By Book or by Crook (23 page)

I took a long, deep breath. For the first time I became aware that I was holding something. I tightened my fingers around the solid bulk of the Austen hardcover I’d picked up so long ago. I’d clung to it without thinking all this time.
All he needed was a little
Persuasion.

A
t last my shaking hands found my key and put it into the lock. I opened the door, ran into my apartment, slapped on the kitchen light, slammed the door behind me, kicked off my one remaining shoe, tossed
Persuasion
onto the table, and swept up my purse and a good, sharp kitchen knife.

I then opened the door, peering out, half expecting Andrew to leap out from behind . . . something. Fortunately, there was nothing on the landing that he could use for concealment.

The line of protective herbs Louise Jane had laid across the threshold was undisturbed. I rubbed the ball of my right foot through it.

Then I made my way cautiously down the stairs, knife at the ready. Andrew remained where he’d fallen. Charles had leapt off the railing to stand guard beside Andrew’s head. The knife lay beside his outstretched hand. Keeping my eyes firmly on his face, I kicked the weapon over the edge. It made a distant clatter as it landed on the bottom floor. Andrew’s chest was moving and, despite all, I was glad to see it.

The landings were wide and by keeping my back pressed against the wall, I could pass Andrew
without bringing myself into range. Just in case he was faking being out cold.

Then I dashed downstairs, Charles at my heels.

I intended to run for my car, lock myself in, call 911, and wait until the police and ambulance arrived. I reached the main floor, unlocked the door, and stumbled out into the night.

A car was coming up the road, moving fast. Its headlights reflected off the pouring rain and trees swaying with the wind. A second car pulled in close behind the first. The cars pulled to a stop, water spraying under the wheels. Butch’s Focus. Connor’s BMW.

Both men burst out of their vehicles, leaving the doors open, the headlights on, the wipers moving, the engines running. They ran toward me, reached me at the same time.

“Lucy! Are you all right?”

“What’s happened? Lucy, thank heavens.”

“What are you holding?”

“Lucy, you’re safe. Put the knife down.”

“There, I’ve got it.” A large, strong, warm hand gently pried my fingers off the hilt of the knife.

“Andrew,” I said. “It was Andrew. He killed Mr. Uppiton. He stole the books. He tried to kill me.
Persuasion
saved me. Jane Austen and Charles saved me.”

“Charles the cat?” Connor said.

Butch pulled out his phone and spoke rapidly into it, while Connor asked, “Where’s Andrew now?”

“Inside. He fell. I don’t think he’s dead.”

“Take her to your car, Mr. Mayor,” a grim-faced Butch said. He reached under his jacket and pulled out his gun. “I’m going in to have a look. Help’s on the way.”

A siren broke the quiet night. Then another. Soon the road was full of flashing blue and red lights and men and women in uniform.

I sat in Connor’s car and began to shiver. He turned the heat up high. We watched as police officers ran into the lighthouse, guns at the ready. Butch soon came out, sliding his weapon into the holster. He waved for the paramedics to come in. They were back minutes later and put their loaded stretcher into the back of the ambulance. It sped away under lights and sirens.

Rain continued to fall.

I opened the car door.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” Connor said. “You need to be checked out.”

“I’m okay. I can’t leave Charles alone.”

A police car was blocking the entrance to the parking lot. A car pulled up beside it. The officer bent down before waving it through. Bertie.

She saw Connor and me and ran toward us. “What’s happening? Ruby at the police station phoned to tell me there’d been a call to the library.”

“It was Andrew,” I said. “Andrew, responsible for it all. The killings, the thefts.”

“Let’s see if they’ll let me inside,” she said.

Watson met us at the door. “This is a crime scene, ladies, Mr. Mayor. You can’t come in.”

“But . . .” Bertie said.

“No
but
s about it, Ms. James.”

“Let me get the cat. Please,” I said. “He saved my life. He’ll be so frightened. All you people stomping around.”

“Very well. Just you. Get the cat. Then I’ll need you to come down to the station with me to make a statement.”

I found Charles curled up in the chair in the Austen alcove.

Fast asleep and purring.

Bertie said she’d look after Charles tonight. She then called Uncle Amos, over my protests, dragging him away from his anniversary dinner. Connor drove me to the police station, where my uncle met us. Uncle Amos remained with me while I made my statement to Watson, who was polite to me for a change. I told my story, and then Watson said I was free to leave.

“Have you heard anything from the hospital?” I asked, as we got to our feet. “About Andrew?”

“He’s concussed and has a broken leg and collarbone, as well as two broken ribs. He regained consciousness before they took him into surgery and insisted he be allowed to call a lawyer.”

“Well, it won’t be me,” said Uncle Amos.

Uncle Amos wouldn’t hear of taking me back to the library to spend the night on my own. Neither would Watson, who said the stairs to my apartment were off-limits. So Uncle Amos drove me to his
house, where Aunt Ellen had the guest room freshened up and ready.

I was exhausted, but my mind was in such a whirl, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I allowed Aunt Ellen to make a fuss over me and tuck me in as she had when I was a little girl visiting for the summer. “I’m sorry,” I said, snuggling under the covers.

