Over a breakfast of coffee and a parfait of Greek yogurt, granola, and fresh berries, I checked the local news. The police had not yet made an arrest in the “brutal murder” of Karen Kivas, but were “expecting to shortly.”
Which I translated to mean they didn’t have a clue.
Or maybe they had too many clues. I thought of Mom, Norm Kivas, and even Karen’s brother, Doug. Connor had said Doug and Karen were estranged. I wondered how far that went.
I picked up the phone.
“Greenblatt.”
“Hi, Butch. It’s Lucy.”
“Lucy!” I heard a smile creep into his voice. “How are you this fine morning?”
“I’m afraid I’m calling about business, Butch.”
“Whose business?”
“Yours.”
“Shoot.”
After the day I’d had yesterday, I should have fallen asleep immediately. Instead I’d lain awake most of the night, listening to the wind rattling the lighthouse and Charles snoring. I thought of poor Karen. Tragic as her murder was, I’d barely known her, and her death didn’t have anything to do with me. But my mom had become involved. I couldn’t simply ignore the fact that she might find herself falsely accused. I decided that I’d do what I had to do, and with that, I finally fell asleep.
“I was at Jake’s last night,” I said. “Norm Kivas came in, Karen’s husband.”
“Go ahead.”
“He was drinking. Heavily. I gather that’s not unusual. He was spending a lot of money and was with a woman, a young woman, who seemed to be his date.” My voice trailed off. “I thought you should know.”
“Thanks, Lucy. I’ll tell Detective Watson.” Butch didn’t sound terribly excited at my news. Jake had probably told him.
“He tried to start a fight with Jake and Josie. Accused Jake of sending the police around to harass him. Did you?”
“Harass him? No, Lucy, we didn’t harass him. I was with Watson when he broke the news of Karen’s death to Norm. Can’t say he was particularly upset, didn’t seem too bothered by it, but we knew he and Karen had split up. We asked the usual questions about where he was at the time. I suppose he could consider that harassment. If he had something to hide.”
“Does he have an alibi?”
“No. He says he was at home, alone. He didn’t say passed-out drunk, but that was the impression we had.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I don’t believe or not believe. Most murders are committed by family members, and the odds are even greater when there’s been a recent divorce or separation. We’re looking into everyone who might have had reason to kill Karen Kivas.”
“Including my mom?”
“I’m not going to answer that, and you know it.”
“She would never have stolen a necklace. She’d have no reason to. My parents are . . . financially comfortable.”
“You’d be surprised at how many people steal things they don’t need. Or even want.”
I thought of the Jane Austen first-edition collection on display in the library. And who had stolen some of the volumes a few weeks ago. “I get your point. But not as it regards my mom.”
“I gotta go—Watson’s giving me the evil eye.”
“One more thing. Don’t you find it strange that Karen was alone outside the lighthouse last night?”
“The thought did cross our minds, Lucy.”
I pretended not to hear his tone. “She was parked there. Why didn’t she get into her car and drive away? If she had car problems, she could have phoned for help, or knocked on the door and asked me to give her a lift into town. Was there a problem with her car?”
“It started straight off the bat when they gave it a try.”
“So, if she wasn’t having car problems, maybe she saw something, or someone, creeping around, and went to check. Have you considered that?”
“Lucy, Detective Watson knows how to conduct an investigation.”
“I’m just tossing out ideas.”
“I have to go. We’ll be busy with this murder investigation, but I will, no matter what’s happening, be there for my brother’s big night. I hope you’re still on for that, Lucy.”
“Looking forward to it.”
We hung up and I went to work.
Charlene and Ronald, my coworkers, were arriving as I came down the stairs. They fired their questions at me at the same time.
“Lucy, what on earth is going on?”
“Karen Kivas died, right here in the lighthouse?”
“Not in the lighthouse,” I said, “but outside.”
“The police think it’s a suspicious death,” Ronald said. “Is that true?”
“I’m afraid so.” I told them all I knew, which wasn’t much. I left out the stuff about the diamond-and-gold necklace and my mother being under suspicion of having stolen it.
