“Is a librarian,” Lila said. She smiled at Mrs. Murphy. “You can take the girl out of the library, but it’s not something you stop being, even after you’ve officially retired, and I haven’t been retired all that long.” Her smile faded as she thought for a moment. “Well, maybe it has been a while. I worked in special collections.”

“Really?” Mrs. Murphy asked. “Where?”

“The Auburn Design School. It’s in—”

“I know where it is,” Mrs. Murphy said. “Murph and I visited. Beautiful Kahn building.”

Lila’s face lit up. “One of his first truly modern designs.”

Emily glanced at Lila, her radar up. It occurred to her that there could easily be material from the Auburn Design School Library in the storage unit.

“We visited just about every library he designed,” Mrs. Murphy went on. “Also the McKims. The Richardsons. We’re going to Seattle to see the main library. We were going, at any rate.”

“Rem Koolhaas,” Lila said. “Brilliant architect.”

“I’ve heard it’s an amazing building, inside and out. Murph used to say—” Her voice broke. After a moment she cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry,” Lila said. “Really I am.”

Mrs. Murphy sniffed and gave a wan smile. “I think my husband would have liked to be an architect. Unfortunately he grew up in a family that didn’t nourish artistic talent. He made a good living as a dentist. But it was a job, not a passion.”

“I wonder, have you been to the Ames—” Lila began.

“In Easton?” Mrs. Murphy said. “Of course. Another magnificent Richardson. And so beautifully maintained. And I’m sure you know the Richardson in downtown Quincy?”

Lila put a hand over her heart. “The La Farge windows.”

“Oh my, yes.”

Opposites meeting on common ground, Emily thought. Becca shot her a surprised look. Go figure.

Then Lila asked, “Have you gotten to the Blaine?” Emily’s ears pricked up.

But before Mrs. Murphy could answer, a security cart pulled up and a man got out. Not the security guard Emily had spoken with before—this man was young, trim, and looked bored. He wore khakis and a saffron-colored golf shirt with a name badge that read MANAGER. From the floor of the cart he picked up a clipboard, then turned to face the four of them. “Ruth Murphy?”

“That’s me,” Mrs. Murphy said.

“Ma’am. Can I see some identification?”

Mrs. Murphy, who was wearing a shoulder bag across her body, found her driver’s license and showed it to the manager.

“Thank you. All I need is your signature, authorizing us to remove the lock.” He gave her the clipboard and a pen. Mrs. Murphy signed.