Luke detained Natalie outside of Barry’s office and said, “If she was given a date rape drug, that would indicate foul play. That’s a whole new ball game. We need to pin down her time line. Follow up on the ink stamps on her hands. I’m assuming she got roofied in one of the bars or restaurants she went to that night.”
“I was planning on dropping by the library this morning, since a book she borrowed was due today. Another book on witchcraft.”
“Okay, you head over to the library. I’ll take the lead on the time line. In the meantime, we still haven’t located her phone, but I’m working on a subpoena for her phone records.” Luke glanced at his watch. “Let’s untangle this fucked up mess and find out what happened to her.”
The hills blazed with an array of spectacular colors this morning—crimson, saffron, pumpkin orange. Flocks of migrating geese flew in V-shapes along the horizon, honking their way south. The public library was designed in the High Victorian style, with Gothic arches and medieval-looking turrets that reminded Natalie of Hogwarts. There was an east wing and a west wing. The stacks took up three levels of the main library, accessible by two circular wrought iron stairwells. There was a courtyard out back where you could sit in the sun or read on the stone benches.
Natalie found the associate director behind the circulation desk. He was busy pasting book pockets into recent acquisitions. In his mid-thirties, Patrick Dupree peered at her over his wire-rim glasses. He had neatly trimmed brown hair and a pudgy, formless face. Three years ahead of her at school, he was one of those unfortunates who were instantly forgettable. A cruel reality. “Hello, Natalie, how can I help you … I mean, Detective Lockhart?” He smiled warmly.
“How are you, Patrick?”
“Not great.” He sat slumped in his stool, a box of tissues and a bottled water on the table in front of him. His eyes were red-rimmed. “Is this about Morgan Chambers?”
“You knew her?”
He nodded. He looked miserable. He unscrewed the bottled water and took a few sips, then plucked a tissue out of the box and blew his nose. “We met at a librarians’ conference over a year ago and spoke on the phone quite a bit. She works at the Chaste Falls Library, and we have an interlibrary loan program with them. She borrowed a book from us…”
“This book?” Natalie asked, handing him the book on witchcraft.
“That’s the one. It was due today. Morgan said she was going to swing by, and we’d go out for coffee. Yesterday, I heard all the rumors about a body in a dumpster, but I never dreamed it was her. Then I saw it on the news.” His voice trailed off. He shook his head numbly.
“You spoke to her on the phone? What did you two talk about?”
“Mostly commiserating about our jobs. You know, librarian stuff. Moldy book donations from a flooded basement. Some perv changing the screen saver to a close-up of a penis. Morgan laughed it off. She thought it was funny. I told her she had a musical laugh. I think that made her feel better.” He grew visibly upset. “I can’t believe something like this could’ve happened to her. She was so nice.”
“I know. It’s really sad.”
“We shared a passion for the Beat poets—not just Kerouac and Ginsberg, but the more obscure ones, like Herbert Huncke, Jane Bowles, and Lucien Carr. She was a huge Lord of the Rings fan, same as me. And she played the violin, and I adore classical music. Mostly we kibitzed about our jobs, though. When you work at a library, you’re privy to a lot of strange behavior.”
Natalie nodded, interested. “What kind of strange behavior?”
“Well, for instance, you’ve got your library masturbators,” he said, lowering his voice. “Occasionally, I’ll find an erotic book or magazine in the men’s room … and you have to toss it out. We’ve banned all the masturbators from the library. And then there’s the homeless population. There are a lot of … how can I put this? There are a lot of in-need people showing up at the library nowadays. I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but they’ve got no place else to go that’s as nice as the library. And they’re pursuing knowledge and being productive human beings, and that’s a good thing. Anyway, this one elderly lady likes to sit in the children’s section and clip her toenails. Imagine that? It’s very sad. We have to redirect her into the restroom, and she’ll clip her toenails in there. Some of these people come in every day. But we never discourage them from using the library, even though the other patrons complain, especially moms with small children. Not that I blame them. So Morgan and I exchanged a lot of crazy library stories.”
Natalie nodded. “What were some of Morgan’s crazy stories?”
Patrick slid his glasses back up his nose and rested his elbows on the circulation desk. “There’s a minister in Chaste Falls who has a thing for literary porn—you know, highbrow stuff like Henry Miller, Erica Jong, Nabokov. And apparently there’s a wealthy, dignified lady who checks out the latest bestselling thrillers, only to return them with obscene comments scribbled in the margins. These are brand-new books, mind you. Completely ruined. To make up for it, she’ll slip Morgan a couple of twenties, which more than makes up for the expense.” Patrick shrugged. “Morgan says they’ve never canceled this lady’s membership, since she sits on a lot of boards. It’s an embarrassing fetish of hers … but you can tell she’s grateful. She donates each year to the Chaste Falls library fund. She’s one of their most generous contributors. It’s just that she has this strange compulsion … anyway, we’ve got our share of nuts running around right here in Burning Lake. One guy will sit in the corner over there, crying and laughing. Softly, I mean. He doesn’t bother anybody. And then there’s a skinny young woman with no teeth who uses the photocopier every day. I don’t know what for, but she eats snacks from plastic bags and makes a lot of noise. Others come here to sleep.” He shook his head slowly. “I guess it’s a peaceful place.”
“Did Morgan mention any trouble she was having recently? At the library or in her personal life?”
“No, like I said, we were just beginning to get to know each other.”
Natalie knew Patrick Dupree fairly well, the way people knew other people in small towns. He was an overall good guy. Helpful and considerate. He kept to himself. He was professional and caring. Whenever there was trouble at the library, he would call the BLPD for help, because he knew that the officers would handle the incident with discretion. “What about this book she borrowed?” Natalie asked, tapping the hardcover. “Did she talk about it at all?”
“Just that she was interested in witchcraft. Intrigued. I suggested this book by Corvina Manse, so she borrowed it from us. I explained to her that Corvina Manse is the pen name for Veronica Manes,” he said. “It’s almost an anagram.”
“Almost.” Natalie nodded. “Right. There’s an e missing.”
“Correct. This one’s out of print, but it’s quite interesting. A Beginner’s Guide to Witchcraft. Veronica published it in her early twenties, before she stopped writing about Wicca and devoted herself to the practice.”
Everyone in town knew who Veronica Manes was, although Natalie had never met her personally. Veronica was one of the better-known witches in Burning Lake. She was a priestess in a local coven—the oldest active coven in town, started in the mid-1950s. Veronica hosted quarterly moonlight rituals on her property and was the best person to talk to if you wanted to understand modern-day witchcraft.
“Morgan asked for Veronica’s private phone number,” Patrick said.
“Did you give it to her?”
He looked askance. “No, that’s confidential.” He leaned forward and touched Natalie lightly on the arm. “But I described Veronica’s house on the east side of town. I didn’t say which street exactly, but it’s common knowledge, isn’t it? Veronica’s house has been written up in the Burning Lake Gazette.”
“Do you think Morgan went to see her?”
Patrick nodded. “Oh, yes. I suspect she did.”