Trudy's Diary: Libraries of the World Mysteries, #1

Prologue

Daisy Carruthers left New York City because of a murder investigation.

When her boyfriend, Dean Snyder, fell from their ninth-floor balcony to the deserted Brooklyn sidewalk below late one evening the previous year, it was Daisy who had been named the prime suspect in his death. It was Daisy who spent the better part of a year trying to clear her name, trying to get people to stop thinking of her as a ruthless criminal, trying to get everyone to understand that Dean’s tragic fall had been accidental.

Trying, most of all, to grieve the loss of someone she had loved so completely.

As long as she was a suspect, she couldn’t move away from the city, couldn’t start fresh. She couldn’t bear the thought that she might be remembered as a black widow of sorts, killing her mate so she could continue life unencumbered by a weighty relationship.

But the day came when a witness stepped forward to confirm what Daisy had been saying all along: that Dean had been alone on the balcony that night and that he had fallen over the railing trying to catch a cocktail napkin which had blown out of his hand. The witness had not realized for many months that there was an investigation surrounding Dean’s death because it had so obviously been an accident.

The witness’s story confirmed what Daisy had been saying all along.

Dean’s death was finally ruled an accident, and Daisy was no longer a suspect.

By then, she was ready to leave the city that had been so cruel to her. She wanted to start fresh in a city she had never visited with Dean.   

So she packed her bags and moved to Washington, DC.

Chapter 1

One year later

Daisy stood pouring herself a much-needed cup of coffee in the galley kitchen of the Global Human Rights Journal offices. Rain from her jacket dripped onto the linoleum floor.   

Jude Laughton, the senior editor, looked up from the table where she was reading the headlines on a discarded newspaper and frowned. You’re getting water all over the floor. Are you going to wipe it up?  

Though Daisy had worked for the journal in Washington, DC, for almost a year, Jude was still as cold as she had been the day Daisy interviewed with her.

Of course I am. Just give me a minute.

Why don’t you carry an umbrella? Jude asked.

Because I keep forgetting to put one in my tote bag, Daisy answered, a hint of annoyance creeping into her tone.

It’s not that hard to remember. I keep one in my briefcase all the time. Daisy rolled her eyes and walked to the paper towel dispenser on the wall. She pressed the lever several times, tearing off a long sheet of the barely-absorbent paper toweling, then wadded it up and placed it on the water that had fallen from her coat. Jude’s lips curled in a tight grimace, but she didn’t say anything.

Daisy threw away the paper and left the kitchen without another glance at Jude. She walked into the small conference room between her office and Jude’s office and took several manila folders out of her tote bag, spreading them on the table in a circular pattern. Jude walked by, steam curling from the mug of coffee she carried. What are you doing? she asked. Nothing escaped Jude’s curiosity about Daisy and her assignments.

Just organizing my work. My desk isn’t big enough, Daisy answered with a sly peek at Jude. She started moving folders around, standing back with her arms crossed. She knew it irritated Jude that the Editor-in-Chief, Mark John Friole, had given her so many assignments, and laying everything out for Jude to see gave her a jolt of devilish glee. Jude, though higher in the pecking order at Global Human Rights Journal, wasn’t as good a researcher as Daisy and she didn’t hide her jealousy well. But it was only natural that Daisy, as a Master’s-level anthropologist, should be the better researcher--if she weren’t, it would just be embarrassing.

Daisy pulled out her laptop and sat down to wait for it to boot up.

I have a meeting in this room today, so you won’t be able to keep your stuff in here, Jude said.

I’m not planning to. As soon as I get these folders organized, I’ll work in my office. Daisy was pretty sure Jude didn’t have a meeting later.

Jude was just turning away to go back to her office when Mark John came into the conference room.

Update me, please. What are you working on?

Jude stood up a little straighter and gave him a big smile. I’ve made significant progress on the clean water story, she said brightly, batting her eyelashes.

Good, Mark John said, nodding. Daisy?

I’ll be ready to submit my current story today, then I’ll dig more into the story about childbirth centers.

I have an idea I’d like to run by you, Daisy, if you would please hand off the childbirth center story to Jude.  

Sure, Daisy answered, suppressing a slight grin at Jude’s scowl. Do you want to talk about it now?

Yes. In my office, please. Mark John left.

Don’t be long in Mark John’s office, Jude said. I need to talk to him about something.

Daisy gathered up her notebook and sharpened pencils and left the room without another glance at Jude.