“I’d hate to think,” Ronald said, “that someone was hanging around outside, in the dark, waiting for a woman to come out of our library.”
I lived here alone; I tried not to think about that, either. Of course I then I thought about it. It was possible that this had been a random killing. But the question remained as to why Karen had lingered after I’d closed the door and Mom had driven away. Had Karen taken time for a smoke? That was possible. She did have grandchildren, so perhaps she never smoked in her car because she drove them around. Or had she made a phone call and been sitting in her car, alone in the dark, when someone tapped on her window asking for help?
I was about to head for the phone to let Butch know my new theory, but I remembered that he’d told me to butt out. Very politely of course.
“Nasty business,” Ronald said with a shake of his head. His tie featured Donald Duck today. I took my seat at the circulation desk, and Charlene flipped the sign on the door to OPEN.
“I’ll be upstairs if you need a break.” Charlene dug in her pocket for her iPhone and earbuds.
Thank heavens for earbuds, was all I could say.
Charlene had headed upstairs, the muted sound of Jay Z trailing behind her, when Bertie came into the room. She did not look happy. “I had a call from Eunice Fitzgerald. The restaurant has apparently had a fire in the kitchen and had to cancel the board meeting lunch today.”
“A fire! Was anyone hurt?” Ronald asked.
“No. It was quickly brought under control, I hear, but the kitchen will be closed for a couple of days.”
“Isn’t that a good thing, then? No board meeting,” I said.
“Never one to be put off, Mrs. Fitzgerald has decided to have the meeting here. She will be bringing sandwiches.” Bertie rolled her eyes. “As my office is hardly big enough, we’ll meet in the staff break room. I can only hope they won’t have a quorum. Lunch in the back room of a library with sandwiches and bottled tea is no substitute for a fancy meal, heavy on the wine and beer, enjoyed on the veranda of a nice restaurant. I won’t mention any names, of course, but some of our board members seem more interested in enjoying the perks of the job, on my budget, than actually doing the work of running a library. They’ll be here at noon.”
“I’ll send them back,” I said.
Shortly before eleven a steady stream of parents with two- to four-year-olds in tow began coming through the doors, heading upstairs for Thursday Toddlers Theater. The kids were jumping with joy, in some cases quite literally. Ronald and his wife, Nora, had both had moderately successful show business careers in New York in their youth. But acting, as he’d explained to me, is a tough, unreliable business, and they’d given up the greasepaint and floodlights to move to the Outer Banks. Now Nora taught dance, and Ronald had become a librarian. But you can’t take the theater out of the boy, and one of his most popular initiatives at the library was Toddlers Theater. He wove stories from the rich history of the Outer Banks, and the children dressed up in a wild assortment of costumes to play Elizabethan settlers, Indians, pirates, and crusty sea captains.
Charles always seemed to know when the children would be arriving, and he sat on the second level of the returns shelf, accepting the pats and praise he took as his due.
Shortly before noon, the phone on the desk rang. For a moment my heart lifted when I recognized Butch’s number on the display. It fell back with a thud when I remembered that he was working and what that work entailed. It was unlikely he was calling to ask either for a date or for my help.
“Ms. Richardson,” he said, his tone deep and formal. Not good.
“Speaking,” I chirped.
“Detective Watson wants to interview you once again about the events on Tuesday night. I called your cell phone and was told you were out of range. Are you at the library?”
“Yes.” The thick stone walls of the lighthouse interfered with cell phones. To get a signal, we had to stand by a window or find the exact spot by the sink in the break room where modern plumbing penetrated the nineteenth-century wall. Upstairs in my apartment, I could use my iPhone if I opened the window, stood on the bench seat, and leaned out.
“We’ll be around shortly,” Butch said.
“But we’re working. We’re very busy today.” I mentally crossed my fingers. Ronald was busy—children’s laughter poured down the staircase—but the parents had gone for coffee and a good gossip, leaving the main floor of the library empty.
“We’ll be there in ten minutes.” He hung up.
If I hadn’t been in a library, I might have sworn. I used the phone to call Charlene and tell her she was needed on the desk. She grumbled, but agreed to come.
