A Deadly Edition Page 7

  “Happy to help,” Bill said.

  I flashed him a smile before heading out into the stacks. Pushing a metal rolling cart, I perused the list of books I’d printed at home after searching the online catalog over the weekend. I normally encouraged the students to find their own research materials, but occasionally, when they were all looking for the same items, I pulled a few ahead of time. It eased the panic over projects that were almost always due the next day.

  As I knelt down to search one of the lower shelves, something blocked the light falling in from the windows. Looking up, I spied Cynthia Rogers standing over me.

  I used the metal support post on the range of shelves to pull myself to a standing position. “Hello again, Ms. Rogers. Something I can do for you?”

  She offered me an apologetic smile. “Please, call me Cynthia. And sorry to bother you while you’re obviously busy, but I did have a question. It’s a local-history thing, really. I thought perhaps you’d know the answer, since I’ve heard you manage the town archives as well as the library.”

  I brushed some dust off my black slacks. “Maybe. If I don’t know off the top of my head, I can certainly do a little research and find out.”

  “It’s about a novelist. Someone local, so I figured you’d know of him, even though he passed away many years ago.” Cynthia fiddled with her glasses, adjusting the earpieces over her exposed ears. “Paul Dassin— ever heard of him?”

  “Why yes, I know quite a bit about him.” I rolled the cart back against the shelves to clear a path in the aisle. “As a matter of fact, he’s my fiancé’s great-uncle.”

  “Really?” Cynthia widened her eyes. “What a coincidence!”

  I smiled. The woman did give off a nosy vibe, but that didn’t bother me. I exhibited that trait myself when something interested me. “What do you want to know?”

  “I read a couple of his books, and I’m just fascinated by the details he includes about the area. Was it based on fact?”

  “Some of it. Look, why don’t we sit in the reading room, where we can talk more comfortably.” I motioned toward the tables and chairs in the open area beyond the archway.

  “I don’t want to pull you away from your work.”

  “No problem. I can finish this later.” I walked into the reading room and pulled out a heavy wooden chair at one of the round tables.

  Cynthia followed and sat down across from me. “It’s very kind of you.”

  “Really, it’s okay. Answering questions is a big part of my job.” I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table. “You said you’d read some of Dassin’s books. Was one of them A Fatal Falsehood?”

  “Absolutely. That was actually my favorite.”

  “It’s one of his best. And that one is definitely based on a true event, a local murder trial from 1925. Although he did change names and several other details when he wrote the novel. To protect the privacy of the real people involved,” I added, recalling Paul Dassin’s love for the woman who’d inspired his main character.

  “I’d heard that.” Cynthia balanced her elbows on the table. “Paul Dassin’s home is still standing, isn’t it? I’d love to see it. From the outside, of course. I hear it’s a private home.”

  I sat back in my chair. “It is. It was originally owned by Daniel and Eleanora Cooper, the couple Paul Dassin based his victim and accused murderer on in Falsehood. Paul Dassin lived there later on.”

  “After Eleanora Cooper, who was Lily in the book, disappeared?”

  I tapped my foot against the carpet. It was obvious that Cynthia Rogers had done her homework, which made me wonder why she needed answers from me. But I figured there was no harm in indulging her desire to chat. Perhaps she was just one of those people who enjoyed talking about things they’d learned, which was, I had to admit, another trait we shared. “Right, although the book’s ending is quite different than reality. Happier than what actually happened to Eleanora. And Paul too, I suppose.” I examined Ms. Rogers’s face, which was alight with curiosity. “Ironically, it’s the same house where my fiancé lives now, next door to where I currently share a house with my aunt. Lydia Talbot,” I added, when my companion quirked her eyebrows. “She’s the granddaughter of Rose Baker Litton, who was also represented by a character in Fatal Falsehood.”

  Cynthia rested her sharp chin on her interlaced fingers. “Let me guess—the next-door neighbor to the poor accused woman? But her name wasn’t Rose in the book. Something else—I forget exactly what.”

