The Woman in the Library

by Sulari Gentill

Katerina Wolanski is from London, about fifty, tall, slim, and dressed entirely in black. She embraces me in greeting, kissing each cheek—the left twice. She smells like gardenias. Dr. Briton Ibe is from Somalia. He’s small, walks with a limp, and wears a bright yellow puffer jacket and a Cossack hat. His smile is broad and easy, his teeth incandescently white. I like them both immediately.

Katerina is writing a speculative novel set a thousand years in the future, and Briton, a political satire which comments on the hypocrisy of post-colonial diplomacy. They both seem excited to meet a mystery writer.

As Leo promised, Rockport is about an hour from Boston. A little longer because the road is covered in snow and the journey is broken by a stop at Smith’s Point to lunch with Chase Perkins, who is on the board of the Sinclair Fellowship, and his wife, Becca. We might in fact have lingered longer at the beautifully catered affair, chatting with our benefactors over delicious finger food, if Chase’s golden retriever had not demolished the immaculately laid out meal while we were taking a tour of his house.

We leave hungry but determined to write that overfed golden retriever into our manuscripts. Indeed, we make a pact to do so—the shared motif of this year’s Fellowship holders.

:)

I won the fellowship with a story about Geraldine, and the kind of destructive grief left in the wake of shock, the long road to rebuilding family without her, the inconsolable rage of my mother, the withdrawal of my father, my determination to find sense and purpose where there was none.

It turns out Briton is a vegetarian too, and Kat doesn’t like eggs. I run into the diner on the corner and order two fried clam sandwiches, two egg salads on rye, and four servings of hand-cut fries to go before returning to the Mercedes.

Doesn't like eggs so she gets two egg salad sandwiches on rye AND CLAM???? Youre going to have to burn that Mercedes from smell

Marigold grabs my hand. “Of course. I didn’t mean…” She takes a deep breath. “Look, Freddie, I decided to look up Cain’s defence attorney in the hope they might be able to tell us why he was dealt with so harshly. According to the records, his attorney was Jean Le Marque from a firm called Hockey Cole.”

Again Marigold’s eyes meet Whit’s. “Eventually. It took a bit of digging.” “Well.” “Jean Le Marque still practises law, but she married and took her husband’s name. She’s now Jean Metters.” I choke, turning immediately to Whit. “Your mother? Cain’s lawyer was your mother?” I stand up, too agitated to remain still.

“I use the library fairly regularly.” He frowns as he tries to recall. “That day, I came in particularly to look through a book they’d sourced for me. One of the librarians had called me that morning to say it was in.” “And was it?” “No, actually. When I came in they couldn’t find it. I went to the Reading Room while they tried to track it down. What are you thinking?” “If the fact that you and Whit were in the Reading Room when Caroline screamed was not a coincidence, then someone must have organised for you both to be there.” Cain exhales. “You’re right. Maybe someone brought Whit to the BPL too.”

IRL leo... Who are you? Or just Leo.

Lauren Penfold is already there when we arrive. She is dressed casually, jeans, a fisherman’s sweater, and a knit cap over long, dark hair. A khaki down jacket hangs over the back of her chair.

Photographer works at the rag

“What kind of stories did Caroline write for the Rag?” Lauren rolls her eyes. “Caroline was a serious feature writer…fancied herself a future contender for a Pulitzer.”

“Some secret project with Whit Metters…though I’m not sure they were exactly simpatico.” Whit? “What do you mean?” “She was a lot more serious about it than he was. But then, Whit’s not really serious about anything.” Lauren’s smile broadens unconsciously when she says his name. “They were an item for a while, weren’t they?” I venture tentatively. “Yes, but I think Caroline was too ambitious for Whit.”

“Do you think Caroline might still have had feelings for Whit?” “I doubt it…” She stops and reconsiders. “Maybe. She was always bailing him out of trouble.” “What kind of trouble?” “Just stupid things. Whit was always trying some mad scheme or other…nearly got kicked off the Rag I don’t know how many times. Caroline would stick up for him, talk the editor into giving him another chance.”

