Brought to Book Page 5

  Deirdre shrugged. “I’m sure that, officially, it’s all equal opportunity, but things just seem to work in their favor.”

  The phone rang again. This time I answered it.

  “Hi, Katrina? We’re on our way back with Ben. We should be there in about twenty minutes.”

  “Great! You’ll be just in time for dinner then.”

  I hung up the phone and reflected that I might just have it in me to run a household with a couple foster children in it. Dinner had been made, all the kids were gainfully occupied—except for Josh, who was due home any minute, and I’d been able to discuss a grown-up topic like marriage with a teenager. I felt competent.

  That feeling was crushed a few minutes later when Mia came running in, screaming because she had found an ant crawling on her leg. Then Sam, who had taken Molly for a walk down the street without informing me, came back to discover that he hadn’t quite latched the gate, and the little terrier named Houdini had gotten out—again. Josh arrived home on the heels of this discovery, and as soon as his friend drove off, realized he had left his school backpack in the gym. Ed and Kim arrived to find a scene of total chaos.

  Of course, everything was set to rights as soon as the parents started managing it all. Mia was soothed in record time, Ed took Josh with him in the car to go back to the gym to get the backpack and look for Houdini along the way, and I meekly set the table for dinner.

  It was a quiet meal. Mia and Ben appeared to have exhausted themselves emotionally for the day, and the teens seemed absorbed with their own thoughts. It wasn’t until Kim and I were cleaning up that I realized I hadn’t really thought about the murder all evening. It had been a welcome break.

  “Is the rest of your week looking really busy?” asked Kim.

  “Not really. I’ve just got to catch up on all the things I didn’t do while spending those hours at the police station in the last couple days. Thank goodness they won’t need me anymore. I really have to finish grading those papers tonight, and I want to prepare for Monday’s library book club meeting. And one of my authors is about to send me something to edit.”

  “Got time for a blind date?” There was a twinkle in Kim’s eye.

  “Not you too!” I exclaimed.

  “What do you mean, me too? Who else is trying to set you up?”

  “Deirdre. Her art teacher.”

  “So she got to you first. Well, what did you say?”

  “You know I don’t go out with men that have been married before.”

  “I was hoping you had changed your mind on that.”

  “Well, I haven’t. If I can’t have the kind of relationship that I’m comfortable with, then I’d rather be single.”

  “Still waiting for Captain Wentworth, eh?” She struck a dramatic pose. “‘I have loved none but you.’”

  I flicked a dishtowel at her.

  “But what if God wants you to marry a widower?” she persisted.

  “I can see where Deirdre gets her thought processes,” I said.

  “You haven’t answered the question.”

  “Ok, yes, if God wants me to marry a widower, I will. Satisfied?”

  “Satisfied.”

  “But I’m still not going on a blind date with the art teacher. And God will have to put a message in neon lights in the sky before I’ll be convinced He’s asking me to marry him!”

  Chapter 5

  I ended my Thursday English Comp class with a reminder that Punctuation Presentations were due the following week and then gathered up my teaching notes while the students who had been procrastinating for the last five weeks groaned in near-unison. Two of them came up to talk to me about an extension as the others filed out of the classroom, and I had just finished talking to the second one when I noticed Detective Mason waiting outside my door. I damped down the little happy flutter I felt on seeing him.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Peters. Would you mind coming down to the station now? We have a few more questions for you.”

  “Uh, sure. Should I meet you there?”

  “No, you can ride along with me.” He seemed less approachable than he had been the day before—more business-like. Of course, he was on duty now.

  The ride to the police station was short and more silent than I would have expected. The detective seemed so formal that I was too intimidated to try to make conversation. I began to wonder if I had been too friendly yesterday, and he was doing his best to discourage my attentions. If that was it, he was doing a splendid job.

  I was taken to an interrogation room and asked to sit down. Detective Mason sat across from me, as he had previously, but before he could ask me any questions we were joined by another man, introduced as Detective Ortega. If anything, Mr. Ortega was the friendlier of the two. This time there was a recording device set up to record my answers.

  “Miss Peters, do you know anything about the contents of Mr. Delaney’s will?”

  “No. I wasn’t even sure he had a will. I mean, I would have thought that he did, but he never mentioned it.”

  “What was your relationship to Frank Delaney?”

  “Just a friend. Hardly even that. I would say he was more of a colleague, but I didn’t really work for the bookstore. More like a close acquaintance. I never saw him outside the store.”

  “You were not related at all?”

  “No,” I said, increasingly surprised by this string of questions. Did they think we looked alike or something? “I never heard of him or saw him until I walked into his bookstore a couple years ago when I first moved to Washington.”

  “Do you own a gun, Dr. Peters?” That was Detective Ortega. It jolted me a bit, because I don’t usually go by “Dr.” outside of the classroom.

  “No.”

  “Do you know how to shoot? Are you familiar with guns?”

  “Not really. One time my brother took me to a shooting range, just for fun, but it’s not really my thing.”

