The Silence Of The Library

“What’s it worth to you?” Marcella moved closer to Betts, as if to shield her mother from him. “My mother is a hundred years old. If you want her to spend that much energy, then you’d better be willing to pay her to do it.”

I heard a couple of gasps from behind me. Mrs. Taylor, Teresa, and Bronwyn had crowded near to witness the bizarre scene.

“Marcella, really.” Mrs. Cartwright frowned.

“Hush, Mother.” Marcella focused a laser stare on Gordon Betts. “How much?”

“Five thousand.” Betts glared defiantly back.

“Make it ten.” Marcella’s blatant avarice shocked me.

“Seventy-five hundred,” Betts shot back.

“Done.” Marcella stuck her hand out, and Betts grasped it. They shook. “Cash.”

“Just show me the way to the nearest bank.” Betts smirked at me.

“Come with us, and we’ll take you there.” Marcella grasped her mother’s arm and started to tug her along.

Mrs. Cartwright’s lips were compressed in a tight line. I had expected further protests from her, but she remained silent. She jerked her arm free from her daughter’s grasp, however, and walked on her own power beside Marcella. Betts stayed right on their heels.

The rest of us stood rooted to the floor. Bronwyn looked stunned, Teresa furious. I was taken aback as well. There was nothing we could do after Betts managed to claim Mrs. Cartwright’s attention. Marcella Marter showed she was made of sterner stuff than I would have guessed. I felt rather sorry for Mrs. Cartwright, though I suspected she could have put a stop to it if she had really wanted to. Were they that desperate for money?

They certainly could be, I realized, because none of Mrs. Cartwright’s books had been in print during the past thirty years. No income there—and I had no idea if she had managed to save anything substantial during her career. It really was none of my business, I also realized, and further speculation would get me nowhere.

“I’m going back to the desk,” Bronwyn muttered as she stepped past me.

“I have to be going, too,” Mrs. Taylor said. “That Gordon is an embarrassment to the rest of us. He thinks money will get him whatever he wants.”

“In this case it seems to have worked,” Teresa commented wryly. “I wish I could throw money around as easily as he seems to.”

“If you had an incredibly wealthy father like Gordon’s, you could.” Mrs. Taylor sounded disgusted. “Gordon has probably never worked a day in his life. He inherited untold millions so he thinks he can do anything he likes.”

“What’s the source of the father’s wealth?” I had to ask. I was way too curious to let it go.

Mrs. Taylor shrugged. “Manufacturing, some huge conglomerate that makes all kinds of things that everybody has to have, apparently.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, dear, as late as that? I really must be going. I have some research to do. I want to dig in my files and find that picture I mentioned.” She smiled suddenly. “Not to mention I have a few really interesting items in my collection. Gordon may think he has everything, but I know better.”

Teresa and I had no chance to bid her good-bye because she hurried to the door. We turned to each other with tired smiles.

“Thank the Lord that’s over, at least for now. I don’t think I can take one more crisis over this exhibit.” Teresa brushed her hair away from her face as she often did when she was tired or frustrated or, in this case, both.

“I know what you mean.” As I patted her shoulder, I heard warbling. I glanced down, and there was Diesel, rubbing against her legs.

Teresa laughed and scratched the cat’s head. “Thank you, sweet kitty. You know how to make me feel better.”

“I’m going to be the optimist here,” I said. “Mrs. Cartwright’s agent will advise her to forget about the speaker’s fee, and everything will go smoothly from then on. We’ll have a wonderful turnout for Mrs. Cartwright, and everyone will be thrilled, just as Mrs. Taylor said. No glitches, all smooth sailing.”

I should have kept my mouth shut.

TWELVE

I found my place in The Mystery at Spellwood Mansion and resumed reading. As I recalled, Veronica had just been told by the creepy butler that she was expected.

Veronica gasped. What could he mean?

The raven-haired girl was about to voice that very question but the butler suddenly glared at her, and Veronica read menace in his steely gaze.

“If you know what’s good for you,” he hissed like a snake about to strike, “you’ll leave as soon as the storm lets up and forget you ever came to this house.”