  “Correct.” I shifted in my chair, not sure I wanted to follow this train of questioning. References to my great-grandmother Rose, whom I apparently resembled, always made me a little uneasy. “Anyway, the old Cooper place, where the events related to the murder trial took place, was later purchased by Paul Dassin. He lived there the rest of his life, and then bequeathed it to his niece. Who happens to be the mother of the man I’m going to marry. I’ll actually be living there soon.” I lifted my hands. “Which does make it quite a coincidence that you should ask me these questions.”

  “Really? Who would’ve thought?” Cynthia sat back, dropping her own hands into her lap. “Perhaps I could visit sometime? After your marriage, of course. I’d love to see the interior and relate it to the book.”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t look the same. Paul Dassin made changes, and then Richard had it completely renovated. He mostly kept the 1920s style of the house, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t match what you read in the book.”

  “Too bad.” Cynthia traced an old set of initials carved into the tabletop with one finger. “So Paul Dassin didn’t have any children?”

  “He never married.” I opened my mouth to add that he’d taken in a foster child named Karl Klass for several years, but thought better of it. Although Karl, who’d later changed his name to Kurt Kendrick, made no secret of his former association with Paul Dassin, it wasn’t something recorded in any information about the novelist. At least nothing I’d ever seen. Which meant it wasn’t necessarily something I felt I should share with a stranger, no matter how pleasant she was.

  “That doesn’t always mean he didn’t have a child.” The other woman’s gaze swept over me. “But apparently there were no known heirs. Other than his niece, I mean.”

  “That’s right,” I said, pushing back my chair and standing up.

  “So you’ll be living in the old Cooper place. How romantic.” Cynthia rose to her feet with a bright smile. “Anyway, I’ve taken enough of your time. Thanks so much for allowing me to ambush you with my questions.”

  “You did save me from a tumble,” I said. “I think we’re even.”

  “Not so sure about that.” Cynthia extended her hand again, but this time she firmly clasped my fingers without shaking them. “I hope we’ll meet again soon, Ms. Webber. Although I probably won’t return until the summer, and I suppose you’ll be Mrs. Muir by then.” She flashed another smile and released my hand. “I guess I should offer my congratulations now.”

  I pulled my hand free and stepped back as Cynthia turned and strolled away.

  Staring after her, I puzzled over the fact that she was familiar with Richard’s last name. I hadn’t mentioned it, which meant either that the owners of Hill House had been gossiping too freely about matters that didn’t concern them or that Cynthia Rogers was definitely one of the most inquisitive people I’d ever met. Which isn’t, I reminded myself, such a terrible character flaw.

  Or at least I hoped not, considering it was one we shared.

  Chapter Seven

  Sunny arrived around noon and immediately demanded an update on the Oscar Selvaggio case. I had to tell her I didn’t know any more than she did.

  “It’s not like Brad is keeping me posted, and since you guys broke up, we don’t have that direct line of communication anymore,” I said as I waved good-bye to Bill, who had completed his volunteer hours.

  “Sometimes he still tells me a few things.” Sunny swept her long blonde hair away from her face and tied it in
to a ponytail with a scrunchie. “We’re still friends, you know.”

  “I think we’re friends as well, but I doubt I could get him to tell me more than what he’s willing to share with the public.” I studied my friend’s classic profile. “But then again, I don’t possess your charms.”

  “I don’t think Richard would agree with that assessment,” Sunny said. “Oh, by the way, how’s that good-looking brother of yours? I heard he was hanging out in town for a few weeks.”

  “My brother is gay, as you well know.”

  Sunny cast me an amused glance. “Of course I know that. I wasn’t thinking of dating him myself. But there might be someone else who’d be interested.” She elbowed me and surreptitiously pointed toward the New Books rack, where firefighter Ethan Payne was perusing the latest additions to the collection.

  A handsome, well-built man in his late twenties, Ethan had been one of my rescuers a couple of years earlier, when I’d suffered a traumatic tumble into an abandoned well. I’d gotten to know him a little better when our paths crossed again about a year ago. But that brought up another point. “He has a boyfriend, remember? He and Chris Garver are a couple.”

