All Hallows Evil

by Valerie Wolzien

  “No.” Brett’s voice was solemn. “I will pick you up at the Ellsworth house and take you there. And,” he added before she could interrupt, “I will come to the door and get you. Do not leave that house and stand on the curb. Do not let anyone know that you are leaving. Don’t even think about talking with Rebecca or anyone from the network or anyone connected with the library. In fact, why don’t you just go stand by the table where food is being served, eat, make polite party conversation, and I will come find you. All right?”

  “No.” Susan lowered her voice as someone peeked in the kitchen door.

  “What?”

  “Sorry. Someone came in the door, and I didn’t want them to hear us. See—I am being careful.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I couldn’t see. Anyway, as I was saying, I have to tell Jed that I’m leaving, and I should say good-bye to the Ellsworths. And if you come barging in here, everyone is going to wonder what is going on. That might alert whoever it is that we don’t want to alert, won’t it?”

  “Okay. How about this … What was that noise? Did someone else come in?”

  “I just choked on a piece of candy. It’s nothing.”

  “Candy?” He sighed loudly. “Okay. Listen: You can tell Jed, but don’t say anything to anyone else. He can do the social good-byes for you at the appropriate time. And I won’t come in. Why don’t you get Kathleen and spend some time talking about that little boy of hers near the front door—with your coat on a nearby chair. I’ll just stick my head in when I get there. Okay?”

  “Fine. Anything else?”

  “No. I’ll be there as soon as possible. You get ready.”

  Susan hung up and went off to find her coat and her friend.

  “You wait by the door,” Kathleen urged her. “Who knows how long it will take Brett to get here. I’ll get your coat and purse.”

  “It’s my green loden coat. We were only coming from next door, so I didn’t wear anything else. I’ll wait downstairs.”

  “Remember not to look like you’re expecting anything. Brett is obviously worried about your safety, and he may have good reason to be.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Susan assured her, heading for the front door and thinking that she would be happier if she knew who or what she was supposed to look out for. Luckily she ran into Jed on her way. She explained briefly what was going on.

  “You’ll be safe, won’t you?” he asked anxiously.

  “I’ll be with the chief of police. What more can you wish for?” she whispered as some guests passed by.

  “I could wish this whole thing was over and our houseguests were gone and you were home in bed. That’s what I could wish,” he insisted. “That’s what I do wish.”

  “If I’m right, if we find what we’re looking for, then this will all be over soon and … Here’s Kathleen.”

  “I’ll leave you, then. I’ll stay here an hour more and then head home. You’ll call?”

  “I’ll call.” She squeezed his hand as he left. “He’s worried about me,” she explained to Kathleen.

  “Of course he is.” She threw a green coat across the end of the banister and leaned against the wall. “The more I think about this, the more I think you’re right.”

  “What other explanation could there be?”

  The front door opened and Brett’s head appeared. “Ready?”

  “Ready.” She and Kathleen exchanged looks.

  “Take care of her,” Kathleen ordered the policeman.

  “I won’t let her out of my sight.”

  “I don’t see why everyone thinks something is going to happen to me. Everyone who is involved in this is either here or in New York City. I think I’m pretty safe.”

  “You think you’re the only one who can change location? I think we’ll be careful.”

  “At least if someone tried to kill me, we would know that we were on the right track.”

  “I think we are, don’t you?” Brett opened the door to his police car for her.

  “Definitely. You have the keys?”

  He patted his pocket. “Right here. We’ll be there in a few minutes. Can you roll that thing up or something?”

  “This thing is the dress I got married in,” Susan answered, laughing.

  Brett looked startled. “I …”

  “Chrissy was born three years after we got married—you may as well ask, everyone else has. And I’m not going to worry about the dress. After all, I’ve already gotten more use out of it than most women do from their wedding dresses. But I wish I hadn’t let Marion pin me into the padding. I’d be more comfortable without it.” She peered out the window. “Are we almost there?”

  “Sure are. Where do you plan to start?”

  “I have no idea. I supposed if I’d actually been locked in all night, I would have had at least four or five hours—but I do hope it doesn’t take that long.”

  “I hope not,” Brett agreed as he drove up to the front of the library and parked illegally. “One of the perks of being chief of police,” he added.

  Susan got out of the car, and they walked up the well-lit sidewalk to the building. “It looks kind of spooky at night, doesn’t it? Very Halloween-like with the light in the tower and the moon in the background.”

  “Let’s not give our imaginations anything extra to play with.” Brett unlocked the door and reached inside to turn on the overhead lights. The entire building lit up at once. “We’re looking for facts,” he reminded her.

  She followed him in. “And wouldn’t it be nice if we knew which ones?”

  “I can’t argue with that.” He used another key, opened the door to Charles Grace’s office, and followed her up the stairs. “We’re not doing badly, you know. It was good thinking to realize that if you weren’t locked in so you wouldn’t see something last night, you were locked in because you were supposed to find something here.”