“Sorry for what, honey?”

“I ruined your anniversary.”

“I’d say it was Andrew who ruined our anniversary. Never mind. Amos and I plan to have plenty more. I’ll call your mom, tell her you’ll talk to her in the morning.”

I was asleep before she shut the door.

I
woke to brilliant sunlight pouring through my window, and the steady, rhythmic pounding of waves on shore. For a moment I didn’t know where I was, and then it all came back.

Andrew. Mild-mannered, whiny Poor Andrew had almost killed me.

He would have killed me, if not for a big Himalayan cat and a reissued classic novel.

I made my way down the hall to the bathroom. When I came out, Aunt Ellen was waiting by my bedroom door, wreathed in smiles. “I checked on you during the night several times. Not a stir.”

“I guess I was tired.”

“Ready for coffee?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Get dressed and go into the breakfast room. I’ll bring the coffee, and you can call your mother from there. Josie still keeps some of her clothes here, so I put a few things out in case you don’t want to put your work clothes back on.”

I dressed quickly in jean shorts and a blue T-shirt. The shirt was, ahem, far too large in certain places, and the shorts were tight across my hips and came down to my knees. But I didn’t mind. I wasn’t dressing for company.

When their children left home, Amos and Ellen sold their big, rambling house and bought their dream place: a small beach house. In typical Outer Banks style, it was perched on stilts, narrow and high, with multiple levels jutting out in a jumble. The house floated on the edge of the dunes, with a view stretching all the way to Spain. The outside was painted cheerful yellow; the inside walls were white, the house decorated in a riot of blues and yellows. I went through the French doors leading off the modern steel-and-glass kitchen into the breakfast room, a big, half-covered deck. It was on the second level, facing east, looking over the beach and the sea. Morning joggers ran past, a few families scoured the tide line for washed-up shells, fishermen set up their chairs, and sandpipers darted in and out of the surf. The rising sun was a happy yellow ball in a cloudless blue sky. No traces of last night’s storm remained.

Aunt Ellen brought me coffee and a phone. I called my mom, assured her that I was safe and being well looked after. And, no, I didn’t think this was reason for me to come home. They did have crime in Boston, didn’t they? She said that my father was concerned about me, but he had an important meeting this morning and couldn’t be disturbed. Oh, and Ricky was seen having dinner with that totally unsuitable Collins girl. Clearly he was on the rebound, and everyone knew he was waiting for me to come back.

I told my mom I loved her and hung up.

I leaned back, smiled to myself, and watched gulls
circling overhead. Nice to know some things never change.

My suspicions rose when Aunt Ellen began setting the table with far more cutlery and plates than would be needed for the two of us. The doorbell rang, and voices called out greetings.

Josie was first, carrying a box from her bakery. Charlene and Ronald followed. Bertie brought up the rear, bearing a squirming furry bundle. Charles. “I brought him out to say hi,” Bertie said, “but I’d better lock him in the house. Let him have one look at those birds, and we’ll spend the day chasing him up and down the beach.”

I gave my hero a hearty scratch behind the ears. He struggled to get out of Bertie’s grip. She went into the house with Charles and came back with the coffee tray. Aunt Ellen brought out platters piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausages. Connor followed, carrying butter and pots of jam. “Nice to see you looking so well, Lucy. You gave us all quite a fright last night.”

I remembered. “Ronald! What happened? Why didn’t you come to the library?”

His mouth twisted. “I was snagged by Mrs. Peterson at the funeral reception. She must have nattered on for half an hour. Everyone else was gone when I finally got a word in edgewise and escaped. I was on my way to the library when I got a call. From Nora. She’d been in an accident.”

I gasped. “What happened? Is she okay?”

He opened the box and selected a plump croissant. “She’s fine, thank heavens. Her car was
sideswiped on the road to our house and crashed into a tree. Fortunately, she wasn’t going fast, and the airbags deployed. She was a bit bruised, quite shaken up, but nothing more serious. The car’s a mess, though. She was calling me from the side of the road, waiting for the police.”

“That can’t be a coincidence.”

“No. The car that hit her sped up and disappeared before she could gather her wits about her. She didn’t get the plate, but did notice that it was a blue Corolla.”

“Andrew drives a Corolla,” Josie said.

“His car’s been towed to the lot.” Butch came out of the kitchen. He pulled up a chair, and Aunt Ellen passed him a plate. “Fresh damage to the front bumper. Mornin’, all.” He piled eggs and sausages, and accepted a muffin from the box.

“He took the chance of hurting Nora, perhaps killing her, just to keep Ronald away from the library?” Josie said.

“Yup.”

“What a . . . not-nice person,” Charlene said.

“You both”—I nodded to Butch and Connor—“arrived in the nick of time. What made you realize something was wrong?”

“Not quite the nick of time,” Connor said, adding a healthy dose of cream to his coffee. “If you and Charles hadn’t subdued Andrew, we would have been too late.”

“Don’t even talk about it,” Aunt Ellen said.

