The Unkindness of Ravens Read online

  I always thought you’d marry Ian. Her voice whispered through my mind.

  So did I, Joanna, at least for a little while. That mad, hot love affair my senior year had ended badly.

  Ian wasn’t a subject I wanted to revisit, but denial and avoidance were beginning to fail me. The dreams had started after Christmas, the first I’d spent at home since Danny died. Seeing everyone from the neighborhood where we grew up, Danny’s parents at midnight Mass—I thought I was keeping it together. Then my mother started nagging me about all the stuff I had stored in the basement.

  “You’ve got to go through all those boxes eventually, Greer. You can’t avoid it forever.”

  Watch me, Mom.

  I didn’t want to open those boxes full of tangible reminders of my old life, but the box I really wanted to keep a lid on was the one in my head, where I’d stored the memories of Ian, and of Danny, the murder, and the trial. Everything that went on in the months before I left New York for Philadelphia and graduate school. The first morning I woke up in my new apartment, in a city where no one knew me, I felt a guilty, giddy sense of freedom, and decided I would never think about the whole ugly mess again. It was a new life, a new me.

  Or so I thought.

  I shut the laptop and went to the kitchen. Sherlock had his opium pipe; I had my martinis. I was a fan of the traditional five-to-one ratio, stirred, with a twist, and as ice-cold as I could make it without actually chilling the gin. By the time I gently twisted the lemon rind over the glass and dropped it in, the familiar soothing ritual had calmed me down.

  I moved out onto the porch, leaving the lights off to enjoy the peaceful twilight. I could make out the manor roofline through the trees, a dim glow in the top story. The police were still there.

  Three years since that scene in the living room. The end of my enviable life in Manhattan. The perfect marriage to the handsome boy from my old neighborhood, the one I met in high school and reconnected with after college. He was in finance at what turned out to be a lucrative start-up. Or would have been lucrative, if he’d lived through the IPO. I had a six-figure job in marketing at a prestige brand cosmetics company. We shared a light-filled two-bedroom apartment on the East side. Active social life.

  I’d been bored insensible.

  It’s not that I didn’t love Danny. I did, but he had always loved me more. What seemed like a feature turned into a bug. It’s a great responsibility, being loved like that. Danny was busy and distracted with the new venture. My job had gotten stale. I needed a change. I needed something. Ian Cameron was unfinished business. I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years. In my defense, Danny was supposed to be with me that night. But he wasn’t, Ian was, and there was an open bar. An empty conference room. A closed door. An unanswered question.

  “Haven’t you ever thought about it, Greer? What you would do if we were both free?”

  Only twice. Whenever Ian got divorced. And the third time on the long taxi ride home. Right up until I walked in the door and found my husband dead.

  It’s not like I made it happen. I didn’t wish it, even for a second. I didn’t.

  A fox barked. The short, sharp yips snapped me back. I blinked into the darkness, aware of the silence of the nearby woods. The nocturnal creatures had gone quiet. I heard the rhythmic footfalls of an approaching jogger. Not uncommon at this time of year, but unusual on this little dead-end street. I sank back into the deep shadows of the porch. Word would be out by now, and I didn’t want to talk to anyone. The jogger paused, lingering at the edge of the woods. Lost? I thought of slipping to the corner and peeking around, but then I heard the crunch of gravel. The driveway and path leading to the stairs up my apartment. A rattle as someone pushed at the gate.

  Pierre began to bark furiously downstairs. No one he knew, then. I stayed still. Pierre’s barking became intermittent. I heard the sound of someone jogging again, and then that faded as whoever it was rounded the corner toward Main Street. I let out a long breath. The night noises started again. Maybe I was paranoid. But I remained in the shadows.

  Three years, I thought again. Three years I’d played the part. No one knew about me and Ian but me and Ian, and he wasn’t talking. But now a new set of cops would be looking into Danny’s murder. A woman I’d known and liked was dead. The job I enjoyed and the paycheck I needed were threatened. My nightmares were getting worse. I couldn’t even have a quiet drink on my own porch without feeling hunted. The new life I’d created and liked was being upended, and I was being forced to take a good, hard look at the old one.

