Murder In The Library

CRIME SHORT STORY BY KATE ASHMORE

In this crime short story, set in the 1950s, Who could be responsible for what had happened? Mavis was on the case!

It was a beautiful spring morning. Ethan had allowed Mavis to open a window and the scent of hyacinths wafted inside, along with the sounds of footsteps and voices from the street.

The library was quiet at the moment, so she decided she had better return some books to the shelves.

Quite a stack had piled up on the trolley and, more importantly, two books from the restricted section were waiting to go away.

Ethan didn’t like them to be left lying about for long, so she climbed up the stepladder and took them down from the high shelf where they sat, hidden from prying eyes and little fingers.

Then she unclipped her handbag and looked for the key.

She soon found it and, smoothing down her skirt, made her way to the room at the back of the building.

Humming “Because You’re Mine” by Nat King Cole, not a care in the world, she fitted the key in the lock and opened the door.

A moment later, she staggered backwards, her face drained of colour, and a sharp scream punctured the air.

“What’s happened? Are you all right?” Terry Millett dashed towards her.

Terry helped his dad run the greengrocer’s in the village and she’d noticed him browsing the shelves earlier.

“What’s going on?” he repeated, stepping past her into the room.

He froze and she watched as his back stiffened and he ran a hand over his Brylcreemed hair.

“Oh, no! I mean, what the . . .? How . . . It’s Walter, isn’t it?”

Mavis swallowed and nodded.

There, spread-eagled on the floor, was Walter Dansay, unmoving, a vivid wound scarring his forehead.

He was clearly dead.

Beside him lay the bust of Wordsworth.

Terry leaned forward to pick it up, but Mavis stopped him.

“We mustn’t touch anything,” she said, finding her voice at last. “We must leave it all exactly as it is for the police.”

He looked up and nodded.

“Yes, of course. The police, absolutely.”

He pushed his shoulders back and took a deep breath.

“Don’t worry, I’ll call them. You’ve had a nasty shock.”

It was true that Mavis felt very shaky, but she smiled bravely and shook her head.

“That’s all right. I can manage.”

She turned to go, absent-mindedly picking up a piece of litter that lay on the floor by Walter’s foot.

It was a stamp attached to part of an envelope.

She noted it had a wartime postmark, which seemed strange, but then all sorts of old things were used as bookmarks.

She studied it, then put it back where she’d found it. Perhaps the police would want to take a look.

Mavis sipped her cup of tea gratefully and gazed around the lounge in the house where she lived with her gran, Nellie, and her mother, Rose.

The familiar surroundings were reassuring after the morning’s shock.

She smiled weakly as she took in the tiled fireplace with its mirror hanging from a chain above, the brown mottled carpet, firm sofas with antimacassars and the standard lamp in the corner.

She glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was still only three p.m.

How strange not to be at work.

“So the library has been closed for a couple of days?” Nellie asked, as she opened the door of the sideboard and took out the brandy.

Mavis raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, until the police have gone over everything,” she replied.

Nellie winked and poured a drop into Mavis and Terry’s cups.

“That’ll sort you out.” She chuckled.

Your mother will never know.

Rose was working at the post office, as usual.

Terry took an appreciative sip.

“Thanks, Mrs Crane. It’s been quite a morning.”

It certainly had. Several hours had passed by the time the police had examined the body and interviewed them both at length, and they were completely exhausted.

Terry had offered to buy Mavis a coffee and escort her home, but she had wanted to get straight back and had asked him to join her instead.

“What I want to know,” she said now, “is what Walter was doing in there, and who could have done such a thing? It’s so horrible.”

“I’m afraid it could only be someone who had a key,” Nellie declared.

“They must have invited him in to have a private conversation, killed him and then locked the door behind them.”

Terry nodded, but Mavis tried to protest.

“No, Gran, surely not. That could only be myself, Ethan or Hilda. That can’t be right.”

Her grandmother shrugged.

“You have to face facts. You never know what someone is capable of.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“Your gran’s right,” Terry interjected. “No-one else had access.”

Ethan was a firm boss, but a quiet, gentle man, who took good care of his parents.

He had been in charge at the library for the last eight years, ever since he’d returned from the war.

Hilda was a motherly woman in her forties who was married to Sydney and had two children, Larry and Carolyn.

She worked part-time to supplement her husband’s wages, and her head was full of nothing but her family.

“I can’t believe it,” Mavis said now. “Ethan or Hilda. Impossible.”

Gran regarded her with a quizzical expression.

“Well,” she began. “There is one other possibility.”

“Oh, yes?” Mavis saw Terry lean forward to listen more closely, too.

“Mrs Nelson.”

“Mrs Nelson?”

“Why not? I expect she still has a key.”

Mrs Nelson was the retired head librarian.

She was seventy and lived further up the village in Honeysuckle Cottage with her two dogs, Wilton and Laslo.

She was a prim woman, leader of the WI, and seemed no more likely to be a murderer than the other two.

“What we need to think about is a motive,” Terry announced. “Anyone with a key could have done it, but who would want to?”

“Yes, of course,” Mavis agreed. “You’re absolutely right.”

