The Unkindness of Ravens by M. Hilliard (readera ebook reader .txt) 📗

looking directly at the Story-Hour-in-a-Bag display. The colorful little backpacks hung from brass hooks on a repurposed hall tree. I slid lower and shifted to one side.

There. I could see the bottom half of staircase, framed by the bags above and the bench below. We hadn’t turned on the hall lights yet, but the watery sunlight coming in above the front door pushed the shadows back just enough.

“About here?” I checked with Mary Alice.

“That’s right, give or take half a foot. See anything?”

“Bottom half of the stairs and a little bit of the hall. The light would be different at night. It would be coming down the stairs rather than from the front. She would probably only have been able to see something in outline.”

Mary Alice agreed.

“I turned off the entry lights as soon as we closed, but the stairway lights would still have been on, for what they’re worth.”

But the lights in the reading room were bright, which led to my biggest concern. Could whatever Sadie saw see her?

“I’ll have to look tonight when we close. It’s earlier than when we closed on Tuesday, but maybe I can get a better idea of what was visible.”

The two of us went about the rest of our opening routine. I was on autopilot as I ran through all the possibilities of what Sadie might have seen. My initial presumption had been that it was a man, but that was because of the Nearly Headless Nick analogy. It could have been a woman. Sadie had been focused on the apparent “headlessness.” How had she put it? Lumpy. Someone bundled up or hunched over? Someone who knew enough to avoid the back stairs, always in use by the staff and the Friends when a meeting ended or at closing time. The front door was locked promptly, and staff and volunteers exited through the back. Or perhaps it was someone not familiar enough with the building to know there were back stairs, someone who had hidden away and waited for the noise to die down before making a move through the front. That presumed a pre-arranged meeting, because someone who didn’t know the manor wouldn’t know where to find Joanna. Unless it was someone who pretended to leave and doubled back. I’d have to figure out who was where and when after the meeting in order to rule anyone out. Joanna wouldn’t have turned her back to a stranger or to anyone threatening, but if it were someone she knew? How hard would it be to sneak up on someone at the top of the stairs? I remembered the squeaky floorboard. I needed to check the stairs as soon as I had a minute.

Anne Marie arrived a few minutes before we opened. We usually ran a skeleton crew on nights and weekends, but Helene had asked the intern to come in as backup. Good call—the place was mobbed again. Morbid curiosity had not abated. Again, it was a mix of library regulars, infrequent visitors, and strangers. I was busy for a couple of hours. Once things settled down to a few people browsing and using the computers, I decided it was time to do a little investigating. Telling Anne Marie I wanted an early lunch and to call my cell if she needed help, I let her fly solo at the reference desk and took off.

Once out of sight, I nipped up the back stairs to the second floor, pausing to peek into the hallway at the top. Deserted, just as I’d hoped. The door to the archives was propped open, though, which meant Millicent was in. Technically, the archives were only open on weekdays, but if someone wanted to do research and could only come on a Saturday, Millicent would often make an appointment to meet with them. Moving as quietly as I could, I crossed the hall and went up the next flight of stairs, firmly squashing all thoughts of headless ghosts and dead bodies.

I wasn’t the only one who had decided to take a look around the crime scene. When I got to the landing, I found the attic door open and Vince Goodhue crouched at the bottom of the stairwell with a small flashlight. He obviously hadn’t heard me coming, as he remained engrossed in his task, shining the light into every crevice on the stairs, and running his hands along the treads. If he was looking for something, it was obviously small and dark. I watched him for a moment longer and decided a direct approach was best.

“Looking for something?”

Vince jerked back and landed on his butt. He swore softly and twisted around to face me.

“Sorry.” I did my best to sound contrite. “I thought you’d heard me coming.”

“Obviously not.” He grabbed the doorknob to pull himself up. He flicked his flashlight off and looked up the stairs. Blowing out a long breath he turned toward me. I didn’t budge, leaving him no place to go on the small landing. Vince and I stared at each other for a few seconds. I said nothing. I’d stared down scarier people than Vince Goodhue. The police may have released the crime scene but this was not a public area. Vince was neither staff nor volunteer, and I wanted an explanation.

“Has anyone found a flash drive?” he asked.

“Not that I know of. Have you asked anyone at Circ to check the lost and found bin?”

He hesitated. “No.”

“That might be a good place to start.”

“Yes,” he said and paused again.

I waited.

“You’re right, Greer. But the reading room was crowded, and I didn’t want to talk to anyone.” He shrugged, not meeting my eyes.

“Ah, I see.” Plausible, but he could have called, and he hadn’t. Nice try.

“Well,” I went on, “I can find out. What does it look like? Is it labeled or anything?”

“It should have a ‘J’ on it. It was Joanna’s. I think she had it with her. I can’t find it at home.”

“And the police don’t have it?”

He shifted around. “No.”

I’d