Mark John wasn’t in his office when Daisy knocked on his door, which was partially ajar. Mark John? she asked, poking her head into the room. There was no answer. She went inside and sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. She idly flipped through her notebook, then cracked her neck and checked her watch. When five minutes had passed and Mark John still hadn’t appeared, Daisy stood up and wandered around his office, picking up and setting down various mementos from his travels. She went to the window behind his desk and looked down onto the ground far below, at the people scurrying about with their umbrellas up, hiding their faces. She felt another surge of annoyance that she had forgotten her own umbrella that morning. As she turned away from the window, a photo of Mark John and his wife, Fiona, caught her eye. She picked up the photo and gazed at it for several moments, focusing on Fiona’s wide smile. In her time at Global Human Rights, Daisy had only heard Mark John mention his wife’s name a few times. Daisy wondered what she was like. She set the photo back in its spot and sat down to wait.

Mark John came into the office a minute later.

Damn secretary can’t do anything without asking me twenty questions about it, he said, settling into his chair.

Daisy didn’t reply.

This won’t take long, he said. I’ve been thinking--we should do a feature about women’s roles in this country. You know, how they’ve changed since the time when the United States was an agrarian society.

Sounds interesting, but that’s going to take up more space than just one article.

I know. I’m thinking we’ll do it in three parts.

All right.

Mark John sighed. You’re probably going to have to tell Jude about this, but take your time telling her. The last thing I need right now is listening to her complain about why I gave you the assignment instead of her.

Daisy grinned. I’ll keep it quiet as long as I can. She looked at her watch and chuckled. I give it about two minutes. Maybe three.

Mark John ran his hand over his forehead and squeezed his eyes closed for a long moment. Well, I don’t feel like dealing with it today. I have a headache.

If you prefer, we can talk about particulars of the assignment later, Daisy said. In the meantime I’ll get started on some preliminary research.

Sounds good. Mark John looked around his office, puffed out his cheeks, and let out a sigh.

You okay? Daisy asked.

Yeah, he said, rubbing his face with both hands. There was a burglary in my neighborhood last night. A house just across the street and a couple doors down from us. A bit unnerving, you know?

I’m sure it is, Daisy replied. That’s scary. Was anyone hurt?

Not that I know of.

Do you have an alarm system?

Yes, but so did the people whose house got hit. They had left a window open downstairs.

Kind of defeats the purpose of having an alarm, Daisy said.

Yeah, Mark John said curtly. He shook his head in disgust. Daisy knew the conversation was over and she left the office. She walked by Jude’s office on the way to her own.

Jude smirked and pushed her chair back. I’ll go see him now. You were longer than I expected.

He wasn’t in his office so I had to wait for him, Daisy said. He has a bad headache, she warned.

I just want to ask him a couple quick questions. I won’t bother him, Jude said.

Daisy returned to the conference room and sat down.

Chapter 2

Indeed, it wasn’t long before Jude came out of Mark John’s office. She walked into the kitchen, where Daisy was pouring a second cup of coffee. Jude looked flushed--her cheeks were red and her lips looked a bit puffy. Her hair was just the tiniest bit out of place.

Is everything okay, Jude? Daisy asked.

What? Jude looked distracted. Oh. Yes. I’m fine. Mark John told me about your new assignment.  

So much for not wanting her to know about it right away.

Daisy watched as Jude took a bottle of mineral water from the refrigerator, unscrewed the cap, and took a long drink of it. She leaned against the counter when she was done, looking into the glass bottle as if it held some fascinating secret.  

Jude, tall, slim, and well-proportioned, typically wore a uniform of a dark pencil skirt, expensive white blouse, an elegant yet understated necklace, pumps with two-and-a-half inch heels, and tortoiseshell glasses. She wore her glossy chestnut hair either down in a long bob or up in a chignon. She was gorgeous. Daisy, on the other hand, was tall in a lanky way, wore her hair in a loose ponytail, preferred loafers to pumps so she wouldn’t tower over everyone, and liked to wear wide-leg linen pants and peasant blouses. And whereas Jude’s glasses gave her a sexy, alluring look, Daisy knew that if she didn’t wear contacts, she would end up looking scholarly and geeky in those same glasses.

Daisy cocked her head and gave Jude one last glance. Jude wasn’t paying any attention to her. Daisy, who normally saw a cold, aloof woman whenever she looked at the senior editor, tried to look at her as others might see her. And what she saw surprised her--this time she saw an elegant woman who exuded professionalism as well as, perhaps, a hint of vulnerability in the set of her mouth.

She wondered which Jude Mark John saw when he looked at her.