According to the big clock on the wall, it was ten to noon. Oh, goody. The cops would be here at the same time the library board began arriving for their meeting. I abandoned the circulation desk and dashed up to the second floor. Ronald needed to know I’d be tied up for an indeterminate amount of time. I stuck my head in the door of the children’s library. Today must be pirate day. Ronald wore a big hat with a plume and had a black patch tied around his head to cover one eye. A stuffed parrot perched on his shoulder. I swear, he had the costume for every occasion. The children were seated on the floor in a circle, dressed in an assortment of long dresses, vests, and hats, waving plastic swords or pushing wooden sailing vessels around their feet.
Ronald glanced up when I arrived, but kept reading without missing a beat. I mouthed “cops” and made a signal as if I were pulling out and aiming a gun. The kids laughed and fired back. I held up ten fingers and Ronald nodded. I ran down the stairs.
When I got back, the Gray Woman was browsing the stacks, and Diane Uppiton was standing by the circulation desk, tapping her feet. “Why is no one here?” she demanded. “Anyone could march in and rob you blind. Does Bertie know you’ve abandoned your post?”
As if I were the only remaining sentry on guard duty at Fort Knox. “Good thing I locked up the silver. You’re right, Diane—anyone could come in.”
Diane had made it perfectly clear that she didn’t like me. For some reason she’d decided I had designs on her husband, the former chair of the library board. That Mr. Uppiton was now, unfortunately, deceased made no difference to her.
“All alone, today, Diane? Mr. Gardner not around?” I said.
“I’m here for the board meeting. Curtis has been unavoidably detained. An emergency at work.” Curtis Gardner was not only Diane’s paramour (and had been when the aforementioned Mr. Uppiton was still alive) but also a member of the library board. I had no doubt that the work emergency was more related to the sudden change in venue of the meeting, meaning that beer would not be served.
The rest of the board began to arrive. Mrs. Fitzgerald held the door for her granddaughter, bearing a sandwich box from Josie’s Cozy Bakery and a bag of drinks. Only Curtis and Graham Luffe, the one board member who was also a town commissioner, hadn’t come. They had a quorum. Bertie would have to present her budget after all.
“I’ll take you to the meeting room,” I said.
Curses! I wasn’t fast enough. The door opened once again, and in came Butch and Detective Watson. Butch was in uniform, and Watson had his badge pinned to his belt. No one would mistake this for a social call. “Be with you in a minute, gentlemen,” I said. Not a single member of the board made a move to follow me.
“Is there a problem, Detective?” Mrs. Fitzgerald said. Her granddaughter, a gangly girl of about fourteen, cocked her hip and smiled at Butch through a serious set of braces.
“Not a problem, ma’am,” Watson said. “We have a few questions for Ms. Richardson.”
“I told you!” Diane shrieked. “Another theft. The way this library is managed is a disgrace.”
The Gray Woman looked up from the S shelf, full of attention.
“There’s been a theft?” Butch said.
The granddaughter shivered and edged closer to Butch.
“No,” I said.
“If there hasn’t been, there might well be,” Diane said. “The way the staff are allowed to behave around here. Bertie doesn’t enforce discipline. I’m so glad you’re being proactive, Detective Watson, to provide them with helpful tips on crime prevention.” She gave him what she considered to be a warm smile. Diane dressed for board meetings in the style I thought of as politician’s-wife-trying-too-hard. Today she had on a Pepto-Bismol pink suit with a three-quarter-length-sleeved jacket, skirt cut right at the knees, buttoned shirt, and pumps with two-inch heels. Gold hoops were in her ears and a diamond tennis bracelet was around her wrist. In contrast, only Watson was in a tie, although the knot was loose, and even Mrs. Fitzgerald, a proper Southern matron of the old school, wore a comfortable summer dress.
Watson didn’t look pleased at being mistaken for a part-time community officer. Butch tried, not very successfully, to hide a grin.
Bertie walked into the room. “What’s going on?”