“A cautionary riches-to-rags story,” she says. “Shaun Jacobs, more recently known as Boo, was a doctor—a surgeon—once. He started taking painkillers, which became a full-blown habit. Lost everything, kicked the addiction in prison only to return to it and ended up a corpse on the banks of the Charles.”

He was the one that stabbed cain in prision and probably whit

Marigold blushes. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I followed Whit.” She hugs a cushion in front of her as she confesses. “I was following him…” “You were stalking him?” “No…well, maybe… I was trying to run into him.” She swallows. “I followed him to the Reading Room and sat down opposite him, hoping that he’d talk to me or that I’d have a reason to talk to him.”

“Do you know why Whit was in the Reading Room that day?” Marigold shakes her head. “I don’t know… Maybe he was working on a story for the Rag. I’ve never known him to go to the BPL before. I remember being surprised when he went that way.”

“I want him to know that I can look less…out of place,” she says earnestly, and I am reminded that she is only twenty-three.

He turns to walk back to his door. “Be careful, Freddie. I don’t need to tell you there’s a murderer on the loose.”

Yeah its him

I spot my tail. Middle-aged, a little portly, leather jacket. He’s about twenty feet behind me and has had to abandon keeping out of sight in order to keep up with me.

The Brattle is busy. The nine o’clock feature is An Affair to Remember.

Fitting since regardless you cannot stay together

“Boo had aligned himself with a prisoner called Conroy, who basically ran things. Conroy had him take me out. They cornered me. Boo told me if I didn’t struggle or move he could stab me in the back and I would survive. It would hurt, but I would be okay. If I fought, there were no guarantees.”

“Why were you in the library that day?” I ask. “Were you there to meet Caroline?” “Yes, actually,” he replies frankly, like he’s relieved. “She was supposed to meet me in the Reading Room. I was pretty ticked off she didn’t show…And then I met you guys, and I figured it wasn’t a wasted afternoon after all.” He swallows. “Of course, when I realised what happened to her…” His face crumbles fleetingly.

“After she was dead—sure. Before that, not so much.” “Oh…anybody in particular?” He looks at me sharply. He’s worked out that I’m interrogating him. “Lauren Penfold.” I try not to react visibly. “Penfold—great name for a writer.” “She thinks so.” He’s still staring at me. “If Cain wasn’t in the picture, I’d suspect Lauren.”

Are you planning that Lauren Penfold was involved? Working with Cain?

Working with Leo. Is that the grand daughter that visited?

Isn’t that breaking at least a couple of Knox’s commandments of detective fiction?

Look up.

“I found out who’s been sending you cupcakes,” he says, grinning triumphantly. “It was Mr. Johnson who ordered them.” “Leo.”

DUHHHHHHHH

I stop by Leo’s apartment to thank him, but he’s not home. I mark the visit for later and return to my own place.

Probably off somewhere killing someone

I remember suddenly that Caroline Palfrey’s parents are clients of Jean Metters.

“She wanted me to call the police if I saw you, said that a mother’s duty was to protect her son, and that I should turn you in for Whit’s sake if not my own.” “A mother’s duty,” Cain murmurs. “Could she be trying to protect Whit from me?”

Exactly

I stuff a backpack

How many you got girl

I open my mouth to call Cain’s name, and a hand claps over it and pulls me back. I fight, and an arm wraps around me effectively pinning and immobilising me. And my blood chills because though I can’t see his face, I know it’s Cain.

*barf emoji*

I turn finally to face Cain. He kisses me gently. “Hello.” “You scared the wits out of me!” “I’m sorry. I was afraid he’d see you.” He has my hand. “I wouldn’t blame you if you want to go back.”

Um yeah wtf leave

How are you? I’ve been thinking of our novel incessantly for the last few days.

X(

Think about it, Hannie, and think about me. Ever yours, Leo

God. Being a woman in a world of men is so sick.

