The Murders in the Reed Moore Library Read Online Free PDF

the cell phone
and put it down on the arm of the couch. Dupin batted at it. Penny
snatched it away and stuffed it in her pocket. "Stop that, you're
always redialing people. "
    Penny pulled a tissue from the green Kleenex
box on her desk and dried her tears. She tossed it into the plastic
wastebasket beside the desk.
    Penny stroked Dupin's back. "Looks like we've
solved the crime. Thanks to you. You found the folder, and the
wallet. Plus that key! And all without your tuna."
    Dupin jumped down to the floor and turned in
a circle. He meowed. Penny laughed and stood up. "Okay, okay! I'm
sorry. It hasn't been a typical day."
     
    #
     
    Dupin was in the middle of his after-eating
cleaning when the library phone rang. Penny picked up the extension
on the end table beside the couch.
    "Reed Moore Library, Penny. How may I help
you?" Dupin noticed the change in her expression and paused in his
cleaning. He couldn't quite make out the voice on the other
end.
    "So he didn't do it?" Penny asked after a
moment. "But what about the picture?"
    Dupin got up and padded over to the couch. He
jumped up beside Penny and bumped her arm holding the phone.
    Dupin heard David's voice. "—pretty upset
about it, but his alibi checked out. He was giving a business
presentation at the time the murders happened. You don't have any
way to determine when he dropped the books in the drop, do
you?"
    "No. His books were just beneath the
body."
    "Could he have hired someone to do it?"
    "Maybe, we'll check into it, but either he's
an excellent actor or he was surprised about that picture."
    "What about the wife?" Penny asked.
    "She checked out too. Fell apart when we told
her, was also shocked about the photo. She's been taking evening
classes and we've confirmed she was in class that night." David was
quiet for a minute. "At this point we don't have much. We got a
fingerprint off the key you found but I'm waiting for search
results. Forensics are starting to come in but it's starting to
look like there might have been more than one assailant. Sorry I
don't have more."
    "That's okay. Thanks for letting me know."
Penny hung up the phone. She stroked Dupin. "I guess we didn't
solve it after all."
    Penny picked Dupin up in her arms and stood.
She kept stroking his back so he didn't mind. "He said there might
have been two people. That makes sense. Camille and Mr. Wilson died
differently. The key might turn up a match, but what if it
didn't?"
    He’d already gotten his tuna. As far as he
was concerned David was welcome to figure out what really happened.
He lay slack in Penny’s arms as she walked out of the staff room.
She carried him back to the counter and put him down on top. She
pressed her hands together. "Okay, Dupin, let's work through this.
Camille comes back to the library to pick up her folder. She
decides – because she was like that – to go ahead and empty the
book drop while she was here. She goes out to empty the drop and
Bill Wilson is still out there. One person stabs him while the
other goes after Camille. She tries to get away or call for help by
coming in the library. The killer outside shoves the dying Mr.
Wilson into the book bin and then pushes it into the book drop,
closes and locks the drop. Their partner strangles poor Camille
inside and lets the other in, who tosses the key on the counter
where it slides beneath the keyboard. They put Camille in the drop
in here and then leave."
    It made sense but Dupin's eye noticed
something beneath one of the padded chairs. He jumped down from the
counter and walked over to the chair. He crouched down and inhaled.
The minty-smelling letter still lay where he left it. Dupin reached
in and scratched at it. He managed to pull the envelope partway
out.
    Penny stooped down and picked it up. Dupin
rubbed against her legs. Penny's breath caught. She stood very
still for several seconds then looked down at Dupin. "Do you know
what this is?"
    He had a pretty good idea.
    "I recognized the Winters, they come