By Book or by Crook by Eva Gates Read Free Book Online Page B

positive.
    Who, then, had killed the odious Mr. Uppiton?
    My mother’s voice sounded in my tired, confused head.
Curiosity killed the cat, and I swear, Lucille, it’ll be the death of you, too. A lady does not concern herself with other people’s affairs.
My mother, one of the Gossip Queens of Boston, continually amazed me with her ability to entertain two totally contradictory thoughts at the same time.
    Footsteps in the hall. They stopped at the closet door. I held my breath.
    “We’re finished here,” Watson said. “For now. Tomorrow I’ll want to pay a call on everyone who was at this shindig.”
    “Need any help with that?” Butch.
    “I might. You definitely heard Bertie James threaten Uppiton?”
    “Loud and clear. Everyone heard it. And then, not half an hour later, she’s standing over the body with the murder weapon in her hand. Looks pretty open-and-shut to me.”
    “Perhaps.”
    Butch’s voice softened. “Then again, plenty of folks here tonight seemed to be arguing with that guy. It might be premature to accuse anyone.”
    “She’s a well-known member of this community,” Watson said. “Friends in high places. I intend to have an airtight case when I arrest her. If I do.”
    I bit down on my tongue to keep from crying out. Charles yelped as I dug into the tender skin of his belly.
    “What’s that?” Watson said.
    “Cat. The library cat—Charles is his name, friendly thing—was locked in that closet during the party.”
    “Has the room been searched?”
    “Did it myself earlier. Nothing but the cat and some cleaning equipment.”
    “Cats. Can’t stand them myself.” The men’s voices faded away.
    I lifted Charles off me, ignoring his protests, and clambered to my feet. I opened the door and stuck my head out. The hall was empty. I could hear Watson telling Ronald and Charlene the library would be closed until further notice.
    I knocked lightly on the office door and then opened it. “Bertie?”
    She sat at her desk, her head in her hands. Her office was very small, no room for much more than a desk, a chair for her and one for visitors, and the locked cabinet where she kept budget and staff papers. The floor was dark wood, old and worn, stained in places, the walls white. Behind the desk, she’d hung a large poster of a woman performingDownward Dog on the beach, the sun rising over the ocean. Her desk was, as always, neat and tidy. The black-eyed computer monitor looked out of place in this historic room.
    “You okay?” I asked.
    Her face was pale, the bags under her eyes dark, the lines around her mouth deep. She tried to force a smile. She failed. “Isn’t this a mess? What would Miss Austen think?”
    “Can I get you something? Coffee? Water?”
    “No, but thanks, anyway. I didn’t kill Jonathan.”
    “I know that.”
    This time she did smile. “Thank you, honey. I needed to hear that.”
    She got to her feet. “As I am not under arrest but was ordered not to leave Dare County, I’m going home.”
    “Do you have any idea who would have wanted him dead?”
    Bertie lifted her thick, hand-knitted shawl off the coat stand in the corner. She wrapped it tightly around herself, as if seeking warmth. “You were there, Lucy. Tell me: who didn’t want to kill him?”

Chapter 5
    W atson was momentarily nonplussed when telling me I could go home, and being informed that I
was
home.
    “I live here. Upstairs. Fourth floor.”
    “In the lighthouse?”
    “Yes, in the lighthouse.” Was the man obtuse?
    “Lucy’s rooms are accessible only by the staircase that goes all the way to the top,” Butch said. “She won’t be in the way of our people, or the crime scene.”
    “How do you know where her rooms are?” Watson asked.
    “I know the layout of this lighthouse. I’ve been coming here since I could crawl up those stairs on my chubby knees.”
    “Okay,” Watson said. “You can stay. If you promise not to go up the back stairs and to stay out of our people’s way.