“I got a call shortly after you left the funeral, Lucy,” Butch said. “A punch-up at a bar, an almighty mess. When we finally cleared the scene and hauled
the participants off to jail, I checked my phone. Only then did I get your message. I tried calling you back. The library phone was out of order, and that worried me. We had no reports of any phone lines down, so I called Bertie.”

“And I,” Bertie said, “had just heard from Ronald, phoning from the hospital to say he wouldn’t be able to go to the library as planned.”

Connor said, “Bertie and I went for a drink after the funeral to talk about the future of the library. It wasn’t hard to guess that something was wrong, so I thought I’d better check. Butch and I arrived at the same time.”

I smiled at the two men who’d rushed to my aid.

“Tell Lucy what else you found, Butch,” Bertie said.

“The keys to the library in the glove compartment of Andrew’s car. He must have figured he might have a use for them, and took them off Jonathan after he was killed.”

“Pretty cold-blooded,” Connor said.

Butch nodded.

“Not that!” Bertie said. “Tell her what
else
you found.”

“The books.
Sense and Sensibility
and
Pride and Prejudice
. In the trunk of Andrew’s car.”

“That’s great! Are they okay?”

“Fine,” Bertie said. “He even had the courtesy to wrap them in plastic bags.”

“More likely to keep his prints off, I’d imagine,” Connor said, “than to protect them.”

“When can we have them back?” I asked.

Bertie smiled as she speared another sausage.
“I’ve already been down to the police station. Detective Watson decided he didn’t need them for evidence.”

“Sounds like y’all had a busy night,” Josie said.

“Not as busy as Lucy’s,” Connor said.

I shivered in the warm sunshine and cradled my mug in my hands. Aunt Ellen served me eggs, and Josie placed a muffin on the plate.

“Andrew’s been charged with the murder of Jonathan Uppiton as well as theft and the attempted murder of Lucy,” Butch said around a mouthful of egg.

“Why do you suppose he stole the books?” Josie asked.

“To cause trouble, muddy the waters, distract us from the murder investigation,” Butch said. “And to get Louise Jane what she wanted. The job.”

“That worked,” Connor said. “But it still wasn’t enough for Andrew. Louise Jane was only hired temporarily. At the end of the summer she wouldn’t be needed anymore. He had to get rid of Lucy so Louise Jane would be able to stay on. Thus, he tried to have Lucy arrested for theft. And when that didn’t work, everything began spiraling out of control.”

“Why do you think he stole the books in the order they were written?” I asked.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Bertie said. “He might not have even known that was the case. He wasn’t at all interested in the exhibit.”

“Maybe he was trying to make it look like an inside job,” Charlene suggested. “He figured that would be more likely to point the finger at Lucy.”

“What’s Louise Jane’s role in all this?” Connor asked.

“She was questioned last night. Said she had no idea.”

Charlene snorted.

“I believe her,” I said. “Last night, Andrew was adamant that she didn’t know.”

“Louise Jane loved having Andrew trotting around after her,” Bertie said. “I’m sure she simply considered his adoration to be her due and didn’t realize the lengths he would go to in order to make her happy.”

“Is that all it was?” Josie said. “Nothing was in it for Andrew?”

“Poor Andrew, indeed. What does he have to say for himself?” I asked.

“That he’s innocent. That you went nuts and shoved him down the stairs for no reason,” Butch said.

I half rose from my seat. “What!”

“Don’t worry, Lucy. He doesn’t have a leg to stand on.” Connor counted off Andrew’s offenses on his fingers. “His car drove Nora off the road. He had the stolen books in the trunk. He can’t explain why he was in the lighthouse—which is, after all, Lucy’s home—when he had no reason to be there.”

“One thing I’m not understanding,” I said. “How did Andrew get into the Austen cabinet?”

This time it was Bertie’s turn to snort.

“Along with keys to the library,” Butch said, “Jonathan Uppiton had a key to the cabinet.”

“That rat,” Bertie said. “The cabinet was custom-made for the exhibit. Jonathan organized it. He
told me he’d only had one key made and handed it to me. I should have known he’d hold one back.”

“Andrew’s a cool one, I’ll give him that,” Butch said. “He got the cabinet unlocked, the books snatched, the cabinet locked again in a crowded library while everyone’s backs were turned. The third time he broke in at night, and that upped the risk even more. If he’d been caught prowling around the library in the dark, he wouldn’t have been able to explain it away as curiosity.”

“Was there a key to my apartment on him?” I asked.

“Yup.”

“Another one Jonathan shouldn’t have had,” Bertie said.

I thought back to the morning after the night
Mansfield Park
had been stolen. Louise Jane had arrived for her second day of work. Andrew followed, bringing treats. Bertie had ordered him to leave, and the staff went into her office to wait for the police. No one had thought to make sure Andrew did leave. Earlier, he must have either hidden the book somewhere in the library or brought it in with him. And then, once our backs were turned, he went up the stairs, unlocked my door, hid the book, locked the door, and went out again.

I shivered. Connor noticed and threw me a smile over the rim of his coffee mug.

“Well, I, for one, am glad all that’s over,” Bertie said. “And we can get back to the business of running a library.”

From the pantry, Charles reminded us that once again, he’d accidently been locked in.