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  “We’re okay,” I said, glancing over at Luna before confirming it was actually true. Luna had turned a sort of sickly white when she’d seen Carmen and I’d been worried that she was going to faint and possibly pitch down the stairs herself. I’d left Carmen, helped Luna to sit down, and called Burton.

  Wilson said quietly, “Did they have any idea what happened? Was it some sort of accident? Why are the police shutting down the library?” He gave a fretful frown. “I knew I should have upgraded the lighting in that basement.”

  “It doesn’t look like an accident,” I said. “I think the police are investigating to find out. It looked to me like Carmen had sustained some sort of head injury before she fell down the stairs.”

  “Murder?” Wilson’s voice hissed out. He gave furtive glances around to make sure there weren’t any patrons around who could overhear. “I thought perhaps she took some sort of misstep on the stairs and simply fell. I know she ordinarily wears heels.”

  He was right about Carmen’s footwear. She was inordinately fond of heels and I know if I wore those on the stairs, I would certainly have stumbled. But Carmen was a pro at wearing them . . . she wouldn’t have been clumsy on a staircase or anywhere else. “I’m afraid not. The police are closing us up for the day so they can look for evidence and speak with some of the patrons who were here and might have seen something.”

  Wilson said, “Who could have done such a thing? And how brazen of them to do it—right in public where anyone could have seen it happen. And at the library.” His tone indicated this was the kind of sacrilege that would not be tolerated.

  Luna said, “But it really wasn’t that brazen if somebody was looking for an opportunity. After all, the library was quiet. Maybe they looked around to make sure no one was about to walk in or out and then hit Carmen over the head.”

  “How horrible,” said Wilson, looking grim. “Well, I’m sure that with Burton on the case, he’ll soon have some good leads.” He paused. “I’ll have to think of a distraction. Something to keep people from thinking about this crime when they think of the library. Something involving a certain orange and white cat.”

  He gestured to the cat carrier at my feet and Fitz started loud purring on cue. Wilson stooped and stuck a couple of fingers through the carrier. Fitz bumped lovingly up against them.

  “Whatever you decide, just let me know,” I said.

  A truck barreled into the parking lot. The driver parked abruptly, thrust open his door and hopped out. A tall, tanned man with angry eyes and a tight expression marched toward the library entrance. He stopped, baffled, as he finally noticed the yellow police tape and the police cars. I recognized him as he turned around, peering in our direction. Blake Thompson. He and I had gone to high school together. What’s more, he helped out at the library as a handyman from time to time.

  “Blake? Can I help you?” asked Wilson in his professional library director voice. “I don’t think we asked for any maintenance assistance for the building today, did we?”

  “No, I was here for other reasons. What’s going on?” asked Blake, running an agitated hand through his dark hair. He gave me a look of recognition. “Is the library closed or something?”

  “Unfortunately so, at least for today. We’re anticipating opening for our regular hours tomorrow,” said Wilson.

  Blake scowled at the library as if it had personally offended him. He spoke to Wilson again, “What’s up? Gas leak or something?”

  Wilson was always looking for a way to finesse a bad situation. There just really wasn’t a way to finesse a murder that was sure to come out in the local paper the next day. He said in a tight voice, “The police are investigating a . . . death . . . on the premises. Standard procedure.” He added quickly as if suspicious deaths happened at the library all the time.

  Blake’s expression went from aggravated to concerned. “A death? Somebody died at the library?”

  He swung his head around and his gaze combed over the parking lot. It settled on what I knew to be Carmen’s Mercedes convertible, which the police appeared to be carefully inspecting.

  He paled. “Where’s Carmen? She’s here today. She told me she’d be here.”

  Chapter Three

  The three of us froze, realizing we were going to have to deliver some bad news.

  Not immediately getting answers from us, Blake turned and strode a few steps toward the library.

