An Unthymely Death (8 page)

“It was, until just a few days ago,” Pansy said. “We took it out to put into the library.”

“Well, then, maybe somebody borrowed it.”

“I’m afraid not,” Pansy replied miserably. “It was in a locked glass display case. The book is gone and there’s broken glass all over the floor.”

“Then it’s a job for the cops,” I replied, reaching for the phone.

Pansy clutched at my arm. “But we can’t call the police, China! The Guild has just been offered a pair of valuable floral paintings—but only if we have adequate security. If the donor finds out there’s been a theft, we can kiss those paintings good-bye. That’s why I’ve come to you. You have to help me get that book back—without letting any of the members know that it’s gone!”

What could I say? I hung up my OUT TO LUNCH sign and took Pansy next door to the Crystal Cave, to talk to Ruby Wilcox. In her vivid imagination, my best friend is Nancy Drew and Kinsey Milhone mixed together, with a dash of Stephanie Plum tossed in to spice up the blend. If I went looking for clues without her, she’d never forgive me. Over six feet tall, with red hair and gingery freckles, Ruby is utterly unforgettable, especially when she’s wearing one of her weird outfits. Today, she had on a slim ankle-length dress, slit to the knee and tie-dyed in various shades of indigo blue, with a tie-dyed scarf wound around her hennaed curls. She looked like a carrot in blue shrink-wrap.

“Omigosh!” Ruby gasped, when Pansy and I told her that the famous
Cookery Book
had been stolen. “Who would do a thing like that? Let’s go have a look!”

The library is at the end of the second-floor hall of Myra Merryweather’s old Victorian house, overlooking the Guild’s famous knot garden, which is planted and maintained by all the Guild members. Pansy unlocked the library door and we followed her in. Sure enough, the display case was broken. There was glass on the floor, and the book was gone.

“How long has the cookbook been on display in this room?” I asked.

“We took it out of the safety-deposit box just a few days ago,” Pansy said. “We never dreamed anybody would
steal
it!”

“How many people knew the book was here?” Ruby asked.

 

 

“Only the members of the Library Committee. We’re planning to have a public showing of the paintings, and we wanted to have Myra’s book here, as well.”

“How did the thief get into the house?” I asked. “I checked the front door as we came in. It didn’t look as if it had been jimmied.”

Pansy shook her head. “It wasn’t. It was locked when I arrived this morning. And the downstairs windows don’t show any signs of forced entry.”

“How many people have keys?” Ruby asked.

“I do, and so does Cora Demming, our secretary-treasurer. And our handyman, of course. Jerry Weber.” She frowned. “I suppose Delia Murphy still has a key, too. She was president last year.”

“And the library?” I asked. “Was it locked?”

“Yes. But everybody knows that the key is kept behind the pantry door.” Pansy clenched her hands. “We’ve
got
to find out who took the book!”

It was time to start making a suspect list. “We’ll start with the people on the Library Committee,” I said, “since they’re the only ones who knew that the book was here and not in the bank.” I took a notebook and pencil out of my purse. “Names?”

“Well, there’s Cora Demming—I mentioned her a minute ago. And Jane Clark and Delia Murphy. And me, too, of course.” Pansy gave us a sideways glance. “But if I were going to take the book, I wouldn’t have broken the glass, would I? I have the only key to the case. I keep it on my personal key ring.” She held it up.

Ruby and I traded glances. Personally, I doubted that Pansy had stolen the book, but we couldn’t rule her out. Sure, she might have a key. But if she had taken the book, breaking the glass would be a smart move. It would cover her tracks.

Pansy caught our glances. “You can’t imagine that
I
did it!” she exclaimed in a horrified tone. “Why . . . why, that’s absurd!”

“Please don’t take it personally, Pansy,” Ruby said. “We have to consider all the angles.”

“I’ll try,” Pansy replied grimly. “But I’ll also expect an apology when you find the
real
thief!”

