Death Overdue (Librarian Mysteries) Read online

  First I checked her carotid artery, as I knew to do from taking CPR classes, which were required of all librarians. I could find no pulse. When I opened her eyes, there was no movement. But I knew that it might not be too late to save her, and so I administered CPR—putting both my hands on her chest and pumping rapidly up and down.

  After many minutes of my getting no response, Penelope took over.

  I stood next to Caldwell and shook my head. “I’m afraid it’s no use. I think we’ve lost her.”

  “What?” he asked, seeming dazed.

  “I don’t think she’s alive anymore,” I said, just to be clear. “I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arms around me.

  Even though Sally was minimally dressed, in a filmy white nightgown, she seemed remarkably unmarked by the onslaught of books—which made it hard to believe she could be dead.

  As I watched Penelope work on her, I noticed a trickle of blood coming from the back of Sally’s head. She must have fallen over backward and hit her head with tremendous force. I supposed such a blow could kill instantaneously.

  Caldwell stared at her and whispered to me, “I don’t understand how this could happen. She always hated books. Do you think she knew somehow that this would be her fate?”

  “If she hated books so much, what was she doing in here?” I asked, pointing to the mess around us.

  Just then Bruce appeared in the doorway of the library in a rumpled bathrobe. “Here, here. What’s going on?”

  I said, “There’s been an accident.” The British habit of understatement was catching on with me.

  He glanced down at Sally’s body, said, “Dreadful,” but then quickly began to peruse the books.

  A moment later a scream came from behind us, and we all jumped.

  Brenda stood in the doorway, wearing flannel pajamas with poodles all over them and her long hair streaming around her face. “Not Sally!” she cried out the name. “Not her!”

  She threw herself down on the floor, grabbed one of the well-manicured hands, and held on tight, as if she could pull the woman back from the dead. Her hair tumbled over her face as she leaned forward and cried.

  I put a hand on her shoulder and after a few moments lifted her up to her feet. She didn’t resist but turned in to my arms and kept crying.

  “I didn’t even get to say hello,” Brenda mumbled into my shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  Then Brenda stepped away from me. “You didn’t even know her. She was a wonderful person. Better than you.”

  And then Alfredo stumbled through the library doorway. His hair stuck up like the crest on a woodpecker, and his eyes were as red as the bird’s crest.

  “What has happened to my darling?” he asked, rubbing his eyes as if he could change what he was seeing.

  “I’m afraid it’s not good news,” I told him.

  “She is just sleeping, yes?” he asked with a catch in his voice that revealed he knew this was not the case.

  “A long sleep,” Caldwell said.

  *

  When the paramedics arrived, two young men took over. I told them what I had done and they asked us to step out of the room, but we stayed in the doorway, watching how they would handle it.

  Both of them were in very good physical shape, and somehow this reassured me—like if anyone could bring her back to life, they could. They took out the paddles and tried to shock her back, but the lifeless body made no response. They gave her a shot of what I guessed was adrenaline. No movement.

  Finally they both stood up, and one of them called the time. Four eighteen in the morning.

  I heard a sniffle and turned around to see Penelope crying. Her sister had just died, even if they weren’t on the best of terms.

  Alfredo was clearing his throat and wiping his eyes. Brenda ran down the stairs, weeping.

  I looked over at Caldwell, and he was just staring at the floor, no expression at all on his face.

  I reached out and took his hand. He squeezed mine, but didn’t look at me. I wondered how he felt right now. I remembered how I felt when my ex-boyfriend died, like someone had cut a small chunk of flesh out of my body. Quite small but still painful. You can’t be close to someone for that amount of time and not feel pain at their demise. Their death takes away a time in your life.

  “What happened here?” the tall paramedic asked.

  We all waited for Caldwell to answer.

  He cleared his throat and said, “I would say that it appears the bookcase fell over on top of her.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was she doing in here?”