  Wilson gave me a pleading expression and I said, “Wait . . . um, Blake. It’s blocked off. And . . . I have some bad news.”

  I took a deep breath and continued as Luna and Wilson gave me worried looks, “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but Carmen has passed away.”

  Blake swayed a little on his feet and I immediately opened my car door. “Please,” I said, “take a seat. This must be a shock.”

  He plopped down into my front seat, staring blankly at me. “That can’t be right. Are you sure?” he asked in a pleading voice.

  I nodded my head. “I’m afraid so.”

  “But I just saw her! She was having lunch and she was absolutely fine.” His eyes narrowed belligerently at me.

  I glanced at Wilson and Luna but they didn’t seem to be able to arrive at a better response than I could. I said carefully, “I’m very sorry. You must have been a good friend of hers.”

  Blake shook his head. “More than a friend.” His voice was raw and he stopped talking for a few moments as he blinked rapidly to regain control. As he did, he watched the police in Carmen’s car, removing evidence in plastic bags. He slumped in the seat. Realization that this was true washed over him and a look of horror washed over his face.

  A couple of patrons approached carrying books and Wilson and Luna quickly stepped aside to speak with them, with some relief at escaping the uncomfortable conversation I was having. I continued standing by Blake.

  In a few moments, he spoke gruffly. “Tell me what happened.”

  I did, leaving out anything that might sound too grisly and dwelling on the fact Carmen couldn’t have suffered since she was nearly immediately discovered.

  Blake listened, nodding his head from time to time and flinching others. Finally he slowly said, “I should have been here. I was near the library all morning long, driving past on my way to check the status at different work sites. I could have just dropped by.”

  “But you didn’t know anything bad was going to happen. There was no reason for you to stop by,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Carmen told me she’d be hauling stuff around for the book sale. I could have given her a hand with them.” His face darkened. “And I definitely could have stopped anybody who planned on doing her harm.”

  “You sound like a good friend to Carmen.”

  The word friend seemed to bother him again. He said, “We were more than friends, like I said. But yeah—we were two peas in a pod. I’ve never laughed with anyone the way I laughed with her.”

  Considering I rarely saw Carmen smile and certainly never saw her laugh, this seemed rather extraordinary to me. Also, I had a hard time seeing sophisticated Carmen in a relationship with Blake, although opposites did attract.

  “And she definitely didn’t just fall down the stairs?” he demanded.

  I shook my head. “Not from what the police saw.”

  Blake glowered. “Then I know who did it.”

  I moved a little closer to him. “Who?”

  Blake spat out, “Elliot Parker. Who else?”

  The name rang a bell somewhere, but I couldn’t immediately place him. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I know him.”

  Blake said, “Elliot Parker. You work at the library? You probably know him. He’s the kind of guy who reads all day long. He’s gotta be in here constantly.”

  “He sounds familiar. I’m sure I’d probably know him if I saw him,” I said.

  He said darkly, “Anyway, Elliot’s going to be in a ton of trouble, so I don’t know if you’re going to see him or not. I’m gonna tell the cops the fir
st chance I get that I saw Elliot arguing with Carmen at lunch.”

  “At lunch today?” I asked.

  “Today. Just a little while ago. And I know why they were arguing, too. Carmen told me yesterday she was going to break things off with Elliot. She was never serious with him, you see. She just liked having somebody to go to plays and concerts and stuff with. She was dating me. We were like two peas in a pod.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  Blake continued with a frown. “Although I don’t get why Carmen would go out to lunch with a guy just to break up with him. Makes no sense at all to me. Why ruin a perfectly good lunch?”

  I didn’t say anything, which was fine because Blake kept talking. “Trust me, if she was killed, Elliot did it. Because that conversation they were having at lunch sure didn’t look friendly. I was driving by, but almost pulled over because I could see how mad Elliot was. And Carmen didn’t look happy, either. Elliot must have followed her back over to the library to keep arguing with her.”