  For all of that, someone would have to pay.

  Chapter Four

  Noon the next day found me back at the library. An early morning phone call from Helene informed me there would be a midday staff meeting, and I should plan to stick around in case the police had additional questions. We would reopen the following day on our usual schedule.

  I sat with the rest of the staff in what we called the community meeting room. This was on the second floor at the back of the building, directly over the offices. At the moment we were all seated around some folding tables that had been pushed together to form a large circle. Anita was there, flanked by Helene and Sam O’Donnell. I spotted Officer Webber by the door, half hidden by a coatrack. She leaned against the wall, scanning the crowd. I turned my attention to Anita.

  “I’m sure many of you are wondering why I’ve asked you here today,” she began. If the woman had any sense of irony, I’d swear she used that line on purpose. I stole a glance at Mary Alice. She rolled her eyes.

  “Unfortunately,” Anita continued, “yesterday afternoon an employee discovered the body of Joanna Goodhue on one of the upstairs landings.” Anita’s phrasing and delivery made it unclear what she found most unfortunate—the fact that Joanna was dead or that I’d had the temerity to discover her body on library premises.

  “Most of you know Joanna through her work with the Friends. She was also active on the new building exploratory committee, and in various other village organizations. She was a great supporter of the library,” here Anita’s voice softened, “and she will be greatly missed.”

  But not by everyone, I thought, discreetly evaluating the expressions of the staff. They all looked appropriately distressed. Webber was looking at me.

  “I heard she tripped and fell down those stairs and broke her neck.” Dory Hutchinson piped up. She fixed Anita with a bright-eyed stare over her omnipresent knitting. “I’ve always said those stairways are dangerous—too dark, and most without railings.” Her needles clicked as she spoke. “I also heard that maybe somebody pushed her.”

  That was Dory, never hesitating to lob a conversational hand grenade into the middle of any gathering.

  “Dory,” Helene began but Anita beat her to it.

  “This building conforms to all county codes,” she snapped, nostrils flaring. “I would be happy to speak with you privately about any safety concerns you may have. In the interim, I would like us all to refrain from gossiping about Joanna’s unfortunate accident. Now,” she went on, “Lieutenant O’Donnell will bring you up-to-date on the police investigation, which will conclude shortly.”

  O’Donnell’s eyebrows went up. Apparently, this time frame was news to him. Anita sailed on. “The board appreciates the cooperation you have shown the sheriff’s department thus far. With few exceptions,” she eyed me with disapproval, “I don’t think they will need to bother you further. Lieutenant?”

  O’Donnell stood and launched into standard police-speak about the deceased, the incident, the premises, and so on. He was informal about it, not surprising given that he was on a first name basis with half the people in the room. He wound up by stating that since autopsy results were pending, the cause of death was still undetermined. While it was possible Joanna had died of injuries sustained in a fall, he stated the police would continue to investigate as they would with any unattended death. He then requested that all employees who were in the building between one o’clock on Tuesd
ay and one o’clock on Wednesday make themselves available after the meeting. He thanked us all and left. Officer Webber detached herself from the coatrack and followed.

  “Well,” Anita said, “I’m sure we would all like to put this tragic accident behind us, so as long as I’m here I might as well update you on what was discussed at the last board meeting.” And off she went, as though nothing untoward had happened. The woman was a force of nature. No wonder she ran every committee in town. The mind boggled at what she might accomplish if anyone actually liked her.

  When Anita finished, Helene went over the logistics of the library reopening, and we dispersed. I headed to the kitchen, as did most staff members who would be staying. It was nearly lunchtime, and I had learned during my short tenure that the staff of the Raven Hill Library put almost as much emphasis on food as they did on books. There was no program not accompanied by refreshments and no book sale without a bake sale. It was my best opportunity to find out who knew what. I’d toss out a little bait and do some fishing.