  Caldwell shook his head. “I have no idea. I usually keep the door locked. And Sally . . . I barely know her anymore.”

  “Was anyone with her? Did anyone see it happen?”

  We all shook our heads and looked at Alfredo.

  Alfredo said, “I was too much sleeping. We had been drinking. I did not know she had gone.”

  “Who’s closest of kin?” the paramedic asked.

  Alfredo raised his hand. “I was her fiancé. But I don’t know what is this closest of kin.”

  Then Penelope stepped forward, giving Alfredo a sharp look. “I believe I’m actually her closest of kin. I’m her sister. What do I need to do?”

  “Well, nothing at the moment. Under the circumstances, we will be calling in the police, and they will tell you what will happen.”

  “The police?” Penelope asked.

  Caldwell added, “But surely this is an accident.”

  “This looks like an accidental death, but that’s not for us to determine.”

  “Calling in the police seems too much,” Penelope said.

  The young, burly paramedic looked down at the lovely woman in a nearly see-through negligee. “Maybe so, but that’s the next step. To determine the cause of death. It’s procedure.”

  SEVEN

  Watching the Detectives

  The library turned into a crime scene. We were all asked to go downstairs and wait for the detectives to come.

  Penelope flopped onto the couch and curled into a ball. Alfredo sat on the other end of the couch, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Brenda had gone to her room, and we could hear her still crying behind the door. Bruce sat in a chair next to a bookcase and started examining the books.

  That left Caldwell and me to worry and stew.

  “You have no idea why Sally was in the library?” I asked him.

  “None whatsoever. I don’t know why the door was even open. You know I usually keep it locked. There are some very expensive books in there.”

  I gave a short gasp as I thought back to the afternoon. “I think it was my fault. I was working on cataloging and arranging the books when Sally arrived and, I guess, in all the excitement, I forgot to go back and lock the room. But even if I had, she probably knows where you keep the keys.”

  He nodded. “Yes, right where they’ve always been. Never occurred to me to change them.”

  I asked him a question that had been bothering me since I knew what he had planned to do to get her name off the deed for the house. “Did you really think Sally might have been dead?” When I saw his confused look, I added, “I mean, before tonight.”

  He dropped his head into his hands. “I had no idea. I hadn’t heard a word from her in a few years, and that was just a postcard. I guess I thought it was possible, plus, I figured the house was mine, since she had made it so clear she no longer wanted it. I never thought she would come back and claim it. The furthest thing from my mind was Sally.”

  We said no more as the police arrived. After going upstairs and looking at the scene, a short, round rock of a man came in and introduced himself as Chief Inspector Blunderstone.

  I had trouble not laughing at his name. He didn’t look like a man who would find anything funny. And we were not in a funny situation. But still the laugh bubbled inside of me like a faucet that wouldn’t turn off. I wondered if I was
slightly hysterical and took some deep breaths.

  Both Penelope and Alfredo stirred when he came in the room. Blunderstone walked heavy on the floor. Penelope leaned forward and wiped her face with her hands; Alfredo shook his head as if he were trying to wake up and rid himself of a horrible nightmare.

  I had a sudden premonition things were going to get even worse when the first question Blunderstone asked was “Who found the body?”

  Caldwell confessed, “I did.”

  Blunderstone took a couple of steps closer to Caldwell but kept standing. “And what is your relationship with the deceased?” was the next question.

  “She was my former partner in the B and B, but she left over six years ago. I’ve hardly seen or heard from her since.”

  “When did she come back?” Blunderstone continued.

  Caldwell was silent for a few moments.

  “Just yesterday,” I answered for him, even though I knew I should keep my mouth shut. Sometimes it’s hard when you know the answer.

  Alfredo jumped in and said, “She want her house back. We are going to marry, and we will live here.”

  Blunderstone looked at Caldwell, who nodded.

  “Whose house is this?” the inspector asked.

  When Caldwell still didn’t say anything, I answered for him again. “It belongs to Caldwell. He’s been running the B and B solo since she left.”

