Jeopardy in January Read online

  "I'm trying to provide appealing family homes, and I’m not looking to make a quick buck."

  "And all you need to do that is to first bulldoze our historic library."

  "No, but we need to move the library regardless. It’s in an old building with a leaky roof and the windows are dropping from their frames. I plan to provide the town with a new building for the library and a lot more inside space. The vacant land will be put to excellent use."

  "Glad you've got it all figured out." My phone rang in my purse, stopping Jason from his next unbearably sensible retort. "Excuse me," I said as I answered.

  "Sara?"

  "Yes, it's me."

  "It's Marta," said my boss. "Why didn't you call me last night? Where are you?"

  I winced. "You heard?"

  "I did. It's awful, just awful. Poor Bree. You must know the library is closed still."

  "Yes, Detective Logan told me."

  "You should take a few days off. I insist upon it. What a terrible shock for you. What are you doing now?"

  "Just taking a walk. Is everything okay?"

  "As much as it can be right now. I just spoke to Detective Logan and he said the library can't be opened until tomorrow, or the day after. Apparently, they finished all the necessary processing, or whatever they call it. I can find someone to fill in for you if you need to take a few days off," said Marta, and her voice was oozing with genuine compassion.

  "That's good news, Marta, but I don't need any time off. I'd rather work. Did Detective Logan say if they found anything?"

  "He wouldn't say. It's very worrying. Do you know why Bree was there so late? Detective Logan said you had both left for the day."

  "I don't know. She shouldn't have been there. She had already gone home when I locked up. I only went back when I realized I forgot my purse."

  "Well, thank goodness you weren't hurt too! Listen, Sara, it might be a good idea if you collected all your personal things as soon as you can," said Marta.

  "Why?"

  "I'm going to meet with the council later. Even though Detective Logan says he'll have the library cleared for re-occupancy very soon, I'm not sure we'll reopen it. It's too horrible to think about. Not only what happened there but the upcoming sale..."

  "But it isn't sold yet!"

  "I'm afraid this is the final nail in the coffin," said Marta. "I know you don't like it but the council were very disturbed with this recent... you know. I have to go to a meeting now, Sara, but we'll talk again soon. Stop by the office when you can and we'll talk about undertaking the library’s relocation." Marta hung up and I dropped my phone into my purse.

  "Are you okay?" asked Jason.

  "Fine," I said, feeling anything but. I was furious. Furious that Bree was dead and that the council would dare to use her death as another reason to close the library! I didn't even get a chance to put my plan to save it into action yet. Walking around with Jason had instantly become the last thing I wanted to be doing. "Actually, do you mind if we continue this tour another time? I have to do something right away."

  "No problem."

  After directing Jason to Main Street, which was now only minutes away, I left him. Moving quickly before I started to apologize to him for leaving him in the lurch, I knew that he meant well by checking on me. But that didn't mean I had to spend my unscheduled spare time by entertaining him. So what if he had down time too?! That didn't surprise me. A murder in the library must have surprised Jason's whole firm. The echo of Marta's glum comment still rang in my head, and I knew that it couldn't have adversely affected him. All it could possibly do was speed up the whole process and ensure the library would be torn down.

  I frowned, remembering something else. Marta said I could go in there and collect my personal things. I decided to do exactly that, except instead of getting my items, I would retrieve the contact details Bree left there. Once I had those, I would go to Detective Logan and take him the package I found. Having frantically thrown it in my purse when Jason came to my door, it began to weigh a little too heavily on me. I did not like to carry around that kind of money.

  Turning the corner, I tugged on my gloves and aimed for the library.

  The crime scene tape I expected to see still fluttering across the door had been removed. The only thing slightly abnormal now was that the lights were all turned off. For once, there wasn't a steady trail of people coming and going through the main doors either. I figured word of the crime must have flown very quickly. I pulled my key from my pocket and before I could lose my nerve, I unlocked the door. As I stepped inside, my heart began to thump loudly.

  The library was quiet and cold, making the stillness more than oppressive. I flicked the lights on, one after the other until the old building was fully illuminated. I couldn't move.

  From my spot inside the door, my hand was still resting on the handle as I looked around, searching for anything out of the ordinary. It struck me that I'd never been frightened in here before; but now, all I felt was fear. Was that how Bree felt? Did she realize her attacker was also in the building? Or did he surprise her? Did she even know he was there? Or had she invited him inside for some unfathomable reason? Had he subsequently betrayed her trust?

  If Bree didn't know, how could I?

  "No one is going around randomly killing librarians," I said aloud, settling on what I believed to be true. Someone wanted something from Bree, not from me. I stepped forwards and behind me, the door whipped shut, slamming into its frame. I whirled around, my heart thudding harder, but no one was there. Exhaling a relieved breath, I turned around. I had to pull myself together. Bree was killed because of something, or someone, she was running away from. I had nothing to worry about from my past that could haunt me now. I didn't have to be afraid. All I had to do was walk across the floor and let myself into the small office on the other side.

