“I can check into it,” he said. “But that won’t necessarily mean anything. Perhaps the book was of some personal importance to this lady?”
“Perhaps. When we’re talking books, potentially rare and valuable books, you’re my go-to person, Theodore.”
“I appreciate the thought, Lucy. Let me see what I can find out for you.” I smiled at the pleasure in his voice. Some people thought Teddy, with his false English airs and his moldy old books that barely provided him a living, a fool. But I knew him to be a loyal friend of the library, a true lover of literature, and a kind man.
We hung up and my next call was to Louise Jane.
“More police activity,” she said. “I was hoping they’d be gone by now so I could get in there and solve this murder for them, but instead they’ve brought in more people.”
“How do you know what’s going on here?”
“Because I can see them. I can see you. You’re wearing a yellow dress.”
I whirred around. I couldn’t see Louise Jane anywhere. I threw my head back and looked up, way up, to the walkway that runs outside at the top of the lighthouse tower. The gate to the upper levels is always closed and locked when the library’s open, particularly when children’s programs are in progress, but we open it for visitors who want to go up and see the view, which is truly spectacular.
Whether she had keys or not, Louise Jane always seems to be able to get herself wherever she wants to be.
“No,” she said into the phone. “I’m not up there. I’m on the side of the highway, currently standing on the roof of my car.”
“You must have good binoculars.”
“Did you doubt it?”
“I guess not. I hope you have a good roof on your car as well.”
“Why are you calling?” she asked, blunt as always.
“Do you know a woman named Tina Ledbetter?”
“Why are you asking about her?” Suspicion filled Louise Jane’s voice.
“So you do know her?”
“I know of her. Again, why are you asking?”
“Her name came up in relation to the death of Helena Sanchez.”
A long pause came down the line. Pulling teeth came to mind. “Louise Jane? This is important.”
“Tina Ledbetter thinks of herself as some sort of psychic powerhouse. As if. The old fraud. Her family’s originally from Raleigh.” Spoken as though having family from Raleigh was equivalent to being an old fraud.
“How long has she lived in Nags Head?”
“I can’t say for sure. Since she was a child, I think, which isn’t long enough to be a true Banker, as you know, Lucy.”
I ignored that comment.
“She approached my grandmother a number of years ago with some crazy idea about setting up some sort of group to combine energies to contact the spirts. My grandmother saw through her right away and sent her packing. Again, why are you asking?”
“She was Helena Sanchez’s identical twin sister.”
“Was she now? Interesting. Even more interesting that they both lived in Nags Head at one time and I didn’t know that.”
“I gather they didn’t exactly get on.”
“She told you she foretold Helena’s death, I suppose.”
“Not foretold exactly.”
“What exactly, Lucy? Sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth.”
I didn’t have to explain myself to Louise Jane. Somehow, despite that, I always found myself doing precisely that. “She says her sister’s death came to her in a dream.”
“I thought so. The old fraud. Check Twitter, that’ll be where she heard it. Oh, something’s happening. The divers are waving. Gotta go. Bye.”
I put my phone away and trotted over to the police tape. “Good morning,” I said to Officer Rankin.
“You can’t go past,” she said.
“I know that. I’m out for a walk. Getting some fresh air. Something seems to be happening down there.”
She turned and looked. Louise Jane was right. The divers had surfaced, and the men in the boat were leaning over the gunwales, talking to them. A wetsuit-clad arm reached up and passed something over. From here, I couldn’t tell what it was. If I didn’t have a few remaining scraps of pride, I’d call Louise Jane and ask if she could pick it up with her binoculars.
Instead, I walked back to the library. I’d have to wait to hear from Sam Watson. If he wanted to tell me what they’d found. Might have been nothing more exciting than an old boot.
Before going inside I called up Twitter and searched for Nags Head and the Lighthouse Library. @MSyourOBXrealtor had put up a series of posts about the reunion last night. Pictures of groups of laughing women posing outside the library and circulating inside. I saw myself in the background of one, offering the guests a platter of crab cakes. If my mom saw me acting as a cocktail waitress, she’d have a fit. My mother’s very sensitive about the proper placement of our family on the social ladder.
The last post said: Fun day ends in tragedy. Unknown woman found dead in the water. RIP.
I thought it tasteless in the extreme to post about a sudden tragic death. I checked the profile of @MSyourOBXrealtor. The picture was of Mary-Sue Delamont, and the link provided led to Antonio Francesco Realty.
Mary-Sue’s final post had gone up at 1:15 AM. Had Tina seen it? When her sister didn’t come home that night, and when the police knocked on her door the next morning, it would be easy enough to guess they were here to tell her Helena was the one who’d died.
If it had been just a guess, why would Tina pretend to have “foreseen” the death? Sam Watson wouldn’t care if Tina had a reputation as a psychic, but pretending to know the circumstances of someone’s mysterious death would pretty much be guaranteed to ensure police attention.
Games people play.
I thought of Louise Jane, standing on the roof of her
