Free The Suspect by L. R. Wright Page A

said, and added quickly, "that's what I heard, anyway." She was standing, shelving books rapidly, confidently. The cart was almost emptied. "Might have been attempted robbery," said Alberg. "All we know is nothing seems to be missing."
    "That means somebody might have gone to his house meaning to do it, doesn't it?"
    "Could be. Right now," said Alberg grimly, "anything's possible."
    She reached for the last two books on the cart and put them away. Then she pushed the empty cart back to the front desk. Again Alberg followed, feeling inexplicably exasperated.
    "He used to be a teacher," said Cassandra, lifting the hinged section in the U—shaped counter and pushing the cart through. "So did George Wilcox. He's the one who told me. They'd known each other for years. Since long before they came here. But I assume you know all that."
    "No," said Alberg. "I didn't know they'd known each other for years. Not until today."
    She adjusted some tall purple flowers that stood in a vase on the counter. "They taught in the same school in Vancouver for a while. A long time ago. That's how they met. Then they must have lost touch, because I don't think they'd seen each other for years when Mr. Burke came here to live."
    "Did they become friends again, then?" Alberg wondered if she knew they had been brothers-in-law. If so, she wasn't telling him. He found this mildly depressing, even though he hadn't convinced himself yet that the old relationship between the two men had anything to do with Burke's death.
    Cassandra looked at the irises. Some of them were beginning to wilt. She heard it again: He got exactly what was coming to him . She had never before heard George Wilcox say anything so unfeeling. It must have been the shock, she thought. The poor man, he was probably still in shock.
    "Well?" said Alberg. "Were they friends, here in Sechelt?"
    She smiled at him. "Are you poking around for information? Is this an interrogation?" She clasped her hands on the countertop and put an eager look on her face. "Anything I can do, Officer, to assist you in your inquiries—anything at all.”
    Alberg was slightly flustered. "I'm just curious, that's all. And I'm trying to find out who's committed a homicide around here. Yeah, I'm poking around for information, of course I am. That's not why I came in here, but—" He shrugged.
    "To answer your question," said Cassandra carefully, "no, I don't think they became friends again. George didn't mention Mr. Burke often. At least, not to me."
    She touched an iris, and the light stroke of her finger against the petal of the flower suggested to Alberg his own gesture to brush closed Carlyle Burke's eyelid; there was great gentleness in it.
    "He brought me these flowers," said Cassandra. "George Wilcox did." She turned to Alberg. "He's a very interesting man. He taught history. He's still curious and impatient. Until his wife died a couple of months ago, they traveled a lot." She smiled suddenly. "Only in winter, though. He doesn't like to be away from his garden." She looked at Alberg curiously. "Lf you didn't come here to ask me questions, why did you come?”
    Safe behind the counter, she seemed amused.
    He had passed the library on his way to Wilcox's house. He was driving slowly, not wanting to arrive early, and when he saw the empty parking spaces, he drove in. He sat there for a few minutes admiring the building. It had lots of windows, and greenery, and he could see the low shelves filled with books, and this pleased him. He didn't go to church, either, he told himself, but he liked the fact that there were a few of them around.
    "I came for a library card," he told her. He watched her push her dark hair away from her neck. It curled a little, where it sprang away from her face. He noticed several gray hairs. The skin next to her eyes was crinkled, and there were two horizontal lines in her forehead. Character, he thought, with satisfaction. Her eyes were wide and hazel. Her mouth was wide, too, but