The two young people looked at one another.

Mavis played with her beads. She couldn’t think of a single reason why any of them would want to kill Walter.

I believe Mrs Nelson is our murderer

Nellie announced. “She has a motive.”

“Really, Mrs Crane? What is it?” Terry’s eyes were questioning.

Nellie gave a wry chuckle and topped up their cups.

“You drink your tea and I’ll tell you.”

She sat down and folded her hands.

“You may know that it was Walter who built an extension for Mrs Nelson’s dogs.

“What you may not know is that he charged too much, did a poor job and refused to return to fix the leaky roof.

“She was very angry and complained to PC Ashby. Then her spaniel Mowbray died from pneumonia and she held Walter responsible.”

Mavis’s heart leaped. The dogs were Mrs Nelson’s life. Could she really be the murderer?

Mavis shut the drawer of Ethan’s desk and wondered where the box of spare library cards could be.

She couldn’t issue Mrs Trent’s four tickets without it.

She sighed. For a librarian, Ethan wasn’t always the most organised person. His drawers were full of all sorts of bits and pieces.

She’d found an old newspaper, rubber bands and a pile of broken pencils. She’d even discovered a cinema ticket from 1938! Who kept something like that?

She sighed and tugged at the bottom drawer, but it was locked.

“Mavis, dear. I’ve found them.”

She glanced up and saw Hilda plodding towards her, a small cardboard box in her hand.

Mavis quickly dealt with Mrs Trent and did her best to side-step all her questions about the murder.

Since the library had reopened, half their customers seemed to be coming in for some gossip as much as books.

She was just leaving the front desk to attend to some filing when Terry entered the library.

“Hello, Mavis. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks, Terry. I think things are settling down.”

He nodded and coloured slightly.

“I wondered if I could take you to lunch. I have an hour before I have to be back at the shop. I thought we could discuss things.”

Mavis glanced at him. He looked very smart in his dark grey trousers, crisp white shirt, tie and jumper.

His short brown hair was neatly arranged and he seemed nervous.

She smiled.

“Thank you, Terry. I’d like that. It would be good to discuss . . .”

“The murder. Well, what do you make of it, Hilda?” Mrs Baxter was taking out some books and talking in a booming voice.

“Poor Walter. Still a young man and such a grisly end. Hit with a statue, was it?” she added.

Hilda nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “Quite horrible. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, especially any relative of mine, but some would say there’s them that reap what they sow.”

Mavis and Terry exchanged glances.

“Ah. Well, he had his flaws, did Walter. There’s more than one person in the village unhappy with the work he did for them.

“Won’t get their money back now, will they?” Mrs Baxter pronounced.

“Too true,” Hilda agreed. “He was fond of money. Just didn’t like to put in the work for it.”

“Oh, yes. I forgot he cheated you out of some recently, didn’t he?”

Hilda cleared her throat.

“I don’t like to speak ill of my kin, nor of the dead, but he did just that. I can’t deny it.”

She was clearly warming to her subject.

“He deliberately spent time with Grandfather those last few months, flattering him, then getting him to change his will when he wasn’t well enough to know better.”

Mrs Baxter patted her hand.

“Quite dreadful, Hilda.”

“Yes, it was. That money should have been mine. Not that I mind for myself, you understand, but the children . . .”

“Of course. Dear Larry and Carolyn.”

Mavis turned away, her heart pounding, and fetched her hat and gloves.

She told Ethan that she was going for lunch, then followed Terry out of the library.

It wasn’t long before they were sitting inside the small village tea room, studying the menu.

“Did you hear all that?” Terry asked as soon as they were safely inside.

Goodness. It’s another motive.

Mavis was intrigued.

“I had no idea Hilda was related to Walter.”

“I think they were cousins, although he was about ten years younger than her,” Terry explained.

“Well, Hilda is definitely holding a grudge. She missed out on an inheritance. Money’s certainly a motive for murder.

“Do you think she’ll get the money now he’s dead,” Mavis continued, “or was it revenge?”

“I don’t know. Either is a good reason,” Terry replied.

Mavis looked about, deep in thought.

The tea shop was quiet today. A couple of other diners were eating soup and pasties, but otherwise it was empty.

Crisp white cloths covered the circular tables, and the parquet floor shone.

Mavis decided to have Spam fritters and Terry plumped for the cheese and potato flan.

“Oh!” she exclaimed a moment later. “I forgot to tell you that my gran went to visit Mrs Nelson yesterday.

“She told her I’d lost my library key in all the chaos and asked if I could borrow hers, if she still had it.”

“And did she?”

Mavis smiled at him.

“She did.”

“So our killer is either Mrs Nelson or Hilda, but which?”

Mavis had absolutely no idea.

“Pass the potatoes to Terry, love.”

Mavis was sitting at the dining table in the corner of their lounge with her mother, Nellie and Terry. They had invited him over for supper.

It had been Gran’s idea. She seemed as keen to solve the murder as either of them.

Mavis had put on a blue dress with a flared skirt for the occasion, a matching cardigan and a pair of winkle-picker shoes.

