Proof of Murder (Beyond the Page Bookstore Mystery #4) - Lauren Elliott Page 0,60
to think logically about what she’d seen. Smoke and hot air rise, therefore what she’d witnessed was a result of smoke coming from somewhere in the house. Someone had burnt something in the kitchen or had lit a fireplace without checking the damper first. Don’t be an idiot. No one in his right mind would light a fire on a hot summer day. She circled her fingers on her temples, conjuring another explanation that didn’t scream moron.
With no other less-stupid idea, she sniffed her way to the kitchen. Nothing but stale old house and mixed scents of people. She peeked into the library, gave a tentative sniff. Nothing. If she couldn’t scientifically prove the vapor’s presence that left two options: one, ghosts—or this one at least existed; two, she was going crazy. Not a fan of either one of those, she slipped under the yellow crime-scene tape across the door, ducked inside, and then softly closed the door behind her.
Breathing hard, she rested her back against the door, ears perked for any footsteps. No signs of freshly burned logs in the fireplace. Shoot! It definitely wasn’t the cause for the smoke she’d seen in the upper hallway.
She edged away from the door and surveyed the room. This was the first time she’d been inside here since that day . . . the day that sent her life careening sideways. She had changed but on first glance nothing in this room had. It was as though time stood still. The books were still packed in lot sale boxes. The center table was still a hodgepodge of first-edition novels. The chair was in the exact same position she had left it when she turned it toward her and discovered Charlotte dead. But something was different.
She narrowed her eyes and scanned over every detail she could remember from that day. What was it that niggled at her now? She couldn’t put her finger on it. She focused on the desk, her mind replaying Thursday morning.
The teacup was gone. Naturally it had been taken to the lab for testing. However, the stains caused by the spilled contents were visible across the desktop and over the edge. The letter opener and antique inkwell were just as they had been, but the feather pen wasn’t there. She tried to remember if there was anything about it that seemed odd or out of place when she discovered the body, but nothing came to mind. It was a regular feather dip quill pen that had sat in the crystal inkpot. What reason would the police have to take it? The well was dried out and hadn’t been used for years.
“Addie?” A red-faced Jerry loomed in the doorway. “What are you doing in here?”
“I was just . . . just looking for signs of smoke. I’d seen some in the hallway and—”
“There’s no way you didn’t see the crime tape.”
“No.” She smiled weakly, wringing her hands. “I—”
“Out.” He pointed to the door.
She didn’t move. “Jerry, I’m not touching anything, I promise. I only had to see the room one more time, besides, there might have been a fire—”
“Out!”
“Please, Jerry. My future depends on me being able to put some of this together. I promise I won’t touch a thing. You can stay in here with me to make sure I don’t if it makes you feel better. Please.”
“What am I supposed to tell the chief when he finds out?”
“We can tell him I saw smoke in the hallway, and we came in to check for signs of a fire.” She gave him a shaky smile.
“That might be the reason you say you came in here, but we both know that’s not why you want to stay and look around, is it?”
She bit her lip, shaking her head. “But now that we are in here . . . please. I’m pleading with you. I’ve been arrested, and I need to find out what happened because none of it makes sense. You can stay in here with me.”
“Why do I let you talk me into things?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, but I stay, and you don’t touch anything while we check for a source of the smoke. Fifteen minutes and that’s it.”
“Thank you.” She crossed her heart and inspected the center table.
“What do you hope to see that we haven’t already considered?”
“I don’t know. There are just too many things that don’t add up.”
“Like what?”
“First, the room was locked. Whoever stole the books must have done it