  I said, “But would Carmen have gone into the library with him acting that way?” It didn’t seem likely. Carmen wasn’t the kind of person who liked to make a scene, and the library could be pretty quiet sometimes . . . like this morning.

  Blake considered this. “You’re right—she wouldn’t have gone into the library with somebody on her heels yelling at her. So maybe Elliot was so mad that he decided to follow her in at a distance and give her that shove. Maybe he couldn’t stand being thrown aside because Carmen wanted to exclusively date me instead of him.”

  I had the feeling that Blake had watched a lot of really dramatic TV shows. “Maybe so.” I gave a noncommittal smile.

  “I’m going to talk to one of the cops and tell them,” he said grimly, getting up from the car and walking with great purpose toward the police tape. He was quickly intercepted by an officer and started talking to him, gesticulating as he did.

  I glanced over at Luna, who was staring back at the library building.

  “Hey, Luna, would you like me to drive you home?” I asked with concern. She really hadn’t recovered from our finding Carmen earlier and was still pale.

  Luna shook her head automatically and then stopped and looked at me.

  Wilson said sternly, “Luna, if you’re still feeling upset or in shock, you really shouldn’t be driving. Either Ann or I will be happy to take you home.”

  “But then my car will be here. I never know if Mom needs me to run any errands or anything. And then there’s work tomorrow to drive to,” said Luna, holding her hands out.

  I said, “Wilson could drive your car home while I’m driving you. Then I’ll drive him over to the library to his own car. It’s not like Whitby is a huge town or anything . . . it will take us all of five minutes.”

  Luna glanced over at Wilson, who nodded in agreement. She smiled at us. “That would be great then, thanks.”

  She handed Wilson her car keys and climbed into my passenger seat while I put Fitz, still purring loudly, in the back seat.

  When I pulled up to Luna’s driveway, she gloomily regarded the house where she and her mother lived. “I’m going to have to tell Mom about this with me being home early and everything. But I may downplay my part in it.”

  “You didn’t have a part in it. You didn’t even technically discover Carmen since I was there a little before you. She’ll be fine. The important thing is, you’re safe.”

  Luna flushed and for a moment I thought she was going to say something. She apparently reconsidered, squeezed my hand, and waved at Wilson, who’d just carefully pulled her car into the garage. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

  Wilson climbed into my passenger seat as Luna let herself inside the small house. He buckled up and turned to look into the back of the car where Fitz lay contentedly in his cat carrier. Fitz purred when he saw Wilson looking at him.

  Wilson relaxed a little at the interaction with Fitz. “What a day. I didn’t have the chance to ask you if you had any idea who might have been that upset with Carmen.”

  I glanced over at him. “You mean that upset? No, I don’t have a clue.”

  “No one you work with has seemed angry with her? Or expressed that they were angry with her?”

  I frowned. “Are you trying to get at something? Do you know about someone at work who might have been upset with Carmen?”

  He instantly brushed off the suggestion. “Of course not. I have great respect and admiration for the staff. They would never do something like this.”

  But somehow, I got the impression he was trying to convince himself.

  “Fitz is key as a distraction,” said Wilson. “I was thinking about this the whole time on the way over here.”

  I backed out of the driveway and headed back in the direction of the library and Wilson’s car. “You know, people aren’t going to start thinking of the library as a dangerous place. It was a single incident and Burton is on the case.”

  Wilson said, “Maybe. But we could still use a distraction from it all. I’ve been reading up on engagement methods libraries are using on their social media. A Q&A is one approach. We could ask patrons to throw any questions they want to at us and we could post answers later on.”

  “I think our librarians are handling that already, aren’t they? I know I get a ton of questions every day, from people not sure how to use social media to people who are looking for help with their family trees,” I said.

  Wilson considered this for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. Dear Abby.”

  I glanced away from the road for a second to give Wilson a bewildered look. “Sorry?”

  “You know—the advice columnist.”

