Page 7 of No Offense

He decided it was best to skip to his next question.

“And you didn’t notice anything—or anyone—out of the ordinary this morning?”

“No. But it’s been so busy, because of the cookie party. And honestly, anyone could come in anytime holding a box that size and I wouldn’t give them a second glance.We accept donations year-round.” She must have noticed his puzzled look, since she elaborated, “Of books. We have a used-book sale every other weekend, so people are constantly dropping off boxes of books. We do a very brisk business in paperbacks, especially romance novels and thrillers, what with all of the tourists on vacation.”

He nodded like he knew what she was talking about. “And you’re certain the box wasn’t there when you arrived this morning?” he asked, opening his notebook so he could record her answer, trying to appear professional in his absurd position in the children’s chair, with his knees sticking up higher than his elbows.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, her large eyes huger than ever. “I always check all the rooms when I get in, just to make sure there isn’t aFrom the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweilersituation going on. And the box certainly wasn’t here then.”

“Awhatsituation?” he asked, more confused than ever.

“From the Mixed-Up Files of—oh.” She flushed a little when she realized he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Nevermind. It’s a children’s book about a girl and her brother who run away and hide in—it doesn’t matter. The box wasn’t here, but the cleaners had come overnight. So far, since I’ve been here, they’ve never missed a night.”

This was his chance to find out why he’d never seen her around before. “And how long have you been in this position?”

“Oh, not long.” She shook her head, the ends of her black hair—some of which were coated in white cookie frosting—swaying. “I only got this job at the end of December.”

“And before that you were?”

He told himself he wasn’t asking out of personal interest. He definitely needed to know for the investigation. Due to her accent—flat and inflectionless—he suspected she was from somewhere in the Midwest, and so he wasn’t surprised when she replied, “Denver. I’ve known Phyllis—Mrs. Robinette, the former children’s librarian—for ages. We met at ALA.” She said it as if she expected him to know what it was, but he had no idea. American Lung Association? Alaska Airlines? “When Phyllis told me that she wanted to retire but was having trouble finding a replacement due to Hurricane Marilyn—you of all people must know about the housing shortage here since the storm—well, I just jumped at the chance to apply, especially since my mother’s best friend, Joanne Larson, owns the Lazy Parrot Inn. Her husband, Carl, hasn’t been doing so well lately, and they’ve really needed an extra hand. They’ve got a spare room since the night manager quit, and, well, everything just fell into place. Who wouldn’t want to live and work in paradise? Especially now, with the new library opening up soon.”

“Yes,” he said, again nodding as if he’d understood a word of what she’d just said. “Completely.” Except for the part about the Lazy Parrot—it was true Joanne and Carl Larson had lost their night manager a while back. John himselfhad arrested him for petit theft in the second degree—and about Mrs. Robinette. She was the type to stay on volunteering long after her “retirement,” to make sure everything continued to run smoothly, which explained why she’d been at the reception desk to greet him.

The darkness of Molly Montgomery’s huge eyes made sense now, too. It wasn’t only the result of makeup, but the purple shadows that came from a lack of sleep, working as a children’s librarian and the live-in night manager at a popular local hotel.

Still, there was more to her slightly-too-chipper story than she was admitting. That faint white line on her left ring finger attested to that. He’d noticed it, especially because it matched the one on his own exactly.

Although he was very curious, he wasn’t going to bring it up. It wasn’t pertinent to his investigation.

“Well, Ms. Montgomery,” he began, but she interrupted quickly.

“Oh, please, call me Molly. Or Miss Molly. Everybody here does.”

“Okay, well, Molly, then—”

“What’s going to happen to her?” Her gaze was worriedly following the baby, whom Max was carrying out to the ambulance. “Where are they taking her?”

“To the hospital. They’ll check her out, and if she’s okay—which the EMTs seem to think she is—she’ll go to Child Protective Services, and then into foster care.”

The librarian looked troubled. “But what about her mother?”

“Well, obviously, we’re going to try to find her so we can question her.”

This was clearly the wrong thing to say, since those large dark eyes grew even larger, and she visibly tensed. “Question her? About what?”

“Well, for starters, about why she abandoned her baby in an empty trash-bag box in the bathroom of your library.”

“But you don’t know that she did. That baby could have been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?” John had thought he’d heard everything in his line of work, but this beat all. “And the kidnappers just happened to forget her in the bathroom of your library?”

She glared at him. “Stranger things have happened in this town, from what I’ve heard.”

He wasn’t going to argue, since that was perfectly true. It was Florida, after all. “Well, if that’s what happened, we’ll find out—after we find the mother and question her.”

“But even if she did leave her baby here, I’m sure it was for a very good reason—clearly she doesn’t feel able to care for her right now. I know I haven’t worked here all that long, but maybe this library is a place where she’s always felt safe, and so she thought her baby would be safe here, too.”

“Uh,” John said, struggling to come up with a reply to this. “Well, now—”