  “Not anymore.” Sunny held one finger to her lips as Ethan approached the desk.

  “Hi, Ethan, how are you today?” I asked, shooting Sunny a warning glance.

  “Doing great,” he said, as he laid a new James Patterson novel on the circulation desk. “Just grabbing this before a hundred other people find it.” He offered us a lopsided grin. “There’s a lot of waiting around at the station. Which isn’t a bad thing. When all’s quiet, that means no emergencies. But I like to keep occupied, and I’m not much for playing video games or cards.”

  “Books are better anyway,” Sunny said. “A truth you seem to have discovered fairly recently. I don’t remember you using the library much before this year. Now you’re here all the time.”

  Ethan rubbed one temple, mussing his well-groomed short hair. “Never did much reading before last year. Didn’t like it in school. But then someone introduced me to some more entertaining stuff and changed my mind.”

  I suspected that this someone had been Chris Garver but decided not to mention that name. “You’re still living out on Logging Road?”

  “Yeah. But”—Ethan met my inquisitive gaze squarely—“by myself now.”

  “Oh? Sorry to hear that.” Noticing the delight brightening Sunny’s face, I nudged her sandaled foot with my loafer. “Things didn’t work out between you and Chris?”

  Ethan shrugged. “We parted on friendly terms, but yeah.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and extracted his library card. “Here you go,” he said, handing the card to Sunny.

  “It happens, doesn’t it?” Sunny scanned the card under the bar code reader and handed it back to him. “I’m between significant others myself. Not that I mind. I’ve got so much to juggle these days, between this job and my duties as mayor, I don’t have time for dating.”

  “That was part of my problem. My hours are so weird, it’s hard to make plans.” Ethan refiled the card and pocketed the wallet. “At least, it’s difficult if the other person really craves routine. Not something I can offer, I’m afraid.”

  “You need someone who’s willing to be more flexible,” Sunny said. “Maybe even someone with a job that isn’t so nine-to-five.”

  I side-eyed her. “Not that you need anyone to set you up, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Ethan flashed a grin. “If you know any guys who are as nice as they are nice looking and who aren’t ready to settle into a routine, I’m all ears.”

  This time I pressed my foot over Sunny’s before she could offer up my brother’s name. This earned me a dirty look, which I ignored. “Sorry, can’t think of anyone right now. But if I do, I’ll be glad to point you in the right direction.”

  “Thanks.” Ethan stepped through the security gates as Sunny slid the checked-out book to the end of the desk. “I’ll probably be back in a couple of days, so if any names do come to mind …” He winked at Sunny as he picked up the book.

  She opened her mouth and snapped it shut again when she caught a glimpse of my face. “Enjoy your book,” she told Ethan as he headed for the exit.

  Sunny rapped the pitted surface of the desk with her knuckles. “I don’t see the harm in introducing him to Scott.”

  “I think we’d better ask first,” I said. “Given the nature of his job, Scott has to be careful about his associates, romantic or otherwise.”

  “I doubt Ethan presents a national security risk.”

  I straightened a pile of bookmarks. “You never know. Maybe being a firefighter is just a cover for clandestine activities.”

  “Oh sure.” Sunny cast me an exasperated look. “Because Taylorsford is such a hotbed of espionage.”

  I looked up and noticed the man who’d just walked in from the foyer. “Speaking of secret investigations, there’s the guy I told you about.”

  Sunny pressed her palms against the desktop so she could lean forward. This action caused her low-cut peasant blouse to gape, exposing a little more of her cleavage than might be considered appropriate in a library setting. “That’s Fred Nash?”

  “Yes.” I wrinkled my nose as I observed the sparkle in my friend’s blue eyes. I knew what that meant. “He’s just here to help Hugh for a week or two. I doubt he’ll be hanging around for long.”

  “Maybe so, but then again”—Sunny’s ponytail bounced as she tossed her head—“I’m not really looking for a long-term commitment.”