  “Kathleen was talking about needing stimulation when she was cooped up in the house with Bananas, and it occurred to me that I was supposed to spend some time here looking around … that I was supposed to find something. But what?” Susan looked around the office. The abandoned coat was on the back of a different chair, there were possibly a few more papers on the desk, and a pile of art books that she hadn’t noticed before sat atop a filing cabinet. Otherwise the room looked as she remembered it. “Should we start on one side and go around?”

  “It’s probably as good a way as any other,” Brett agreed. “Why don’t we start with the desk?”

  “I’ll take the top and you take the drawers?”

  “Fine with me.”

  They searched for over an hour and found nothing. “I wish I’d grabbed some refreshments and stuck them in my pocket. I’m getting hungry,” Susan said, sitting back in a chair. “All that’s left is the file cabinets. I sure hope we find something there. If I was wrong about this, I’ll start to scream.”

  “Don’t do that.…” He turned and stared at her. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t stand leaning over this padding one more second. I’m going to get rid of it. Just look over in the other direction for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.” She struggled to unpin the wad of fabric and stuffing.

  “Let me help.” Brett reached over and unhooked the last pin, and the lump fell to the floor.

  “Thanks. That feels better, and now I have something to sit on.” She plopped down on the pillow. “I’ll start with the bottom drawer and work my way up. You can …”

  “Work my way down. Watch your head.” He opened the top drawer and pulled out the first file.

  Susan grabbed the last one. And found what they were looking for.

  “Except that there isn’t really a motive for murder here, is there?” Susan said, picking up the relevant sheets of paper.

  “No. There’s some pretty fancy financial dealing, that’s for sure. An accountant could probably explain this better, but it looks like what we have here is two sets of books.”

&nb
sp; “These are all the records on remodeling this building … fund-raising … designs … insurance. I hate to admit this, but Jed has always taken care of this stuff in our family. I can’t make head or tail of it—except that it doesn’t match these figures.” She motioned to a pile of papers in her lap. “And these papers seem to be the ones that were shown to the public and the city council.” She looked up at Brett. “Was he keeping money for himself?”

  “Looks like it.” Brett shuffled through the papers. “And it looks as though he was going to have a nice little nest egg when he got through. Although I have to admit that I probably don’t know a lot more about this than you do.”

  “This is all very interesting, but I don’t understand what it might have to do with the murders. The man killed here …”

  “Mitchell Waterfield,” Brett reminded her.

  “Mr. Waterfield was a public relations person from New York City, and Jason had no connection with the remodeling of the library.” She tossed the papers onto the floor.

  “It looks like we found a crime, just not the right one,” Brett said.

  Susan got up, ripping the hem of her dress as she did so. “I don’t get it. Maybe this is what we were supposed to see.”

  “It certainly isn’t something Charles Grace would want made public.”

  “Who else?”

  “I … I have no idea. We just keep going around in circles, don’t we?

  “We just keep going around this library,” Brett suggested. “Unless you can think of something to do up here, let’s go downstairs and look at the place where Mr. Waterfield was found. Maybe that will be an inspiration.”

  “It’s worth a try.” Susan looked around the room one more time. “And to think I was so fascinated with this place only a few days ago.”

  “It is a nice library,” Brett said, as she followed him back to the main floor.

  “It’s a fabulous library. There are a lot of people in town who have worked very hard—without pay—to make it special. They are going to be very angry when they hear that Charles Grace has been embezzling funds for his own use. In fact, there are still a lot of things left to be done, and they probably won’t be completed when word about this gets out. It’s kind of a shame, really.” Susan stopped talking as they approached the corner where she had discovered the body.

  “I didn’t mean for this to upset you.”

  “It doesn’t, really. I didn’t know this man—or Jason Armstrong, for that matter—so there isn’t any sense of personal loss. It bothers me, though, that the person who killed them has gotten away with it.”

  “I know what you mean,” Brett agreed. “Sometimes when a case is going like this, I imagine the satisfaction the guilty person must feel watching us work and struggle and still not discover his identity. It makes me sick to think of it.”

  Susan nodded. “I hadn’t really thought of it like that, but I see what you mean.” She looked around the well-appointed room that she loved to visit and, for the first time, it seemed unfriendly, almost threatening. Who had been sitting on those bright couches? Who had been thumbing through the extensive collection of magazines? Who knew the answer to this terrible puzzle and was amused by their impotent struggle? She looked at the floor where the body had lain and then back up at the bell tower.

  “Brett!” Susan grabbed his arm. “I know.”

  “You know who did it?”

  “I know what we were supposed to find in the office. And I think I know who did it—and why!”

  FOURTEEN

  “I can’t believe that we’re going to wake up Charles Grace for the second night in a row!” Susan giggled. Since discovering the identity of the murderer, she had been feeling a little light-headed.

  “You did this last night?” Hilda Flambay spoke up. She didn’t sound any happier than Susan expected Charles Grace would be.

  “It doesn’t matter, Hilda. All that matters is that we find out who killed Jason,” Rebecca reminded her.

