Polly's expression turned wary. "Has something happened? Is Mr. Peacock all right?"

  Shelby reassured her, "Oh, he's fine. I just have some questions about his routine and was hoping you could help me get a better picture of his life. I’m assisting the Hamlet Police with some interviews."

  Polly considered this for a moment before stepping back and opening the door wider. "All right, come on in. Can I get you something to drink? I just brewed some tea."

  "Tea would be great, thanks," Shelby said, stepping inside and following Polly to the small but tidy kitchen.

  As Polly busied herself preparing two mugs of tea, Shelby took the opportunity to observe the housekeeper. She was petite, no more than five foot three, and quite fit with a trim figure. Her movements were efficient as she went about making the tea. Her fair skin was free of makeup except for a little mascara.

  Soon they were seated across from each other at the kitchen table, steaming mugs before them.

  Shelby took a sip of the fragrant Earl Grey before speaking. "I really appreciate you taking the time to talk with me, Ms. Sutter.”

  "Please, call me Polly," the housekeeper responded.

  "How long have you worked for Mr. Peacock?"

  "Let's see, I started with him about ... two years ago now," Polly said after a moment's thought. "Someone I knew used to clean for him, but then she moved away, so she recommended me to take over."

  Shelby nodded. "What are your main responsibilities for Mr. Peacock?"

  "Well, I go to his house once or twice a week to do a thorough cleaning - vacuuming, dusting, bathrooms, changing the sheets, that kind of thing," Polly explained. "I also stop by a few times a week just to pick up the mail and check on things, and if he needs some shopping done, like picking up groceries or dry cleaning or whatever, I do that too. Sometimes, I help him answer correspondence. Occasionally, I make dinner for him."

  "So, you're like his personal assistant in a way?" Shelby suggested.

  Polly looked pleased by this description. "I suppose so, yes. I like taking care of all those little details for him, so he doesn't have to worry about it. He’s alone. His wife died a few years ago and his son lives in Texas."

  "Does Mr. Peacock have many regular visitors to the house?" Shelby inquired.

  The housekeeper thought for a moment. "Not a lot, but there are a few friends who come over fairly regularly. Let's see, there's Professor Rundle - he'll come by to have dinner once or twice a month, and there’s William McManus and Vincent Manning who like to come over to play cards. Oh, and a woman named Julie Hall will visit and have tea with Mr. Peacock every couple of weeks."

  Shelby nodded, noting the names. She knew Julie Hall worked at the town library.

  "With everything that's happened, I have to admit I get a little nervous being alone in Mr. Peacock's house sometimes," Polly confessed. "I make sure to turn on the security system whenever I'm there now."

  "That's understandable," Shelby said sympathetically. "Have you noticed any unusual people hanging around the neighborhood or anything suspicious going on?"

  Polly shook her head. "No, nothing that I can recall, but I'm usually only there for about two hours at a time."

  "Did you happen to stop by the house at all while Mr. Peacock was away at his conference?" Shelby asked.

  "Let's see ... yes, I went twice just to pick up his mail and do a quick tidy," Polly recalled. "I didn't notice anything amiss though."

  Shelby decided to change tacks. "So, it sounds like you know Mr. Peacock and his routine pretty well after two years. What would you say his main interests and hobbies are?"

  The housekeeper thought for a moment. "Well, he's quite the reader - always has a book going, and I know he enjoys writing in his spare time. He’s published several books and lots of articles. He's also fond of playing cards and board games. Oh, and gardening - he's very proud of his vegetable garden and flower beds."

  Polly smiled and continued, "He’s also a collector. He's accumulated some lovely small seascapes painted by local artists, and he has a sizable collection of old coins that he's quite knowledgeable about."

  "I see," said Shelby. “Have you ever seen his coin collection?”

  “Just in passing. Sometimes, he sits at his desk with the collection books.”

  “What about the paintings he collects?” Shelby asked. “Does he have all of the paintings on display?"

  Polly’s forehead scrunched up in thought. "I'm not sure about that.”

