It actually sounded pretty sensible to me, and I didn’t even have a brother-in-law.
“And she’s always first to our book sales.” Denise folded her arms even tighter. “She wants to look at the new arrivals, just to make sure she gets ahead of everyone else.”
This was getting deep into the Gossip Zone, a place my mother had warned me about. I smiled and started edging into the building. “Sounds like you should try to recruit Allison to the Friends of the Library.”
“Her?” Denise rolled her eyes. “Not in a million years. She always thinks she knows the best way to do things. One of those people who never listens to anyone and thinks she’s the center of the universe, if you know what I mean.”
I nodded in solemn agreement, but Denise wasn’t waiting for my response.
“We’re down a member, thanks to Pam Fazio’s hissy fit, but we’re not desperate enough to ask Allison Korthase to join. Not now, not ever.”
Another mental note got jotted down, this one to ask around about the history between Denise and Allison. “I saw Pam the other day,” I said. “I hadn’t realized she’d quit the Friends.”
“Really?” Denise narrowed her eyes. “How could you not have known? I thought everyone would be talking about it.”
The unhappy twist of her countenance reminded me of my mother’s statement that if I made a face often enough, it would freeze that way. “Well, I—”
“I can’t believe you didn’t know.” She shook her head in exasperation. “So, you never heard what she said?”
“About what?”
Denise put her hands on her hips. “What she said to me! She went into a tailspin about something—I don’t even remember now what it was. She stomped to the door and said, ‘Don’t bother asking me back. I won’t be back, not unless you die and someone else gets to be president.’ Then she whipped around and left.” Denise snorted. “Like I’d ever ask her to come back. Pam was more trouble than she was worth, always arguing about every little decision. I mean, honestly, how could anyone care so much about the hours the used bookstore is open?”
There was a pause, which I realized meant she wanted me to agree with her. Off in the distance, the courthouse’s tower clock chimed the hour. Saved by the bell. I nodded in its direction. “Sorry, Denise, but I’m scheduled to start work right now. Hope you had a good Thanksgiving.”
My parting sentence had been a social sentiment said without thought, and I wanted to kick myself when I saw the darkness fall across her face.
Of course she hadn’t had a good Thanksgiving. Her husband was dead and the day must have been an endurance test beyond all measure. I’d heard the family had chosen to have a private funeral the day before Thanksgiving, with a memorial service next summer. And now Christmas was coming, with all its enforced cheer. The prospect must have been horrific to her.
So I stepped back to her side and gave her a fast, hard hug.
“Thanks,” she whispered, then coughed and pulled away. “I wanted it to be a nice day.” She looked at me and half smiled. “But it was pretty horrible.”
I tried to think of something to say, but there was really only one thing. “I’m sorry.”
The smile stayed on her face. “You’d better get going. I don’t want Stephen marking you tardy.”
When I reached the door, when I had it half open, I paused, not wanting to look back, but knowing I should. If I looked back, if she was still standing there, if she still had that half smile stuck on as if it were painted on, I’d have to go back and do what I could to help.
But she was gone.
* * *
I’d barely had time to bring my office’s computer to life when the phone rang. “Good afternoon. This is Minnie Hamilton. How may I help you?”
“I think you’ve helped me quite enough already,” a male voice growled.
It was a familiar voice, but not familiar enough for me to identify the speaker. I hated when people did that. “Excuse me,” I said, “but I didn’t catch your name.”
He coughed directly into my ear, and I hoped no one else used his phone, as the cough sounded horrible.
“Detective Inwood,” the detective said, sounding more like himself. “Am I correct in saying that you sent Mitchell Koyne to my office?”
I sat back, grinning, and crossed my ankles. “Mitchell said he had information about Roger Slade. I thought the investigating detective should have all possible information about a murder victim.”
“It’s not necessarily murder,” he said stiffly. “There’s still a strong possibility of accidental death.” I snorted, but he ignored me. “Besides,” he said, “having a list of Mr. Slade’s third-grade classmates isn’t intrinsically useful to the case.”
“No?” I asked, though I was thinking Too bad. That’s what you get for being so hard on Ash Wolverson, you big bully.
“No,” he said, “and I’m quite sure you knew that.”
“All information can be useful,” I said in my librarian voice. “It’s just a matter of finding the correct application.”
“I see what you mean,” the detective said, sounding entirely unconvinced. “And do you have any more information?”
From the tone of his voice, it was easy to tell that he didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. “Since you asked,” I said, “there is one thing.” His sigh was sadly audible. The man really needed to work on his people skills.
“Go ahead,” he told me. “I’m all agog with anticipation.”
I almost laughed, but caught myself just in time. “Detective, if you don’t want to listen, all you have to do is say so.” I heard a snort, but couldn’t decide if it was sarcastic, humorous, or illness derived.
“As you said, Ms. Hamilton, all information can be important. I just hope you don’t have as many pages as Mr. Koyne did.”
While it was tempting to say “more,” just to hear his reaction, I merely told him about Pam Fazio, about her abrupt and angry departure from the Friends, and about her parting shot, which could be considered a threat.
Detective Inwood listened, then said, “Thank you, Ms. Hamilton. We’ll continue to pursue the investigation until all avenues are exhausted.”
I wasn’t sure how an avenue could get tired, but decided against criticizing his metaphor. “There’s another thing.”
“Sorry, Ms. Hamilton. You mentioned one point of information, not two.”
My eyes opened wide. “Oh. Uh . . .”
The detective laughed. “Got you. Now, what were you saying?”
So, the law enforcement officer actually had a sense of humor. Who knew? “The other day, Denise rattled off the names of people she said might be considered enemies. I just wanted to make sure she’d told you, too.”
“She did indeed,” Inwood said, his voice dry as every cake I’d ever made. “She gave us the name of a local attorney, a middle-school teacher, a retail-store owner, and the director of a nonprofit organization.”
“They don’t sound exactly like prime candidates for murder, do they?”
“Ms. Hamilton,” he said tiredly, “in my experience, absolutely anyone can commit murder.”
As I hung up the phone, his words echoed around inside my head. Anyone can commit murder.
* * *
By midafternoon, the thick clouds had all blown off and it was suddenly a clear and beautiful day.
The library was nearly deserted on this day after a holiday, Stephen was out of town, and I’d worked so many unpaid library hours the past two weeks that I found it easy enough to turn off any guilt my mother could inflict on me from afar.
I slipped on my coat and stopped by the front desk to tell Kelsey I’d be back in an hour.
“Sounds good,” she said vaguely, turning a page of the book she was reading.
A different assistant library director might have smacked down any employee caught reading during working hours, saying that there were always things to do, but I had no problem letting people catch their breath on quiet days, which were few and far between.