  Susan thought that Rebecca didn’t sound as though she particularly meant what she was saying. Well, it had been a long day for all of them, but it was almost over. She leaned her head against Jed’s shoulder.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I will be soon.” She smiled up at him.

  “You’re looking forward to this?” He whispered the question.

  “In a way. I think these are particularly nasty murders. I’ll be glad when the murderer is behind bars.”

  “You seem almost happy about it.” Marion Marshall, standing between Brett Fortesque and Amy Ellsworth, sounded accusing.

  “I …”

  Susan didn’t get a chance to finish her thought. Charles Grace opened the door, the bewilderment on his face changing to anger when he realized that there were seven people standing there. “What is this, may I ask?”

  “We’re here to tell you what has been going on in your library,” Brett said, taking the first step across the threshold. “I assume you’ll be interested.”

  “Of course, but …”

  “Then maybe we can all go to your study?” Brett suggested, not waiting for an answer but heading in that direction regardless.

  Susan followed the group, more to watch their reactions to the extraordinary house than for any other reason. She did glance over her shoulder and see Kathleen, two policemen, and one other person that she hoped she recognized as the door swung shut behind her. “I don’t think it really matters where anyone sits,” she heard Brett say as she reached the library. “We won’t be here that long.”

  Charles Grace flopped down on a small Chippendale chair that creaked out a protest, which he ignored. “So what do you have to say that could not possibly wait until Monday morning?”

  “We know who killed Mitchell Waterfield and Jason Armstrong.” Susan made the announcement from the doorway.

  “Shouldn’t the police be telling us this?” Even in these circumstances, Hilda managed to bat an eyelash or two in Brett’s direction.

  “Susan put the pieces together and made the discovery. I think it’s up to her to tell about it—if you want to,” Brett added.

  “I guess so.” Susan looked around the room, trying to figure out just where to begin.

  “Maybe you have time to waste at this hour of the night …” Charles Grace began in an irritated voice, and then Susan knew just where to start.

  “We can begin with the new library building,” she interrupted loudly. “And how you embezzled funds that were meant for the building. You don’t have to bother to deny it. We found the second set of books in your office.

  “You know,” she continued, becoming confident, “I run with Linda Scott, and we were talking together on the day of the murders and she said something interesting—that she had no idea why you had asked David Pratt to be on the library board. She said something about there being a lot of gung ho accountants and businessmen in town who would do a better job, but you knew that, didn’t you? In fact, you were counting on how casual he was, weren’t you? You thought that would keep you from getting caught stealing from the library. By the time there was a major audit, you were to be long gone—you and your money and this collection of books.” She waved her arm around the room. “Maybe even to some South American country where you would be safe from prosecution?”

  “I didn’t know you were investigating the library’s finances—I thought you were looking for a murderer,” Charles Grace replied.

  She liked him less and less. So little, in fact, that this was almost going to be fun. “But you are a murderer, Mr. Grace, aren’t you?”

  It didn’t stop him for a moment. “You may be able to accuse me of misuse of public funds, but you’re not going to be able to pin a murder rap on me. There’s no way to connect me with either man who was killed, and, besides, someone else has confessed to the murders already. Or are you forgetting that?”

  “I’m forgetting nothing, absolutely nothing.” Susan was angry and worked for a minute to control her em
otions. “Everyone has been very impressed with the job you did building the new library, but things have been changing lately, haven’t they? You’ve been becoming less and less liked here in town, haven’t you? There were a number of elderly people who had been shocked by books that you personally had recommended to them.”

  “I don’t know much about fiction—”

  “But some of your fellow librarians do. You could have suggested that they offer to help. I think you might have enjoyed shocking these elderly ladies—just as you apparently enjoyed taking advantage of the woman whose house you’re living in.”

  “That is not a crime,” he reminded her smugly.

  Susan chose to ignore him. “True. And I should have been looking more closely at things that weren’t criminal. Like the power of a television personality to raise lots and lots of money for charity.” She smiled at Rebecca. “The very first time I saw Rebecca and Jason in person, they were being approached to do fund-raising for someone’s pet project. In fact, it happened to them so often that when I spoke with Rebecca initially, she assumed that I was going to ask her to help out with my own charity. Her response was very tactful—she recommended that I speak to someone in the public relations department at the network. She didn’t have to refuse; someone else would refuse for her.”

  “We get so many requests,” Rebecca said, vaguely apologetic.

  “You’re very popular, very important, and always wanted,” Susan agreed. “The exact opposite of the poor homeless man who confessed to two crimes that he didn’t do and has been sitting in our local holding cell for the last two days.

  “I was bothered by his confession right away because of what he said to me after the first body was found. He said that he was going to be blamed for the death—that he would be blamed just because he was the only person around who didn’t belong.

  “I felt bad for him. I’ve heard people’s comments about how dirty he is—how he smells. He probably heard those comments, too. Because Marion said he was always around, always listening to people talking. So it’s likely that he knew what was going on. Maybe he even knew what Mitch Waterfield, a consulting public relations person, was doing at the Hancock Public Library in the first place.