Free Death Overdue (Librarian Mysteries) by Mary Lou Kirwin

would like to show you. Then let’s go out to dinner. I think not Italian. How about Chinese?”
    *
    I went up to our room and changed my clothes, not that they were inappropriate, but I wanted to get rid of the police station smell in them. I scrubbed my face, combed my dark hair back, put on enough makeup to add some color to mycheeks, applied a soft shade of lipstick, and then grabbed a scarf I had bought a few days ago—a Laura Ashley with a rose print on it.
    When I came down the stairs, Caldwell was standing at the bottom, patiently waiting for me. “There. You look lovely. Is that a new scarf?”
    “Yes, I bought it when I arrived.” I was so surprised he noticed. Truly an unusual man.
    “This shop we’re going to look at today is more out of the way but very reasonable,” he told me as we climbed into his smart car.
    “Where is it?” I asked.
    He paused a moment, then said, “Newington Butts.”
    “What a wonderful name,” I said, adding it to my growing list of weird and wonderful London place names. Spitalfields was still at the top, but Newington Butts was awfully good. “What exactly is a butt?”
    “Well, I’d say it is just a stray piece of land, a corner of a field that abuts something else. Thus, the butts.”
    The drive took us past Westminster Palace. We both saluted as we drove by, Caldwell mentioning that he believed Parliament was in session. Even though I knew that much of the building had been renovated in the late 1800s, the palace still seemed to have come from the Middle Ages.
    “Have you ever visited Westminster?” I asked.
    “Of course. Every child of London makes many schoolvisits. And we learn all about the rules and traditions of the place. My favorite one is that no one may eat or drink in the chamber. However, the exception to this rule is that the chancellor of the exchequer—you know, the accountant cabinet member—may have an alcoholic drink while delivering the budget.”
    “As well he should. That’s one difficult job,” I said, thinking of going over the finances of the small library I worked at and what a headache it could give me. Maybe a drink was the answer.
    After driving over the Westminster Bridge and swirling through a very busy roundabout with cars whizzing by us as if in a tilt-a-whirl, we arrived at the street we were looking for: Iliffe Yard, which featured an artists’ cooperative. Actually, the shop we were looking for was right around the corner and was still being run as a millinery goods shop.
    When we walked into the very small storefront, I feared we would be suffocated by trim and ribbons. The walls were covered, floor to short ceiling, with boxes of buttons and rolls of fabric.
    At first there appeared to be no one there, but as we moved farther back into the store, we saw a small, oldish woman perched on a high wingback chair and sewing something. Her feet didn’t touch the floor, and she swung them back and forth as she sewed.
    “Hello,” I said quietly, not wanting to startle her.
    “Yes, yes. Just a minute, just a minute. Let me finish this seam.”
    Her face was like a well-worn chamois cloth, soft with the fuzz of old age. She made the last stitch, brought the thread up to her mouth, and snapped it off with her teeth. It hurt my mouth to see her cut the thread that way.
    When she looked up from her work, her blue eyes were like jewels in her soft face. “What can I help you with today?” she asked.
    Caldwell said, “Mrs. Gubbins?”
    “That’s right.” She nodded.
    “We’ve come to see about the shop.”
    “Oh, yes. My son is forcing me to sell this place and I suppose you’re in cahoots with him.”
    “Not at all. I’ve never met your son. Just spoke with him by phone. He suggested I come to see you.”
    “Well, I don’t want to go.”
    I looked around. I could see why she didn’t want to leave. How would it ever be possible to undo this feathered nest she had created, where she perched in the deep center like a small