The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery) (5 page)

She said, “What would you like to do? Collect food? Cook? Serve?”

“I’ll serve. I’d like that.” It seemed a lot more straightforward than figuring out how to collect food or, worse, how to cook it. I couldn’t see that ending well for anyone.

Luckily, I’d already reminded myself not to be needy. So I didn’t really require Phyllis’s approval. And that was probably a good thing. I had to stand on my own two feet. And that wouldn’t prevent me from giving a helping hand to someone else.

I gave Phyllis my cell number so she could leave me a message about where and when to show up. “And,” she said, “there might be a few extra errands required. You never know.”

*   *   *

MURIEL DELGADO KEPT
a low profile on the Internet. I had plenty to do and the first order of business was to try harder to find some information about her. Back in my room alone, I continued searching and I found people with that name in Canada, Europe and South America. Harrison Falls? Zip. Upstate New York? The same. In fact, Muriel Delgado didn’t appear to live in the USA.

Whoever she was, she wasn’t active in the book world as far as I could tell. I tried a few more search engines, knowing that can make a difference, and also tried the image applications. I found nobody even faintly like the tall imposing person with the swirling black clothing who had appeared at our door last night. I shook my head. Was it only last night? Less than twenty-four hours and my life had been turned upside down, sideways and inside out. How could that be? I willed myself to focus on my search. Where there’s a will, they say. But this time, there seemed to be no way.

It wasn’t the sort of quest you could quit. I stared around at my My Little Pony gang and the bookcase with my Goosebumps collection, ’N Sync CDs and well-worn
Newsies
videocassette. I really needed to get out of that room.

*   *   *

I WALKED THE
dogs through the lingering snow on the sidewalks of downtown Harrison Falls and headed out to the library. I figured Lance was out of town as he still hadn’t answered any of my texts, but I was a big girl with a serious degree and I knew how to use a library.

In my family, we make sure we are always pulled together when we head out. It makes a difference in our mood and in how people react to us. Even those of us who are engaged in legal activities (that would be me) believe this.

I might have been fired, but no way was that going to be apparent to anyone who saw me. I’d ditched the red cape and was wearing wide brown slacks, with dangerously pointy brown boots and a raw angora cable-knit sweater, topped with my green suede fur-trimmed jacket. Earlier in November, I’d spied it in our Harrison Falls Saturday Flea Market with a ratty fur fringe and was lucky enough to find a replacement. It was my late-fall-with-a-bit-of-snow
Charlie’s Angels
ensemble.

*   *   *

MY JAW DROPPED
as I headed over to the reference desk. Lance glanced up and blinked. I blinked back. I forced a smile onto my face and said. “You’re working today.” A little pang of hurt feelings settled across my chest. Why hadn’t he returned my text?

He nodded.

On my back, I felt the beady eyes of the brigade of elderly women who spend hours in Lance’s presence. Since he’d joined the staff at Harrison Falls Public Library after getting his master’s, interest in local history had exploded. Everyone seemed to have a small, unique research project. I wasn’t fooled.

“Great. I need some help and you are the best.”

“Excuse me,” a quavery voice said at my elbow. “I require some assistance here.”

It would not be an exaggeration to say that Lance leapt to his feet to help one of his posse. Any more enthusiasm and he would have vaulted over the desk.

I did my best to pick my jaw up off the well-worn carpet. Where was my usual over-the-top greeting? The hug? The “beautiful lady” or “mademoiselle”? Some remark about getting lost in my eyes? What was wrong with my Lance?

I felt shaken to my core. What if it was really something wrong with me? Clearly something about me was . . . well, the word “repellent” came to mind. Lance and I had been friends since the summer after our first year in college, when we worked together in the Hudson Café along with Tiff. We were close. We flirted. We were the best of friends. We loved each other. There had never been any coolness between us, let alone the cold shoulder like this. I gingerly pointed my nose to my armpit region, testing for offensive odors.

Literally, I smelled like roses.

Every time I made visual contact with him, he shrugged apologetically and at the same time let his eyes slide away. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was feeling guilty. But what could Lance have to feel guilty about?

Never mind.

That was a setback, but of course, he wasn’t the only librarian in the world. Still, Lance knew his way through the myriad vertical file materials and historical files and other library magic. If there was a sentence about Muriel Delgado on some yellowed sheet of paper in the Harrison Falls Public Library, Lance DeWitt would be able to track it down.

Unwilling to admit defeat, I made my way to the shelves of city directories. The service had been discontinued, but volumes were still available up to the seventies. There was only one Delgado. I found a C. Delgado living at 10B Willows Road in the early sixties. After that, a C. Delgado around nineteen sixty-five at 22 Lilac Lane. I found no M. Delgado in any year. Finally in the midseventies, a C. Delgado showed up at 153 Maple Street.

