Page 53 of Murder Will Out
But she’d worked her tail off for this. Being Mrs. Geralt Talbot had taken a lot more maneuvering and strategy than she’d bargained for. She wasn’t going to throw it away yet.
She had one more play. One last effort to keep what she had earned.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
There was no band at the Raven tonight—only the speakers blasting ’70s classic rock. Catherine had gotten to the restaurant first and, in film-thriller-last-act fashion, sat crouched in a quiet booth in the far corner with a baseball cap on her head, eyeing the front door.
As Willow slid into the booth across from Catherine, she noticed the librarian’s eyes were bloodshot and bright, and her smile was brittle. Instead of the amber-filled pint glass most people in the restaurant had in front of them, Catherine was drinking coffee; Willow suspected it was the most recent in a long string of caffeine hits in a long day. Catherine’s left arm was curled protectively around a canvas messenger bag on the seat beside her.
Willow took in Catherine’s pulled-down hat and gray windbreaker. “Are you okay? You look like you’re on the lam.”
Catherine nodded. “I’m fine, even if I’m stretched out to my last nerve. I found what I was looking for, and if Hank or any of his goon squad—”
“Hank has a goon squad?” Willow asked dubiously.
“Well, how do I know? He seems like the type to have one, andat least one of them was following me all day, and if he knows what I’ve got—”
“What have you got?” Willow interrupted.
“For one thing, my own goon squad now, or at least goon, singular.” She grinned at Willow’s puzzled look. “Later. First—tell me what really happened the other night at Cameron House.”
Willow said carefully, “What do you mean? I told you already about the locket and the room—”
“Yeah, but you left stuff out, didn’t you?” Catherine’s eyes were fixed on Willow, a small, knowing smile on her face. “A lot of stuff.”
Clearly, Willow’s selective editing of her Cameron House experiences last night had not gotten past Catherine. “You’ll think I’m losing it,” Willow said.
“Unlikely,” Catherine retorted. “I do live on Little North, after all. People see weird stuff all the time on the island, especially in houses and structures built more than a century ago. The library is one of them. I could tell you some stories, and I will someday, but for now, how about if you just tell me yours?”
Willow retrieved the sheaf of mysterious typed literary quotes from her backpack, and set them on the table in front of Catherine. Haltingly, she managed to tell Catherine the story—most of it, anyway. The cryptic typewritten messages. Joel, Dellie, and Dot. Annabel’s room with its chest and books.
The librarian frowned. “Let me make sure I have this all clear. You’re saying that not only is Cameron House haunted, but the ghosts there… talked to you? You’ve seen them, had face-to-face conversations?”
Willow nodded.She’ll think I’m crazy. This is why I can’t have nice friends.
“Andtheytold you Effie and Sue suspected there is another Cameron heir somewhere?”
Willow nodded again.
“When you snuck over in the middle of the night and almostgot caught by an intruder who hadalsosnuck into the house in the middle of the night, Annabel herself showed you where her room was, andshegave you the locket and photo album?”
One more nod. “I’m convinced she’s trying to help me,” Willow said. “But since Geralt died, most of the ghosts have… faded.”
“Wow,” Catherine said, sitting back for a moment, shaking her head slowly, trying to take it all in. “That’s… a lot.”
At least she wasn’t laughing, Willow noted with relief, nor did she seem to be trying to make up an excuse to get away. “You believe me?” Willow asked.
“I’m reserving judgment,” Catherine said. “The rational part of me wants to suspect it’s someone’s elaborate hoax to convince you the ghosts are real, but I’m not sure why or what the point would be.” Catherine’s attention was caught by someone at the front of the restaurant. “Okay, let’s hold that thought for a bit; my personal goon squad just arrived. Here comes Nick. Maybe don’t tell him right away you’ve been trespassing over there talking to one set of ghosts and receiving enigmatic literary quotes and jewelry from another.”
Willow’s head shot around as the tall police officer, now in street clothes, approached the table. She stiffened and turned back to Catherine. “Nick?Nick, of all people? What makes you think you can trust him with this? Just because he’s a cop, you assume he’s Officer Friendly?”
Nick slid into the booth next to Catherine and glared back at Willow. “Spoken like someone from Chicago.” He glanced sideways at Catherine. “Told you this would piss her off.”
“And I agreed,” Catherine replied, “but thanks for coming with me, anyway. It was getting creepy, and I needed someone I could count on.”
“You’re welcome. Happy to do it.” He turned on Willow. “And since when have I become untrustworthy? I thought we’d moved past that. What the hell, Stone?”
Willow froze. She remembered the way Naomi had talked about Nick, how Nick had showed up off-island only a couple of hours after Naomi went to meet her “Iron Man.”