Her mother had insisted on using the best china and had cooked baked rabbit, with bread and butter pudding for afters.

“How are your investigations going?” Gran asked them, her blue eyes full of interest.

“I don’t think we’ve got any further.” Terry sighed heavily.

They had already told Nellie all about Hilda’s conversation with Mrs Baxter in the library.

“Hilda and Mrs Nelson both have strong motives,” Terry went on.

“Perhaps the police are making strides,” Rose suggested. “Maybe you two should leave it up to them to figure out.”

Nellie chuckled.

“They could,” she agreed, “but that wouldn’t be half as interesting.”

Rose shook her head.

“It might be safer, and PC Ashby has been interviewing lots of people in the village.

“He’ll have access to far more information than these two.”

“Mother, who has he spoken to?” Mavis asked.

Working at the post office meant that Rose usually knew everything that happened in the village before anyone else.

“Well, Walter’s wife, Jessie, obviously, and Mrs Nelson. Terry, of course, and all three librarians, as you know.

“He’s even been into the ironmonger’s to question Frank.”

“Ah.” Nellie nodded. “I suppose he wanted to know if there had been any keys cut recently.”

“Had there?”

Rose frowned.

“I don’t believe that Frank was able to help with the enquiries,” she admitted.

She got to her feet and Mavis helped her tidy the plates away and bring in the bread and butter pudding.

It smelled wonderful, bubbling away, crisp and brown on top and full of juicy sultanas.

“Would you like the custard skin?” Mavis asked Terry.

There was usually a fight for it in their household, so they took turns.

“Well, if no-one else would like it . . .” Terry turned pink.

Mavis smiled.

“Tonight it’s yours,” she said.

The bowls were soon handed round and everyone tucked in.

It was only then, as they were finishing the meal, that Mavis felt it was the moment to mention the photograph she’d discovered.

It had fallen from Ethan’s inside pocket that morning in the library.

He’d been fishing around for his glasses case and she’d picked the picture up and studied it, before returning it to him.

“I found a photograph earlier today,” she said, her cheeks glowing. “Ethan dropped it. I couldn’t help noticing that it was a picture of him when he was younger.

“He was in uniform, standing next to a woman in a land girl’s outfit. Her face seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place her.

“Do you know if Ethan ever had a girlfriend?”

Rose looked at her mother and the two exchanged glances.

“Why, I think . . .” She paused, her forehead wrinkled.

“I think you’ll find that it’s Jessie,” she told them.

Terry and Mavis stared at each other.

“Jessie, Walter’s wife?” They were shocked.

Nellie nodded.

“The very same. I believe Ethan did take Jessie out a couple of times before war broke out, but then he went away and nothing came of it.

“She married Walter in 1944.”

Mavis’s brain was whirling. Why did Ethan still have the photograph, then?

She remembered the cinema ticket from 1938 that she’d found in his desk. It must be from a date with Jessie.

Ethan was still in love with her!

“Perhaps Ethan is the killer,” she suggested. “If he’s in love with Jessie, then jealousy is a strong motive.”

Terry looked at her admiringly.

“You’re right,” he said. “But why wait all this time to get Walter out of the way?”

He wrinkled his brow.

“It could be any of them! How are we going to find out?”

Mavis looked thoughtful. She had an idea.

Shutting the door quietly behind them, Mavis made a beeline straight for Ethan’s desk.

Terry had met her as planned, while Ethan was on his lunch break.

She was hoping to find some evidence that would put her boss in the clear.

She was still inclined to think that Mrs Nelson was the most likely suspect.

“It’s this drawer, Terry,” she said, indicating the one that was locked.

“I really hope it contains some clues.”

“I hope so, too,” Terry said.

Mavis searched the top drawer for a key and soon had the other one open.

Her eyes widened as she fished out a pack of letters from beneath some folders. She pulled one out.

“These are from Jessie!” she exclaimed. “They’re not love letters; they’re just friendly, boosting his morale while he was fighting.”

They must have meant a lot to him, since he’s kept them all this time.

Mavis nodded and spread them out on the desk. Then she gasped and her hand flew to her face.

One of the envelopes was ripped, the stamp missing. It was the exact shape of the piece she’d found by the body.

Hurriedly, she checked the date of the letter.

“It was Ethan who did it,” she cried.

“But why? Clearly he loved Jessie, but why now?”

There was a cough and they spun round to see a tall man standing behind them.

Mavis nearly screamed – it was Ethan!

He closed his eyes and slumped into a chair.

“He was cheating on her,” he said wearily. “Walter was lucky enough to have Jessie and he was taking another woman out.”

He sighed, removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I’d been rereading some of her letters.

“I was feeling angry and upset, and when I challenged him, he laughed. Just laughed. I lost my temper.”

There was silence.

Mavis was shocked. What should they do now?

Ethan decided for them.

“I shall hand myself in,” he said, and with that, he got up, left the library and headed for the police station.

“Well, the case is now solved,” Terry said as they stood at the entrance, watching him go. “All thanks to you.”

And, to Mavis’s delight, he took her hand in his and pulled her close.

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