I made a note of each address. At least I had somewhere to start.

I left the library without having made eye contact with Lance again. He didn’t rush after me to make things right. Whatever was going on with him today, I couldn’t deal with it. I put his strange and hurtful behavior behind me and headed off to find answers to my other problems.

But mostly I lay on my bed for the rest of the evening sulking and sniffing. Occasionally I paused to stuff my face with chocolate marshmallow cookies.

The dogs understood that part.

*   *   *

WHEN I WASN’T
walking, feeding and patting the pooches, I spent the next morning polishing up my all-purpose résumé on the off chance that a part-time opportunity might present itself. I found a few lackluster opportunities online and decided to apply anyway. I could not help but notice the complete lack of attention from the man in my life and my two best friends. I had, after all, been unceremoniously dumped from my wonderful job. Surely that was worth a pat on the back. And speaking of pats on the back, Uncle Mick was not around either. I was alone in the world.

A trip to the post office to mail off some résumés to totally unappealing possible employers did nothing to help my mood. Even if I love that historic building. Usually.

*   *   *

I WAS ALTERNATING
between hurt feelings and anger as I eased my beloved vintage Saab in front of Michael Kelly’s Fine Antiques and parked. I felt I needed to give Lance and Tiff the benefit of the doubt, as they’d been good and loyal friends for such a long time. Tyler Dekker had his career to think about. And Uncle Mick was probably busy with . . . it was better I didn’t know with what. As I stepped out of the car, an elderly black Cadillac Seville shot in front of me and braked abruptly. Uncle Kev jumped out and left the motor running. This was Vera’s car, of course, and Uncle Kev wouldn’t be paying for that gas. Most likely he wouldn’t be paying for any fuel ever.

To my astonishment, the signora got out of the passenger door. Both of them ran toward the Saab. I closed my mouth and stepped out to meet them.

“O Dio!”
The signora clutched my hand, her round little body shaking.
“Il demonio.”

Demons were new to conversations with the signora. Speed demon, maybe?

“How fast were you going, Kev?”

Kev interrupted to translate. “It’s not my driving. She’s really upset. About you-know-what.”

“Thanks, Kev. I can see that by the way she’s hopping around. But I don’t know why. If not your driving, what demon is she talking about?”

“Demon?”

“
Demonio.
That’s what she’s saying.”

“Obviously, it must be the demon that’s moving in,” he said.

I felt a little throb in my temple. Kev can bring that on. “Try to talk sense,” I said as kindly as I could.

“I mean Muriel.”

“What about her? Wait. Are you saying—? You don’t mean she’s—”

“Yup.”

“No!”

“I wish it weren’t true, but Muriel Delgado has moved into Van Alst House. Lock, stock and barrel. Today.”

The signora crossed herself.

“M
OVED IN?” I
said stupidly. “Today?”

“Yup.”

“Really?”

The signora did a little dance of desperation, wailing.

“To Van Alst House? Am I understanding correctly? How is that possible?”

“Truck pulled up. Two guys brought in her trunks and suitcases and boxes.”

“Trunks?”

“What can I tell you. That’s what we saw.”

I swallowed. “Is she in my . . . the attic rooms?” I actually felt violated.

“Ho ho,” Kev boomed. “No way, little peasant niece of mine. She gets the guest suite on the second floor.”

“The guest suite? The one Vera’s grandfather had designed for visiting dignitaries? Governors? Wandering British aristocrats?”

“That’s the one. The only guest suite that I know of.”

The signora continued to dance around in distress, muttering things I couldn’t hear and probably wouldn’t have understood.

I was just short of screeching. “I can’t stand it! The guest suite! The Art Nouveau guest suite with the gilded rococo mirror and the Roman tub?”

Vera could have put royalty in that and no one would have felt shortchanged. It had a sitting room, bedroom, magnificent marble bathroom with the aforementioned Roman tub, dressing room and a writing alcove with a burled walnut and ivory table that fit perfectly under the faceted window and on the Aubusson carpets. I could go on and on and on. It was roomier than Vera’s own suite and a hundred times grander than my former digs in the attic or than Kev’s spartan accommodation over the garage or than the signora’s modest rooms on the first floor. Still I felt a surge of relief that the
demonio
hadn’t taken over my beloved spot.

“A visit?” I said, getting my voice under control.

Kev shook his head. “Permanent. Moved in. Period.”

“
Povera Vera!
” the signora wailed.

Poor Vera indeed. But how had this happened? Vera was tough as nails and not one to be pushed around, so if Muriel had moved in, then Vera must have okayed it. “I can’t believe that Vera gave her approval.”

Kev said, “I wouldn’t say she exactly approved it, judging by the expression on her face when the truck showed up with those trunks. But Muriel said she was moving in and Vera seemed to accept it. She didn’t put up any kind of a fight.”