  “Do you have access to your brother’s guns?”

  “No. He lives in California, for one thing. And I don’t even know if he still has his gun, let alone where he keeps it.” It was all very weird—almost like I was a suspect.

  “Did you ever argue with Mr. Delaney?” This came from Detective Mason.

  “No, never. I don’t think I was his favorite person, but he didn’t seem to like many people. I’d say he tolerated me better than most. I don’t even know what we would have argued about.”

  The two detectives exchanged a glance, and I saw Todd give a tiny nod.

  “Dr. Peters,” said Detective Ortega, “did you know that Mr. Delaney was going to leave you the bookstore in his will?”

  My mouth fell open. “What?”

  “We found his will. You are named as the beneficiary of his business. He left you the store—the building, the books, and the business.”

  “But why? I didn’t even know him very well.”

  “We were hoping you could tell us,” said Detective Ortega.

  I shook my head. “I have no idea. I never gave him the slightest hint that I would want to own a bookstore—because I don’t, really.”

  “Did you ever mention that fact to anyone at the college? Or anyone at all?”

  “What, that I don’t want to own a bookstore? I don’t think so. I mean, it’s never come up. If someone had asked me if I ever wanted to own a bookstore, I would have told them no, but I can’t remember anyone ever asking me that.”

  “Do you think you might sell it, then?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know. Possibly. I mean, I’ll have to think about it.” Nifty, I thought. Another item to add to the list of things I have to decide about.

  Detective Mason spoke up. “It’s just possible that someone who wanted the building knew you would be getting it if something happened to Mr. Delaney. They might have thought you would sell it to them if it were yours.”

  The thought was a bit bewildering. “That seems like a very complicated motive. Like something that would be in a movie about the m
afia—someone being bumped off for the inheritance.” I said it in a light-hearted tone, but the detectives didn’t smile back.

  “Do you have any connection with someone in organized crime?” asked Detective Ortega.

  “Uh, no.” I felt like one of those missionaries that get accused of spying and plotting to overthrow a foreign government. It was all I could do not to blurt out “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “Thank you,” said Detective Mason. He reached over and turned off the recording device. “If you would wait here for a moment,” he said, as both men scooted back their chairs and stood up, “I’ll be back with you shortly.” They left the room together.

  It was the strangest thing: I was starting to feel guilty. Like I had actually done something criminal. I felt the urge to apologize for something—anything! But I couldn’t think of what I could possibly have done wrong. Would they arrest me for murdering Frank? I supposed I could see their point. I was the one who reported finding the body, after all. But why wait until now?

  Detective Mason came back in and sat down. He looked at my face and the faint smile came back.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re not in trouble.”

  I gave a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad. I felt like I’d done something illegal.”

  “Sorry. We had to ask those questions. You were the first person on the scene, and when we found out that the bookstore was willed to you, it provided a motive, and we had to rule you out as a suspect.”

  “And have you ruled me out?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good. Could I ask a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “How did you know that I was telling you the truth? I mean, I could have said I didn’t know Frank before, but what if I was lying? How would you know?”

  “I wouldn’t—not without doing a lot of research. But usually people who would lie about that would lie about other things, too. It’s very hard to tell a long, consistent lie, and people who are lying usually end up with discrepancies in their stories. Also, not many Sunday school teachers are guilty of murder.”

  “Yes, but I might have been lying about that.”

  “You weren’t. I found out one of the administrators at the college is also one of the elders at your church. It turned out he was also your friend. He was able to vouch for you, and to confirm that you do teach Sunday school.”

  “You talked to Ed?”

  Detective Mason nodded.

  “You mean that conversation yesterday—you weren’t just being chatty and friendly? You were investigating me?”

  “No—no, not at all. I was just being friendly. But when the will came to light this morning, and protocol dictated that we consider you a potential suspect, I remembered what you said and used the information to clear you more quickly.” He leaned forward slightly. “Frankly, Miss Peters, I never considered you a viable suspect. But the police chief couldn’t just take my confidence that you are a genuine Christian as rock-solid evidence that you were innocent. But he could agree that your character being vouched for by a reliable witness, no police record or evidence against you, plus the lack of a strong motive meant that we really had no reason to think you were our criminal.”

  “So you didn’t think I was guilty even before you talked to me today?”

  “No.”

  I must have looked puzzled.

  “That surprises you?”

  “You seemed so stern today. I felt like you really did think I was guilty.”

  “Some of that was just protocol in interrogating someone.”

  “What was the other part?”

  “I knew you might feel hurt if you were accused, and I was dreading you going through that questioning, especially when I knew it wasn’t really necessary to establish your innocence.”

  “Oh.” The thought that he felt bad for me ignited that little flutter again. I smacked it down. “Did you find out if Frank had any family? He must not have, if he left the store to me.”

  “It seems he had a cousin that he was estranged from. We haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet.”

