A Fatal Booking, page 7
“Oh hey, Charlotte. Have you come for those Andersen books?” Julie stepped out of the office and set a box on the counter. “I just finished packing them up. I figured I could take care of that before you arrived. With the bell on the door, I can hear anyone enter, and as you see”—she swept one arm through the air—“there’s nobody here right now.”
“Which is perfect for my needs, but maybe not so much for yours,” I said, stepping forward to face her across the counter.
“You mean you’re not just here to pick up books.” Julie flipped her long, dark-brown braid over her shoulder. “If I were to place a bet, I’d say you’ve taken up your sleuthing hobby again and want to discuss what I heard on the news—the death of one of your guests.”
Julie’s ebony eyes sparkled with good humor. I’d discovered her independent bookstore soon after moving to Beaufort, and we’d become good friends when Julie volunteered to help run the local book club based at Chapters. Though she was seven years younger than me, we’d bonded over our mutual love of books and intelligent conversation.
“Guilty as charged,” I said with a smile. “I thought I could use your not-inconsiderable smarts to help me work through some theories.”
“Your usual sleuthing partner isn’t interested?”
“If you mean Ellen, I’ll certainly be discussing the situation with her too. But sometimes it helps to get other viewpoints.”
Julie shoved the box of books aside so she could prop her elbows on the counter. “So what do you know at this point? Have the police even labeled it a murder?”
“Not officially, but I think everyone assumes it was foul play.” I ran my finger down the packing tape sealing the box of books. “Ellen told me she suspects the cause of death was cyanide poisoning.”
Julie’s dark eyebrows shot up. “And she knows this how?”
I shrugged. “She said she’s seen something like it before. Maybe on one of the film projects? Not a real poisoning, of course, but a scene that replicated such a thing. She was involved with film and television production for many years.”
“But I thought she was a location scout.” Julie’s intelligent gaze focused on me with razor-sharp precision. “Of course, I’m not entirely convinced that story is the whole truth.”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “What makes you say that?”
It was Julie’s turn to shrug. “Call it intuition.”
“Anyway, the victim was not well liked.” I filled Julie in on the conflict between Stacy Wilkin and Sam Joiner, Vonnie’s issues with the other woman over something related to her son, and Zach Bell’s anger over Stacy’s treatment of his mother. “And it appears that another guest, Linnea Ruskin, also disliked Stacy for unknown reasons.”
“It seems the victim had a number of enemies. That might make for a complicated investigation.” Julie straightened and smoothed a loose tendril of hair away from her forehead as the bell on the door jangled. “Welcome to Bookwaves,” she called out as a middle-aged couple entered the store.
Dressed in matching khaki shorts and T-shirts emblazoned with a dolphin logo, both visitors offered cherry hellos.
“Pete, Sandy, nice to see you. For some reason we haven’t run into each other in a while,” I said.
“Not since the last book club meeting.” Sandy Nelson, who with her husband owned a popular local café, the Dancing Dolphin, flashed a bright smile. “Of course, we’re planning to show up at Chapters tomorrow night for the book club discussion with your guests, but it’s nice to see you before then.”
“Is that still on?” Pete Nelson was a little shorter than average and more rotund than his petite wife. His round face was flushed, and sweat dampened the silver-streaked brown hair at his temples.
Probably sweating from working in his busy kitchen, I thought. “Yes, it is. Lora, who’s in charge of the visiting group, decided to go ahead with as many events as possible.”
“What can I do for you guys?” Julie asked. “Is there some emergency?”
“No, of course not.” Sandy widened her gray eyes as she plucked her loose T-shirt away from her body. “Why would you think that?”
Julie tapped the face of her Wonder Woman wristwatch. “It’s the time of day. I thought this was the height of your Sunday brunch rush.”
