breath as my every cell contracted and released.

  In that moment, the world was enriched tenfold. The night sky deepened into a moist charcoal gray with ribbons of moonlight through the tower windows. The scent of old wood and mildewed pages suffused the room. My fear was sharper, too, and my throat filled with the taste of metal.