  Dory was already holding court at the coffee machine.

  “Did you notice Sam never said Joanna died because of an accident,” she said. “He never said accident, he only said injuries sustained in a fall. I think he knows something.”

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Dory!” Mary Alice said. “I should certainly hope he knows something. He’s the investigating officer. If he doesn’t know quite a bit by now, he needs to hang up his badge. The police department had people here half the night.”

  Dory was unfazed. “Well, I think the whole thing is suspicious. If they don’t think she was murdered, why are they spending so much time here, asking questions and trying to figure out where everyone was? Alibis, that’s what they’re after. And,” a note of triumph entered her voice, “they had people guarding the place all night. I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw the state police if this goes on much longer.”

  How Dory knew about the guard was a question mark, but I was going to trust her sources on this one. It made sense. Raven Hill didn’t have its own police department. We shared a force with several other towns near the Helderberg Mountains. Not a large population, but a lot of ground to cover. The state police had more resources and more experience with violent crime. O’Donnell didn’t seem the type to get caught up in a turf war with another law enforcement agency. He’d call in help as needed. Maybe this would be wrapped up quickly. That would be good for me, as long as they got it right. I’d do my part to make sure they didn’t waste time looking in the wrong direction. At me, for example.

  “But why would anyone want to murder Mrs. Goodhue?” This from Anne Marie, a library school student intern who was with us for a semester. If this was murder, we might never see another.

  “Well,” said Dory, clearly enjoying herself, “I really don’t like to say. But there were plenty of people she rubbed the wrong way with her opinions about how things should be done in the village. Particularly about the new library.” She cut her eyes toward Millicent Ames, who had joined us and was fixing herself a cup of tea. Fortunately, Millicent had her back to the room, and Anne Marie spoke to me before Dory could go on.

  “Didn’t you find her, Greer? That must have been creepy. I would have fainted.”

  “I never faint,” I said. “I’m not the type.”

  “So, what do you think happened?” Dory asked me. “You must have a theory, Greer. You found her, and the two of you were friends.”

  Time to redirect, and maybe get an answer to a nagging question.

  “I really don’t know what to think,” I said, which was true. “Though I do wonder …” I paused, as if I was hesitant to say what was on my mind, and waited until I had everyone’s attention.

  “I do wonder why Vince didn’t come looking for her. Didn’t he notice she wasn’t home?”

  I could almost hear mental gears shifting as the group thought about this. Dory was the first to speak.

  “Maybe he didn’t want to leave the girls?” Dory sounded doubtful. “Though he could have called someone.”

  “The girls are with their grandparents this week,” Anne Marie said. “Sophie, the younger one, told me at story hour. But she didn’t say why.”

  “If you want to know what I think,” Dory began, but at that moment the door opened. Officer Jennie Webber stepped in. The room fell silent. Millicent spoke first.

  “Good afternoon, Officer Webber. Can we be of some assistance?” Millicent had the kind of low, cultured voice that brought to mind silver tea services and carefully cultivated rose gardens. Her tone, while pleasant and correct, implied that it was a lucky police officer indeed who received aid of any sort from Millicent, and by extension, anyone else in the room.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am,” Officer Webber replied. “I was hoping to find you here. If you could spare a few minutes this afternoon, I have some questions about the archives. But first I need to spend some time with Ms. Hogan.”

  “Of course.” Millicent inclined her head regally. “You’ll find me at my desk.” She glided past Webber and swept out.

  “Lieutenant O’Donnell has a few more questions for everyone. Please wait here for him,” she said to the group and then turned to me. “Ms. Hogan? Please come with me.”

  Once the door closed behind us, she turned to me and said, “We’d like you to take a look at the attic and the stairs where you found Mrs. Goodhue. You’re familiar with them—we’re hoping you might notice something that would explain how she ended up going down the stairs.”