  Sucking in a breath, I pushed back my shoulders, and strode forward, crossing the floor faster than I ever did before. I worked the key chain, moving from the big door key to the smaller, newer office key. I pushed it into the lock, turned it, then pushed the door open. I propped it against the wall using a large door-stopper. The kids from the local high school made it for the library a few years ago. I considered nudging the door-stopper out of the way and closing the door against any intruders, but later decided it would be worse to open the door again without seeing what was out there first.

  The room smelled of yesterday's coffee and the air was quite chilly since a small draft leaked through the window that overlooked the garden. Moving around the desk, I searched through the drawers, seeking the file that contained Bree's personal information. When I took over managing the library, I made a point of clearing out all the old paperwork, and sending several boxes to be archived. The only personal information left was that belonging to me, Bree and a couple of people who worked part time hours. Bree's folder was on top. I pulled it out and opened it. She listed a bookstore in the city as her only reference.

  Grabbing the office phone, I dialed the number. The line was dead. I replaced the handset then picked it up and tried again. Still no active dial tone.

  "That's weird," I said, double-checking the dates she listed. Bree wrote down she last worked there only four months ago. I called the operator and asked for the store, reeling off the address.

  "There's no store listing by that name, ma'am," said the audibly bored operator.

  "Are you sure? Can you check...?"

  "I'm sure," she drawled.

  "What about anything similar to that name?"

  "There's nothing similar. Can I help you with anything else?"

  "No, thank you," I said and hung up. Instead of powering up the library computer, I reached for my cellphone and opened a browser window. I typed in the store name. No search results.

  I typed it again, adding the address Bree wrote down. Still nothing.

  I thought for a moment, then an idea popped into my head. I opened up my maps app and typed in the address, pr
ompting a view of the street. I swiped my finger until the address matched the one Bree gave. There was no bookstore, only a series of business addresses and small store fronts punctuated with chain restaurants.

  An awful, puzzling thought entered my head. Bree deliberately gave me a false address. Yet, I was sure I verified the number when I checked the reference and I knew I had spoken to someone. With my worry rising, I concluded that Bree must have made the whole thing up just so she could get the job.

  I turned the page, looking for her next of kin, information that the council insisted all employees fill out. Mine had my mother listed. I was pretty sure the only time they would have to look it up to make a call would be if someone had a heart attack, or got electrocuted by the old wiring. I was absolutely certain that they never anticipated a murder.

  Bree wrote down the name of her parents, listing an address in the city, and a phone number. I dialed it, certain that it would it dead too, but instead, the phone rang and a woman answered.

  "Hello, is this Mrs. Shaw?" I asked, checking the name Bree gave me.

  "No, this is the Whedon residence," she said. "This is Clara Whedon."

  "Does a Mrs. Shaw also live there?"

  "No, she doesn't."

  "Has she ever in the past? Maybe she moved recently? Or have you just been assigned this phone number?"

  "We have have lived here for eleven years and the phone number hasn't changed!" she said, sounding slightly irritated.

  "Do you know someone called Bree?"

  "No," she said, her patience rapidly vanishing.

  "Brittany?" I tried next, already knowing what her answer would be. "Maybe a Mrs. Johnson?" I added, remembering the license with a different name.

  "I don't know what scam you're trying to..."

  "This is the number?" I asked, reeling off the number I just dialed.

  "That's correct."

  "Sorry to disturb you. I must have gotten it wrong then," I said, realizing this was one more fruitless call.

  Strike two I thought as I hung up, staring at the worthless pieces of paper. "Who are you, Bree?" I asked the empty room. "Is everything you've ever told me a lie?" I sighed, knowing that the answers could not be found here. The best thing to do now was to see Detective Logan and hand over Bree's passport and license in another name. I also had to tell him about the false information.

  I closed the drawers and tucked the file into my purse before shutting the office door behind me, and locking it. I hurried across the floor, only pausing briefly at the staircase. I didn't want to go upstairs but something compelled me. What was Bree doing up there? Before I could change my mind, I jogged up the stairs and stepped around the balustrade, walking over to where I found Bree’s lifeless body.

  The body was gone now, of course, and the only thing left to show for the murder was a dark stain on the parqueted floor. I didn't have to get closer to it to know it was blood. Bree's blood.

  I stared at it for a long moment until I looked away, gulping down my unease before I started to cry. I forced myself to focus on what I could see. There wasn't a lot in this section. Bree decided that the area needed refreshing and she scoured the basement for new props to use. She intended to make the first display about astronomy. Between the two of us, we carried an old display case from the basement up to the second floor where Bree carefully cleaned it. Adding jet black paper for a backdrop, she created an impressive montage of planets and stars with glittery crystals she found in the sewing shop. She added old astronomy books and compiled a guide to the books people should read for more information about the universe. It was both clever and charming.

  A month ago, she suggested a pirate display. Starting with a small old chest from a thrift store, she painted it to look like a treasure chest and stuffed it full with strings of colorful, glass beads. She also pressed clay into the shapes of old coins and painted them gold, scattering them around the chest with brilliant glitter and paste gems. She included several pirate books, and again, added her own personal guide. I had to admit it was genius, and the patrons truly loved it, but looking at it now just made me sad.