“Boo had come by some money recently. He used it to go on a bender, of course, but apparently he had something on someone.” “He was blackmailing someone?” “That’s what it sounds like.” “Would he have done that?” “Without a second thought. Boo’s moral compass was somewhat pragmatic.” Cain frowns. “One of Boo’s buddies thinks Boo knew something about Caroline Palfrey’s murder.”

“There’s a guy called Darryl Leonowski—runs a kind of soup kitchen in East Boston. Apparently Boo was a regular there, played chess with Darryl.”

Darryl’s eyes narrow. “Caroline Palfrey…the woman in the library?”

Title of the book!

“Shaun told me a story about a girl who screamed and made everyone think she was dead.”

I try to contain my excitement. This is something. “Is that all he said about the girl who screamed?” “He said she got hers, and now he was getting his.” “What did he mean by that?” “I don’t know. You gotta understand, Shaun was not always rational or even coherent.”

“Did he do or say anything else that you thought was odd?” “Most things Shaun said and did were odd…but he did bring me a box of donuts. He’d never done that before.” “Donuts?” “Yes, fancy ones. Flavours devised by someone who was obviously high, but they were good.” He smiles sheepishly. “I confess, I’ve bought the odd box myself since then.”

From whits hospital stay?

“What if she felt he betrayed her with Caroline? We know she knew where he lived, and initially, before they got distracted by you, she was the police’s prime suspect, if you remember.”

Marigold was???? When?!

Cain laughs softly and draws me into his arms. “Me too,” he says before kissing me.

Ewwwwww. Boo! And he doesn't say it back? How many red flags do you need girl??

Dear Ms. Tigone, To confirm our earlier conversation by phone, we have identified the man you know as Leo Johnson. We believe it is possible that he has recently entered Sydney, in spite of restrictions, posing as a returning citizen, medical consultant, or diplomatic official. In the latter case, he might evade mandatory isolation requirements. We have, of course, mobilized our agents and the Australian authorities to ensure your protection.

Stopppppppppp

Please find attached images of Wil Saunders, aka Leo Johnson.

His voice is hard, angry. “I know you’re upset about Cain, but you can’t turn around and accuse your friends.” He pauses and when he speaks again, he’s less hostile. “Look, just come over. I promise I’ll listen to whatever it is you think you’ve found out. And if you’re right, you can protect me from Marigold.” I can almost see him rolling his eyes as says the last.

Its both of them. You all became friends at the same time, you idiot, and you already blamed cain.

We get out of the cab in front of Whit’s house. There is no police presence which, to be honest, surprises me. I would have expected at least a couple of officers to be watching the house, but perhaps it would be stretching the resources of Boston PD too far to have a car stationed with each of us day and night. Even the private security I encountered at the front door when last I was here is absent.

RED FLAG

And then everything happens at once, though the seconds stretch so that each thing is distinct in its horror. The crack. An explosion when the bullet leaves the barrel and the thud when it enters Cain. He twists back and falls before me and my line of sight is cleared for Whit and his gun, and Marigold, ashen and shaking. I drop to my knees beside Cain

“What were you arguing about?” “She wanted to pull out. She set it all up, and then she pulled out.” “Set what up?” “The inside story of Cain McLeod, the bestselling murderer.” He shakes his head. “It was her idea…

organized it all. Getting him to the library, giving us a reason to talk…” “That’s why she screamed…” “She said nothing bonds strangers better than a shared mystery. It was simple, and she was right. Suddenly, we were all pals.”

She tells me about the plan Whit and Caroline had devised to write an investigative piece for the Rag. “They were aware of Cain McLeod’s past through their family connections. Of course, any investigative journalist could have produced a story on McLeod’s conviction, and his incarceration. Though it isn’t public knowledge, it’s not a state secret. Caroline and Whit wanted to go one better. They intended to get close to Cain, and then to put him under pressure…a story on whether a murderer could in fact be reformed.”