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  “First off,” he said, sticking out his hand, “I’m Burton Edison, your new police chief. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

  I clasped his hand. “Ann Beckett. I’m a librarian.”

  He nodded and continued, “Good to meet you, Ann. Could you tell me what happened? And your connection with the victim?” He glanced at his notebook. “One of the firemen identified him as Roger Walton. Is that correct?”

  I nodded. “That’s right. At least, I assume that’s correct. I wish I could give you more information. I’ve never even met Roger. I arrived about five or six minutes before calling you. I was at work all afternoon before going home to change. A neighbor of mine, Zelda Smith and I spoke for a few minutes there,” I said hurriedly. If I needed an alibi, at least Zelda could prove herself useful. “Roger was my blind date—we were set up by his great aunt, who is one of my patrons at the library. Roger didn’t respond when I knocked and rang the bell, so I walked around the side of the house.”

  Burton grunted. “You probably could smell the grill, couldn’t you?”

  He was definitely sharp. I nodded at him. “That’s right. I wasn’t sure what he’d planned for tonight, but when I smelled charcoal burning, I went around the side of the house, figuring he just couldn’t hear me. That’s when I found him.” I tried to keep my voice steady.

  Burton jotted down some more notes in his notebook. “That’s got to be the worst blind date on record,” he said, glancing up to wince in sympathy.

  I gave a dry laugh. “It is, although I’ve had a couple that rivaled it. My dating life has not been a particularly rewarding one.”

  A car pulled up behind us and parked along the curb. A blonde woman in her twenties hopped out of the car, eyes narrowed with concern at the sight of the ambulance and the police car Burton and I were sitting in. She strode up to us.

  Burton unfolded himself from the car and stepped out. “Something I can help you with, ma’am?” he asked politely.

  “Yes,” she said in a rough voice. “You can tell me what’s going on here. Why are there police cars and ambulances?”

  Burton tilted his head to one side and then extended his hand. “I’m Burton Edison, the new Whitby police chief. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “I’m Heather Walton,” the young woman answered, impatiently pushing a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. “My brother lives here.”

  Burton took a deep breath. I stood up and got out of the police car. “Here,” I said. “I shouldn’t be hogging the seat.” In fact, I just wanted to get out of there, especially as a family member was being informed of a tragedy.

  Burton seemed to sense I was edging myself away. “If you could stick around nearby, Ann, that would be great. I may need to speak with you some more.”

  “Back to my brother?” asked Heather impatiently.

  Burton said, “Would you happen to have a picture of your brother? Of Roger?”

  Heather sighed and whipped out her phone, flipping through the gallery before showing the police chief a photo. He nodded slowly.

  “I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but Roger is dead. He’s been stabbed,” said Burton, enunciating the words carefully as if to be as clear as possible.

  Heather gasped, covering her mouth with one hand.

  I walked away a bit, careful not to walk too far away since Burton had made a point about wanting to speak with me again.

  Burton spoke with Heather for a while as the sun started setting. Before long, other cars pulled up, and I found the state police, the SBI, had arrived. I guessed Whitby was too small to have any sort of forensic department or to be outfitted with what they needed for a murder investigation. The SBI asked me the same questions Burton had.

  While I was in between questioning, Heather walked up to me and gave me a tight smile. “I have the terrible feeling that I should know you, but I just can’t place you. Were you dating Roger?”

  Clearly, Roger hadn’t confided in his sister, but then there probably were plenty of brothers who wouldn’t. I said, “I’m so sorry about your brother. We weren’t dating, but we did have a first date scheduled for tonight. That’s why I was here. I’m Ann Beckett—I’ve seen you at the library. That’s where I work.”

  Heather nodded. “Thanks. It’s terrible realizing you recognize someone but not knowing from where. Of course, I know you from the library. I see you there every single week.”

  “Well, when you’re used to seeing someone only at a particular place and then they’re not there, it can be tough to place them,” I said. I hesitated and then said, “Again, I’m so sorry about your brother. This must be a terrible shock for you.”

  Tears welled up in Heather’s eyes and she impatiently rubbed them away. “Sorry. Roger and I were close and I just can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that he’s gone.”

  “Were you coming by for a visit?” I asked sympathetically. If so, it was better that I found Roger than having his sister discover his body.

  She hesitated. “More like driving past. I’ve been running errands this evening, just trying to get caught up. I’ve been at the pharmacy and gassed up the car and was on my way to the grocery store. When I saw the emergency vehicles, I just wanted to find out what was going on.”

  I said, “That must have been really scary to see it and to realize it was at your brother’s house.”

  Heather nodded and then rubbed impatiently at her eyes. “Not as scary as what happened to you! The chief told me what happened. So, you walked around the side of the house to see why he wasn’t answering the door and then you . . . found him.”

  I nodded and tried for a matter-of-fact voice, even though I felt a telltale tremor trying to work its way in. “That’s right. And although I didn’t know Roger, I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to even meet him. He sounds like he was a great brother.”

  A cloud passed across her eyes and Heather turned away for a second to look at the house.

  I said, “I’m so sorry. It all just seems crazy.”