  Again, the word “fall” did not come into play. Did she fall or was she pushed? Inevitably, she was pushed. That was my theory, anyway. It was the little things that didn’t jibe. The light switch. The odd assortment of things at the top of the stairs. It looked like a stage set, the things that were there and the things that weren’t.

  I was suddenly back in my apartment in New York, doing the post-police clean-up and inventory. The things that were taken, and the things that weren’t. It didn’t make sense. But I wanted to be done and gone, and the friends helping me didn’t seem to notice.

  “Ma’am?” Officer Webber was looking at me.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll do what I can. Do you want to go up the back way?”

  “Whatever you did yesterday. I’d like you to retrace your steps. I understand you often go up to the roof to eat your lunch?”

  “Depending on the weather. It’s nice to get outside, out of the building for a bit.” I headed toward the back stairway as we spoke. It went from outside the kitchen to behind Helene’s office on the main floor, twisted back on itself and ended behind the archives on the second floor. When I reached the second floor, I crossed the hallway and started up another set of stairs that began behind the community meeting room.

  “Isn’t there another way up from this floor?” Officer Webber asked.

  She already knew this. “Yes, there is. The way you went yesterday—through the archives.”

  “I’m just wondering why the stairs don’t connect. And why you used this one, ma’am.”

  What was she after? And what was all this “ma’am” business? Professional courtesy, I guessed, but it made me feel elderly. It’s not like I was that much older than she was. Maybe five years. I scanned her face. All right, maybe ten. But still. I turned back to the stairs.

  “I’m not sure why the stairs don’t connect. This floor has been renovated to create larger rooms. The servants’ stairs stop and start at odd places up here. And I use this stairway because Millicent doesn’t like people trooping through her archives, particularly if they’re carrying food or drinks. We all use this stairway.”

  “Mrs. Ames was always fussy. Even when she was only in charge of the raven room.” Officer Webber said.

  The raven room was what kids called Horatio Ravenscroft’s study. I loved that room. It was a period piece, set up exactly as it was in the time of old Horatio, gentleman farmer and collector of rare books and Poe memorabilia. The smell of old books, lea
ther, and furniture polish soothed me every time I stepped into it. Sometimes I even got a whiff of pipe smoke. If the reading room was the heart of the manor, the octagonal study was its brain, the bookshelves and dim recesses holding esoteric knowledge and the collective consciousness of the manor. An enormous stuffed raven presided over the room. The thing was a marvel of taxidermy. Glossy, black, and bright-eyed, it always seemed to be looking at you. Generations of local children grew up under its watchful eye. You couldn’t walk into the library without seeing the raven.

  “I wasn’t aware you were a native of Raven Hill,” I said to her as we reached the landing. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the library.”

  “I’m not, but I spent summers here with my grandparents when I was a kid.”

  “What brought you back?”

  She took a second before answering.

  “Family. And what brought you here, Ms. Hogan? Quite a change from what you’re used to.”

  “Paycheck. I left the city for grad school. But you already know that.” I wanted to see how much digging she had done. Her face remained impassive. “Anyway, it seemed like a nice place. I thought it would be peaceful. Had I but known.” I trailed off. Still no expression. The Mary Roberts Rinehart reference was clearly lost on her.

  The door to the attic stairs was closed as it had been yesterday. I stood before it, remembering how I’d yanked it open. I hesitated, knowing there would be nothing on the other side this time, but still fighting a sense of dread.

  “It’s been cleaned up,” Jennie Webber said. She moved next to me as I reached for the knob and opened the door. It swung out soundlessly. I looked up the dark passage. Once again, nothing but murky shadows until very near the top, and then flickering daylight.

  “The light was off yesterday, too,” I said. “I thought that was odd.”

  “Why is that, Ms. Hogan?”

  “She would have needed it to go up. Unless she went up when the sun was coming straight in the window. I don’t think that’s possible if I saw her in the reading room at four. What was the time of death?”