“Oh, right. Well, usually it is, but things are a bit slow this morning. Our servers seemed to have everything under control, so we thought we’d pop in and see if we could buy at least one copy of the book we’re discussing tomorrow night.” Pete ran his hand through his short hair. “We did read it,” he added, with a swift glance at me. “Borrowed it from the library.”
“But it was due before today, you see.” Sandy offered me an apologetic smile. “And we thought it might be rude if we showed up without a book. Especially since the illustrator is leading the discussion.”
“I’m sure Lora Kane would be fine either way.” I pressed my hand against the box of books. “She may even have ordered some extras, I’m not sure.”
“No, Lora only told me to provide eight copies, and I think the two extras were for you and me, Charlotte. Of course, I did order a few additional books for the shop and our club.” Julie bit her lower lip before adding, “And now that there are only five guests …”
“Goodness, hadn’t thought of that,” Sandy said, blinking rapidly. “It was weird to hear about that death, especially after we saw the victim just yesterday.”
“You did?” I glanced at Julie, who simply widened her eyes. “Did she come into the café?”
“Yeah, I remembered her when the TV news put up her picture. Stacy Wilkin, wasn’t it?” Sandy sighed. “She seemed the picture of health when I served her coffee late Saturday morning. I guess you just never know.”
Pete draped his arm around Sandy’s shoulders. “Any updates on what killed the poor woman, Charlotte? I heard rumors of a heart attack or stroke.”
I studied my fingernails for a moment. “Nothing official yet. But I don’t think it was either one of those things.”
“Charlotte thinks the victim was murdered,” Julie said, with a toss of her head. “Apparently she was not the most popular person in her book club.”
“Really?” Peter shared a glance with his wife. “That might explain a few things.”
I snapped my gaze to the side, focusing on his round face. “Such as?”
He lifted his free hand. “It’s just that Sandy overheard a heated exchange between Ms. Wilkin and another lady.”
“An attractive African American woman,” Sandy said. “They didn’t come into the café together. Ms. Wilkin was sitting at the counter drinking her coffee when this other lady walked in. I didn’t hear what started the argument, but the other woman, who was younger by, I would guess, ten years, did say something about her son being slandered. It sounded like she was blaming Ms. Wilkin for falsely accusing her son of theft.”
“Did you hear the younger woman’s name?” I was pretty sure I knew who it was but wanted confirmation.
Sandy wrinkled her pert nose. “Bonnie, maybe?”
“Vonnie,” I said. “Another member of the book club.”
“You mean another guest?” Julie let out a low whistle. “Uh-oh. That puts a new spin on things.”
“Yes, it does,” I said thoughtfully. Meeting Pete’s and Sandy’s concerned gazes, I forced a smile. “I think you should probably share this information with Detective Johnson or someone else at the police department. It might be significant.”
“Oh dear.” Sandy glanced up at Pete. “Looks like we’re going to be dragged into another murder case, dear.”
“And this woman is still a guest at Chapters, so we’ll likely encounter her tomorrow night.” Pete shot me a questioning look.
“I expect so.” I tapped the top of the book box. “It’s probably best if you don’t let on that you remember her or her argument with Stacy Wilkin. Just play dumb.”
Pete’s somber expression morphed into a grin. “Some people would say that comes naturally to me.”
“Don’t be silly,” Julie said. “No one in our book club is anything less than brilliant.” Offering Pete and Sandy a smile, she stepped back from the counter. “Let me go grab you a copy of that Andersen book before I forget.”
“I’m going to head out, then.” I picked up the box, declining when Pete offered to carry it to my car. “I’ll be fine. I know you need to head back to the café.” I paused, cradling the box to my chest. “You all could help me out, though, if you would.”
“How’s that?” Sandy asked, tugging on one of her expertly dyed ash-blonde curls.
“Keep your eyes and ears open tomorrow night as well as going forward. See if anything else strikes you as odd or significant about my guests.”
“Charlotte is trying to recruit us as her Irregulars, I think,” Julie said as she returned from her office. She handed the book to Pete.
