Overdue

Chapter One It was my break at the library and I was spending it in the most relaxing way I knew how: curled up in the lounge with our library cat, Fitz. Even better, I was reading one of my favorite ‘comfort reads’, September by Rosamunde Pilcher. I was so sure I was going to have a relaxing break, I set a timer for myself on my phone to make absolutely certain I didn’t leave the lounge late. When my timer went off, I was completely surprised that twenty minutes had passed. I reluctantly pulled Fitz off of me and he curled up in the warm spot where I’d been sitting, still purring faintly in his sleep. He was a beautiful, laid-back, orange and white cat who loved nothing better than quiet times and curling up in laps. This is what made him, quite possibly, the best library cat in the world. I walked back out toward the circulation desk before being intercepted by my boss, Wilson. Wilson was not laid-back. This is what made him, quite possibly, the best library director in the world. Wilson, in one of his ceaseless suits, blurted, “We have a library trustee in the building. There’s mention of lugging books around.” He was experimenting with a very regimental-looking mustache that appeared nearly as stiff and bristly as he was. He rubbed it absently. Wilson was always cognizant of what library board members were doing at all times. He was especially intuitive if he felt they needed any assistance. I was often recruited to help them out, although I’d found in the past they frequently weren’t as excited about getting help as Wilson thought they might be. “Is this for the Friends of the Library book sale?” I asked. “If they want to move some of the books for the sale upstairs from the basement, I can definitely give them a hand.” “Would you?” asked Wilson, relieved. “I’d do it myself but I have a meeting that I need to get to. Carmen is the trustee. Thank you.” I frowned. “Wasn’t Tanya James supposed to be helping Carmen today?” “Apparently, she hasn’t shown up. That’s why Carmen needs help,” he said in a clipped tone. He glanced at his oversized watch, looked alarmed, and hurried away. “I’ve got to go.” Wilson was starting to remind me of the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. I set out dutifully toward the door leading to the library basement. Of all our board members, Carmen was my least favorite. I did appreciate her organizational skills, her ability to get things done, and the way she was able to motivate people to do what she wanted them to do. But her sometimes condescending attitude and the way she’d interrupt when you were trying to speak with her made her difficult to work with. I suspected she’d frequently, if not always, gotten her own way. Carmen was a beautiful woman with piercing blue eyes brimming with intelligence, porcelain skin and long, blonde hair. I strode toward the front entrance of the library, which had a door that led down to an old cellar that housed holiday decorations, old microfiche reels, and donated books for the Friends of the Library fundraising sales. The stairs were steep and not especially well-lit, so I left the door leading down to the basement open. I frowned as I saw a book on one of the top steps. Carmen must have dropped it. But Carmen seemed the type to pick up a dropped item immediately. “Carmen?” I called down. “It’s Ann. May I give you a hand with the books?” There was no answer. And the basement, although rather roomy, certainly wasn’t big enough where you could move out of earshot. “Carmen?” I asked again, my voice sharper. I hesitated and then walked down the stairs, grasping the wooden rail as I went. I called her name again and stopped cold as I saw a figure crumpled at the bottom of the staircase, blonde hair covered with blood. Feeling strangely detached, I noticed there was a gash on the back of her head, though she’d fallen forward on her front. As I stared, frozen in shock, a cheery voice from the doorway above called to me. “Ann? Wilson told me to ask if you needed a hand with the books.” It was Luna, my purple-haired coworker. She reached for the dropped book on the staircase, frowning. Then I stepped to the side to turn and she saw Carmen’s body and gasped. “I’ll call an ambulance!” she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. I crouched by Carmen’s body, carefully laying a hand on her neck and feeling for a pulse that wasn’t there. I looked back up the stairs somberly. “Luna, she’s dead.”