Free A Rare Murder In Princeton by Ann Waldron

trove,” he said, with no idea how aptly he spoke.
    “What’s the play?” she asked him. He was a nice kid from Chicago who dressed a little more neatly than most of the other students.
    “It’s a Molière,” he said. “ Les Femmes Savantes. ”
    “ The Learned Ladies —lovely,” she said.
    “We’re doing it in modern dress,” he said. “Well, fairly modern. These dresses will make all the difference.”
    “That should be fun,” she said.
    The phone rang three times while Clark was there, but she did not answer it, knowing that her voice mail would take messages. After he left, she checked and found that George, Nat Ledbetter, and Dodo Westcott had called.
    George first. He wanted to make sure she was all right. “I couldn’t talk to you when I saw you in the library. And I didn’t know you found the body,” he said.
    “I saw it through the glass darkly, that’s all.”
    “And raised the alarm,” said George. “I must say you looked quite shaken when I saw you this morning. Are you sure you’re all right?”
    “I’m all right. Honestly.”
    “I’ll be home at a decent hour,” said George. “I’ll cook.”
    “Fine. Shall I go to the store? I tried to get Chester to come to dinner tonight, but he’d rather I brought his supper to him. He lives close by—on Hibben Road. But I think I’ll call him and urge him again to come.”
    “Chester? Oh, Chester Holmes, Philip Sheridan’s assistant. Sure, McLeod. Whatever you think best. I guess he is all alone now.”
    McLeod called Nat Ledbetter, who told her that Rare Books would be closed to researchers for the rest of the week at the request of the police, who wanted it as undisturbed as possible. “They’re looking for the murder weapon,” said Nat. “It’s an all-out search, Lieutenant Perry said.”
    “I see,” said McLeod. “I understand about closing Rare Books. Are there any out-of-town researchers who will be seriously inconvenienced?”
    “One gentleman from California is working on Allen Tate material, but he says he can go to other libraries tomorrow and Friday and come back here Monday. I hope we’ll be able to reopen on Monday. And Barry Porter can easily wait until next week.”
    “I hope so, too,” said McLeod. “Do the police know who did it yet?”
    “No, they don’t. No obvious solution.”
    “Thanks so much for calling me, Natty. I really appreciate it.”
    Dodo Westcott was at home. “The police finally got around to talking to me,” she told McLeod. “It was a good thing you didn’t wait for me—they took forever. I couldn’t help them much. They wanted to know when I saw Philip last, and I said about four o’ clock Tuesday. I went in to talk to him about the annual dinner for the Friends of the Library. I had decided to see if he wanted to spring for champagne. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Champagne at a Friends dinner? We’ve never been able to afford it before.”
    “Did he want to?” asked McLeod, interested in spite of herself.
    “Actually, he did not,” said Dodo. “Rich as he is, or was, you’d think he would, wouldn’t you?”
    “I don’t know. Rich people seem to be the most careful with their money. That’s why they have a lot of it; that’s what my father used to say.”
    “I suppose so,” said Dodo. “Anyway, you must plan to come to the Friends’ annual dinner. It’s quite an occasion. But that’s not what I called about. Today the police kept asking me about when I left the library, or left Rare Books. I told them I was late getting away. Late for me, I mean. Of course, Philip was still alive when I left—I’m sure of that. But they want to talk to me again. McLeod, I’d like to talk to you before I see them again. Can we have lunch tomorrow ?”
    “I can’t, Dodo. My seminar starts at one.”
    “Would it be all right if I came over to see you right now?”
    McLeod looked at her watch; it was four-thirty. She wanted more than anything to get home and have a drink with