  "And what about you, Polly? Are you married? Do you have family nearby?"

  At this, the housekeeper's friendly demeanor cooled a bit. "No, I'm divorced, but that's really none of your concern." Her tone turned sharp. "The police already questioned me. I'm not a suspect here."

  Shelby held up a hand in a conciliatory gesture. "You're absolutely right, I apologize. I didn't mean to pry into your personal life."

  Polly's expression softened slightly. "It's fine. I don't mind answering questions about Mr. Peacock and my work for him, but my private life is off-limits, okay?"

  "Of course," Shelby agreed. She decided not to push the issue further. Still, she wondered about the housekeeper's sudden defensiveness when asked about her own life. Shelby made a mental note to tread carefully around topics that Polly seemed sensitive about.

  She finished her tea and stood up. "Well, thank you again for your time. You've been very helpful."

  Polly walked her to the door. "I hope I was able to give you some useful information about Mr. Peacock. I hope the police hurry up and find the killer who’s after him. Please let me know if there's anything else I can do to help. I care about him very much."

  "I will. Take care," Shelby said as she stepped outside.

  As she drove away, Shelby mulled over what she had learned. Polly certainly seemed to have an affection for her employer as well as a desire to protect him, but could she be hiding something about her personal life that was relevant to the case?

  Shelby wasn't sure but made a mental note to look more into Polly's background when she had the chance. For now, at least she had gained more insight into James Peacock's routines and relationships.

  When she arrived home, Shelby pulled out her notebook and began jotting down the key details from her conversation with Polly. As she wrote, she talked to Harper about the visit to the woman reporting that the housekeeper had provided several useful pieces of information, including potential suspects like Professor Rundle who visited Peacock regularly. “Mr. Peacock has some friends he sees fairly often, and a woman from the library comes to the house for tea on occasion.”

  Harper turned to look at her human friend. “A woman? Well, well, maybe Mr. Peacock isn’t as lonely as we thought he was.”

  “I never thought he was lonely,” Shelby corrected the cat.

  “I wish I’d been able to go with you to see Polly,” Harper said to Shelby’s mind. “I’d like to see what I thought of her. Do you think she was lying about any of it?”

  “I didn’t get that impression although it was weird that she refused to answer simple questions about herself.”

  “Did you try to use your skills to pick up on anything about her?”

  Shelby sat quietly for a moment feeling sheepish that she didn’t try to sense anything about Polly.

  “Never mind,” Harper told her. “In the future, when you’re talking to people, try to turn on your extrasensory skills.”

  Shaking her head, Shelby said with a sigh, “Some paranormal psychic I am. I was so busy asking questions and listening to her answers that I didn’t even think to use my paranormal abilities.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it. All of this is new to you. That’s why I wish I had been there,” Harper muttered.

  Shelby needed to follow up on the leads. Despite forgetting to tap into her powers, she felt she was making progress in getting to know about the people closest to James Peacock and hopefully, in identifying who might wish him harm.

  “I’d better talk to Travis about my meeting with Polly.” As soon as Shelby had said his name, she felt little sparks dancing over her skin.

  Stay professional, she told herself. Stay professional.

  19

  After pushing open the library’s heavy wooden door, Shelby stomped snow off her boots and unwound her long woolen scarf. Spotting Julie Hall at the reference desk, she waved and made her way over.

  At seventy-three-years old, Julie was an attractive woman, slender with chin-length silvery gray hair. She’d been the full-time librarian in Hamlet for decades before reducing her hours to part-time only a year ago. Two years prior, she’d lost her beloved husband of nearly fifty years.

  "Hey, Julie, thanks for making the time to chat with me," Shelby said, giving the older woman a quick hug.

  "Of course, dear. I’m happy to help if I can." Julie led them up the sweeping staircase to the second-floor meeting rooms. Settling at a table in the empty space, she fixed Shelby with a searching look.

  "I know you're here to talk about James. That dreadful business at his home has me sick with worry. Have the police made any headway?"