  Blunderstone swung around to face me. I noticed that he couldn’t move his neck easily, so he had to turn his whole body. “And who, may I ask, are you?”

  This question kept coming up. Who exactly was I? I felt like the longer I was in England, the less sure I was of how I fit into this picture. “I’m a good friend of Caldwell’s.”

  “How good?” Blunderstone persisted.

  “Good enough,” I answered.

  “And who are you two?” Blunderstone swung his body around to face the couch, where Penelope and Alfredo were sitting next to each other.

  Penelope pulled back her hair and flung it over her shoulder. “I’m her sister and her closest of kin.”

  “I am her fiancé,” Alfredo said.

  “I assume you were sharing a room,” Blunderstone put to Alfredo.

  “But of course.”

  “And do you know why she was up in the middle of the night?” Blunderstone asked him.

  “I do not know. I was sleeping.”

  The inspector turned back to Caldwell. “Who else is staying with you?”

  “There’s Brenda and Bruce. Brenda is my help. She went back to her room. And Bruce, who’s over there, is a guest.”

  “I will need to speak with them.”

  “Certainly.” Caldwell got up as if to go get Brenda, but Blunderstone waved him back down.

  “What I would like to know . . .” the inspector humphed. “How does a bookcase fall down like that?” he asked the room.

  Caldwell spoke up. “That case shouldn’t have come down. Because the bookcases were so tall and the floor was so uneven, I had fastened each of them to the wall with a hook.”

  Blunderstone nodded, and again his whole body moved down as he moved his head. “I saw the hook, but obviously it was no longer hooked. I don’t like what this is saying to me.” He raised his bushy eyebrows. “Mr. Perkins, if you would please come upstairs with me so we may discuss this further.”

  I had a hard time not standing up and going with them to protect Caldwell. He seemed so undone, as if the stuffing had come out of him.

  Just as they were leaving the room, Alfredo spoke up and pointed at Caldwell. “He did not want my Sarah to be back. He was going to sell the house without her knowing. He wished her dead . . . and now she is.”

  EIGHT

  Tiptoeing Through the Tomes

  Somehow, after our hour-of-the-wolf awakening, we made it through the morning. While I had a sense that the inspector wanted to blame someone for this horrible death, he was biding his time. Photographs were taken of the scene, cops tromped up and down the stairs, one even came in and took all our fingerprints.

  Four of us sat in the garden room and ate and read and watched it rain outside. For to make the setting perfect, a slow, cruel drizzle had started—the sky a dreary slate gray, the precipitation steady and relentless.

  When we were finally allowed upstairs, only Bruce went to change. The rest of us remained in our nightwear. At least Penelope and I had grabbed bathrobes; hers was flannel and had teddy bears on it, mine was my new white satin robe. Caldwell was in his pin-striped cotton pajamas, and Alfredo was wearing a T-shirt and silk pajama bottoms.

  Caldwell turned up the heat to accommodate us all and made us a meal of eggs, bacon, and toast. Penelope barely touched her food, and so Alfredo cleaned her plate as well as his own.

  Shortly after that, Bruce strolled into the garden room, looking well rested and well dressed. He was wearing a light linen shirt with a seersucker sports coat over it and jeans, nicely straddling the line between dressy and casual.

  “Is it possible to still get breakfast? I have a busy schedule today,” Bruce said in a chipper voice.

  I could clearly see how little Sally’s death had affected him. I envied him. He could just go about his day as if nothing had happened. I felt like my life had been blown apart. To see, once again, how random life is—you get up in the night to find a book to read and you die. How was this possible?

  Finally Caldwell spoke. “Yes, coffee’s ready. What else would you like for breakfast?”

  “Just a couple pieces of toast. I don’t suppose you have any marmalade?” Bruce asked.

  We sat and watched Bruce devour his meal, but when he tried to leave for the day, Caldwell restrained him, saying the police would want to talk to all of us. No one was to leave.

