“Point taken. Thanks. I appreciate your help.”
“Any time, Lucy, any time.” He adjusted his spectacles, gave us a small bow, and went inside to join the meeting.
The line of cars coming down the driveway had thinned. I checked my watch. Ten minutes after seven. “Might as well get this show on the road,” I said to Josie. “If anyone’s late, they can ring up.” I locked the front door and led the way through the main room to the twisting iron stairs. The metal clattered beneath our feet as we climbed. The gate between the third and fourth floors was open, meaning Louise Jane and Sheila hadn’t come down yet.
The meeting room was packed, and all the seats were taken, leaving Butch and Theodore to lean up against the walls. The platters on the refreshments table contained nothing more than crumbs, and not many of those. Charles had taken his usual place for book club: on Mrs. Fitzgerald’s lap. Charles loved book club. Josie and I took places next to Butch.
“Before we begin the meeting,” Mrs. Fitzgerald sniffed with disapproval as she looked around the crowded room. She stroked Charles steadily, and Charles purred in return. “So nice to see such an enthusiastic turnout to our little book club. But, I have to say, I hope no one here has such incredibly bad taste as to be interested in discussing The Moonstone only because of the real-life events that transpired here recently.”
One or two people had the grace to flush.
“We’re Bertie’s old college friends,” Mary-Sue said. “We’re all either current or former librarians.”
“Then you are welcome,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said.
“I’ve always loved Wilkie Collins,” said a woman with a mop of unnaturally red hair the approximate texture of a Brillo pad. I’d never her seen before. The woman next to her, with her hair dyed a deep black, nodded enthusiastically.
I considered asking them a skill-testing question but decided to let it go. At the Bodie Island Lighthouse Library, everyone is welcome. If these two hadn’t arrived as lovers of classic literature, maybe they’d leave as such.
Louise Jane marched into the room, but Sheila wasn’t with her. I glanced at Bertie. She nodded at me to say we could let Sheila get her fill of the view from the top if she wanted.
“Welcome, everyone,” I said. “It’s nice to see so many people here tonight.”
Everyone muttered some sort of greeting.
“I hope you all had time to read the book.”
Theodore pulled a tattered paperback out of his ever-present leather satchel and waved it in the air.
“The Moonstone,” I said. “Is considered a classic novel of—”
“It’s about a jewel theft right?” The Brillo-haired woman asked.
“Uh … yes,” I said.
“Like the one everyone’s talking about in town?”
“No, not like—”
“I remember the story. Rachel Blackstone lost her family’s heirloom.”
“Lost—ha!” said the black-haired woman. “I always figured she was in on it with that Jeff Whatshisname.” She turned to her friend. “What was his name, Annalisa?”
“Applehouse.”
“Right, Jeff Applehouse. Strange name.”
It was Applewhite, but no one corrected them.
“It looks like he’s come back,” she continued. “They say he checked a book out of this very library just the other day. Is that right?”
Sheila slipped into the room. Seeing no free seats, she leaned against the wall next to Theodore. He gave her a vacant smile. She shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other.
“We’re not here to talk about local events, either past or present,” I said. “What parallels do you see between The Moonstone and your favorite movie or—”
“Come back?” Louise Jane said. “Surely, Annalisa, you’re not suggesting Jeff’s … here?”
Several people gasped and cast furtive looks into the corners. Not that the room, being round, had any corners.
“That’s not—” I struggled to regain control of the conversation.
Josie attempted to leap to my aid. “Let Lucy—”
“There’s a thought.” Sheila shifted her bag again. “I’ve been looking into that. The last time we have any record of his movements was in this library. When he signed out the book. Is it possible that he never left?”
“No, that is not possible,” I said.
“Louise Jane,” Sheila said, “what do you think?”
“I’ve never known any such presence,” Louise Jane admitted, “although it could be a new one and so far unfamiliar to me.”
“It could not be anything of the sort,” Bertie said. “Louise Jane, I’ve warned you about making up stories about the lighthouse.”
“So you have. Except in this case not only did I not make up any story, I specifically said I know nothing about one.”
“She’s got you there,” Theodore said.
“Enough about Jeff Applewhite,” Lucinda said. “I’m sick and tired of hearing about him.”
“Did you know him?” Mary-Sue asked.
“I did not,” Lucinda snapped. “I’d left Nags Head before he did … whatever it was he did. Neither, it seems, did anyone else know him, but it’s all you people talk about around here. Oh, for heavens’ sake, not that dratted cat again.” Charles had leaped onto her lap, and she shoved him off.
“He’s only trying to be friendly,” Mary-Sue said, “although I can’t imagine why.” She bent over and rubbed her fingers together. Charles went to join her, and she scratched behind his ears. I swear he threw a smirk over his shoulder at Lucinda.
“Has anyone seen a picture of the Blackstone necklace?” Annalisa asked. “Does it look like the Moonstone?”
“It does not look like the Moonstone,” I snapped. “And it has nothing whatsoever to do with the book we’re here to discuss.”
Butch came to my rescue. He stepped away from the wall and crossed his arms over his powerful chest. Even out of uniform, dressed in casual chinos and a short-sleeved blue T-shirt with the logo of the Toronto Blue Jays on it, he looked like nothing but a cop. “The case of Jeffrey Applewhite and the Blackstone necklace is still open at the NHPD. Anyone who has any information about it is welcome to come down to the station during business hours and make a statement. Otherwise, I wouldn’t like to see such a sensitive matter being subject to