“It’s hard to believe any of this. I mean, who is this woman?”

“It’s all true,” Kev said, placing his hand over his heart. “I couldn’t make that up. I think she’s got some sort of hypnotic powers.”

“This is so strange and sudden. And I think we all know how Vera feels about change. Wait, does she know you’re here?”

“No!”

“You don’t have to shout. I just asked.”

“We’re under strict orders not to contact you.”

“Vera told you not to contact me? How did she think that would work? I mean, you are still my uncle.”

“She said we weren’t to call you or visit you or—”

“I suppose that instruction included not having Signora Panetone squeeze my hands hard enough to cut off circulation.” I pried my fingers free of the signora’s grasp. “Call me crazy, but you are here.”

“Well, you don’t think we could follow those orders. What’s the matter with you, Jordie? Do you think we would let you slip away?”

Everyone else seems to have
, I thought. Only the two least likely to solve my problem were there in my corner. But I was glad of them.

“Thank you,” I said, my heart filling with gratitude.

“For what?” Kev said, puzzled. “We really need your help. Something bad is going on. Vera needs you even though she doesn’t know it.”

So, even their support had been too good to be true. Kev was still talking. “Vera thinks I’m taking the signora to get supplies. Do you know that Muriel Delgado won’t even eat Italian food?”

“Dio mio!”
The signora was now practically spinning. She managed to grab my hand again midspin.

Kev said, “You’re going to be our secret weapon. We’ll feed you information and you can overturn . . . let’s see . . . whatever is going on. You’ve got to figure out what this broad has on Vera. It’s no good, Jordie, I’m telling you.”

“Listen, Kev. Vera fired me. I don’t feel much like helping and I am in no position to overturn anything. It’s okay, Signora, please let go of my hand.” Any more squeezing and bones would start to break.

Kev said, “Show a little spine, Jordie.”

“Show a little spine? Are you insane, Kev?” My outrage came out as a series of squeaks.

Didn’t help my case much.

“Nope. Just telling you straight. Vera was good to you. She gave you the perfect job. You loved everything about it. You gotta admit that. It was like it was made in heaven for you.”

“Uh, yes, and then she took it away with no explanation, no severance, no talk of references. Nothing but a firing. Out by noon. No contact with you or the signora. That was a humiliating end after what I’ve tried to do for her. Not exactly a golden parachute, Kev.”

“But you do have contact with us.” Kev was never all that hung up on logic.

“
Povera Vera
,” the signora wailed.

I said, “Stop wailing, Signora, and stop making excuses for Vera, Kev. Don’t you realize that if she did it to me, she can do it to you?”

Kev blinked. “But I do everything she wants.”

“Yeah, well. How did that work for me?”

“You were teasing her at breakfast. Maybe she—”

I snapped, “Hardly a firing offence.”

Kev must have finally sensed my anger and frustration. He said, “None of this was Vera’s idea. I don’t think she wanted to fire you. That Muriel Delgado made her do it.”

Even though I was sure all along that Muriel was behind my firing, I found myself arguing against Vera as the innocent pawn in Muriel’s game.

“Have you ever seen anyone make Vera do anything?” I countered.

“This is different. It’s like—”

“Il demonio!”

“You have to find out about this woman,” Kev said. “Where did she come from? What kind of a hold does she have over Vera?”

“It’s not that easy. She doesn’t seem to leave any tracks. I’ve been trying to find her online.”

Kev brightened. “You have been trying? So you do want to help. That’s the spirit, Jordie.”

“I’d like to know what’s going on, that’s all. I’m digging for information about this Muriel. There’s nothing out there. And I don’t have a lot of time for it. I’m going to have to get on with my life, get another job and figure out how to make a living.”

“Come on. It’s not like you found yourself on the street. Mick would never throw you out.”

“Of course, he won’t. It’s not a matter of being thrown out.”

“You can stay with him forever. He’ll be thrilled.”

“But I won’t be thrilled. I need to be independent.” Was that a whine creeping into my voice? Something else to be mad about. Archie Goodwin wouldn’t whine and I wasn’t going to either.

“Whatever. But you’ll find out about this Muriel.”

“I didn’t say that. I said I already tried and it wasn’t easy.” Of course, I hadn’t tried hard. And I did want to know.

“Try again. We are all depending on you. Vera will be too, although she might not know it. I don’t care what kind of cable channels we get now.”

“Cable channels?” Whoa, hold the phone. Vera had always ranted against the evil “boob tube,” which she overenunciated and called a “boob tee-yube.”

“Yeah, cable channels.”

“But we, I mean you, don’t have cable. Vera would never allow it. All books all the time is her motto, except for the little black-and-white number in the kitchen.”

“Used to be. But as soon as the moving truck left, they called the cable guy.”

“They? Who’s they?”

