“Did Mr. Easton come back to the library?”
“No. He didn’t come back while I was here. Susan and Mary covered the desk after that and they didn’t see him.”
He stared at me, hands jammed in his pockets, his face unreadable. If the guy who’d helped me off the floor was Nice Cop, then this had to be Mean Cop.
“Ms. Paulson,” he said, finally. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you what happens to people who lie?”
“Actually, my mother said, ‘Always tell the truth, because it’s much easier to remember,’” I said.
Detective Gordon said nothing.
“You think he came back?”
A tiny muscle twitched in his cheek.
“No,” I said slowly. “You’re certain he came back. That’s why you won’t let it go.” I looked across the library. One of the heavy sheets of plastic had been taken down. “You picked something up off the floor after we saw those spots of blood. What was it?”
He cleared his throat. “Part of a cuff link.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” I played with my watch. “Easton didn’t come back while I was here. Both Mary and Susan said they didn’t see him, either. And they don’t have any reason to lie.”
“Do you?” the detective asked.
I closed my eyes for a moment and took a couple of deep breaths. “No,” I said.
I held up one finger. “I met Gregor Easton for the first and only time Tuesday night.” I added a second finger. “I did not know Mr. Easton.” Now three fingers. “Mr. Easton and I were not having an affair, a relationship or an encounter of any kind.” Finally, I stuck my arm out and held up four fingers. “And if Mr. Easton came back to the library Tuesday night, I don’t know when or how he did.”
Detective Gordon’s face was still unreadable, except for that tiny, pulsing muscle. He pulled out a piece of paper. “Then why did he have a note from you in his pocket?”
6
Single Whip
“What do you mean, a note from me?”I asked, my heart suddenly thumping in my ears.
He handed me the paper. It was a photocopy of an original, which had been written on library stationery. Meet me at the library at eleven thirty. Kathleen , was all that was on the page. I looked up at him. “I didn’t write this,” I said.
“It’s your name and it’s library stationery.”
I made myself take a couple of deep breaths before I answered. “Yes, but it’s not my handwriting. Mine’s a lot messier. And I didn’t write any note to Gregor Easton.” I pointed. “Look, it’s not addressed to him. It’s not addressed to anyone. And as for the paper, that’s not the library stationery. We found it in the workroom and we’re using it for scratch pads. Look a little closer at the library name.” I handed the sheet of paper back.
The detective squinted at the photocopied page; then he looked up at me. “Mabel Heights Free Public Library?” he said.
I nodded. “Uh-huh. I have one of these pads on my desk. There are a couple in the staff room and there’s a stack of them under the counter at the circulation desk. We all use them. I probably write half a dozen notes a day using that paper, to the staff, to the workmen, to myself, but not to anyone outside the library.” I pointed at the photocopy again. “That’s not even a full sheet of paper. It looks like it’s been torn in half.” I pointed over my head to the second floor. “You can have all the samples of my handwriting you want. I didn’t write that note to Easton. I didn’t lure him back here for a meeting.”
“So you say.” He tucked the paper back in his pocket.
“Why are you so certain he came back?” I said. “It can’t be just that bit of cuff link.” His face didn’t give anything away. “Wait a second. Was it Easton’s blood on the floor?”
“Why do you think it was blood on the floor?”
“Because when I asked you what you’d picked up when we saw the blood, you didn’t correct me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Mary appeared behind him then. “Sorry to interrupt, Kathleen,” she said. “Will Redfern is on line two for you.”
“Excuse me, Detective,” I said. “I need to take this.” I followed Mary back to the main desk. It was faster than going to my office.
“Good morning, Mr. Redfern,” I said.
“Morning, Miss Paulson. I was calling to make sure the library was open before I send my boys over to work.”
I wondered where he was calling from. There was a hollowness to his voice that made it sound like he was talking to me from a bathroom stall—or the inside of a giant Spam can.
“I heard the police shut the building down yesterday.”
“They did,” I said. “But most of the library is open now, except for the meeting-room area where you were storing your tools.”
“Not a problem. Tools we got.”
“I need an electrician in here today, too,” I said, pulling the phone closer so I could move to the side of the counter, out of Mary’s way.
“An electrician? What for?”
“Because I plugged the vacuum cleaner into one of the old outlets in the computer room and was almost electrocuted.”
“You’re kidding,” he said.
“No, I’m not. All the wiring in that part of the library needs to be checked, and I still need the new outlets for the computers.”
“I can try to get someone there today.” Was he chewing something?
“Thank you.”
“Are you sure the problem wasn’t with the vacuum?” he asked.
I glanced at Mary and shook my head. She smiled in sympathy. I took a deep breath and let it out. It didn’t help. “I’m sure,” I said.
“You know, Miss Paulson, the library’s an old building, and just like an old gal, she’s going to be a bit temperamental. You haven’t been here long enough to know all her little quirks.”
There it was, that slightly condescending tone Will Redfern tended to use with me.
I shut my eyes and imagined all my frustration filling up a big, red balloon coming out of the top of my head. It was a relaxation exercise my mother taught in her acting classes. “So, I can leave the electrician to you?” I said, picturing the balloon getting bigger and bigger and bigger. “Because if it’s a problem, I can call Everett and ask him to recommend someone. I don’t mind.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said quickly. “I’ll find someone.”
“Thank you.” I reached above my head and flicked away the imaginary balloon with my thumb and middle finger.
“The boys will be there in about an hour,” Will continued. “And I’ll get an electrician there before the end of the day. Call me if you have any other problems.”
“Thank you,” I said again, but I was talking to nothing. I hung up the phone and pushed it across the countertop to Mary.
“Is Will planning on getting some work done here today?” she asked.
“Let’s hope so.” I turned to see Detective Gordon standing by the entrance. I walked over to him. “Are we finished?”
“For now,” he said, pulling his keys out of his pocket.
“Thank you for your help back there.”
“You’re welcome.” I almost got a smile then. “I’ll be in touch.” He pointed toward the taped-off section of the library. “We should be finished in another day.”
I nodded. “Aren’t you going to tell me not to leave town?” I said.
His lips twitched. He wanted to smile. “Are you going somewhere?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then I don’t see a problem.” He turned and walked away.
I went back to the computer room. Susan was coiling the vacuum cleaner cord around the handle. “I’ll stick this upstairs in the closet,” she said.
I nodded. “Thanks. When Harry comes to mow again I’ll ask him if he can fix it.” I looked at the blackened section of wall above the outlet, hearing the bang, seeing the sparks, feeling the muscles in my hand and arm clench into twisted, painful knots.
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