“Not mine. I’m Watson, not Sherlock,” I replied, heading for the front door.
Pete strode across the shop to open the door for me. “I suppose Ellen is the master detective, then?”
“Indubitably,” I said, before calling out, “See you later,” and exiting the store.
Chapter Eight
When I arrived back at Chapters, I lugged the box of books through the back door and headed directly for the library.
I’d planned to unload the books onto the large wooden desk that dominated one corner of the space, but as I stepped into the room, my attention was diverted by Alicia, who was perched on the rolling library ladder. She was intently checking the shelves, as if searching for a specific book.
That wasn’t really so odd. One of the guests had probably requested a volume from the upper shelves. For insurance purposes, I didn’t allow anyone but Alicia or me to use the ladder. “Hey there,” I said, setting the box on the desk with a thud. “Can I help you find something?”
Alicia turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. “Sure, but it isn’t the usual.”
“Not a book?” I crossed to the ladder, holding it steady as she descended. “What are you looking for, then?”
“Photographs.” Alicia stepped off the ladder and wiped her hands on her apron. “We need to dust in here.”
“I know.” Looking around the room, whose walls were covered by elegant wood shelving that topped polished walnut cabinets, I had to admit it was difficult to keep the library clean. So many books filled the shelves that dusting was a major chore. “What do you mean—are some of the photographs missing?”
Alicia placed her hands on her hips. “Take a look around. Remember all those small photos in silver frames that Isabella tucked in at the ends of the rows?”
I narrowed my eyes and did a quick sweep of the room. There were definitely empty spots that Isabella’s photographs had once filled. I crossed to one of the shelves and ran my fingers over the end of a row, noticing that the dust had been disturbed. “Most are still here, but you’re right—a few are missing.” I turned my gaze on Alicia. “Do you remember which ones they were?”
Alicia shook her head. “Not exactly. Most of the pictures in here are candid shots from Isabella’s parties. They always looked the same to me—crowds of wealthy people clumped together. You know, good-looking women and men arm in arm, holding up champagne glasses. That sort of thing. I didn’t recognize most of the people in the photos, other than Isabella, so they all blurred together.”
I moved to another set of shelves and picked up one of the framed pictures that hadn’t been disturbed. “Bernadette and Ophelia Sandburg are in this one. Goodness, they look different, don’t they?”
Alicia strolled over to examine the photo. “You’re right, although I never knew them when they were that young. The rest of these, though”—Alicia swept her hand through the air—“I have no idea. Except for Isabella, of course. She’s in most of them.”
“Wearing amazing clothes and jewels.” I gazed at another one of the framed pictures. “I’ve examined these photos before, but mainly to see what Isabella looked like back when she was younger. I guess I never really cared who the other people in the pictures were.”
“Me either, but someone must’ve had an interest.” Alicia looked up at me, her black eyebrows drawn together. “There’s at least three missing, by my count, and look at this.” She strode over to one of the lower cabinets. One of the doors was ajar, and I spied a jumble of papers on the shelves inside. “I’d never leave things in such a mess. I think someone was rifling through the cabinets too.”
“But why?” I clenched my hands at my sides. “I can almost understand the missing photos. Maybe someone wanted a memento. Something that reflected the glamorous history of Chapters and Isabella Harrington.” Maybe Arnie Dean, I thought, remembering his avowed fascination with my great-aunt. Or even Vonnie Allen, who expressed such an interest in the home’s history. “But why dig through random papers or other stuff in those cabinets? It’s not like we keep anything valuable in them. Just old maps and scrapbooks and that sort of thing.”
Alicia pursed her lips. “A thief wouldn’t know that.”
“No, but why would a thief take photos that would only mean something to Isabella’s family and friends?” I surveyed the upper shelves. “There are several very valuable books shelved in here. Surely they would be the target of any thief worth their salt.”
“I don’t know about that. I just know a few of the framed photographs are missing and nothing else. As far as I can tell, anyway.”
