What was that? I reached automatically for the light switch and stopped. I had to leave things as they were. The light was off. I pulled my hand back slowly.
If the light was off, how had Joanna gone up to the attic? Must have been during the day, or for some reason she turned the light off at the top. Why? I studied the scene on the upper landing, trying to make out what the shapeless dark thing was. I was reaching for my phone with its flashlight app when I heard a gentle creak above my head and froze. A few seconds passed in silence. Maybe I had imagined it, that sound where no one should be. And then once again, the slight protesting noise of an old floorboard in the attic above.
An electric zing of fear shot through me. I eased back, out of sight of anyone who might look over the stair rail. I managed one deep breath before I heard a clatter behind me. I whirled to see Helene, followed by two people I didn’t know. Helene was flanked by a tall, solidly built man with salt-and-pepper hair and a younger blonde woman, who eyed me with some suspicion. The police had arrived to find me standing over the body of a dead woman, and they did not look pleased.
“I heard something,” I said, pointing at the ceiling. It was both the truth and a good excuse for stepping all over the crime scene. The woman went into high alert, almost vibrating with energy. She motioned me back, moving across the floor to take up the position I had just vacated. As she leaned forward to look up the stairwell, I heard the man ask Helene, “There’s another way up, isn’t there?”
Helene nodded.
“Anything, Jennie?” The blonde officer leaned back, shaking her head.
“The other entrance is in the archives. I’ll show you,” Helene said.
“Take Officer Webber. I’ll stay here with Ms …?”
“Hogan,” I replied. “Greer Hogan.”
Helene gave a brief nod and the two women left. I resumed my place at the window, leaning against the sill on legs that had begun to tremble.
“Sam O’Donnell, Ms. Hogan,” he said, walking past me. He stood unmoving in the center of the room, carefully studying the scene. Without turning, he said, “You found her?”
“Yes.”
“Recognized her?”
“Yes.”
“Know her well?”
I hesitated.
He turned his head and raised an eyebrow. “Ms. Hogan?”
I didn’t want them to associate me too closely with Joanna, but I didn’t want to break one of my cardinal rules: Never lie about anything important. My relationship with the victim of an unexplained death was important, especially to the police at this point in their investigation. So, appear forthcoming, but stick to the facts.
“We first met in college. I was her RA. Then we lost touch. We reconnected a few years ago on Facebook. The job here threw us together again. So, we were friendly, but I can’t say I knew her really well. I’m not on the mommy circuit, you know? Besides, I’ve only been here since October.”
“Right. Thought I recognized the name. You’re the new librarian.”
Which was how every village resident I’d met had referred to me since the day I had arrived, and would until I left. Or passed away quietly at the reference desk, as my elderly predecessor had done. But O’Donnell seemed satisfied, for the moment at least. He turned back to Joanna’s body. I edged closer, straining to hear any activity in the attic. Was Webber there yet? Was anyone else? I was leaning toward the door when O’Donnell’s radio chirped. I jumped. He turned and raised an eyebrow.
“Was there something you wanted to tell me, Ms. Hogan? Anything you’d like to discuss?”
I wanted to know what was going on in the attic, but he wasn’t going to let me check, and it wasn’t in my best interests to have a lengthy chat with him at this point. Someone else would know if they found someone. Helene, certainly.
“Um, no, I’m fine. Really.”
He held my gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Good. Go downstairs, Ms. Hogan. You’ll find an officer in the main hall. We’ll need to talk to you when we’re done up here. And please don’t discuss this with the rest of the staff.”
I fled.
Chapter Two
An hour later I was in the staff room, having been deposited there by a young and nervous uniformed officer. The room was part of the original manor kitchen. Running the length of the building on its lowest level, the old kitchen had been divided in two. The front half, with its enormous fireplace and a row of small, high windows, was now used for book discussions and meetings. And today, for corralling witnesses. Except for me. Apparently, I was the star of the show and so was stashed in the back half. Used by the staff for lunch and breaks, it had been retrofitted with modern kitchen appliances donated by the Friends of the Library. The furnishings were odds and ends from elsewhere in the building, creating a Food-Network-meets-the-Addams-Family ambience. The only windows were at the back, the largest being the door to the former kitchen garden, permanently fastened shut. I leaned against the frame and kept an eye on the comings and goings. Sequestered I might be, but I was armed with a powerful curiosity and a smart phone, and used both.
I started with O’Donnell and Webber. Neither had a social media presence, which I chalked up to departmental policy. Not surprising, but I’d hoped to find something that would give me some idea of what I was dealing with. I moved on to Joanna. Facebook and Instagram. She didn’t tweet. I ran through the Friends of the Library pages, looking for anything that would help me make sense of her death.