  Glancing away, I made a fast walk to the entrance, turning every light off and locking the doors. The sadness filled my heart. How could anyone snuff out Bree's fun, creative spirit?

  On the way to the police station, I rehearsed what I would say to Detective Logan. He would probably be cross that I'd already checked Bree's personal information and found it false; but I supposed he couldn't really complain since he would have gotten the same result. He might even be pleased with the packet I gave him, so long as I glossed over how I managed to get it. It was probably best he didn't know. He had a reputation for being a grouch and I didn't want to tempt him into arresting me, especially after he’d warned me off Bree’s apartment.

  The police station didn't look busy when I arrived at the front desk. "Is Detective Logan here?" I asked.

  "Sure, he's in his office," started the young officer, looking up from the Sudoku puzzle he was studying intently. "What's it regarding?"

  "It's about Bree," I told him.

  "Bree?"

  "The same woman that was just found dead in my library," I explained, exasperated. Which Bree did he think I meant? "I'm Sara Cutler. I found her."

  "Ohhh," he said, nodding now and his eyes started lighting up. "Let me call... Nope, here he is... Detective?" he said just as Detective Logan strode around the corner. "Sara Cutler's here..."

  "Not now," yelled Logan.

  "It's important..." I started to argue, but he cut me off and yelled an instruction to his colleague. "I'm heading over to the paper to chew them out over this," he said, waving the newspaper in his hand.

  "But I have something very important..."

  "It can wait!"

  I started after him when he jogged outside. "It's about Bree. I found something you should... Excuse me!" I said, bumping into a man and ricocheting off him in my haste to keep up with Logan.

  "Leave it with Joe," Detective Logan yelled over his shoulder. Heading for his police cruiser, he rudely shut the door on me, leaving me sputtering and alone just as a downpour of rain began to fall.

  Chapter Seven

  I couldn't stay there, standing on the street, watching Detective Logan disappear behind a veil of rain. So I pulled up my hood and stalked away in the direction of Main Street. I decided to treat myself to a hot cup of coffee and wait out the rain before I went home.

  Ramming my hands into my pockets, I tucked my chin beneath my scarf and hurried towards the café, cursing Detective Logan under my breath. I couldn't imagine what could have been more important than hearing new information about Bree! Unless, I pondered, he just received some new information of his own?

  I briefly considered turning around and going back to the station. I could try to wheedle the information out of the young officer I guessed was Joe but as I glanced that direction, I decided against it. It would almost certainly be futile, plus, Joe might insist on knowing what information I had. The only hands I dared to leave that information in belonged to Detective Logan.

  "You look mad," said Candice as I stormed into the café after the bell above the door announced my entrance. My mother and Jaclyn left and no one else was sitting at the tables Candice had just finished cleaning. "Soaked, too."

  "Will this rain ever stop?" I muttered dejectedly, looking down at the little puddle I created on the café floor. The downpour was heavy and already washing away the snow.

  "Sure, around March," Candice laughed. "Come on in before we need a mop. Let me take your jacket and scarf and I'll put them close to the heater. Do you want me to take your purse too?"

  I thought about what my purse contained and shook my head. "Please, can I have the biggest cup of coffee you make? I'm so cold."

  "Your hands are nearly blue!" Candice said.

  I looked down at my hands before patting my pockets. I extracted one glove, and my shoulders dropped in disappointment. "I must have lost t
he other one," I groaned as the bell chimed again. Candice took the jacket and held it out, dripping. She moved to the wall rack and gingerly hung it above the heater to dry.

  "Like this one?" said a voice behind me. Turning around, I saw a tall man with dark blonde hair holding out a glove. He smiled warmly.

  "Where did you find it?" I grinned as I took it from him. My precious leather gloves were a luxury purchase I made a couple of years ago. Finding one of my pockets empty as I walked into the café was just another disappointment of late.

  "I saw you drop it outside the police station. I called after you but evidently, you didn't hear." He smiled warmly, and little crinkles appeared around his eyes.

  "I must apologize." I winced. I must have been so utterly absorbed in my own thoughts that I failed to hear someone calling after me. "You followed me all the way here?"

  "When you put it like that..." The stranger pulled a face as if I intended to accuse him of stalking me. "I hope you don't mind but it looked like such a nice glove and I figured who would want to lose a nice glove on a day like this?" He nodded to the rain that poured incessantly outside.

  "Me!" I agreed, a huge wave of gratitude washing over me. "Thank you so much! Could I buy you a cup of coffee as a way of properly thanking you?"

  "Oh, I..." He checked over his shoulder.

  "You're waiting for someone," I guessed. "I am so sorry for making you follow me all the way over here. Thank you so much for picking up my glove."

  "No, no, it's not that! I just thought, that’s the nicest offer I've had all day! Thank you! I'd love a cup."

  I couldn't help smiling at him and then at Candice who gave me a quick thumbs up behind his back. "I'm Sara," I told him, reaching out my icy-cold hand to shake his.

  "Tom," he said, grasping my hand with his warmer, gloved one.

  "Pleased to meet you."

  He smiled and said, "The pleasure's mine."