short nod, like a superior officer acknowledging a sergeant, and marched out.

Helen paged Brad, and it was several minutes before the little bookseller came up front, loaded with books. He steadied the towering stack of slush with his chin.

“Brad, watch the register, please,” Helen said. “There’s a problem in the women’s bathroom. Some preppy in a pink shirt is hiding in a stall.”

“At least he’s dressed,” Brad said. “Last week, I got the naked guy drying himself in front of the men’s-room hand dryer, holding his own wienie roast.”

The bookstore bathrooms were at the top of a long corridor. At the other end were the steps up to Page’s office.

That section was roped off and had a PRIVATE—NO ADMITTANCE sign, but it was easy to step over the flimsy barricade. Helen saw the pink-shirted preppy in the hall, on the wrong side of the green velvet rope. He was coming from the direction of Page Turner’s office.

“Excuse me, sir,” Helen said.

“Do you want something?” he said, as if Helen were the one trespassing. He had blond hair and a built-in sneer.

“A woman reported that a man answering your description was lurking in a stall in the rest room,” Helen said.

“The old biddy needed glasses,” he said. “I’m here in the hall. And I’m not lurking. I’m lost.”

“You’re in a restricted area.”

“I made a wrong turn,” the preppy sneered.

“Maybe you’d better show me some identification.”

“I don’t have to do anything of the kind.”

“No, you don’t. You have another choice. I can call two strong booksellers and they can hold you here until the police arrive. Then we’ll charge you with trespassing.”

The preppy reluctantly pulled out his wallet. Instead of a driver’s license, he produced a picture ID that said he was Harper Grisham IV, legislative assistant to State Senator Colgate Hoffman III. Were all those Roman numerals supposed to intimidate her? And why was that name familiar?

“You’re a little far from Tallahassee,” Helen said. “So why don’t you go back where you belong?”

“Gladly,” he said. Helen wanted to wipe that sneer off his face. Instead, she stood in the doorway and watched Harper the preppy stroll through the store. He walked at a stately pace, as befitted a future political mover and shaker.

Finally, the preppy prowler was gone.

An hour later, Gayle was at Helen’s register. She was not her usual cool self. Her blond hair stuck out at weird angles. Her black turtleneck was dotted with packing lint. She was definitely upset.

“Page’s office has been broken into,” she said. “I’ve called the police.”

“Did they get anything?”

“I can’t tell. I noticed the break-in when I took the last cash pickup to the safe. The office lock was jimmied. I’ve never seen such a mess. The place is ransacked. Astrid has been through so much, and now she’ll have to deal with this.”

“Why? I know she’s the owner, but you know what’s there better than she does.”

Gayle ran her fingers through her hair, and sent her bangs up in more spikes. “I thought the police made a mess, but that was nothing. Papers are tossed all over the floor. The file drawers are open. The couch is slashed.

Things are broken and overturned. The locked video cabinet door was bashed in, too. I guess someone didn’t know the police took all the videos. Either that, or the thief wanted it to look that way. There’s a lot of damage.”

“I caught a guy in the back hall about an hour ago,” Helen said. “I have his name. He’s a legislative assistant to State Senator Colgate Hoffman III.” As soon as she said the name out loud, she knew why it was familiar. The thought rocked her.

“Why would a senator’s assistant break into Page’s office?”

Helen knew, but she couldn’t say why. Peggy had starred in the missing video with the senator’s late son.

The women’s rest room was right next to the rope barricade. Someone must have come along when the preppy prowler was trying to break into the office and he ducked in there. It was the closest hiding place.

The store was soon overrun with police. Helen expected the evidence technician and burglary detectives. But she didn’t expect to see Homicide Detective Clarence Jax. He spent most of the afternoon with Gayle, while she tried to figure out what was missing. Helen rang up the customers and gave vague answers to their curious questions about the police.

Gayle was her capable self the next time Helen saw her.

The punk-stress spikes were gone. Her black clothes were lint-free. She was a gunslinger in Doc Martens.

“Nothing’s missing,” the manager concluded. “Whoever did it trashed the place. I think it was a pissed-off staffer.

But Detective Jax wants to hear about your preppy prowler.”

Jax peppered her with questions that made Helen feel like she was lying, even when she wasn’t. “And you actually saw the senator’s aide in the women’s bathroom?” he said. Did he think she was making that up?

“No, I didn’t. A woman customer reported him there.”

“Do you have her name and number? Do you have a description of her?”

“I didn’t take her phone number. She was about fifty, on the chunky side, short gray hair. A sensible-looking woman.” Helen hoped that would make Jax believe her.

“Did she pay for a purchase by check or credit card? We could find her that way.”

“She didn’t buy anything,” Helen said. “She reported a strange man in the women’s bathroom and I went back to investigate.”

“And then she left? Without buying anything?” Helen thought she heard more skepticism in his voice. “Did you see this man in the rest room?”

“No, he was in the hall, in the restricted area.”

“Did he say why he was there?”

“He claimed he was lost, even though he’d have to step over a velvet rope with a PRIVATE sign on it.”

“Did you see him near the office door? Did he have anything in his hand?”

“No. He was coming from the direction of Mr. Turner’s office, but I didn’t actually see him touch the door. He didn’t seem to have anything with him.”

Because he didn’t find anything, Helen thought.

“What was his demeanor?”

“Arrogant,” Helen said.

“But he didn’t seem furtive or guilty?” Jax said. “He didn’t appear to be hiding anything?”

“No, I asked for identification. He showed me his legislative assistant’s ID, as if that was supposed to impress me. He left when I asked him.”

“So at the time, you didn’t think his actions were suspicious enough to report him to the police?”

“No,” Helen said. “That was before I knew about the break-in.”

“Well, we’ll talk to him,” he said.

He doesn’t believe me, Helen thought. She wanted to scream in frustration. She knew why the preppy prowler was in Page’s office, and why he could brazen it out. He didn’t find the video with Peggy and the senator’s dead son.

He came away with nothing. Helen wondered if the ambitious little twit was acting on the senator’s orders, or if he thought he could advance his career with a timely burglary.

But Helen couldn’t mention the video to Detective Jax.

Yes, it would explain why the pink-shirted prowler was in Page’s office. But it would also give the police an even stronger motive for Peggy to commit murder.

There was only one good thing about the break-in: It proved Peggy was innocent. She was in jail when it

Вы читаете Murder Between the Covers
Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату