I unlocked my apartment, let myself in, and slammed the door behind me. Made it!
Seeing Rachel’s lovely garden had inspired me, and as I don’t even have a window box in my apartment, I decided that rather than go to the beach, today would be a good day to pay a visit to the Elizabethan Gardens in Manteo. I’d have a walk around, admire the plants, maybe pick up a birthday gift for my mother, and treat myself to a late lunch/early dinner in a nice restaurant overlooking Roanoke Sound. If I was going to eat by myself, I needed my book to keep me company.
But first, something Lucinda and Mary-Sue said had caught my attention and I wanted to check a detail with someone. I signed onto the staff area of the library’s website, accessed the Friends of the Library list, found the number I needed, and made a call.
“Hello?” said a woman’s voice.
“Hi, I’m looking for Glenda Covington?”
“This is she. Lucy, is that you?”
“Yes, it is. Hi. I hope you don’t mind my calling, but I have a quick question. I’ve been thinking about something you said the other day.”
“I’d be happy to help if I can.”
“It’s about Helena Sanchez.”
“Oh yes. So sad. What about her?”
“You said many people didn’t get on with her, but you always had a soft spot for her. Can you tell me more about that? From what I’ve heard she was … ‘difficult’ might be the word.”
“We lived in Manteo for a few years. I taught fifth grade at the public school there. I knew Helena when she was at the Manteo Library. She was a highly efficient librarian, perhaps a bit on the stern side. I knew the children didn’t like her, but she was always pleasant to me, to everyone, whether staff or patrons. I was pleased for her when she got a promotion and went to the Lighthouse Library. A few years after that I was transferred to a school in Nags Head and we moved house, so I started going to the Lighthouse Library. Helena had … changed, I thought.”
“Changed. In what way?”
A long pause came down the line. I let Glenda think.
“She wasn’t … nice any longer. Still efficient, still strict, but she didn’t even attempt to get along with people. She’d never been the friendly sort, the sort to make friends easily or to even to want to make friends. She didn’t associate with the patrons, except to do her job, but when she did she’d always been pleasant enough. At the Lighthouse Library, she was … different. That’s about all I can say, Lucy. Some people speculated that she was experiencing pain and didn’t want to show weakness, but I didn’t see signs of that. I wondered if she’d had some crushing disappointment, a betrayal so great it changed her view of people and the world, or perhaps reinforced her inclinations, but I never knew what that might have been. It certainly wasn’t something I could ask her. I continued to get on with her, maybe because I sensed her underlying sadness, but not a lot of people did. While she was the director, I was about the only member of the Friends of the Library who stayed any length of time. When she retired, I don’t think the staff even had a party for her. I was genuinely sorry to hear she died. I wish I’d known she was visiting Nags Head, but I never heard from her after she retired and moved away.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Am I helping, Lucy? Do you know who killed her?”
“No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“You take care, dear,” she said and hung up.
I grabbed my book off the night table, stuffed it into my bag, and headed out, ready to enjoy the rest of the day without worrying about the death of Helena Sanchez.
When I got to the second floor, children’s story hour was letting out, and I descended the rest of the steps surrounded by a pack of excited kids as well as an excited cat. Charles leaped onto the railing and walked down next to me.
Bertie had come out of her office and was standing by the front door, waving goodbye to the children and chatting to their parents. A long line of kids gripping their books waited for Aunt Ellen to check them out. I ducked my head and ran for the door.
“Lucy!” Mrs. Peterson popped out from behind the stacks. “There you are. Ronald told me you were off today. Never mind. I won’t take much of your time. I’ve been thinking about programming for teenagers. As you know, my Charity is fifteen now, and getting too old for the children’s library, as excellent a librarian as Ronald is. It’s time that she …”
Curses! Foiled again!
I shifted from foot to foot, my smile straining my face. Mrs. Peterson had five daughters. In charitable moods, I considered her to be stalwart of the library in general and the children’s library in particular. In less charitable moods, I thought she was a pest. She had social ambitions for her daughters that her family’s financial situation simply couldn’t accommodate. Therefore, as she couldn’t afford a private library and librarian for her children, she simply decided to treat the Bodie Island Lighthouse Library and Ronald as such.
And now, it seemed, she had designs on me.
“As the youngest librarian here, I thought you’d be the best one to get the program going. You can have visiting professionals. Scientists, doctors—people like that—talking to the young people about their work. I would, of course, leave everything up to you, but if you wanted my help …”
I searched for an opening in the stream of words, but nothing presented itself. If I didn’t get out of here in the next minute, I’d spend an hour listening to Mrs. Peterson’s idea. She’d probably order me to start working on a position paper