“Maybe we should do a more thorough search.” Noticing Alicia’s frown, I added, “Or I can do that, if you have other chores you’d rather tackle.”
Alicia shrugged. “Nothing going on tonight, so I don’t have any food to prepare. I’ll give you a hand. Two sets of eyes are probably better than one.”
“Absolutely,” I said, flashing her a smile. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I don’t like the idea of anyone rummaging through things they have no business getting into.” Alicia tugged on the strap of her white apron. “Makes me feel uneasy, you know? Thinking the guests are the sort to pinch things.”
“We don’t know for sure it was one of the guests,” I reminded her. “I know there’s usually someone here to keep an eye on things, but we’ve found strangers wandering around Chapters before. Especially during the day, when the guests are coming and going. You know they sometimes leave the outside doors open.”
“True enough. All right, let’s take another look.” Alicia headed for the opposite side of the room and popped open one of the lower cabinets. “I’ll start over here. If you want to take that side, we can meet in the middle.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I turned to the shelving unit behind me. Looking up at the rows of books, I sighed. This would take some time. So much for a relaxing Sunday afternoon, I thought as I bent down to peer into the cabinet beneath this section of shelving.
But it was something that had to be done, if only so we knew what we were dealing with—perhaps a thief, but perhaps simply an extremely nosy guest. Or a sentimental one, I thought, wondering if Arnie Dean had borrowed the photos to reminisce about the past. Or to make copies of the photos so he can keep his memories of Isabella alive? I wondered, deciding that I wouldn’t approach him, or any of the guests, about the missing pictures yet.
Wait a few days and see if the photographs reappear, I told myself. No need to cause a conflict where none exists.
A murder was enough drama for one week.
* * *
After searching for most of the afternoon and into early evening, Alicia and I called it a day. We hadn’t noticed anything else missing from the library, and after we determined that all the guests were in for the night, we locked up a little early.
The evening news confirmed my suspicions when the police spokesperson formally declared Stacy Wilkin’s death a homicide. Not feeling hungry, I ate a few crackers and cheese and headed to my bedroom. The day had exhausted me mentally as well as physically, and I wanted to relax with my copy of the Andersen stories. It had been a while since I’d read any fairy tales, and I was curious how Lora’s illustrations complemented the texts. Kicking off my shoes, I settled into the worn but comfortable armchair in my bedroom with my cell phone and a glass of wine on the table beside me.
About thirty minutes later, my cell chimed out the ring tone I’d assigned to one special caller. I set my book on the table and grabbed the phone.
“Hello, Charlotte,” said Gavin Howard.
“Hi. Since you’re finally able to call me, I assume your assignment is over?”
“Just wrapped it up.” Gavin cleared his throat. “I heard some chatter.”
“About trouble at Chapters?” I leaned back in my chair, stretching out my legs. “You didn’t hear wrong. I’m afraid to say there’s been another murder.”
“One of the guests?”
“Sadly, yes. And this time back at the B and B again. Well, out in the garden, actually.” I took a sip of wine before continuing. “The police have just officially labeled it foul play, which I already knew. Ellen and I saw the body before the authorities arrived, and it was definitely not a natural death.”
“Were they shot or stabbed or what?” Gavin’s voice, a calm baritone, betrayed no shock over such news.
Of course, I thought, he probably deals with this sort of stuff all the time. “No, this was a poisoning. Not sure how, but according to Ellen, it appears the victim died from ingesting or inhaling some type of cyanide.”
“That means it should be fairly easy to track down the culprit, based on their method. Unless it was a suicide?”
“Unlikely.” I flexed my feet, examining my unpainted toenails. “Let’s just say, given the personality of the victim and her behavior before the event, both the authorities and I definitely think this is a case of murder.”
“So what’s your theory? Pretty sure you must have one.” Gavin’s voice held a hint of amusement. “I imagine you’re already busy investigating.”