  I said slowly, trying to divine some sense from what he was saying, “So, you’re wanting the library to start an advice column?”

  He nodded rapidly. “That’s right. Here, I’ll email the idea to you so we won’t forget. It’s been a crazy enough day so that things might fall through the cracks.”

  I pulled into the library parking lot. “I might be a little slow today, but I’m not sure I totally get your idea.”

  Wilson, still typing on his phone, said absently, “The library is all about offering advice, isn’t it?”

  I thought about this. “Sometimes. It’s usually more about offering information.”

  Wilson ignored this. “But sometimes people need advice for things that they are embarrassed asking about.”

  I nodded, pulling into a parking place. “This is true. I’ve helped people who needed to do research on medical problems and they definitely seemed uneasy about asking.”

  Wilson said, “There must be tons of things that patrons would like help with that they’re hesitant about sharing. What if we allowed them to be anonymous about it and then shared the results publicly? They could write questions on slips of paper and put them in a box on the circulation desk. They could also email them to us and we’d say everything that came in would be treated confidentially. On whatever topic! We wouldn’t have to answer all the entries, of course, just the most interesting ones or the ones that might be helpful to most people.”

  I was relieved to hear that we weren’t going to try to address them all since I had a sinking feeling that this project could be Ye Olde Time Suck.

  Wilson was really getting fired up now. He loved brainstorming ideas for library engagement. “And, instead of Dear Abby, it could be Dear Fitz! We could put a cute picture of the cat on the box and on the slips of paper that they write their questions on. And as a header on social media.”

  I could see where he was going with it, but I still had some questions. “But Dear Fitz makes it sound as if we’re offering . . . or rather . . . the cat is offering relationship advice. Not just a Q&A type thing.”

  Fitz purred his approval from the backseat.

  Wilson said, “That’s exactly it. Like I said, Dear Abby. Oh, we could answer the odd academic question, for sure. But we could also open it up to advice for handling life. O
r relationship advice.”

  “And who,” I asked, trying to sound polite and deferential still, “will be the person behind Dear Fitz? Who will be answering the questions?”

  Now Wilson was being a bit canny. I could tell that he wanted to put it all on my shoulders but that he thought I might be spread a little thin. It was good of him to realize this, since I’d already worked quite a bit of overtime this week.

  “Well, I think you’d be an excellent person for the job, Ann. Of course, it wouldn’t just be you. The staff could all pitch in and you could read us some of the submissions when we have our morning meetings.”

  I said, “You realize that I haven’t had a successful relationship myself in ... well . . . ever.”

  “But you’re wise beyond your years, Ann. You’ll be the perfect candidate to spearhead the project,” said Wilson.

  I could tell that he was beyond listening at this point and very excited about his idea. He climbed out of my car, barely sparing a worried glance at the police tape and the officers still milling around the grounds. “We’ll work on it first thing tomorrow,” he said brightly as he closed the door.

  I drove home with Fitz, my mind still spinning and not with Wilson’s advice column, either. I still was having a tough time wrapping my head around the idea that someone murdered Carmen. As tough and unpleasant as she could sometimes be, there was no getting around the fact that she had done a lot of good in the small town of Whitby. Maybe she hadn’t gotten the appreciation she deserved because of her abrasive manner and the fact she was both wealthy and beautiful.

  Absently, I parked the car in front of my cottage and pulled the cat carrier out of my backseat. I set it down as I tried to find the front door key and heard someone calling my name behind me.

  Chapter Four

  I turned around and saw Grayson Phillips. As always, I made a little gasp I hoped was inaudible. He was someone I was romantically interested in, although he was dating a friend of mine and so off-limits. I always felt like anytime I was around Grayson, I was uncommonly clumsy and had a hard time speaking intelligently. I kept hoping I’d be cured of this malady, which made me feel like a 7th grader, but as yet I hadn’t happened upon a cure.