Chapter 3

Not long after Daisy had moved into her Dupont Circle apartment in Washington, she joined a local oenophiles’ club for two reasons: first, she loved wine; and second, she thought it would be a great way to meet people. Indeed, she had met her two best friends in that group.

Grover Tavistock owned a catering business, DC Haute Cuisine, and business was very good for a startup company. Grover had been fortunate enough to cater a few parties that ended up in the society pages shortly after he opened for business; his services had been in high demand ever since.

A chemical engineer by training, Helena Davies worked at a Washington think tank which studied the effects of climate change brought on by the use of fossil fuels. She had more brains than common sense and wasn’t afraid to admit it.

Helena and Daisy had become fast friends when they were introduced at a tasting event held at a wine shop not far from Daisy’s office. Helena, tall with blonde hair, dark brown eyes, and a willowy figure, had a knack for being the center of attention. Daisy, though pretty in her own right, usually felt plain and rather ignored next to her friend, but that was okay with her. She didn’t want any romantic entanglements. Not after Dean. At least it allowed her to sit back and observe her surroundings and the people vying for Helena’s attention, which the anthropologist part of her enjoyed doing. And in the almost-year since they had been friends, Daisy had saved Helena from more than one would-be disastrous date by sharing her observations with her smitten friend.

There was the man Daisy dubbed the picked-his-nose-before-he-shook-your-hand guy, the he-tried-to-pick-your-pocket guy, the I-saw-him-arguing-with-himself guy, and countless others. Helena had always been grateful for Daisy’s keen sense of people’s personalities.

Helena and Grover had already been friends for years when they saw Daisy at an Italian Reds tasting event. Helena introduced Grover to Daisy and those two had also become good friends.

Not long after Daisy received the women’s history assignment from Mark John, she and Helena and Grover met for pizza one evening in Dupont Circle.

I can’t believe you have the night off, Daisy said to Grover as they sat down at a small table for three.

I don’t have anything on the calendar tonight or tomorrow night, he said, leaning back in his chair. He ordered a glass of Cabernet and perused the menu.

I’m having the margherita pizza, said Helena, closing her menu. Trying to watch my figure.

You and everyone else are watching your figure, Daisy said with a laugh. Grover rolled his eyes.

What’s new at work? Helena asked Daisy.

Daisy told her friends about her new assignment. Tomorrow I’m heading over to the Library of Congress to start some research. I could do it online, but I love it over there and it’s been a while since I visited.

It’s been years since I was there, Grover said. He proceeded to tell Daisy and Helena about a party he was catering later in the week.

It’s a retirement party. Anyone care to help out? he asked, his eyes twinkling. Minimum wage, but you can take home the leftovers.

Sounds good to me, Daisy said.

Can’t. I’ve got a date, Helena said.

Who’s it with? Daisy asked.

His name is Bennett. This is our first date and we’re going to see a play. He’s a reporter I met at an event a few weeks ago.

Is he normal? Daisy asked with a grin.

He seems to be. If I have any questions about him I’ll give you a call, Helena replied, winking.

Anyway, back to my retirement party, Grover said. Daisy, can you get away from work a couple hours early on Thursday?

Sure. I’ll be working on research that day, so I can leave whenever I want to.

I’ll pick you up in the van at three at your place.

Chapter 4

On the dot of three Thursday afternoon, Grover pulled his catering van up to the curb in front of the brownstone where Daisy lived in a third-floor apartment.

So tell me more about this party, Daisy said, sliding into the front seat.

Well, it’s a retirement party, he began.

That much I already know, she said.

The guy who is hosting it is not the retiree--he’s a teacher. The head of the retirement party committee or something like that. He doesn’t seem to have much imagination.

What makes you say that? Daisy asked

The guy who’s retiring is a school administrator who’s moving to Florida next week. The host has asked for desserts shaped like books and school supplies and stuff. He steered the van into traffic headed out to one of the DC suburbs in Virginia. If you ask me, I think books and school supplies would be the last thing a retiree wants at his party. I think he’d want things related to retirement. You know, like palm trees and flamingos and sunglasses. But I’m not hired to change anyone’s ideas, just carry them out.

A half hour later, they pulled into the driveway of a modest home just outside Arlington. A large white tent was already set up in the side yard. Grover hopped out first and swung open the back doors of the van. Daisy joined him as another woman approached the van. Daisy recognized her as one of Grover’s employees, Tish.

Hey, Tish, Grover said. Thanks for getting here early.  Are the tables set up in the tent?

Yup. I’ll start getting the drink trays out. She clambered up into the back of the van and hefted two trays, then handed them to Daisy.

Would you take these over to the long table closest to the side of the house? she asked Daisy.

