1 Killer Librarian (12 page)

He took my hand and raised me up. “And now, on to the libations.”

NINETEEN

Companion?

W
e found a table easily at the Cock and Bull. Caldwell offered to go up and get the drinks.

“Only one tonight for me. I learned my lesson. But a full pint if you don’t mind.” I handed him a ten-pound note.

Caldwell refused to take it and tried to walk away.

I grabbed the back of his sports coat and stopped him.

“Caldwell, I insist. If you do not let me pay my round, I can never go out for a beer with you again.”

A laugh shouted out of him. I never would have imagined he had such a hearty guffaw. When he calmed down, he wiped his eyes and said, “I swear, you are as conniving as any Englishwoman I have ever known.”

“Again with the compliments.” I held out the note and this time he took it. The pub was quieter than the last night we had been there. In an easy glance, I perused the room and did not find my man lurking in any corner. Disappointment prickled me. I wanted to talk to Guy and be done with this whole matter. The way he had said he’d take care of Dave couldn’t help but worry me. I never wanted to think about Dave the plumber again.

Caldwell came back carefully carrying two brimming pints of bitter. With a night off and having my English legs under me, I was looking forward to savoring the drink.

He sat down opposite me, handed me my pint, lifted his toward me. I followed suit. We clinked glasses and he said, “Here’s to you and the man who brought you.”

“That would be yourself.”

“I hope so.” He smiled and we drank.

“Caldwell, have you ever been to America?” I asked him, realizing how little I knew about him.

“Oh, I suppose I have,” he said with a shrug.

I wondered if he had actually heard my question. “How’s that?”

“Well, I’ve only ever visited New York and from what I’ve heard that’s not really America.”

I nodded. “It certainly bears little resemblance to the Midwest, where I’m from.”

“Have you always lived there? In the Middle West?”

“Yup, the heart of the country. Born in St. Paul, Minnesota. Have you always lived in London?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m from Basingstoke.”

“Where’s that?”

“Not far, southwest of London. Not exactly in the country, but certainly not urban.”

“How long have you lived in London?”

“Most of my adult life. I came here for my first job.”

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing really. A way to get my foot in the door.”

“How long have you had the B and B?”

“It’s over ten years, I believe.”

“What made you go into this business?”

“Well, I was semiretired, and my partner, Sally, inherited this house. It’s expensive to own a house in London. After thinking it over, we decided to make it pay for itself.”

I took a long draw on the beer. Sally. “What happened to her?”

“Oh, it’s a sad story.”

“Like
Macbeth
?”

He looked away. “Not quite as tortured as that. A handsome older man came to stay after the B and B had been open a couple of years. He was rich and promised her many things, but he was a bit of a ninny if you ask me. Sal was quite taken with him. At first I found it amusing.”

I sat still, waiting for him to go on.

“Not at all amusing when I came home to find our savings cleaned out, the house supposedly signed over to me, which was generous, and Sal gone off with Howard.”

A moment later, the name registered. “Wait a minute. Did you say Howard?”

He nodded.

“Howard Worth?”

“The same.”

“But he’s married to Annette.”

“Yes, Sally’s relationship with Howard didn’t last long, but by the time they broke up she had fallen in love with America. She could be rather flighty. Plus, I didn’t really want her back.”

“Were you and Sally married?” I asked.

“We never bothered.”

“Have you heard from her since?”

“Just a postcard. She’s living in Chicago.”

“Oh, I’m really sorry,” I said, but I wasn’t. Nice to hear the story of his last love and see that he was over it. One did get over breakups—I hoped. But it concerned me that Howard had been involved.

“It’s for the best. She wasn’t much good at being a host. She liked fitting out the rooms, but hated it when the guests made a mess in them.”

I took a large swallow of my beer, then asked the question I needed the answer to. “How did that make you feel about Howard?”

“Oh, I didn’t really blame him. I think she was ready to bolt. If it hadn’t been him, it would have been someone else.”

“Awfully civilized of you,” I said, although I was rather skeptical of how evenly he talked about the breakup.

“I try.” He raised his eyebrows at me.

“Rather ironic that he would end up dying in your B and B,” I murmured.

“Yes, I hope the police don’t find it so. But it sounds like he died of natural causes.” He was silent for a moment, then turned his eyes on me and asked, “Now that you know about my last affair, tell me about your no-show companion.”

I almost spit my beer out. Did he know that Dave
had split up with me? For some reason I was still not ready to talk about it. He handed me a linen handkerchief that he pulled out from his pocket. “Breathe, Karen.”

I gasped and sputtered and when I was done, he was still waiting. “My companion?” I asked, weakly.

“Yes, whoever was supposed to come with you. Who was he and why isn’t he here?”

“Well, his name was Dave.”

Caldwell jerked his head back, frowned and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you mean he died?”

“Not really. I mean, no. I guess I spoke of him in the past tense because—” And here I stopped myself. Other than Rosie and Guy, I had told no one what had happened to me. I could not bring myself to talk about it. “I guess because he’s not here with me at this moment, so he seems in the past.”

Caldwell didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he asked pleasantly, “And what does this man in your life do?”

“Dave’s a plumber. We’ve been going out for a few years.”

“Sounds rather serious.” Caldwell touched his lip, then asked, “However did you happen to go out with a plumber, Karen? Doesn’t seem your style at all. I’d expect you to be with a lawyer or a professor. Someone in letters.”

