I was alone at the library on Tuesday, having given both Samantha and Sunny the day off. Bill Clayton, one of our library volunteers, was scheduled to come in around noon to cover the desk so I could grab lunch, but in the morning, it was just me.
I didn’t mind managing the library solo. It allowed me to indulge in one of my favorite fantasies—that the collection of books and other materials, as well as the comfortable, well-worn space, were all mine. My own private sanctuary, filled with light and enough reading material to keep me entertained and informed for years and years.
Of course, this dream was shattered by the arrival of a cluster of patrons, including Mrs. Dinterman and a chattering group of parents herding their toddlers into the Children’s Room. So much for pretending to be the owner of some grand private library, I told myself. This isn’t yours and never will be. It belongs to the people of the town and surrounding county. As it should.
“So you ran up on another murder, I hear,” said one of our regular patrons, the eccentric older woman we called “The Nightingale.” She’d been given this nickname because of her habit of “helping” the library staff by reshelving books. Unfortunately, she usually stuffed them in the wrong locations, which just made our lives more difficult.
I looked up from the stack of books I’d pulled from the outside book drop. The Nightingale was tall and gaunt, with thin gray hair she typically wore pulled away from her sharp-featured face. Today she’d slicked it back into a tight bun, like an aging ballerina.
Aware that The Nightingale had a tendency to gossip, I chose my words carefully. “I did stumble on the scene, but I really don’t know much more than what’s on the news.” I offered her a tight smile, hoping she’d simply accept my white lie and move on.
The Nightingale audibly sniffed. “I heard tell that it was some young man that did the deed. I swear, I don’t know what this world is coming to when you’ve got kids running around with knives and guns, stabbing and shooting and such.”
“I did walk in on a young man standing over the body, gripping a knife,” I replied, straightening to my full, sadly not that impressive, height. “But that doesn’t mean he was the murderer. He told me he was just trying to help the victim.”
“Help her into the next world, it seems like.” The Nightingale clasped her knobby-knuckled hands together and pressed them against the desktop. “But what can you expect from young folks these days, what with the violence on TV and those video games they play day and night.”
I swallowed a sharp retort before answering. “I don’t think we can draw any conclusions yet. The authorities are still investigating the crime.” As am I, but I’m certainly not going to tell you anything about that, I thought as the muscles around my mouth twitched.
The Nightingale leaned over the desk, her watery eyes gleaming. “Heard another little juicy bit of news. Seems the victim was once engaged to your husband. That kind of puts him in a bad spot, I bet.”
I took two steps back. “That was several years ago, and if you must know, she broke off their engagement to marry another man.” Realizing that this could add fuel to the fire of The Nightingale’s speculations, I hastily added, “Not that it matters anymore. Richard was over her even before he met me, and now we’re happily married. Not to mention, he and his dance partner were leading a rehearsal on the stage, far from the murder scene. They and the dancers they were training are totally in the clear.”
“What about you?” The Nightingale pressed the tip of one knobby finger to her chin. “You must’ve been in the area where the poor woman was killed, since you discovered the body and all. I hope the detectives aren’t hounding you too much.”
“No, they aren’t.” I pulled one of the books off my stack and ran it over the sensitizer to reactivate the hidden tag. “I guess I have an honest face.”
The Nightingale looked me up and down. “Or maybe they figured you’ve helped with enough of their investigations to know better than to stab someone in a public space.”
“Could be,” I said, grabbing another book from the pile. “Is there anything you needed?”
“Naw, I’m just gonna go look for a book or two. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else interesting,” she called over her shoulder as she stalked off toward the stacks.
“Gee, thanks,” I muttered, making a mental note to check the shelves later, to ensure she hadn’t reshelved cookbooks in the fiction section again.
The rest of the morning was relatively peaceful. I kept busy with checkouts of picture and chapter books and one reference question concerning the tax implications of setting up a trust. Although, not actually being a lawyer, I couldn’t give legal advice, I could point patrons in the direction of the best information, as well as provide lists of local attorneys.
After lunch, I relieved Bill from his stint at the circulation desk and asked him to reshelve the books I’d carried in from the book return earlier. “And double-check to make sure there aren’t any books stuffed into the wrong call number sections,” I told him as he rolled the cart away from the desk.
He lifted his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “Ah, The Nightingale has been in today?”
“You guessed it,” I said with a smile.
After Bill disappeared into the stacks, a handsome, well-built young man approached the desk. “Hi, Amy,” he said.
“Hello, Ethan, how are you?” I replied, looking him over, A firefighter and EMT, Ethan Payne had once rescued me from a dangerous situation. He’d subsequently become a casual acquaintance, and then a little more than that when he’d started dating my younger brother, Scott.
“Good. Keeping busy.”
I often thought that Ethan’s rugged good looks were the perfect foil for Scott’s leaner, professorial style, although both men were equally physically strong. And brave, I thought, flashing Ethan a bright smile. “Seen my brother lately? ’Cause I sure haven’t.”
“Not for a couple of months.” Ethan shook his head. “He’s been on assignment. Somewhere. Doing something.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.”
“I do.” Scott worked for one of the US intelligence agencies. Although my parents and I had always thought he had a desk job, we’d recently learned he conducted plenty of fieldwork too. “I hope he stays in touch with you from time to time.”
“He occasionally contacts me via text.” Ethan flashed a grin. “We have a code. Not very high tech, but it works.”
“That’s more than I get. Although I do think he lets the parents know that he’s still alive, at least.”