  Just after noon, Inspector Blunderstone came into the garden room and announced they were done for the day. He issued us orders: “Don’t go into that room. Don’t touch anything or move anything until I give you the go-ahead. And I would like all of you to remain here in London for the next few days.”

  “Do you think it was an accident?” Penelope asked.

  “She was hit full force by the wall of books and fell straight backwards. Her arms were down at her sides, not up as if she had been reaching for a book up high. All of this raises many questions,” he said, and gave each of us a glare.

  This news hit me like a ton of books. If she had been killed, it would have been by one of us sitting in this room. Well, not me, that was all I could be sure of. And, after only a moment’s thought, not Caldwell. He just didn’t have a mean or violent bone in his body. Plus, his reaction to Sally’s death was not that of a murderer—he seemed truly upset and sorry.

  Yet I knew if the police were looking to pin Sally’s death on someone, he would be their first choice. It was his house, his bookcase, his books. And he certainly had the best motive of us all. Sally had come back demanding her fair share of the B and B, whether she deserved it or not.

  That left Alfredo and Penelope and Brenda, maybe even Bruce, as long as one was suspecting. However, Bruce had no connection to Sally. With her obvious affection for Sally, I found it hard to believe it could be Brenda either.

  So it was down to Penelope and Alfredo—both relatives in a sense, and that was usually who killed people, their relatives.

  If it turned out Sally’s death had been foul play, my prime suspect would have to be Penelope. There was obviously some bad blood between her and her sister—but how could it be so bad that she would think to kill her? What would Penelope have to gain by Sally’s death?

  Still, it wouldn’t do to overlook Alfredo. What did we know about him and his relationship to Sally? Maybe they hadn’t been as in love as he’d like us to believe. Had she written him into her will, or was she waiting for their marriage to take care of that? Again the question—what did he have to gain by her death?

  NINE

  Too Big?

  Caldwell and I had to go out that late afternoon as we had set up a
n appointment to see a space that we might rent for the bookshop. We both felt strange leaving the house, but the library room had been locked by the police and Alfredo and Penelope had gone into their rooms to nap and Bruce had gone out to peruse more bookshops. Brenda hadn’t come out of her room since the coroner had taken the body away. We had told everyone we wouldn’t be long, but it still felt unnerving to be leaving the B and B unguarded.

  We climbed into Caldwell’s smart car and he started the vehicle, but we sat there for a moment; then he turned to me and said, “I would never have done anything to hurt Sally.”

  “I know that,” I assured him.

  “I was mad at her, once upon a time, but not now, not anymore. After meeting you, I saw more clearly than ever that she was never right for me.”

  I was so happy to hear this. I thought I knew it, but having something said out loud really solidified it. “Thanks.”

  “Thank you for being so steadfastly by my side.”

  “It’s where I want to be,” I told him.

  “Well, here we go,” he said, and we set off in the small car to go to the book mecca of London—Charing Cross Road.

  The space we were going to look at had been an antiques store, but the owner had died a few months ago and Caldwell had heard through the grapevine of his bookish friends that it was up for grabs. It was only a block away from Any Amount of Books, a wonderful used bookshop, and both of us felt this was to the good. People looking for books don’t usually stop at only one bookshop but would easily walk over and see what we might have to offer. We would be able to ride on the coattails of this well-established shop.

  Luckily we found a place to park a few blocks away, and the rain had quit as we walked the dampish streets. I breathed in deeply and wondered how many times I would stroll to what might become our new shop. The lease was pricey, but between the two of us we had the money—if Caldwell could sell the B and B, if all the proceeds were his, and if we found a cheap place to live together.

  An old man met us at the front door. He introduced himself as Darcy Dickens. I had never met a real Darcy before—only knew of the one in Pride and Prejudice. There was a hint of the lord of the manor about this man, but he was well past the marriageable age.