Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [73]
“On Saturday I told them the last people to leave were Nick, Nora, and Dolores.” She touched a finger to her mouth nervously. “Nick has keys and knows the lockup procedure. When I left, he was looking something up in Books in Print for Dolores, a book she needed for her storytelling performance this weekend.”
“Where was Nora?”
“I saw her through the window as I was doing the traditional last walk through the library. She was in the children’s computer room working on something.”
“Did you tell the detectives all this?”
“Yes.”
“Then what . . . ?”
“I came back.” She gave a jittery laugh. “I’d forgotten my briefcase and I came in the employee entrance, through Technical Processing. I was going to dash up the back stairs and pick it up. That’s when I heard them.”
“Who?”
“Nick and Nora. They were fighting. He was really yelling at her. I was shocked. I’d never heard him even raise his voice before.”
“What were they fighting about?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t stick around to find out. I was so horribly embarrassed that I just left my briefcase. At the bottom of the stairs, I bumped into Dolores. She heard them, too. You can ask her. We both mumbled something inane and went to our respective cars.”
“Do you think she told the police?”
“I have no idea, but that’s why I thought I’d better tell someone. If she did, I didn’t want it to look like I was covering up anything.”
I looked at her pointedly. “Except you were.”
Her cheeks flushed shell pink. “Yes, I suppose I was. It’s just that I know Nick wouldn’t kill his sister and I didn’t want him suffering any more than he already has.”
“I agree with you about Nick, but the police need to know everything possible about what happened the last few hours of Nora’s life even if it seems irrelevant.” Which, I thought, this was anything but.
“Could you tell Gabe for me?” she asked.
“Yes, but you know you’ll be getting another visit from a detective. They’ll probably want to corroborate your story with Dolores’s.”
“I know. Everything I told you was the truth. She’ll verify that.” Her voice trembled slightly. “Benni, I held back this information because I really care about Nick. When I first took over the library, he was one of the few people who had an open mind about me and didn’t assume I was just window dressing placed here by my aunt. Please make Gabe understand that. It wasn’t my intention to break the law or make the investigation more difficult.”
“He’ll understand, I’m sure.” Sure, and I’m going to be voted the next Miss Rodeo America.
I ate lunch at a new Mexican restaurant near the library where the owners didn’t know me. It was a relief to eat my chile relleños in peace without having to talk about Nora’s murder and answer the awkward question—just what is your husband going to do about it? Not to mention the somewhat embarrassing fact that everyone assumed I knew more than I did. That’s why I ended up with confidences like Jillian’s. Though there had to be some advantages to being the police chief’s wife, I’d yet to discover them.
Rooting around in my purse for something to read while I ate, I came across the maroon datebook I’d taken out of Gabe’s briefcase this morning. I idly flipped through the daily calendar part, sampling a piece of cramped writing here and there. Gabe was right, the Datebook Bum must have been an intelligent man. I went back to January 1 and started reading. The entries were short, to the point, and meticulously kept. They recorded everything from what he ate at the Mission Food Bank that day (January 27—“Baked chicken breast, mashed potatoes, and corn this evening. Ate all but two bites of corn. Chicken overdone.”) to whom he spoke to (February 9—“Ms. Aragon from Blind Harry’s said good morning. She wore her yellow suit today. Donna at San Celina Creamery gave me a vanilla cone. Turned down offer of sprinkles.”) to what junk he collected (“Deck of playing cards minus red diamond queen and ace of spades—table outside of Art Center; Six cans—three Coke, two Pepsi, one Dr Pepper—garbage bin outside