Chapter Eleven #2
“The library?” She didn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “Oh, that. Yes. I wasn’t feeling well that day. Just a terrible headache. I probably didn’t even notice Charlotte was there.” She gave a tight smile. “I’m better now, though.”
Sam watched her for a moment. “That’s good. Charlotte was concerned.”
“Well, tell her I appreciate that, but there’s no need to worry.
” Pamela’s voice was firm now. She finally met Sam’s gaze.
“Have the police spoken with you? They questioned me about everything.” Pamela tilted her head to one side.
“Oh wait. You were with Charlotte when Margaret was found, weren’t you?
You poor thing. I really winced when I heard that.
A brand-new member of our book club, too. ”
“Yes, I’m afraid I was there. But I was glad that Charlotte wasn’t alone.”
Pamela nodded gravely. “Yes, that would have been so much worse. What an absolutely horrible thing for Charlotte, though. First the hurricane caused so much damage to Twice-Told Tales. Then a suspicious death in her shop. At least, from what the authorities were saying, her death was suspicious.” She paused.
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to help the police out much. ”
“I couldn’t, either. I didn’t notice anyone especially close to Margaret at the book club meeting.”
Pamela said, “Exactly. Because who wanted to be close to her?” She sighed.
“That’s ungenerous of me. But Margaret could be a very difficult woman.
If you engaged in conversation with her, she’d often turn a polite conversation into an argument.
” She leaned closer to Sam. “Could you tell how she died?” she asked quietly.
“The police didn’t disclose a cause of death.
Did someone stay behind with her and murder her? Surely it wasn’t Charlotte?”
“No. Even if Charlotte wanted to kill someone, she’d have the good sense not to do it in her own shop. It’s looking like Margaret might have died before we all left the bookstore.”
“Oh no. That’s awful.” Pamela winced. “I hate to think that. I hope her demise was fast. That she didn’t suffer.” She paused. “And yet the police are looking at her death as suspicious. Does that mean someone strangled her?” Her face was horrified.
“I think they’re trying to figure that out. Did you notice anyone’s location during book club or after?”
Pamela shook her head. “Sadly, I’m not very helpful with those details, as I told the police.
I did notice Dylan hovering around the refreshments for a bit.
I think he was just anxious about being around Margaret after the horrid way she acted about his open mic night.
As for me, I left right after we finished.
The meeting exhausted me, as it often does.
Margaret was always tiresome. I went home, made myself some herbal tea, then turned in early.
The police asked me if anyone could confirm that, but I live alone. So I suppose I’m still a suspect.”
“Did you know Margaret well outside the club?” asked Sam.
“No, just from the meetings, which was more than enough. Margaret was always . . . ” She seemed to catch herself.
“This is just my opinion, and of course I didn’t know her well.
And, I’m no psychiatrist. But she seemed like someone who might have had an inferiority complex or something.
She was always trying to prove she was better and smarter than everyone else.
I wonder what her upbringing was like and if her parents were that way.
The thing is, she was a clever, successful woman.
She could have been so interesting to converse with. It’s really just a pity.”
Sam said, “Did you know her from work at all?”
Pamela’s brow wrinkled. “You mean from the library? No, I think Margaret had a fairly shabby opinion of the Sunset Ridge library. She preferred her college library. More academic, of course. You could likely tell that she didn’t think much of books she termed ‘fluff.’ Which was basically anything without footnotes or written later than the 1700s. ”
Sam smiled. “Did Jane Austen qualify as fluff?”
“Oh, Jane was the fluffiest!” Pamela chuckled.
A resident came in on a walker and cheerfully greeted Pamela, who gave her a hug and asked how the resident’s physical therapy was going. Then she helpfully directed her toward a new author she’d discovered who wrote women’s fiction, the resident’s favorite genre.
Sam was about to go look for Nora when the old woman suddenly appeared in the library with Precious, the dog’s nails clicking on the linoleum floor.
Nora looked aggrieved about something. The cause of her grievance was revealed when she spluttered to Sam, “Mr. Holloway says Precious has gained weight. Can you imagine? I feed him precisely the recommended portions.”
Precious trotted to Pamela with the confidence of a dog who knew he was both handsome and loved. He still wore his argyle sweater vest, which somehow made him look even more distinguished.
“Oh, Pamela! I should have known you’d be here in the library,” Nora said warmly. “I was just telling Sam that you volunteer here regularly.”
A genuine smile crossed Pamela’s face. “Nora, it’s good to see you. And Precious, of course.” She bent down to greet the pit bull, who accepted her attention with his usual dignity.
“I brought Edith a casserole,” Nora said. “Though between you and me, I suspect she shares half of everything I bring with her roommate.”
“Most likely,” Pamela agreed. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I should probably wrap up here. I’ve been organizing donations for a while.” She gestured to the cart of books she’d been sorting. “We got three boxes from the library’s last sale.”
“The residents must love that,” said Sam.
“Yes,” agreed Nora. “you do such wonderful work here. How many years has it been now?”
“Five,” Pamela said. There was a touch of pride in her voice. “Ever since I retired from the county library. It’s given me something meaningful to do that also puts me around books again.”
“Well, I think it’s wonderful of you.” Nora checked her watch. “We should let you finish up. I’m sure you have things to do before you head home.”
“Actually, I’m done for the day,” Pamela looked at the neatly organized cart with satisfaction.
They walked toward the lobby together, making small talk about the retirement home’s upcoming holiday party and the new mystery novels that had just arrived.
Sam found herself genuinely liking Pamela with her quiet competence, her obvious dedication to the residents, and the way she spoke passionately about books.
They were almost back to the lobby when they heard a child’s delighted voice echo down the hallway.
“Precious! Arlo!”