 

 

Cora Demming’s yard has been chosen Pecan Springs’s Yard of the Week three times already this year, which makes a great many people envious. But Cora has two green thumbs and certainly deserves the honor. We found her in her garden, snipping herbs into a basket. She had already collected sprigs of lemon balm and lemon verbena, and was reaching for a lemon-scented geranium. She looked up when Ruby and I said hello, but she didn’t smile. Cora Demming—a tight-lipped, suspicious woman—hasn’t smiled since her husband disappeared last year, leaving her with a stack of credit card debts as tall as the Texas Tower.

Cora looked even more sour when I told her about the stolen cookbook. “I warned Pansy not to take that valuable book out of the bank vault,” she said. “The locks at the Guild House are a joke.” She gave a short, hard laugh. “Pansy promised to ask Jerry Weber to install new ones, but that’s like asking the fox to guard the hen house.”

“What makes you say that?” Ruby asked curiously.

“Don’t be naive,” Cora replied, with a scornful toss of her head. “Jerry’s always hard up for cash, and since I’m the Guild’s treasurer, he’s continually pestering me to give him an advance on what we owe him for his maintenance work. But Pansy gets upset when I tell her that he’s more trouble than he’s worth to us.” She gave us a tight smile. “In fact, she’s so protective that I wouldn’t be in the least surprised to hear that there’s some- thing going on between the two of them. And I certainly wouldn’t put it past Jerry to take that book.”

I raised my eyebrows. Somehow, I didn’t think Pansy would compromise herself with Jerry Weber. Still, despite his many shortcomings, he’s a charming man—and Pansy seems to be always on the lookout for male companionship. Unfortunately, Cora’s suspicion was something to consider.

“It looks like the thief got in through the Guild House’s front door,” I said. I paused and added tactfully, “Has anyone asked to borrow your key?”

Cora leaned over and snipped a leaf of lemongrass. “Of course not. Anyway, you don’t need a key to get into that place. If you know how to jiggle the knob on the kitchen door, you can walk right in. Anybody could have stolen that book.”

“
If
you knew it was there,” I said. And only the members of the Library Committee had known that.

“A rare book is a strange thing to steal,” Ruby remarked. “I mean, once you have it, what would you do with it?”

Cora picked up her basket. “Jane Clark can tell you about that. Her brother is a rare-book dealer. Of course, I’m not making any accusations,” she added with a tight, meaningful smile. She glanced at her watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m expecting a delivery any minute now.”

We thanked Cora and said good-bye. “So Jane Clark’s brother is a rare book dealer,” Ruby said excitedly as we got in the car. “And Jane is on the Library Committee! Maybe
she
took the book and gave it to her brother to sell.”

“That’s certainly what Cora wants us to think,” I replied.

“And she’d also like us to consider Jerry as a suspect, too.” I glanced up. “Hey, look at that!”

A truck from Blanchard’s Furniture Store in San Antonio was pulling up in front of Cora’s house. As we watched, a couple of brawny guys unloaded an elegant living room suite—several thousand dollars’ worth of furniture.

“I thought Cora was supposed to be broke and in debt,” Ruby said, wide-eyed. “Where’d she get the money for all that new stuff?”

“That,” I said thoughtfully, “is a very good question.”

 

 

“Cora Demming has a lot of nerve accusing me of stealing that book!” Jane Clark said angrily. She bent over to add the last bit of parsley garnish to a tray of stuffed mushrooms. Jane, a handsome woman of indefinite age, has a successful catering business and is always in demand for dinner parties. If you want to book her, you have to call her weeks in advance.

“Cora didn’t accuse you,” I said quietly. “She just mentioned that your brother deals in rare books.”

“We thought he might be able to give us some ideas about how the thief might attempt to dispose of the book,” Ruby added.

Jane ran a hand through her blond, Martha Stewart-style hair. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I suppose Cora has a reason to distrust people. If my husband ran off and left me dead broke, I might be suspicious of everybody, too.”

I thought of Cora’s new furniture and wondered once again
where the money came from. But I didn’t mention this to Jane. Instead, I said, “How can we get in touch with your brother?”