“Just stating it for the record.”
“Noted. Bertie, you go first. What can you tell me about Helena Sanchez?”
“She was the director here immediately before me. She moved to Mount Dora, Florida, I believe, when she retired. That was ten years ago, and until tonight I haven’t seen her since. I’d heard she was visiting the area, and I thought she’d enjoy seeing the display Lucy and Charlene put together. So I invited her to join us tonight.”
“You say she was visiting. Visiting who?”
“Whom.” I said.
“Pardon me, Lucy?”
“Visiting whom. Not who.” I ducked my head. “Sorry.”
Bertie gave me a fond smile. Then she turned back to Sam Watson. “I don’t know, except that it was somewhere in Nags Head. I don’t know anything about her private life. I’ve had no contact with her since she left the library ten years ago, and I didn’t know her before that.”
“How’d you know she was in Nags Head?”
“She ran into Ellen O’Malley in town, and they exchanged phone numbers. Ellen told me. I thought … I guess I thought Helena would enjoy seeing the library again. I was wrong about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“She didn’t seem to be having a good time. That’s all. Maybe she had something on her mind. I can’t say what that might have been, if anything.”
Lucinda and Sheila glanced at each other and said nothing. Mary-Sue fiddled with her coffee mug, and Ruth studied her fingernails.
“How did she get here?” Watson asked.
“She came in a cab. I said I’d give her a lift after the party, which is why she came on the marsh walk with us. She was waiting for her ride.”
“Did any of you know her prior to this party?” Watson asked.
Ruth tore her attention away from her nails. “I worked with her in Manteo for about a year. That would have been twenty or so years ago, before I moved to Baltimore. Helena moved between libraries quite a lot in her early years. She was never … much of a people person.”
“You can say that again,” Mary-Sue said. “Although she did stay here, at the Lighthouse Library for the last fifteen years of her career.”
Watson looked at her. She flushed and cleared her throat. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but Helena Sanchez was a horrid person. I worked here when she was director.”
“I didn’t know that,” Bertie said.
“Not for long, and it wasn’t a pleasant time in my life. Because of that experience I gave up being a librarian and got my realtor’s license. I was surprised to see her here tonight, but other than that, I didn’t really care. It happened a long time ago, and I haven’t given Helena Sanchez a single thought since.” She gave Sam Watson a big smile.
I studied Mary-Sue’s face. The smile disappeared when she caught me looking, and she flushed and dipped her head. She was lying; she’d been very upset to see Helena. Upset enough to initially tell me she didn’t know the other woman.
“I didn’t find her difficult,” Ruth said. “She was perfectly fine to work with. A bit of a perfectionist sometimes, but I’ve known people to be worse. She was never what I’d call friendly, and we didn’t socialize outside of work, but she wasn’t nasty to anyone either.”
“I guess you were just lucky then,” Mary-Sue snapped.
“I never worked with her,” Lucinda said, “but the librarian world’s a small one, and I met her at conferences and training days and such. I moved to California a long time ago and haven’t seen her since.”
“I’d never met her before tonight,” Sheila said.
“I’ll need the names of everyone who was here tonight,” Watson said, addressing Bertie.
“I’ll e-mail you a copy of the guest list. It has everyone’s e-mail addresses also.”
“You don’t seriously think someone killed Helena, do you?” Ruth said. “She fell into the water. She obviously got to the pier before the rest of us. It was dark and she didn’t have a light of her own. She must have tripped. Tragic, but an accident.”
“I haven’t come to any conclusions,” he said.
“It’s routine,” Lucinda said, “for the police to investigate any unexpected death. Isn’t that right, Detective?”
“Right,” he said. “I’d like to speak to each of you privately, one at a time. Bertie, can I use your office?”
“You know the way,” she said.
Which, much to our regret, he did.
“I’ll start with you,” Watson said to Ronald, whose lips were turning blue as he shivered under the wrap. “Then you can go home and get yourself warmed up.”
“Th–th–thank you. Just this once, I won’t be a gentleman and say ‘Ladies first.’” Ronald got to his feet and headed for the hallway, followed by Watson. Officer Rankin stayed in the main room with us, probably to keep us from talking and “getting our stories straight.”
Not that we had a story to get straight.
“Once more,” Louise Jane said, “strange happenings are afoot at the Lighthouse Library. I’m available to offer any help you need, Lucy.”
“Why would I need your help?”
She jerked her head toward the listening officer.
“This has nothing to do with me,” I said. “I’m not getting involved.”
“Are you a private detective?” Sheila asked. “That’s exciting. I thought you worked here.”
“I do work here. And I am not a private detective.”
“Lucy has sometimes helped the police with their inquiries,” Louise Jane said.
Four sets of eyebrows rose.
“I don’t think that expression means what you think it means, Louise Jane,” I said.
“What does it mean?”
“Helping the police with their inquiries doesn’t mean you are ‘helping the police with their inquiries.’ It means you’re being questioned prior to being arrested.”
“It does?”
“Yes, it does. Don’t you read British police procedurals?”
“Why would I do that? In my limited free time, I prefer to read North Carolina history or historical fiction.”
“I hope this doesn’t spoil our weekend,” Lucinda said.
“It shouldn’t,” Mary-Sue said. “Most of us didn’t know the woman, and if we did, we didn’t like her.”
“That’s rather unkind, isn’t it?” Ruth said.
“I’m being honest. That’s all.”
