An Open Book Read Online Free

this out quickly. “I know this sounds silly,
     but Edith took out a library book yesterday. Can you keep an eye out for it?”
    “Hang on . . .” There were background sounds of voices and Van’s replies, then she
     spoke to me again. “I’m going to search her house tomorrow. Want to come along?”
    “Me? Is that legal?”
    “It is if I make you a deputy. Besides, you knew the woman.”
    If I protested, Van might not let me help her. But I couldn’t actually think of anyone
     who might have known Edith any better. “I was in her house a couple of times—she hosted
     some committee meetings there, so I’ve seen most of the downstairs. Does that count?”
    “Sure. You can help me figure out what shouldn’t be there, or what’s missing.”
    I thought about it for about three seconds. “I’ll do my best. When?”
    “Tomorrow morning. I figured it would be easier by daylight. What time are you supposed
     to be at the library?”
    “We open at ten on Saturdays.” Which she ought to have known—Vanessa wasn’t much of
     a reader, but she had to walk by the library to get to her office, and she’d pulled
     plenty of Saturday shifts.
    “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
    “Okay, see you then.”
    By the time I returned to the kitchen, Henry was draining boiled potatoes that would
     accompany his fancy French stew. “Just about ready to dish up. What was so hush-hush
     that you didn’t want me to hear?”
    “I just remembered that Edith had taken out a book yesterday, and I wondered how to
     retrieve it. So I called Van to ask her to watch for it, and she invited me to go
     check out Edith’s house with her tomorrow morning. Shoot, I didn’t mention it to Van,
     but if you needed one, that’s another argument against suicide: Edith would never
     have done that without returning her library book first. I mean, who takes out a library
     book when you know you aren’t going to finish it? Unless it was a truly awful book.”
    “There’s a charming dinner table topic: what books would drive you to kill yourself?
     But I’d agree with you. Edith Hathaway was not the kind of person to kill herself.”
     He set a steaming bowl of stew, rich with chunks of beef, carrots, mushroom and herbs,
     in front of me. “More wine?”
    “Please. And, no, she’d been looking forward to reading this book—she loves that author.”
    A discussion of how bad a book would have to be to convince someone to commit suicide—and
     likely candidates—carried us through most of dinner, which I made sure to savor. I’ve
     always thought a good meal was a good antidote for ugly realities.
    “So Vanessa’s searching Edith’s place tomorrow?” Henry asked, draining his glass and
     setting down his napkin.
    “Tomorrow, early. Vanessa wanted daylight for it. Did we have any plans for tomorrow?”
    “Just the usual chores. Afterwards, you’ll be at the library, right?”
    I nodded. “Until three. Am I cooking dinner tomorrow?”
    “Your turn. I’ll shop.”
    “Thank you. Shall we adjourn to the parlor?”
    “I’ll build a fire.”
    * * *
    The following morning I was ready and waiting when Vanessa pulled into my driveway
     in her police cruiser. Henry slept on, oblivious. At least he wasn’t worried about
     my involvement in Vanessa’s investigation into Edith’s death. I was reluctant to call
     it murder, which still seemed like an incongruous word when applied to Edith Hathaway.
    I hurried out to the car. The temperature had dropped overnight, and my feet crunched
     on the snow where it had drifted across the driveway. Inside the car, Vanessa had
     the heater cranked up high. “Anything new?” I asked as I buckled my seat belt.
    “The coroner’s team did their thing. No obvious wounds, but you’d already guessed
     that. They’ll do an autopsy, and blood work, of course, but it may be a while before
     we see results. Plus it’s a weekend.”
    “What are they thinking?”
    Van shrugged. “You think