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

profile. It looked like the man I’d seen in the upper hall the day Vince was hit in the head. I leaned past Webber to get a better look but he’d turned his back.

“Thank you for putting me in touch with Grace,” she said, shifting into my line of sight. “She was very helpful. It was useful information and I appreciate your calling me.”

For Jennie Webber, this was positively loquacious. Perhaps I could affect an exchange of information.

“Have you spoken to Dexter yet?”

She gave me a sidelong look. I waited. She shook her head.

“I wasn’t able to get to Grace until late yesterday.”

“Did you know he was in the area on the night Joanna was killed?”

“We haven’t released cause of death.”

I snorted.

“But yes,” she went on, “we know. Dinner with colleagues. He left early. Said he wasn’t feeling well and went home. I suppose he just happened to mention that to you in passing?”

“Dory saw him, and she mentioned it to me. When I told him where I was from, he said he’d never been to Raven Hill.”

“The restaurant is in the next town.”

“I know, but he was at the Java Joint after he left dinner. Meadow recognized him. Why lie if he isn’t hiding something?”

She gave me a considering look. “It could be anything. Remember, he allegedly has a drug problem. You need to be careful. You’re not a cop.”

“No, I’m not. I’m a librarian, so people talk to me who wouldn’t talk to you. They think I’m nicer.”

I gave her a winning smile. She pursed her lips and looked skyward. Probably counting to ten.

“Anyway,” I said, “I got information you didn’t.”

“That’s true.”

At last, the girl detective gets some credit.

“But,” she added, “you’re not a professional, and this is a murder investigation. You’re just as likely to screw things up as help. Don’t stick your nose in.”

She’d confirmed it was murder. I smiled.

“I’m already in. No matter what anyone says, I’m either still a suspect or was. And Joanna was my friend.”

Her expression softened. “I’m aware of all that. I’m sorry for your loss, and though I shouldn’t comment on an ongoing investigation, I can tell you you’re not too high on the suspect list at this point.”

How very reassuring.

“Look, Ms. Hogan, you’ve been helpful. I don’t care what secrets you’re keeping as long as they have nothing to do with this case. But if you come across anything, anything at all you think is related I want you to call me immediately. You have my cell number. Program it, and use it.”

I was on the verge of behaving like a law-abiding citizen and handing over the flash drive when we were surrounded by a sudden influx of people. Now was not the time.

“They must have run out of food,” I muttered as the mob flowed past.

Officer Webber actually smiled. Matthew Prentiss came bounding in, his mood clearly much improved. He saw us standing together in the alcove and gave us a big grin.

“Snow White and Rose Red,” he said, and with a jaunty wave disappeared into the crowd around the New Book display.

“Did he just call us princesses?” Webber sounded appalled.

A derisive snort came from my right. Our heads swiveled in unison. It was Mick Johnson, a regular patron. Whatever he saw in our faces, thirty years as a Marine told him it was time to take cover. He dove into the stacks. I turned back to Webber.

“It’s a fairy tale. Grimm, I think.”

“Aren’t they all?”

Was she making a joke? Hard to tell—she’d gone back to scanning the room, her usual inscrutable expression firmly in place. Jilly called my name and waved me over. I waved back.

“I have to go help out.”

She nodded, never taking her eyes off the crowd.

“Remember what I told you,” she said, her voice pitched low. “Be careful, and call me. You’re not Nancy Drew.”

No, I thought, I’m Trixie.

Chapter Seventeen

I was in and out of the reading room the rest of the day. The crowd never thinned out. The fact that the police had given out so little information left lingering questions. I thought people were hoping for some kind of resolution with the memorial service, but it was not forthcoming. Many of those who had been at the service lingered, and those that hadn’t, came after school or work to see what they’d missed. I saw our regular patrons and a good number of those who usually only appeared during fine forgiveness week. The place was busy but edgy. Even the air started to seem oppressive, as if a miasma of fear and suspicion was thickening the atmosphere. Sprinkled into the mix were new faces, the strangers I’d mentioned to Jennie Webber. These I kept my eye on. I thought I spotted the man who had overheard me talking to the stuffed raven, but he disappeared too fast for me to be sure.

The younger man I’d pegged as one of O’Donnell’s plants was there most of the day, hunched over his laptop. I was reasonably sure he was the man I’d seen in the upstairs hallway the day Vince was knocked out, but I’d seen that man standing up, from behind, and mostly in outline because of the light. If my little friend in the baseball cap would abandon his fantasy sports drafts and move around, I would be able to tell. I’d ruled out the nameless, faceless stranger theory along with the ghosts, but it would be nice to be sure.

Finally, I had my chance. He was packing his belongings just as a young woman in bicycle gear paused near the shelves in front of him. I nipped over.

“May I help you find something?” I said, positioning myself at an angle that allowed a good view of both of them. I looked at the book the young woman was holding.

“Romantic suspense fan?”

I heard a strangled cough from behind me. The young woman blushed. I shot a look at the laptop guy, who was wearing a faint smirk. He turned and headed