Chapter Sixteen
The Carnegie Library, a single story, red brick structure with white trim stood proudly at attention commanding a view of the old courthouse just as I remembered. As I went up the wide, stone steps, a light snow began to fall. Shivering, I tucked my jacket closer around me.
Heavy, double doors swung outward on rusty hinges as I pulled on the brass handle. Inside the vestibule, the same unique library smell that I remembered met me. The odor was of books, floor wax, stale air, and a distinctive aroma of cat. When I was a child, Miss Abigail, the librarian, kept a bevy of cats inside and outside the building. The stern face of Miss Abigail no longer greeted me; instead, a smiling, gray-haired woman behind the desk asked if she could help.
“I hope so,” I answered, pushing back my hood. “I am trying to find information about the Granger Mansion. I understand it’s historic and I’m hoping there may be old newspaper clippings, or something that you have stored here—perhaps on microfiche?”
“Certainly,” she answered. “I’ll show you where to look. It’s a beautiful old place. It would sure be a shame if that land developer snatched it up.”
So Mrs. Thatcher, according to her name plate, had heard the same rumor about somebody out to get Uncle Javin’s house.
“Yes, it would,” I agreed. “I’m Nettie McNeil. I live there now and that would put me out of a home.”
Greta Thatcher’s gray eyes squinted behind her stylish glasses. “Your home? You…are you a relative of the Grangers?”
“I’m Javin Granger’s niece.”
She snapped her fingers and grinned. “I knew you looked familiar! Ned Duncan, sure as the world. I was Greta Anderson, way back in Ednalee Elementary. Being a year or two older than you, you may not remember me.”
“Oh, but I do,” I said, reaching across her desk to take her outstretched hand. “You were such a whiz in school, won so many honors, that everybody knew Greta Anderson.”
“Will wonders never cease?” she murmured, gazing at me. “Well! I’m so glad you’re back, Ned, and I hope you enjoy your wonderful home. Come over here with me and I’ll show you the microfiche machines.”
So began an engrossing hour as I journeyed into the past. At last, armed with several print-out pages of Granger’s Mansion, I stood up and rubbed my aching neck. The house had quite a history and played an important part in early-day Ednalee.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Greta Thatcher asked.
I nodded. “The house is even more interesting than I thought. I’d like to know all I can, though, about its first owners, Jefferson Reilly and Sherman Lloyd.”
“Mr. Lloyd was pretty prominent in state politics,” Greta said. “You might be able to just Google him and find out more. Or, the courthouse, right across the street, has files and files of information.”
“You’re right, of course.” I smiled at Ednalee’s librarian. “With the weather taking a turn for the worse, it might be wise to do that; however, I don’t think Uncle Javin went in for such modern things like linking onto the internet. I have my laptop but I sure don’t have access to the internet.”
“You’re welcome to use it here,” Greta told me.
Thanking her, I left. Another day, I’d take her up on that offer but at the moment, I wanted to go home, brew a cup of coffee, start up the fireplace in the dining room, and read through the information I’d found.
I was so lost in thought that I was halfway up my driveway before I noticed a long, black vehicle parked in front of the wrought iron gate. Another visitor? Jackie drove a double cab gray truck and Pat’s car was a small, blue compact. I pulled alongside the shiny SUV, admiring its sleek lines. Obviously, this was a top of the line Cadillac, an Escalade. Perhaps because Uncle Javin’s funeral was fresh in my mind, the SUV reminded me of a hearse.
Even though the sun should have been at its zenith, swirling snow and low clouds darkened the day with a premature twilight. Unlatching the gate, I looked up at my front porch just as a figure arose from the top step where it had been sitting.
Excerpt from Moonlight Can Be Murder Kindle ebook
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