Free By Book or by Crook by Eva Gates Page A

boldly threw caution to the wind. “No, make that latte with whole milk, and give me a raspberry and white chocolate scone.” Heck, I’d almost been accused of murder this morning. Might as well live on the wild side.
    Aunt Ellen and the library staff scooted over to make room for me while Charlene found a spare chair.
    “Is this a meeting?” I asked. I held my mug to my nose and breathed in deeply. Heaven.
    “Not intentionally,” Ronald said. “But where else would you expect to find us if we can’t get into the library?”
    “How are you doing?” I asked Bertie. The lines of strain were deep on her face and the customary sparkle was gone from her eyes.
    “Okay, I guess. I’ve been ordered to report to the police station at one.”
    “That doesn’t mean anything, right?” I said in an effort to be positive. “They want to talk to everyone who was there last night.”
    I felt warm hands on my shoulders and turned to see Josie standing behind me. “Morning, sweetie,” she said. She was dressed in tattered jeans and anoverlarge T-shirt. A long, plain gray apron was tied around her slim waist, and her hair was dotted with flecks of flour. She looked, as she always did, sexy as all get-out.
    One of her baristas, wearing a blue-and-white-striped apron with JOSIE’S COZY BAKERY stamped across the front and the stylized logo of a croissant curling around a lighthouse, brought over a stool and a mug of black coffee. Josie dropped onto the seat and drank deeply. “I’ve got only a couple of minutes, Mom. We’re run off our feet back there. What’s up?”
    “You arrived in good time, Lucy,” Ellen said. “We’re about to have an impromptu council of war.”
    “About . . . about Mr. Uppiton?”
    “Yes. Bertie has to be at the police station in Nags Head at one o’clock. Amos will accompany her.”
    I let out a sigh of relief. In his younger days my uncle Amos had been one of the top defense attorneys in the state. He was slowing down a little, doing more family law work, and taking only the criminal cases he found interesting. With Amos on her side, Bertie had nothing to worry about.
    Or so I told myself.
    “Amos had to be in court this morning, otherwise he’d be here. He’s cleared his schedule for the rest of the day.”
    “What’s happening at the library, Lucy?” Bertie asked.
    “Watson said we might be able to open tomorrow.”
    “Good. What about the Austen collection?”
    “I took it upstairs with me last night. It’s safe.”
    Some of the tension left her face. “I knew I could trust you, Lucy.” She touched my hand. I gave hers a squeeze in return.
    “As important as those books are,” Aunt Ellen said. “We have more important things to worry about right now.”
    “The notebook,” Bertie said. “Is it safe also?”
    “Sorry, I don’t know. They haven’t allowed anyone to go up to the rare-books room to check.”
    “If they’ve . . .” Bertie began.
    “Bertie,”
my aunt said, “forget about the books. You have perfectly competent staff to handle that. Let’s talk about the matter at hand. Jonathan Uppiton.”
    The table fell silent. We concentrated on our caffeine, sugar, and fat. Around us, people laughed and chatted and placed their orders. No one paid any attention to the table in the corner. Bankers—what some of the local residents call themselves—were busy in the summer and would be at work by now. Most of the people in the bakery at this time of the morning were visitors. They wouldn’t have read the morning paper, and if they had, they wouldn’t recognize us as central characters in last night’s drama.
    “I guess the first question,” Josie said, “is who would want him dead?”
    Not one of us looked at Bertie.
    “A great many people,” Ronald said. “He was a thoroughly nasty old man.”
    “I’d like to know,” I said, “what he was doing upstairs. If he was there before Bertie came to get the notebook, then he went up alone. Why would he do