Ethan took a deep breath before speaking again. “Talking of life and death, I hear you were the one to find the body of that poor dancer.”
“Unfortunately. I was at the theater when she was killed and just happened to stumble over the murder scene. It was during rehearsals for the dance production Richard and others are putting on over at the new theater in Smithsburg. Richard had hired Meredith as one of the principal dancers.”
“Right. Meredith Fox.” Ethan’s hazel eyes narrowed. “She was once married to Nate Broyhill.”
“How did you know that? Do you follow dance?” I asked, fighting to keep the surprise out of my tone. Although I’d spent a little time around Ethan, I had to admit I didn’t actually know that much about him in terms of his hobbies or interests. I was aware he was an avid outdoorsman, but it was possible he was also a dance aficionado.
“Not really. I mean, I admire what people like your husband can do. They are true athletes, no question.” Ethan shifted his weight from foot to foot. “But I’d actually heard about Meredith Fox before, from my younger sister. She used to work for them.”
“For Nate Broyhill and Meredith?” I asked, widening my eyes.
“No, no. For the Lance family. Out at their spread—Blue something Farm.”
“Blue Haven Farm.” I tipped my head and studied Ethan’s face for a moment. “What did your sister do for them?”
“She worked with the horses. She’s a teacher and trainer. A good one.” Pride gleamed in Ethan’s eyes. “She was younger back then, of course. Just out of college and looking to start her career. Oliver Lance gave her a job as a riding instructor, with some promise of eventually making her a trainer.” Ethan shook his head. “But that never happened. Monica left after only nine months.”
Resting my arms on the desktop, I leaned forward. “What happened?”
“I’m not really sure. Monica doesn’t like to talk about it.” Ethan frowned. “She was honestly kind of messed up when she left the Lance place. Emotionally, I mean. I tried to talk to her, but she refused to discuss it.”
“She worked at Blue Haven when Nate and Meredith were still married?”
“Yeah. She used to talk about them, along with some of the other people who lived or visited there. That’s why Meredith’s name clicked with me when I saw her death mentioned on the news.”
“Interesting.” I looked up into Ethan’s face, noticing the question in his eyes. “The truth is, I’m helping our local Sheriff’s Office with the investigation. Well, mainly the chief deputy, Brad Tucker. I’m conducting a little research and talking to a few people. Nothing dangerous,” I added, just in case Ethan talked to my brother in the near future.
“You think Nate Broyhill or his family had something to do with the murder?”
“Maybe. Or maybe not. It’s hard to say. It’s just that I saw Nate at the theater the day Meredith was killed. Outside the theater, anyway. He claims to have a good reason for being there …”
Ethan’s lips quirked. “But you aren’t so sure?”
“I’d just like to know more about his relationship with Meredith. Whether he was ever violent or anything like that. It might give the authorities an additional reason to question him.” I tapped the top of the desk with my short fingernails. “I’m not convinced the young man they have in custody is guilty, you see.”
“Well, I wouldn’t really know anything useful. Monica mentioned Meredith and Nate a few times, but she never went into detail. I don’t know if she ever saw them fight or anything like that.”
“Monica would know a lot more,” I said, more to myself than Ethan. Looking back up at him, I said, “Do you think she would speak with me? On the phone would be fine if she no longer lives in the area.”
“She’s still here. She manages the stables at Brentwood Farms, just outside of Taylorsford,” Ethan said. “But I don’t know if she’ll want to talk to you about the Lance family. I think that whole experience left a bad taste in her mouth.”
I almost batted my eyes, but remembering Kurt’s words about my lack of feminine guile, adopted a thoughtful expression instead. “Would you mind asking her, all the same? I’d be very grateful if she’d be willing to meet with me. And let her know she might be able to help a young man with a bright future avoid being wrongly convicted.”
Amusement lit up Ethan’s face. “You really are a determined amateur detective, aren’t you? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Scott’s told me how dogged you can be, especially when you’re trying to make sure justice is served.”
“Scott talks entirely too much,” I said darkly, earning another grin from Ethan.
“That’s not really true, now, is it? I’m the chatterbox in our relationship.” His expression sobered. “But sure—I’ll talk to Monica and see what she says. Can’t promise she’ll agree to speak with you, but I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all anyone can ask.” I frowned as I noticed Mrs. Dinterman making a beeline for the desk. “Uh-oh, you’d better make tracks. Or you’re going to be grilled by someone who is even more dogged than I am.”
Ethan glanced over his shoulder before looking back at me in mock terror. “Not her. She’s always going on about her great-niece and how we’d make the perfect couple. No matter what I say about being in a relationship with Scott, she chooses to misunderstand me and insist that it’s fine to have my guy friends, but I need a good woman to make my life complete.” Ethan rolled his eyes.
I choked back a giggle. “Make a run for it then. I’ll cover for you.” I hurried out from behind the desk to intercept Mrs. Dinterman before she could waylay Ethan.
“How can I help you?” I asked her as Ethan turned on his heel and strode toward the exit.
Mrs. Dinterman tried to slide around me, but I sidestepped and kept her in place until Ethan left the library.
“Darn it,” she said, her dark eyes snapping. “I wanted to speak to Mr. Payne. I’m having a little party for my great-niece’s birthday and wanted to invite him.” Focusing on me, her angry expression morphed into a simper. “A nice fireman like that deserves to have someone special in his life, don’t you think?”
Recalling my brother’s intelligent face and gentle smile, I nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”