“The police are here to give your staff a lecture on crime prevention,” Elaine Rivers, one of the board members, said. “I agree with Diane. You need to protect the valuables in this library. It’s a historic building, you know.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Bertie asked.
“As we’re all here,” Elaine said, “I propose we postpone the formal board meeting so we can all attend the lecture. I’m sure we have things to learn also.”
The board nodded their agreement.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m not here to give any lecture,” Watson said. “Ms. Richardson, we need a private room. Or we can go down to the station.”
“You’re questioning her?” Diane said. “You mean Lucy’s our thief? I knew it was a bad idea to have all that computer equipment not tied down. Never mind the Austen collection.”
The Gray Woman, not even pretending not to be paying attention to our private conversation, nodded in agreement.
“There’s been no theft,” Watson said, “of computers, rare books, or anything else. As far as I’m aware. I have some questions about the death that occurred here. We’ll use the staff break room.”
“You mean that murder!” Diane shrieked. “It happened here?” She glanced around, as though expecting to see blood spatter on the walls. “The news said the body was found outside in the marsh.”
Board members began to murmur. “I didn’t know it had anything to do with us,” Elaine said.
“It doesn’t,” Bertie said sharply. “But as the body was found on lighthouse property, the police are, of course, questioning anyone who was in the building.”
I waited for more objections. There were none. Thank heavens Karen’s attendance at our book club hadn’t made it into the news reports.
“The board’s meeting in the staff room. You can have my office, Detective,” Bertie said. “Come along, everyone.”
Diane looked momentarily confused. Then she swung back onto the attack. “Goodness gracious, Lucy, not you again!”
“I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Please, people,” Watson said in a voice he must once have used when trying to control a riot. “Go and have your meeting. No one here has done anything, as far as we know at this time. Lucy might have seen or heard something; that’s all.”
“I see you brought lunch,” Bertie said. “How nice. Eunice, why don’t you show your granddaughter where we keep the plates and napkins? Everyone, let’s let these officers go about their business. You know where my office is.”
They certainly did.
The Gray Woman seemed to be far more interested in the chatter around the circulation desk than in looking for a book to check out. She was holding Outer Banks by Anne Rivers Siddons upside down.
At first my interview with the police was nothing more than a rehash of yesterday’s. When had I last seen Karen? Whom had she left the library with? (Unfortunately, my mom.) Then Watson moved on to the beach bag. I had to say I’d noticed Mom carrying it into the library and putting it on the floor under her chair. I had not seen it again.
I was about to ask Watson if he’d heard that Norm Kivas was at Jake’s last night, when there was a knock on the door, and Charlene’s head popped in. “Call for you, Detective. They said they tried your cell but can’t get you. You can use that phone. Press nine.”
Watson reached for the desk phone. “We’re finished here, Lucy. Thank you.”
“I’ll walk Lucy back to the front,” Butch said. He held the door open for me, followed me out, and pulled it shut behind him.
I turned to face him. “Watson doesn’t seriously think my mother had anything to do with . . . with what happened to Karen, does he?”
“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Butch said, carefully avoiding my eyes.
“You must. Surely he talks to you.”
“Total truth, Lucy. He doesn’t. He plays his cards very close to his chest.”
The door to the staff room flew open. “Do you mind?” Diane Uppiton said. “We’re having a meeting in here. Oh, it’s you. I might have known. Really, Lucy, can’t you keep your personal problems to yourself while at work? I would expect more professionalism from you.”
I flushed. We’d hardly been shouting. Diane must have had her ear pressed up against the door, hoping to hear the sounds of screaming as I was dragged away in handcuffs.
Charles took the opportunity to slip into the room, crouching low, tail down, as if trying to be unobtrusive.
“Mrs. Uppiton, I am waiting for your vote,” said the commanding voice of Mrs. Fitzgerald.
Diane huffed and slammed the door.
“Lucy—” Butch said.
I never did get to hear what he wanted to say. A screech came from inside the break room. “Who let that horrid beast in? Look what he’s done to my stockings.” The door flew open once more and Charles strolled out, his pointed ears up and fluffy tail held high. If he’d been human, I would have said he smirked.