  Heather said slowly, “It does seem crazy. I can’t believe it’s happened. Whitby isn’t the kind of town where murders happen. It wasn’t even a random break-in. The chief said that, after a brief inspection, it didn’t look as if anything was out of place in the house. There weren’t any drawers pulled out or papers on the floor or any signs someone had been in a rush to search the house.”

  “Would they be able to tell from that? I’d think that a man, living on his own, might have a few drawers pulled out or cabinets open or whatever,” I said. “That a single man might be a little sloppy.”

  Heather shook her head. “Maybe most men, but not my brother. He kept everything neat as a pin. He always cleaned up after himself. I don’t think I’ve ever been over there and even seen as much as a coffee cup in the sink. But you’re right—the police can’t really tell until I go in his house and have a look. That might be later or might be tomorrow because he said they have to treat the house like a crime scene right now.” Her voice trailed off at the words and a sad expression crossed her face.

  “That’s awful. I’m so sorry you have to go through that,” I said.

  “It’s awful, but I want to help them find out who did it. After all, if it’s not a robbery gone wrong, it sounds like it must be someone he knows. Someone with a grudge. And there’s only one person I can think of off the top of my head who might have one. A woman named Mary Hughes.”

  “Is she a neighbor of his? Someone like that?” Maybe neighbors were just on my brain because they were all still out in their yards, gaping at us. I wouldn’t be surprised if they started pulling out yard chairs and eating popcorn.

  “No, Mary was a former coworker of Roger’s,” said Heather.

  “You know, I never even knew what Roger did for a living,” I said. “That was one of the things we would have been talking about this evening.”

  “He was an investment adviser. Not maybe the most fascinating of jobs to discuss
on a first date,” said Heather with a short laugh. “He’d been in that field since he got out of college. He counseled people on their stocks and bonds and helped people plan for retirement and stuff. Anyway, he and Mary didn’t get along somehow. Roger had told me she’d been passed over for a promotion a few weeks ago—he’d received it, instead.”

  I said, “Well, that’s just the way things go at an office, after all. Not everyone can get a promotion or you’d have an office full of managers.”

  “That’s true. But from what I heard, she took it very personally. Mary thought she was more qualified to get the promotion than Roger was and she was really vocal about it. She made things very uncomfortable for Roger at the office every day,” said Heather.

  I could only imagine. It would be awful having to go into work and see someone who was bitterly angry at you all the time.

  Heather added, “Then Mary was suddenly let go. You know how offices are. Anyway, she somehow acted like she thought Roger was at fault for that, too. According to Roger, anyway.”

  “You should make sure to let the police know,” I said carefully.

  Heather stared at me. “You don’t think Mary could have killed Roger, do you? Just for being upset about something that happened at work?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t know Mary. But I think it sounds like something the police would like to know about,” I said. “Where is Mary working now?”

  Heather made a face. “That’s part of the problem. She’s apparently having trouble getting back on her feet again. She has a job at the tanning salon. I mean, I don’t know Mary, but I’ve seen her walk in there when I drive by. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with working there, but after she’d had this very professional job, it just seemed like it wasn’t the best choice for her. Plus the fact that she never usually has a tan. The last time I saw her at the grocery store a few weeks ago, she was as pale as usual—as pale as me,” she said with a snort. She paused. “Roger told me she’d been drinking a lot, too. It was almost like what happened to Mary at the office started her down this slippery slope.”

  We were quiet for a few minutes before Heather said in a more cheerful tone, “I do need to get back over to the library. I always have a book to read and in the past few months I haven’t, and it’s been the weirdest feeling. And now maybe I need something to distract me from—all this.”

  I nodded. “I’m like you. I have a weird feeling when I don’t have a book I’m reading. Ordinarily, I’m trying to read two books at once so I don’t usually have that problem.”

  Heather made a face. “I’d be totally confused if I tried to do that. I’d mix up the characters between the books or something.”

  “I’d probably do the same thing if the books were really similar. It only works this well because I pick two totally different books. One will be a novel and one will be a biography, for instance. What kinds of books do you like to read?” I asked.

  “Oh, I’ll read anything I’ve heard is good, but I especially like reading murder mysteries,” said Heather. She winced and gave a short laugh. “Maybe I need to try something different, since I seem to be caught up in a murder mystery in real life.”

  I said, “You could. Although I do know a really fun murder mystery that should still manage to be an escape. Try The Magpie Murders by Anthony Horowitz.”

  She smiled at me. “Thanks for that. I’ll run by the library soon.”

  A few minutes later, Burton pulled me aside to ask me a few more questions with the particulars of my movements before arriving at Roger’s house, how long I’d waited at the door, and what I’d noticed when I’d walked around the back.

  Before I left, he added, “And you said you work at the library.”

  I nodded. “I’m there most days. I’m actually not supposed to be working as many hours as I am, but I love it there.”

  Burton said slowly, “The thing is, I’m obviously very new in town. I’m guessing you aren’t.”

  “I’ve been in Whitby most of my life,” I answered.