“Vera and Muriel.”

“Vera actually called—”

“Muriel’s totally addicted to cable channels. So Vera actually picked up the phone and spoke to them, Jordie. They were there pretty fast. The cable company, I mean. She was practically going through withdrawal symptoms.”

“Well, I can’t think of much that’s more surprising than Vera agreeing to it.”

“I can.” Kev’s eyes widened and he drew in close, as though he were about to share his magical knowledge of a hidden treasure. “Cherie,” he said, mouth open in awe.

“What?”

“Cherie.”

“I repeat: What?”

“The cable guy, much more surprising.”

“Um, the cable guy’s name is Cherie? And why do you have that besotted expression on your face?” I wasn’t being judgmental. I only wanted it to make sense.

Kev’s blue eyes danced. “Yeah, she’s awesome. She turned in off the road, driving that cable truck like it was on rails.” He made eye contact with me, as though I would have full appreciation for whatever that meant. “I’ve never seen a woman drive like that.”

I let it go. Kev had his own standards for women and they were unique. I said, “So Vera ordered cable, for Muriel?” I glanced toward the signora, who was turned away slightly, her lips unusually pursed. I was sure she would have preferred to be watching her
telenovelas
on cable, instead of the snowy local programming that her digital antenna picked up through the stone walls for her ancient black-and-white television in the kitchen. But somehow, it seemed that her feelings were hurt. I assumed that it was by Muriel’s influence, but maybe it was this Cherie.

“Yeah, she did. Right away. I could hear Vera on the phone yelling at the cable company from down the hall. Then, like an hour later,” his eyes glazed over again, “Cherie shows up.”

The signora said, “
Si, si, bella, bella!
”

Kev glowed. “You can say that again. And she was good too. She didn’t cut any corners or freak out about the spiderwebs in the crawl space or anything.” He was nodding, but clearly he’d drifted off to an imaginary place where he and Cherie could drive like lunatics and celebrate their lack of arachnophobia.

While I’d been living at Van Alst House, I had made a bid or two for cable. The nights got kind of long sometimes. Vera had gone as far as to say that she would consider legal action against anyone who brought, and I quote, “that kind of filth and drivel” into her home.

Something was really bothering me about this news. That anyone could waltz in and be watching
Duck Dynasty
all day on A&E within twenty-four hours was astounding. This Muriel woman must have had dark powers.

I hesitated. I did want to know what had happened to me and why. And I didn’t want the same thing to happen to the signora and Kev. Surely the signora was safe. She’d been with the Van Alst family since Vera was a child. Kev would land his feet somewhere, hopefully not in jail, and create chaos in someone else’s life. But if this woman was trying to separate Vera from the people who cared about her, I had to do something.

And first I needed to find out more about her.

“The truck,” I said. “What company was it?”

“What truck? Cherie’s truck?”

“Not the cable company truck,” I said patiently. “I mean the truck that delivered Muriel’s trunks and boxes and suitcases.”

Kev frowned. Details were never his best thing. Actually, he doesn’t have a best thing, if you don’t count being fairly irresistible to older women who should know better.

“Dunno,” he said.

“You want me to act, you’d better give me something.”

“Um, green.”

“That’s a start. So I assume that Muriel doesn’t own this truck. Did it have a company name on it?”

Kev looked wounded. He specialized in that. “Why do you need to know?”

“Because if I can find out where she came from, I can dig around and learn a lot more about her.”

I didn’t mention that I had a couple of addresses from the city directories. C. Delgado. And how many Delgados could there be in Harrison Falls? I didn’t want Kev showing up at either address and attracting the type of disastrous attention that he had such a knack for.

“Work on remembering. I’ll see what I can do in the meantime.”

Kev nodded. “You’ll let us know what you find out?”

“Sure. But you’re also supposed to be finding out something. We need information about the green truck. If you remember anything or if you see it again or if it comes back, get some details. License number. Company name on the side. Anything.”

“There was a company name on it.”

“That’s great, Kev. What was it?”

“I don’t remember, but there was one. And Jordie, if you find out anything, don’t call me about it. I told you that we’re not supposed to speak to you. Or make any contact. Including seeing you. Which we’re doing right now. Against orders, if I make myself clear.”

“You do. I’ll text you.”

Kev’s voice went up a notch. “What if she sees your name on my phone?”

“It won’t be my name, you goofball. Uncle Mick will have a burner phone that I can use. We’ll use that to stay in touch. Let’s use some code name for Vera and another one for Muriel.”

“Good idea. How about Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf?”

“Let’s use real names that won’t sound like obvious code if Vera or Muriel snoops on your phone.”

“They might do that. They’re really serious about keeping you out of whatever’s going on. That reminds me. Don’t try to sneak back in for any reason. They changed the locks. And they changed the alarm code.”