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

She was so vivid, her energy endless. It seemed impossible that she was gone.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I jumped when the hall door opened. Mary Alice slipped in, closing the door quietly behind her.

“Anything going on out there?” she asked.

“People coming and going. I don’t recognize most of them.”

“Well, you wouldn’t. I would, but I’ve been shut up with the rest of the staff next door. If I have to listen to Dory’s wild speculations for another minute, I’ll scream.” Dory Hutchinson was another member of the Circulation staff. She was a lifelong village resident, knew everyone, gossiped freely, and supplemented what legitimate information she had with the products of her vivid imagination. By contrast Mary Alice, who knew almost as many people, listened far more than she talked. She was observant. Both would be good sources of information, though I’d have to take what Dory said with a grain of salt.

“I told Helene you probably hadn’t eaten anything,” Mary Alice said. “You’ll be no good to anyone if you faint.”

“I never faint. I’m not the type.” I was the type who drank too much and made inappropriate comments. Fainting would be better.

“Neither am I, but you’ve had a shock.”

She handed me a cup of tea liberally laced with milk and sugar. I never took it that way, but it did the trick. After a few sips I was able to eat the snack she put in front of me.

“I left my lunch bag upstairs.” The thought of eating anything that had been sitting next to Joanna’s body, however briefly, made my stomach roll. Mary Alice nodded.

“I’m not supposed to say anything, but … someone was up there. In the attic. Do you know where Millicent was?” I said.

Millicent Ames was our archivist. She’d been a fixture in the library for decades.

Mary Alice raised her eyebrows.

“She was helping me, but it’s possible. She wasn’t in sight all the time, and she did clear the second floor. But all those stairs that fast at her age? I just don’t know. The police arrived in waves, and then herded us all down here. She was one of the last to appear. What do you think happened?”

“It could have been an accident, but I don’t think so.”

“Something stinks,” Mary Alice said shaking her head. “Joanna hadn’t been herself.”

“And where’s Vince Goodhue in all this?” I asked.

“Good question.” She was about to say something else, but we heard voices in the hall. By the time the door opened, she was at the sink and I was back at the window.

“You can talk to people individually in here,” Helene was saying. “The staff is next door. Greer is here. Mary Alice brought her some lunch.”

“Thank you. We can take it from here.” O’Donnell said. “Ask the rest of the staff to wait next door. They can go as soon as we’re done talking to them.” He gave Mary Alice a pointed look. “We’ll see you as soon as we’re done talking to Ms. Hogan.”

“Certainly, Sam,” she said, “glad to help if I can.” And as she followed Helene out the door, “Remember, she’s had quite a shock.”

I busied myself making another cup of tea at the little machine on the counter, using the time to collect my thoughts. By the time I turned around, they were seated at the table, notebooks and extra-large Java Joint cups at the ready. Nothing like being half a mile from the only coffee shop in town to insure there was always a cop around when you needed one. No wonder they had gotten here so fast. I fought the urge to make a donut joke. Pleasant and cooperative, but just the facts. That was my plan. Keep it brief. What they asked, or didn’t, might be enlightening. I seated myself. First things first.

“So, who did you find in the attic?”

Webber’s eyes narrowed. O’Donnell sighed.

“Tell us how you found Mrs. Goodhue. Start from when you decided to go upstairs,” he said.

It had been worth a try.

I recited the events of my lunch hour, pausing occasionally to picture the scene in my head. They didn’t jump in with any questions. I wound up with my call to Helene.

“So, you knew she was dead when you saw her?”

I shook my head. “She practically landed on me. She was cold when I touched her. I tried to find a pulse. And when I saw the blood …” I stopped.

When I saw the blood, I started seeing things I’d only seen in nightmares since Danny died, and I decided someone had killed her. This was not a story I wanted to tell.

O’Donnell tried again. “I know it’s tough, the first time you see a body, but please try to focus.”

“No,” I stared into my tea, seeing the dark stairwell. Joanna. The dark apartment. Danny. Better they heard it from me first.

“Not the first body.” I took a sip of my tea, not sure how to begin. “My husband.”

Silence.

“My late husband,” I added, “obviously.”

I gripped my mug, returning O’Donnell’s level stare. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Webber giving me a cool look. Both remained silent.

Do not babble, do not babble, I chanted silently. That’s what had gotten me in trouble the last time. I’d wait them out. For a while there was no sound but the ticking of the hideous cuckoo clock on the wall.

O’Donnell and Webber exchanged a look. Then Webber spoke.

“I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.” A brief pause. “How did he die?”

“He interrupted a robbery in our apartment.”

“And you found him?”

“Yes.”

More silence. Finally, she circled back around.

“Cause of death?”

Here we go.

“Blunt force trauma.”

O’Donnell shifted in his chair.

“Blow to the head?”

It wasn’t really a question. I could tell by the way he asked.

I nodded. “He was struck from behind.”

Another image of Danny flashed into my head. Bruising along his jaw. I frowned. That couldn’t be right if he’d been hit from behind. He was lying on his back when I found him.

“Like Mrs. Goodhue,”