  Shelby quickly filled her in on the scant details known so far. “They still have no firm suspects, unfortunately.”

  Julie shook her head with her brows drawn together in concern. “This is troubling. And they have no idea yet who would wish James harm?”

  “A few vague theories, but the police lack evidence,” Shelby admitted with a sigh. “It’s probably someone who knows him, so maybe a friend or acquaintance. That’s why I hoped to get your take.”

  Julie nodded slowly, staring off at the snowy skyline visible through the tall windows. “James and I have become quite dear friends this past year,” she said after a weighty pause. “After losing Harold, having James to talk with has meant the world to me. I have plenty of women friends, but I miss Harold terribly, and it’s nice to have James to talk to about my loss since his wife passed away not that long ago. We’re both in similar emotional states.”

  Shelby nodded. “He’s lucky to have you to talk with.”

  “We have good conversations,” Julie told the young woman. “We help one another with our grief and we enjoy each other’s company. It helps to talk with someone who has also lost a partner. We meet for dinner or tea, take walks, visit museums, attend lectures together. I’ve been very worried about him after learning of the murder of that petty thief in his house. The killer must have been looking for James. The thought of him returning to hurt James makes a shiver run over my skin.” She rubbed her arms trying to ward off the chill of concern. “How can I help? What can I tell you?”

  Leaning forward, Shelby met Julie's eyes. “Have you noticed any friends who seem overly curious about James’s life and assets lately? Even casual remarks could be telling.”

  Julie pursed her lips thinking back carefully before shaking her head. “I can’t recall anything amiss. Most of his friends are harmless local gents who enjoy literature and history like James does." She smiled wistfully. "We even have a bit of book club going amongst all of us.”

  Shelby had to smile. Only in a quaint town like Hamlet would the murder suspect list contain book club members. She tapped her fingers on the table thinking aloud, "Still, we have to be missing something here. My gut says whoever is behind this is much closer than we realize. Detective Whitely has officers keeping an eye on Mr. Peacock's house," Shelby hastily assured the woman. "And I've been checking on him regularly too."

  Julie nodded, taking this in. “I invited James to stay at my house in the spare bedroom, but he declined. He’s too worried that he’d put me in danger, but that’s James—always thinking of others before himself.”

  Shelby studied the older woman, struck by her graceful poise and intelligent eyes. "How are you holding up through all of this?"

  Julie looked down, blinking rapidly before meeting Shelby's gaze. "Oh, I'm all right, I suppose. It's James I fret over day and night." Her eyes took on a faraway look. "Such a lovely man. We've become such good friends. My talks with James always lift my spirits."

  A wistful smile crossed the woman’s face. "He's been a blessing to me. We just click - chatting about books, current events, art, our families. Sometimes we sit in comfortable silence lost in our own thoughts." She shook her head. "I can't bear thinking of him coming to harm when he still has so much life left to live."

  "The police are doing everything possible to ensure Mr. Peacock stays safe. We just have to keep faith."

  Julie patted the young woman’s hand gratefully. "You're a gem, Shelby. I can see why James adores you so – you have a very caring heart." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Rather like Emily Harris come again after all these decades."

  Shelby started slightly. "Emily Harris?"

  "She owned your bookshop property over a century ago. Such a vibrant spirit, cut down far too soon by a thief in the night." Anger flashed in Julie's eyes.

  Shelby looked at the woman with interest. "What more do you know about Emily Harris? Mr. Peacock has told me some things about her. I'd love to hear more of the history."

  Julie settled back in her chair. "Emily was the only child of a rather well-off couple. She was strong-willed too - she scandalously turned down several suitors much to her parents' chagrin. Then when her parents died, she used her inheritance to open her own store. She was quite an independent woman."

  "She owned the building that became Spellbound Books," Shelby said slowly.

  Julie nodded. “Emily was quite the progressive businesswoman for the times. From what I’ve read, she was charming and vivacious by all accounts. She had many friends even if she steadfastly maintained her independence." Julie smiled wryly. "I rather see myself in her and have always felt an affinity.”

