Death Overdue (Librarian Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page B

long as one was suspecting. However, Bruce had no connection to Sally. With her obvious affection for Sally, I found it hard to believe it could be Brenda either.
    So it was down to Penelope and Alfredo—both relatives in a sense, and that was usually who killed people, their relatives.
    If it turned out Sally’s death had been foul play, my prime suspect would have to be Penelope. There was obviously some bad blood between her and her sister—but how could it be so bad that she would think to kill her? What would Penelope have to gain by Sally’s death?
    Still, it wouldn’t do to overlook Alfredo. What did we know about him and his relationship to Sally? Maybe they hadn’t been as in love as he’d like us to believe. Had she written him into her will, or was she waiting for their marriage to take care of that? Again the question—what did he have to gain by her death?

NINE

Too Big?
    C aldwell and I had to go out that late afternoon as we had set up an appointment to see a space that we might rent for the bookshop. We both felt strange leaving the house, but the library room had been locked by the police and Alfredo and Penelope had gone into their rooms to nap and Bruce had gone out to peruse more bookshops. Brenda hadn’t come out of her room since the coroner had taken the body away. We had told everyone we wouldn’t be long, but it still felt unnerving to be leaving the B and B unguarded.
    We climbed into Caldwell’s smart car and he started the vehicle, but we sat there for a moment; then he turnedto me and said, “I would never have done anything to hurt Sally.”
    “I know that,” I assured him.
    “I was mad at her, once upon a time, but not now, not anymore. After meeting you, I saw more clearly than ever that she was never right for me.”
    I was so happy to hear this. I thought I knew it, but having something said out loud really solidified it. “Thanks.”
    “Thank you for being so steadfastly by my side.”
    “It’s where I want to be,” I told him.
    “Well, here we go,” he said, and we set off in the small car to go to the book mecca of London—Charing Cross Road.
    The space we were going to look at had been an antiques store, but the owner had died a few months ago and Caldwell had heard through the grapevine of his bookish friends that it was up for grabs. It was only a block away from Any Amount of Books, a wonderful used bookshop, and both of us felt this was to the good. People looking for books don’t usually stop at only one bookshop but would easily walk over and see what we might have to offer. We would be able to ride on the coattails of this well-established shop.
    Luckily we found a place to park a few blocks away, and the rain had quit as we walked the dampish streets. I breathed in deeply and wondered how many times I would stroll to what might become our new shop. The lease waspricey, but between the two of us we had the money—if Caldwell could sell the B and B, if all the proceeds were his, and if we found a cheap place to live together.
    An old man met us at the front door. He introduced himself as Darcy Dickens. I had never met a real Darcy before—only knew of the one in Pride and Prejudice . There was a hint of the lord of the manor about this man, but he was well past the marriageable age.
    “Top-notch, this place is,” he said as he opened the heavy wooden door and waved us in. “Can’t find a better spot for a shop than this.”
    When we walked into the space, the first thing that hit me was how enormous it felt, with its high, vaulted ceilings and rumpled brick floor. The second thing was how cold it felt, since it had been empty for a while. And the third thing was the smell, which was, as close as I can describe, a combination of moldy shoes and wet dog, with a hint of urine. Not a pleasant bouquet.
    But when I glanced over at Caldwell, I could see he was sold. The building was long and narrow, and as we walked down the floor, I could tell he was