Daisy did as she was asked and was turning around to head back to the van for more instructions when a man walked into the tent.

Hi, Daisy said cheerfully. I’m Daisy. She held out her hand and the man shook it.

Hi, I’m Walt Beecham.

Are you the guest of honor? Daisy asked with a smile. This man was obviously too young to be retiring.

No, no, I’m the host. He looked at his watch. Do you need me for anything around here before the party starts?

I don’t think so, but you can ask Grover, Daisy replied. Excuse me, I’ve got to get more stuff from the van. She hurried back toward the driveway.

The man followed her out to the van.

Hi there, Mister Beecham, Grover said, extending his hand. Are you ready for the guests to arrive?

Please call me Walt. Yes, I’m ready, though I need to run an errand before the party, Walt said.

You’ve got plenty of time, Grover assured him. We’re just going to be setting up.

All right. My wife has taken the kids over to her mother’s house so they’re not underfoot tonight. She’ll be back soon. If you have any questions, just ask her.

Will do, said Grover.

Walt left and Daisy, Tish, and Grover busied themselves putting out table settings, arranging chafing dishes on the long serving tables, and directing the florist where to put her arrangements once she arrived.

Grover was trying to juggle three containers of sherbet and a bottle of cranberry juice for the punch when the florist turned around suddenly and walked into him. The bottle of juice crashed to the ground, spilling all over the grass and sloshing onto Grover’s khaki pants.

Oh! I’m so sorry! the florist exclaimed.

It’s no problem, Grover replied. Daisy, can you do me a huge favor? Can you run to the closest grocery store and get some more cranberry juice? The punch isn’t as good without it.

Sure. Daisy reached her hand out for the keys. Where’s the closest store?

It’s just a few blocks away. It’s saved in the GPS.

Be right back. Daisy jogged toward the van. She turned on the GPS and scrolled through various saved destinations before finding a grocery store in Arlington. That must be the one, she murmured to herself. Grover always saved important addresses near his parties in case of emergency, like this one.

Grover had been right--the grocery store wasn’t far at all. It was a small upscale store, located on a leafy street and tucked between a wine bar and a cupcake shop.

Daisy found a parking spot right in front of the store and jumped out of the van. As she hurried into the store she glanced around and saw Walt exiting the wine bar. He was carrying two glasses of wine and he placed them on a small wrought iron table on the sidewalk under a striped purple awning. He then sat down with his back to Daisy. Apparently he hadn’t noticed the caterer’s van parked out front.

Daisy hastened inside, found the juice quickly, and paid for it. She left the store and looked over toward Walt again. There was a woman with lush red hair walking toward his table. When she reached him, he stood up and kissed her lips. They sat down and he covered her hand with his. Daisy looked away and went back to the van. As she pulled away, she happened to look in her rear view mirror again to watch Walt and his wife; as she did so, she almost hit a woman who was standing in front of the van, just off the curb, looking toward the wine bar. Daisy let out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t hit the woman and scolded herself for being so nosy.  

How sweet, Daisy thought. A little date with his wife after she drops off the kids and before they have hoards of people at their house. She smiled to herself. Mrs. Beecham had an open, fresh-faced glow that lent a feeling of familiarity to her wholesome attractiveness.

She returned to the Beechams’ house and found the party preparations in full swing. The catering staff met her as she pulled into the driveway and yanked open the back doors of the van. Two other part-time employees had joined Grover and Tish and everyone was eager to get the rest of the supplies out of the van and set up.

Daisy, can you make the punch? Grover asked. The list of ingredients is taped on the wall inside the van.

Got it, Daisy replied.

Daisy was gathering the ingredients to make the punch when a woman’s soft voice interrupted her.

Excuse me? asked the woman, peering into the back of the van.

Yes? Can I help you? Daisy asked. She turned her attention away from counting out limes for the punch.

I’m looking for Grover. I’m Mrs. Beecham. Melody Beecham.

Daisy dropped a lime and did an almost-imperceptible double-take. Melody’s long blond hair was pulled into a ponytail and she was thin and tired-looking. This wasn’t the woman whom Daisy had seen with Walt.

It was the woman Daisy had almost hit with the van.

Chapter 5

Daisy managed to recover herself quickly. Oh. Um, the last time I saw him he was headed toward the tent.

Who was the woman with Walt at the wine bar? Daisy turned away so her face wouldn’t give away her discomfort.

All right. I’m sure I’ll find him eventually, Mrs. Beecham said, then turned and walked away toward the tent.

Daisy busied herself making the punch and pouring it into gallon containers that could be easily transported to