The Unkindness of Ravens by M. Hilliard (fastest ebook reader txt) 📕

“It isn’t the obvious, is it? The answer lies in all the small, strange details.”

The raven bobbed his head. He gave me a long look, and made a soft noise in his throat. He shook out his wings and flew off, disappearing into the woods at the edge of the Kill.

Chapter Fourteen

After a steady but quiet reference shift, I settled in at my desk to continue my work on Joanna’s memorial page. My friend at the state library had said she’d get me the articles soon, possibly late in the day. Dory caught me early and told me she had some news, but in a dramatic stage whisper said it had to wait until we could speak privately. I couldn’t go through the old village papers in the archives while Millicent was around. I was left with no alternative but to do my actual job all afternoon. I put aside my growing frustration and tried to do justice to my friend’s memory.

The building grew quiet as dinnertime approached, the sound of voices and footsteps receding. The hum of hard drives and servers provided white noise but couldn’t muffle the weary groans of the manor settling itself for the night. It seemed whenever I moved, the floor gave an irritable creak, the walls around my cubicle whined, or the radiator sighed.

“Leave me alone, I’m trying,” I muttered.

My moderate web design skills required I give my full attention to the task at hand, and for a while I was able to keep at bay the waves of melancholy that rose as I looked at pictures of Joanna at various library events through the years. I came across a more recent photo, one taken the previous fall for the newsletter. In it, Joanna and I stood in the main hall, laughing, a benevolent Horatio Ravenscroft gazing down from his portrait above us. The President of the Friends of the Library welcoming the new librarian. Right as the picture was taken, Joanna told me she’d chosen the spot because old Horatio was the least constipated looking of all the Ravenscrofts. It was the kind of irreverent humor we both loved, and as we burst out laughing. I felt immediately at home.

“Shit!”

The hissed oath was accompanied by the slithering sound of papers hitting the floor on the opposite side of my cubicle wall. I jumped in my seat, then went still, listening. The sound of a file drawer sliding was followed by another muffled curse and a thump. Someone was in the FOL office, and trying—unsuccessfully—to be quiet about it.

I slid out of my chair and around the corner. The office door, usually closed and locked, was ajar. I peeked through and saw Felicity Prentiss crouched on the floor, surrounded by file folders whose contents were strewn all around her. Unusual, but not alarming. I stepped into the doorway.

“Need a hand?”

Felicity gasped and rocked back on her heels.

“Oh, it’s you, Greer. I didn’t realize anyone was still in the office. No, I’m fine, thanks. I don’t want to keep you.”

She quickly pulled everything into a stack, avoiding my eyes. I glanced at the file cabinet. The top drawer was pulled open and nearly emptied. It was labeled “Meeting Notes” and from what I could see scattered on the floor, that’s what it was. But Felicity was nervous.

“Oh, no problem!” I beamed at her. “I was about to break for dinner.”

I stepped around her and started gathering the files she hadn’t gotten to. I saw Joanna’s handwriting among others, amid printed meeting minutes, but everything I touched seemed legitimately Friends related. Felicity hesitated, then began sorting and stacking.

“Were you looking for anything in particular? I’ll see if I come across it.”

“Some of Joanna’s notes,” she said. “We’ve divided up her projects so we can keep things moving. We’ll have to appoint an interim President, I guess.”

“Why don’t you do it? If you have time, that is. Dory told me the other day how glad she was you were in charge of the hospitality committee.”

“Really?” Felicity’s face brightened.

“Yep. Dory tells me that you are not only the most organized person she knows, but that you make the most amazing artichoke squares. She’s hoping some will appear for the jumble sale refreshment table.”

Felicity rolled her eyes.

“Great. Artichoke squares. For this, I went to Wellesley.”

She looked down, all the brightness of the previous moment fading.

“She meant it kindly,” I said, “and being organized is key. Managing volunteers is like herding cats. And any number of people have told me how smart you are. You’d be a wonderful President. You should think about it.”

“Thank you, Greer. It’s nice of you to say. I will think about it.”

Felicity set down her stack of files. She paused, and turned her head toward me. I sensed some internal struggle. She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head and turned back to the files.

“There we go,” she said. “I don’t want to keep you from your dinner. I’ll take those.”

She wanted me gone. I handed over the files and mentioned the door prizes and Joanna’s fictional request. Saying she didn’t know anything about it, she gave me the name and number of the volunteer she thought handled that sort of thing and said goodbye. I took the hint. I heard the office door close as I rounded the corner. Whatever Felicity was doing, she didn’t want to be observed.

What was she looking for? And what was it she almost told me? I would swear she was about to confide something. Did she know or suspect something about Joanna’s death, or was she trying to search out and destroy evidence of her own complicity? She was in the Java Joint talking to Julia Wainwright after the meeting. The timing would be tight, but she could have killed Joanna between the meeting and coffee. Organized for sure, and a cool customer to pull it off. But possible.

When I returned from my break Felicity was gone. I did a quick scout around