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Authors: Emilie Richards
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there?”
“Maybe sexy books will pale in significance to murder. You think?”
“You must want the job pretty badly.”
I did want the job. I have a bachelor’s degree in humanities and all the course work for a master’s degree in eighteenth-century philosophy. I met Ed before I started my thesis, and by then, I had already realized there wasn’t a college professor hiding inside me.
I tried to explain. “Before the girls came along I held a new job every place we lived. I have no clerical skills and an education that prepared me to stare at my navel. Right now this bookstore is as good as it’s going to get, and the hours are perfect.”
“You could sell real estate.”
“I’m busy on Sundays, remember?”
Lucy fell silent, and I went upstairs to make sure lights were off in my daughters’ bedrooms.
The girls were asleep. School started next week and I was trying to get them in bed earlier each night to prepare. I went back downstairs to find that while I was gone Lucy had made us each another Irish coffee. The caffeine and the alcohol were at war, and she was hoping one or the other would declare a victory.
Lucy brought my second cup back to the table. “I talked to Sarah about the house across the street.”
“What more could she say?”
“Well, I just wondered if anyone besides the owner might have a key.”
I had vowed I was going to leave this matter alone. Being caught in the act of snooping by Emerald Springs’ hottest detective had been highly humiliating. Now I realized how easily vows can be broken. “And?”
“She did some checking for the police, so she already knew. Two people have keys to the backdoor, with locks, by the way, that are first cousin to the ones at Fort Knox. For a house with nothing to steal, this one is well secured. Picking them would be a real challenge.”
I headed her off before she got the bright idea to try, just for the heck of it. “She didn’t tell you who has the keys, did she?” I asked. Lucy knew everyone in town.
“She did .” Lucy plunked down beside me, Medusa curls clawing the air around her head.
“You’re going to tell me, right?”
“I am so good at making you wait.”
I pretended nonchalance. “Have I told you about Deena’s last dentist appointment? The yearly line-up for my book discussion group? Ed’s sermon schedule for the fall?”
“Yvonne McAllister for one.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Lucy filled in the silence. “Her brother lives next door to the owners, to their new house, that is. Yvonne knows them slightly, and she promised she’d look in on the old house once in a while when she was on her way to or from church. She has key number one.”
This was news. It was in character for Yvonne to help even the remotest acquaintance, but her tie to the house was surprising.
I tried to bring some reason to our gossip. “We don’t know Jennifer was murdered there, or even if she was ever there dead or alive. Besides, any realtor with access to the lockbox could have gotten in.”
“Not between nine in the evening and nine in the morning. Everyone is locked out. That’s the way it’s programmed. Plus with this system, we can tell if and when any realtor enters, by their codes. It’s all recorded. And maybe a really good locksmith could get inside without a key, but it would take a talented pro.”
I whistled. I hadn’t known the logistics. And dollars to doughnuts, that was the very time period during which poor Jennifer, in one form or the other, had visited.
Lucy preened. “Don’t worry, I can’t see good old Yvonne in killer mode. But depending on where she keeps her key, someone else might have gotten hold of it, right? That good-looking son of hers? A friend?”
I waved the part about Jack away. “Who has the second one?”
She dragged out her words. “You’re really going to like this.”
“Did I ever tell you the story of Teddy’s first swimming lesson?”
“The mayor.” Lucy sat back,
“Maybe sexy books will pale in significance to murder. You think?”
“You must want the job pretty badly.”
I did want the job. I have a bachelor’s degree in humanities and all the course work for a master’s degree in eighteenth-century philosophy. I met Ed before I started my thesis, and by then, I had already realized there wasn’t a college professor hiding inside me.
I tried to explain. “Before the girls came along I held a new job every place we lived. I have no clerical skills and an education that prepared me to stare at my navel. Right now this bookstore is as good as it’s going to get, and the hours are perfect.”
“You could sell real estate.”
“I’m busy on Sundays, remember?”
Lucy fell silent, and I went upstairs to make sure lights were off in my daughters’ bedrooms.
The girls were asleep. School started next week and I was trying to get them in bed earlier each night to prepare. I went back downstairs to find that while I was gone Lucy had made us each another Irish coffee. The caffeine and the alcohol were at war, and she was hoping one or the other would declare a victory.
Lucy brought my second cup back to the table. “I talked to Sarah about the house across the street.”
“What more could she say?”
“Well, I just wondered if anyone besides the owner might have a key.”
I had vowed I was going to leave this matter alone. Being caught in the act of snooping by Emerald Springs’ hottest detective had been highly humiliating. Now I realized how easily vows can be broken. “And?”
“She did some checking for the police, so she already knew. Two people have keys to the backdoor, with locks, by the way, that are first cousin to the ones at Fort Knox. For a house with nothing to steal, this one is well secured. Picking them would be a real challenge.”
I headed her off before she got the bright idea to try, just for the heck of it. “She didn’t tell you who has the keys, did she?” I asked. Lucy knew everyone in town.
“She did .” Lucy plunked down beside me, Medusa curls clawing the air around her head.
“You’re going to tell me, right?”
“I am so good at making you wait.”
I pretended nonchalance. “Have I told you about Deena’s last dentist appointment? The yearly line-up for my book discussion group? Ed’s sermon schedule for the fall?”
“Yvonne McAllister for one.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Lucy filled in the silence. “Her brother lives next door to the owners, to their new house, that is. Yvonne knows them slightly, and she promised she’d look in on the old house once in a while when she was on her way to or from church. She has key number one.”
This was news. It was in character for Yvonne to help even the remotest acquaintance, but her tie to the house was surprising.
I tried to bring some reason to our gossip. “We don’t know Jennifer was murdered there, or even if she was ever there dead or alive. Besides, any realtor with access to the lockbox could have gotten in.”
“Not between nine in the evening and nine in the morning. Everyone is locked out. That’s the way it’s programmed. Plus with this system, we can tell if and when any realtor enters, by their codes. It’s all recorded. And maybe a really good locksmith could get inside without a key, but it would take a talented pro.”
I whistled. I hadn’t known the logistics. And dollars to doughnuts, that was the very time period during which poor Jennifer, in one form or the other, had visited.
Lucy preened. “Don’t worry, I can’t see good old Yvonne in killer mode. But depending on where she keeps her key, someone else might have gotten hold of it, right? That good-looking son of hers? A friend?”
I waved the part about Jack away. “Who has the second one?”
She dragged out her words. “You’re really going to like this.”
“Did I ever tell you the story of Teddy’s first swimming lesson?”
“The mayor.” Lucy sat back,
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