  Julie’s expression darkened. "Unfortunately, her light was extinguished far too soon. Back then, everyone believed a vagrant robbed and murdered her, but not long ago, a historian uncovered evidence that it was someone Emily knew who committed the foul deed." She shook her head sadly. "It was her own lawyer who apparently killed her. He tried to pressure her into marriage so he could get his hands on her assets. Emily had quite a valuable stamp collection that he wanted. When she uncovered his scheme, he attacked and killed her. A true fiend."

  As Shelby absorbed the new information, her thoughts were churning. “How awful. Her friend and defender turned betrayer." She met Julie's eyes.

  The woman nodded grimly and sighed deeply before continuing in a lighter tone. “But let’s speak of more cheerful things. Are you spending the holiday with your family this year, dear?"

  Shelby smiled, following the change of subject. They passed another half hour in pleasant conversation about traditions, favorite carols, and cookie recipes.

  When they finished their chat, Shelby went downstairs and wound slowly through the stacks. Rounding a corner into the empty and dimly lit classics wing, she trailed her fingers idly across the leather spines enjoying the nostalgic scent of old paper and binding glue.

  Pausing to look at the titles on one of the shelves, she heard the sound of a male voice speaking in tight, bitter tones. Edging closer, she peered cautiously through a gap between the shelves at a tall, powerfully built man of about fifty pacing while gripping a cell phone to his ear. Even in profile, the set of his jaw showed anger and dissatisfaction.

  Something about his threatening energy rooted her in place and she strained to make out the words as he carried on his tirade.

  "That useless detective has nothing on me, but the D.A.’s office here protects their own.” He practically spit out the words. “It doesn’t matter if the mighty James Peacock is retired now. His cronies still stymie my career at every turn."

  The man gave a contemptuous laugh. "I half hoped that intruder had finished Peacock off in his own home. Maybe the killer will come back and finish the job. I should have killed the old buzzard myself years ago. Slipped something into his drink maybe...”

  Shelby's hand flew to her mouth at the chilling words. This had to be Felix Duncan, the bitter defense lawyer Justin Peacock mentioned when she’d met with him.

  The man abruptly glanced over. Holding her breath, Shelby shrank back behind the shelf with her pulse racing. She held still, praying he hadn't spotted her.

  After an agonizing minute, she finally heard furious footsteps moving toward the front door of the library. Slowly peering around the corner, she saw the aisle was empty.

  Shelby sagged against a shelf, her legs feeling weak. She had to tell Travis what she’d heard.

  Squaring her shoulders, she took a breath and strode outside into the swirling snow. She needed to talk to Travis … and fast.

  20

  Shelby and Travis gazed appreciatively at the small seascapes lining the walls of James Peacock's living and dining rooms. The intricate oil paintings depicted ocean vistas and quaint coastal villages.

  "These are lovely," she remarked. "You have quite an impressive collection."

  Pleased, Mr. Peacock smiled. "Thank you. I've been collecting these for years, mainly from local artists. I love the ocean." He gestured to a painting of a ship. "That one's my favorite - the artist perfectly captured the feeling of being a small boat on an endless ocean."

  Shelby studied it, noting the vivid brushwork. She could almost hear the cry of gulls and the crash of the waves.

  "Now, let me show you my other pride and joy," Peacock said, leading them down the hall to a small study. He unlocked a glass-fronted cabinet to reveal neat rows of antique coins set in a velvet-lined box gleaming under the lights.

  "Wow," breathed Shelby, leaning in for a closer look. The coins ranged from simple silver pieces to intricately engraved gold medallions, and some of them looked centuries old.

  "This is just a small part of my collection," explained Peacock. "I've been fascinated with old coins since I was a boy. There’s something about holding a piece of history in your hand. The stories they could tell."

  Shelby nodded. She could understand the appeal of tangibly connecting to the past like that. As her eyes roamed over the coins, she was drawn to one in particular - a tarnished gold piece with a lion emblem.

 

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