  “Just be careful. We don’t really know anything about him,” I murmured. Raising my voice, I addressed the private investigator. “Hello, Mr. Nash. How can we help you?”

  “By calling me Fred, for one thing.” As soon as he reached the desk, he thrust out a hand to Sunny. “Fred Nash, and you are?”

  “Sunshine Fields,” she replied, dropping back down on her heels. She shook Fred’s hand firmly. “But I go by Sunny.”

  Fred held on to her hand a little longer than I thought necessary. “That name sounds familiar. Wait, aren’t you the mayor?”

  “I am, but I also work here. Part-time for now. Until someone replaces me as mayor, which will probably happen in the next couple of years.”

  “That’s not what I hear.” Fred looked her up and down with a gaze that was as appreciative as it was appraising. “I’m doing a little investigating to aid an art expert who has some business in Taylorsford …”

  “I know Hugh.” Sunny cut him off with a flick of her hand. “I’m good friends with Lydia Talbot as well as Amy, so I’ve had the opportunity to spend time around Mr. Chen.” Her bright-eyed gaze swept over Fred’s muscular body before focusing on his handsome face. “But I bet you knew that already.”

  He shrugged. “As I said, I’ve heard several people talk about the new mayor. All good things,” he added. “Although they didn’t tell me that she was quite so young and beautiful.”

  I cleared my throat. “Now that we’ve all been introduced, was there something that you needed, Fred? Related to the library, I mean.”

  “Probably more so the archives,” Fred said, tearing his gaze away from Sunny long enough to look me in the eye. “Hugh told me the library manages the town history and records. Is that right?”

  “They’re housed in a separate building out back.” I glanced around the main room of the library. It was a fairly quiet day. I could probably spare the time to escort Fred Nash to the archives and perhaps even pull him a box or two of material.

  “I’ll go,” Sunny said, before I could voice this thought. “I mean, if it’s all right with you, Amy. And if Mr. Nash—sorry, Fred—has the time to look at anything now.”

  “I can make the time,” Fred said, his gaze resting on Sunny. “This is as good a time as any,” he added, shooting me a quick glance.

  “That’s fine, we aren’t really busy …”

  Sunny turned on her heel and headed for the staff workroom, whi
ch was located right off the desk. “I’ll get the key,” she called over her shoulder.

  “What exactly you are looking for in the town records?” I asked.

  Fred shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Just corroboration for some info I’ve already gathered.”

  “Nothing to do with my uncle Andrew, I hope. I know you may feel it’s ancient history, but my aunt’s very protective of his legacy. She doesn’t want anyone tarnishing his reputation.” I met Fred’s laser-sharp stare with a lift of my chin. “You might want to remind Hugh of that. If he wants to continue to date her, I mean.”

  “Here it is!” Sunny bounced back behind the desk, the archives key dangling from her fingers. “Ready, Fred?”

  “Lead the way,” he said, with a sweeping gesture worthy of an eighteenth-century courtier.

  Sunny immediately headed for the back door of the library, with Fred right at her side.

  “You know that fellow?” asked a familiar voice.

  I turned to face Brad Tucker.

  “Not really. I only met him yesterday.” I noticed that Brad was staring down the hallway that led to the back door. The door that had just closed behind Sunny and Fred Nash. “He wanted to search the archives, and Sunny offered to help.”

  “Department gossip says he’s a private investigator now, working with Dr. Chen.” Brad twisted the brim of his hat between his fingers. “But he was a cop once. Worked his way up to become part of some high-level task force in DC.”

  “Really? I figured he’d been with the police, but … high up, you said.? I wonder why he left.”

  “Had to, from what I hear.” Brad’s eyes narrowed. “Some sort of scandal. I guess it didn’t involve anything criminal, or if it did, there must not have been enough evidence to charge him. Anyway, he has a clean record.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You checked?”

  “Felt I had to. Some guy shows up in my jurisdiction, running his own private investigation …” Brad shrugged. “I thought it wise to check him out.”