The Unkindness of Ravens, M. Hilliard [romantic books to read txt] 📗

majored in journalism, she’d been in the news business, and she was no slouch when it came to research. Why did she need me?

“I need your clever, twisty mind, Greer.”

Danny’s voice intruded, our last real conversation playing back in my head.

“Why do you need my help, Dan? You know that business better than I do.”

“I’m missing something. There’s something off and I can’t see it. You will. It’s not in the numbers, it’s in the people, I think. You watch for a little while and you make all these crazy connections and suddenly they make sense. Please, Greer.”

“All right, all right. Fine. But not now, I’ve gotta go. Later, maybe after dinner.”

After dinner was too late for Danny. And I had raced out the last time I saw Joanna, too.

My eyes started to well up. I’ve always thought tears were the only thing standing between me and homicidal mania. When I was mad enough, I cried. But this was not productive. I unclenched my fists and started looking for tissues. When I felt a hand touch my shoulder, I nearly levitated right out of my seat. I slid a folder over Joanna’s note and twirled around in my chair.

“I’m sorry,” Jilly said, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She held out a box of tissues. I took a handful. My nose was dripping.

“It’s all right. I’m being silly.”

“No, you’re not. We’re all on edge. And you and Joanna were friendly.” She sat at her desk and swiveled around to face me.

“This is awful,” she said.

“I know. I was just thinking of her kids.”

“I feel terrible for them. And as petty as it sounds, I feel terrible for all of us, too.”

“You mean the library staff?”

“Yep. Everyone is upset, and a little afraid. We’re all toeing the party line on Anita’s accident theory, but no one truly believes it. We’ll be inundated with people tomorrow, and probably all weekend. Morbid curiosity. And I’ve already gotten seven e-mails asking for recommendations for books on bereavement for children.”

“Oh, great. I hadn’t thought of that. Do we have many?”

“Not enough. I’m going to pull together what we’ve got and request anything else I can find in the system. I’d like to give Vince Goodhue first dibs, but I’m not sure how to broach the subject with him. He used to drop the girls at programs when Joanna was working, but he never stayed or chatted.”

Too busy and important.

“Maybe one of the other parents?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. The Prentisses, probably. He and Matthew Prentiss have known each other for ages, and they’re in the Road Runners Club. Though truth be told, I’ve actually seen him more often with Felicity. I think those two have known each other just as long. All of them grew up here. I’ll figure something out. Vince might not be interested, but I feel I should try.”

She pulled a reference book off her desk.

“Will you be all right?”

“I’m fine. Just a bad moment. But thanks for checking.”

I turned to my desk. Picking up Joanna’s note, I scanned the contents again. A fine, upstanding citizen would undoubtedly hand it over to the police, just in case the “stuff” she referred to had something to do with her death. I was not a fine, upstanding citizen. The note was vague. Not a lead the police were likely to pursue, unless they pursued it right back to me thanks to Joanna’s “what we discussed” and her trust in my discretion. Since I had no idea what she meant, it would only be a distraction for them and an irritation for me. No. Better to hold on to it, produce it later if the situation warranted, and claim I had just discovered it.

Now to find a place to stash it, near at hand but out of sight. I paper clipped the note behind the book list and folded the two together, list facing out. Eyeing the tickler file on the top of my desk, I chose a folder labeled “Information Literacy—Best Practices” as most likely to remain unmolested and popped in the little packet I’d made. I pushed it all to the back corner of my desk.

I stood back and studied my handiwork. I murmured, “Must have gotten put into the wrong file,” and turned my attention to the rest of the mess.

I ran through my suspect list as I sorted through papers. Usually the first person suspected was the husband. Vince Goodhue was a native of Raven Hill, a local boy who made good, married well, and came back to raise a family. In my few interactions with him, I pegged him as a supercilious twit, the type who “watched films” while those of us less evolved merely went to the movies. But that didn’t make him a murderer. Joanna’s death meant he’d be raising two little girls alone. She helped him run his business, a small film production company, though she had a full-time gig as a producer for the local 24-hour news station. Between work and the kids, he’d have his hands full. How old were they? Around six and four, I thought. I couldn’t rule Vince out, though. The kids were with their grandparents the night of the murder, according to Anne Marie. Of course, it would help if I knew what time Joanna had died.

I moved on to a stack of Publisher’s Weekly. Dory had implied there were plenty of people who weren’t too wild about Joanna, and though she did tend to exaggerate, there was truth to her statement. Like me, Joanna was a newcomer to the Village of Raven Hill. Unlike me, she hadn’t bothered to hide the fact that she found some of its customs more antiquated than quaint. From the PTA to the library building committee, she made her presence felt. But had she angered anyone enough to inspire a shove down a flight of stairs?

That brought me to Millicent, who had my vote for most likely eavesdropper. She and Joanna had been on opposite sides of