  Burton said, “How about if I bounced some ideas off you sometimes? Nothing official,” he said in a rush, “but I’d like to get your perspective on the town and its residents from time to time. You’re probably acquainted with a lot of folks with your job at the library. You have the kind of info that could be valuable for me. I don’t want to tread on any toes with a big case like this—and my first really high-visibility one here in town.”

  I smiled at him. “That sounds like a great idea. I appreciate how sensitive you are about being new here.”

  “Well, I just don’t want to go trampling in. I know small towns can be a little mistrustful of newcomers.”

  “How about your deputy? Does he know many people in town?” I asked.

  He rolled his eyes. “Let’s just say he’s pretty antisocial. He keeps to himself. As a matter of fact, I might know more people in town than he does.”

  I suddenly remembered something. “Actually, you could help me out with something. I know you won’t have a lot of time while you’re working on this case, but I recently held a survey to see what programs adults might be interested in at the library. One of the most-requested things was a self-defense class.”

  Burton raised his eyebrows at this. “In Whitby? I wouldn’t have thought there was a lot of need for that here.”

  My smile was a little more strained this time. “Actually, it was a suggestion I threw out there, so maybe the survey results were a little less than scientific.”

  Burton gave me an appraising look. “You’re worried about your own safety? I get that you work in a public place, but so far Whitby has seemed pretty quiet.”

  I took a deep breath. “It’s probably a result of my backstory. I was raised by my great-aunt here in Whitby because I lost my mother when I was eight. We lived in Charlotte then. It was really early to realize the world wasn’t that safe of a place after all.” I shivered, still remembering the months of nightmares I’d had after my mother’s death and the kindness of my aunt when they happened.

  Burton nodded slowly. “I’m so sorry. Of course, that’s going to affect the way you see the world. And I’d be happy to give the class. Actually, it would be a good way for me to meet some more residents, so the sooner the better.”

  “I’ll get it set up,” I said. We might not have a lot of time to get the word out, but if I scheduled some posts on social media, we could still get a good group.

  Chapter Three

  I MADE IT BACK HOME in a fog. I found something in the fridge to warm up and ate it without focusing on what I was eating. All I could think about was what had happened. I picked up my book and then put it down again and rubbed my hands over my face. Things were bad if I couldn’t use my favorite pastime to escape. What I suddenly realized I needed was something totally mindless. Well, what I actually really probably needed was to go to sleep, but I sure didn’t see that happening until I was able to unwind a little bit.

  I picked up the remote and turned on the television. It hadn’t been on for a while and, as a matter of fact, looked like it needed dusting. I settled on some sort of reality show that pulled me immediately in and settled down to watch the TV equivalent of cotton candy—decidedly un-nutritious but captivating as the rain started up again and poured down on the roof.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I moved really slowly as I got ready. I’d had crazy dreams all night about cats and bodies and police and woke up not feeling at all rested. I took special care over my makeup, figuring some well-applied makeup could cover up most of the evidence of the rough night.

  I used my key to unlock the library and turned on the lights. The old building felt like home. It was an old Carnegie library and a beautiful one. It was constructed in the Greek revival style and looked like an ancient temple. The bricks were a buff color and there was a low parapet around the roof with repeating embellishments in the cornice. The center of the roof was raised and boasted ornamental lions. The inside was cheerful and cozy with a
fireplace in a reading area and comfy armchairs. It felt safe. Plus, naturally, the whole place smelled of books.

  It wasn’t long before Wilson came in, again wearing a rather solemn-looking suit. He said briskly, “How did your date go?”

  I winced. “I’m surprised the news hasn’t circulated yet, considering the number of neighbors who were peering out their windows and standing in their yards. My date was dead when I arrived there.”

  “What?” Wilson’s eyes were huge.

  I explained what had happened while Wilson alternately gaped at me and shook his head. “That is insane.” He ran a hand through his white hair, making it stand up on end in spots.

  I nodded, resisting the urge to reach out and smooth the hair down. “I hope the police chief was able to get in contact with Roger’s other family members or that his sister did. I’d hate for his great-aunt Emily to come in here this morning and ask me the same question you did. She was so excited about our date, too,” I added sadly.

  Wilson asked, “Was his sister there last night?”

  “She came by when she saw all the emergency vehicles. I think it probably scared her half to death. At any rate, it was a terrible evening, and I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, so I’ll need to fire up the coffee maker in the breakroom,” I said.

  Wilson shifted uneasily, a gesture I’d come to know and dread.

  “Uh-oh. What’s wrong?” I asked, bracing myself against a bookcase. “Let me guess—the copier is jammed today. We’re out of tax forms? The women’s restroom is out of order? Even worse—the aforementioned coffee maker is broken? Don’t hold back, I can take it.”

  “Worse,” said Wilson gloomily. “Our new children’s librarian is going to be late because of a family emergency.”

  “Don’t tell me. You need me to do storytime today? Which one is scheduled this morning?”

  “It’s Mother Goose,” said Wilson, referring to the toddler storytime. Usually the moms and kids were regaled with a great storyteller who used puppets and props to create a magical experience. This morning, on the other hand, we were all going to suffer through my rendition, involving last-minute prep and an overtired librarian.