Free By Book or by Crook by Eva Gates Page B

that?”
    “To gloat over the notebook and plot how to get Bertie removed as head librarian,” Charlene said.
    “Except that he was obviously not alone,” Aunt Ellen said. “Where was everyone? Think, people. The room was full and we were all busy, but let’s try to remember if anyone wasn’t in the room a few minutes before Bertie went up to get the notebook.”
    “I was talking to Butch.”
    “Mom and I were restocking the pastry table. We had just brought out a fresh coffee urn and tray of lemon squares.”
    “I was where I can always be counted upon to be,” Ronald said. “Being lectured by Mrs. Peterson about the virtues, numerous as they are, of her five daughters.”
    “So you’re Mrs. Peterson’s alibi?”
    “No. I’m not. She excused herself to go to the ladies’ room a few minutes before the ruckus broke out. I tried to hide by talking to someone else, but the old bat . . . pardon me, our valued patron, tracked me down on her return.”
    “You can’t seriously be thinking that Mrs. Peterson killed Jonathan?” Bertie asked.
    “We have to seriously think of everyone who was at that reception,” Aunt Ellen said, her voice turning hard. “Someone did. And unless a member of a biker gang or a mafia hit man snuck into the reception unnoticed, it was one of the members of the library community.”
    We let out a collective breath.
    “So, think, people. Who else left the room shortly before eight o’clock?”
    Dead silence.
    “Okay, if we can’t say who left the room, the question becomes who didn’t?”
    “I just don’t know,” Josie said. “Sure, I noticed people now and again, but to be positive that so-and-so was in the room the entire time in question? Impossible.” She threw her hands up.
    “How long a time frame is that, anyway, do you think?” Charlene asked.
    A round of shrugs. “Ten, fifteen minutes, maybe,” Aunt Ellen said. “No more than that.”
    “About the only person I can testify for was Butch,” I said. “I was talking to him for a long time.”
    “So I noticed,” Josie said, with a sly grin.
    “Just being friendly. Hey, I remembered something! I saw Theodore heading up the stairs.”
    “Excellent,” Aunt Ellen exclaimed. “When was that?”
    I thought hard. “Not long after Bertie had that argument with Mr. Uppiton. I checked the clock. It was after eight, and I remember wondering when Bertie was going to make her announcement. I saw Theodore sneaking up the stairs. I was about to go ask him what he thought he was doing when . . . well, I got distracted. I’d completely forgotten until now.”
    “You have to tell the police that, Lucy honey,” Aunt Ellen said. “Call them soon as we’re finished here. See, everyone? Keep trying to remember. You never know what’s important.” When they were first married, Ellen worked in Uncle Amos’s single-person law office, helping him set up his practice. Obviously what she’d learned there had stuck.
    “Which brings us back to . . .” Josie’s voice drifted off. “Oh, dear.”
    As one, we turned to see what had caught her attention. Detective Watson and Officer Greenblatt were coming through the doors. They saw us and left the line.
    “Y’all having a little conclave?” Watson asked.
    “We’re enjoying a late breakfast,” Aunt Ellen said. “In a public place.”
    “Getting your stories straight?”
    “I do not care for that implication, Detective.” Aunt Ellen rose to her feet and glared down at the six-foot-tall detective. She could stretch her five foot four to a considerable height.
    Butch threw a pleading glance at Josie and an embarrassed smile at me. He shifted from one foot to the other.
    Watson pointedly checked his watch. “I believe we have an appointment soon, Ms. James.”
    “I’ll be there.”
    “Good.”
    At that moment the couple at the table next to ours got up. They crumpled their napkins and gathered their dishes to put in the bussing tray.
    “Let’s sit right here. I’ll