  “I see. Well, let me know…” I broke off. “I guess the police don’t tell suspects—or witnesses, I suppose—what they find out. But if Frank left me the store, I’d like to know what his cousin says about it. Maybe he knows why Frank turned it into a bookstore in the first place, or something. I like to know the history of things.”

  Todd sat there pondering for a minute. “I think it might be valuable to have you here when we talk to the cousin. He’s not a suspect at all, and between the two of you we might be able to figure out some things. Would that be all right? I can’t require you to come, but it might be helpful.”

  “I’d like that,” I said.

  “Would you be free tomorrow?”

  “Well, I have class from one to two, but otherwise I’m free. Oh, I do have to meet a student at twelve tomorrow, too.”

  “Would you be able to come at three?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great! I’ll drive you back to campus now.”

  The ride back to campus was much more sociable than the ride away from it had been.

  “By the way,” I said, “How long will it take before the bookstore is actually mine? I mean, until I can go in there?”

  “It will probably take three to six weeks once probate is granted before the bookstore and property are registered in your name. There is a lawyer who was named as the executor, and he’ll take care of all that administration. Why do you ask?”

  “I wondered if I could go in and see if there was anything missing or messed up.”

  “I imagine you could do that at any time. It will be yours eventually, and the police and forensics team have finished with it. Do you have a key?”

  “I do, actually. Are all the police seals gone and everything?”

  “Yes, it’s all cleared up.”

  “The police cleaned up the…the blood?”

  “No. Actually, that’s the owner’s job.”

  “But he’s…oh. I’m the owner.” I felt a little ill. I couldn’t imagine having to go in there and see the spot on the carpet where Frank had lost his life, let alone scrub it out.

  “There are companies you can contract to clean up a crime scene.”

  “Are there? But they’re probably expensive.”

  “Not too much for a small job like that. But do you have a friend who’d be willing? Maybe some guys from your church?”

  “Maybe. I’ll ask around.”

  Todd dropped me off at the front of the campus. “See you tomorrow,” he said with a grin that made me think he was looking forward to it. I think I might have felt a warm glow at that, but my mind was in too much of a whirl for it to really register.

  Instead of going straight to my car, I walked through campus to the path that led to the back of Frank’s store. I didn’t want to go in, but I wanted to see it, now that it belonged to me. I’ve never owned any kind of building before. My friends had often joked about the bookshelves in my apartment looking like a library or a bookstore, but that was nothing to this. I wondered how many thousand volumes were in the store. All mine now. It wasn’t exciting as much as it was just odd.

  There is an opening in the wall that forms the boundary between the college and the bookstore. I suspect Frank had never put a gate on in because it made it easier for the professors and students to come and while away an idle hour in his store and find something to buy. When I reached the gap, I saw someone at the back door of the store. I paused to watch. They seemed to be trying to do something with the lock on the door.

  The killer returning for whatever he missed the first time? Part of me wanted to turn around and run. Instead, I slipped behind the wall to think. The killer (if it was him) couldn’t know I was a kind of witness to the murder. Therefore, I didn’t run a huge risk if I was seen. Unless the murderer thought that being seen at all was a huge risk to his being identified. But if that were the case, why wo
uld he be fooling around with a door in broad daylight, with nothing to stop someone using this path and seeing him?

  And if it was the murderer, I should do whatever I could to see who it was. The police seemed to have no idea who it might be, and someone trying to get into the locked building was probably as close as they had come to a lead.

  Then again, it might just be an ordinary thief. A thief that was trying to rob my store. I peeked around the corner again. The guy was still at it, hunched over and fiddling with something near the door handle. It looked like he was trying to pick the lock.

  All at once he stood up and shoved whatever was in his hand into his pocket. He turned around and headed in my direction. He was looking at the ground, but I saw his face.

  “Matt?”

  He executed a perfect start.

  “Professor Peters! Um, hi.”

  I decided not to let on that I had seen him try to break and enter.

  “Did you need something from the store? It’s closed now.”

  “Yes, I figured that out. Do you know when it might be open?”

  “No. Not for a while now. The owner died.”

  “Really?” I didn’t like how Matt wasn’t meeting my eyes.

  “Yes, really.”

  “That’s too bad. I was wondering…uh…I think I left something in the store the last time I was in there. I just wanted to get it back.”

  “What did you leave there?”

  “A book. A textbook.”

  “Well, if you tell me the name of it, I’ll have a look around for it when I’m able to go in.”

  “Are they going to sell all the books then? Can people go in and buy them?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said truthfully. “I don’t know what is going to happen to the books. What’s the textbook I should look for?”

  “Oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’d better get going. See you in class, Professor.” He walked back down the path I had come by.

  I found myself shaking a little when he had gone. “My poor nerves,” I murmured, and was annoyed to realize I sounded just like Mrs. Bennet.

  It wasn’t until I made it back to my car that it came to me that I ought to call Todd. I dug through my purse until I found the card he had given me. I dialed the number and concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths while it rang.