I thought back to the first time I had seen Dave, standing at my front door with his large box of tools. “How else? He came to fix my toilet.”

“Oh, I see. He made himself indispensable.”

“You could say that.” For a brief moment I thought of telling him the whole story of what was going on with Dave, how he had dumped me, how he was now with Honey, how I followed him to their hotel, talking to a strange man about him, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. It painted too mean a picture of me. I wanted to continue to be the lovely woman who wore the gorgeous shawl. I tried to think of something nice to say about Dave. “He has his good points.”

“One thing I can say for sure is—he has good taste,” Caldwell murmured.

*   *   *

Caldwell offered to drop me off at the door, but I told him not to be silly. I didn’t mind the walk.

He found a parking spot two blocks away and we started strolling back to his house. It was then that I realized how awkward the end of this evening might be. I mean, if this was a date, which I didn’t really think it was, but if it was, what would we do at the door, or when we got inside. At what point did we say good night?

How odd to go out with someone and go home with them—to separate rooms.

As we walked along, Caldwell pointed out the businesses on the street: the little greengrocer on the corner, the Persian rug shop, the best place to get coffee that wasn’t a Starbucks.

“I love all these shops to walk to,” I said. At that moment, I was loving everything. “Where I live you have to get in a car to get anyplace.”

“Yes, this is quite different. I sometimes only use the car once or twice a week.”

I could see his house down at the end of the block. We walked slower.

Caldwell told me stories of the people whose houses we were passing: a young couple with twins, an old woman with cats, a family from India with their grandmother. We stopped and looked at some of the front gardens; the roses bloomed an orangey pink under the streetlights.

When we arrived at his house, he opened the gate for me. We walked up the steps together and then both of us stopped at the top, right in front of the door.

“This has been quite nice,” he said, looking down at his shoes.

I stared down at his shoes too. They were well-polished black shoes. Maybe they were oxfords. “Yes, it has.”

He took a step toward me and said, “Karen?”

I looked up at him, hoping that he might see how much I liked him, how much I wanted him to touch me.

The door sprang open in front of us. Standing there was a striking woman I had never seen before.

She said, “My Caldwell. Finally you are home.”

TWENTY

Madame Frou-Frou

S
he was not exactly beautiful. Too thin, too sharp to be a true beauty, but she was dramatic, with dark hair pulled back in a swirl and dark eyes that flashed in the dim light and a small but full mouth. I guessed she was in her early forties and I was sure, from her accent, that she was French.

We stepped into the house and she moved in on Caldwell, delicately kissing him on both cheeks, then murmured, “So good to see you,
mon cheri
.”

“Francine, you came a day early,” he said.

“It just happened. I should have called to tell you.
I thought I’d surprise.” She touched his scarf. “My, you’re all dressed up. Very handsome.”

“Yes, Francine, this is Karen. She’s a writer from America. We went to see
Macbeth
at the Globe. She had an extra ticket.”

“Very good. A writer?” She looked me up and down and I couldn’t tell from her sharp gaze how I measured up. “An American writer? You write the romances, I suppose?”

“No, just mysteries.”

“Oh, very good. This I like.” She wrapped her arms around Caldwell’s arm and said, “So good to get him out. He is such a person of the home.”

I nodded, not really knowing what kind of person he was at all.

“Francine, I have to tell you, something terrible has happened,” Caldwell started.

She pulled away from him. “What? Sally isn’t back, is she?”

“No, but Howard—”

“Oh, you told me. So he is married. This is good. So nice that you two can be friends again.”

“No, he died.”

Francine raised her eyebrows. “But he was old.”

“Yes, but he died here in my house.”

“Oh, my poor Caldwell. That man will forever be bringing trouble to you. It is better he is gone.”

“Francine,” Caldwell reprimanded her.

“I know what will cheer you up. I brought the Gigondas—your favorite kind,” she purred at him. “Is right now breathing.”

It took me a second to realize she was talking about a bottle of wine. All I knew was that I wanted to get out of that hallway and upstairs to my room. I did not want to have to witness Francine making a fuss over Caldwell at the end of our nondate.

“Thanks for coming along,” I said as I slipped around them and headed for the stairs.

“Wouldn’t you like a glass of wine?” he asked.

Francine turned and seconded, “Please join us.”

Her use of the word
us
was what stopped me from even considering joining them. If they were an “us,” I did not want to know it tonight. I wanted to keep my memory of this evening.

“Maybe some other time. I’m exhausted.” I reached the stairs and went up into the darkness. I stumbled down the hall and found the door to my room and unlocked it. Inside I turned on the light and leaned against the door, closing my eyes and imagining the kiss that Caldwell might have given me.

*   *   *

After scrubbing my face and brushing my teeth, I crawled into bed, but instead of feeling tired, my body felt tightly wired. I wasn’t used to this level of
activity, plus I was wishing I had stayed for a glass of wine.

I could hear Caldwell and Francine murmuring below me, and, while I wondered what they were talking about, I resisted eavesdropping. But something in me drooped. I had had such a nice night. With Caldwell. He was truly a gentle man. Then I’d learned that Howard had stolen his partner away. Even so, I couldn’t believe he would have had anything to do with Howard’s death. But what if he had?