Slipping back behind the counter, I set about examining the rest of the books. I was almost done when the bells over the door jingled. I looked up in time to see Hattie, Cordelia, Josiah and Bing come in, carrying the usual Styrofoam cups. Josiah had gotten mine this time and he pushed it across the counter toward me.

I flipped the plastic tab and took a sip, the bitter coffee warming my veins.

“Are you going to Lavinia’s service tomorrow?” Hattie asked.

Lavinia materialized, peeking around the edge of one of the bookshelves, her ear cocked to hear the conversation.

“Yessuh,” Josiah said. “I hear there’s no viewing.”

“Nope, the family didn’t want it.” Cordelia said. “Said they were being hounded enough by the press now that it’s been deemed a murder.”

“Did you know that, Willa?” Bing turned to me.

“I just found out,” I said, watching Lavinia make motions of her nose growing like Pinocchio telling a lie.

“Is something wrong over there?” Hattie leaned forward in her seat, looking toward the spot where Lavinia was. Of course, she couldn’t see her.

“No, I just noticed the books are out of order. I’ll have to straighten them later,” I said.

“Well, anyway, it’s all over town about the murder,” Hattie continued. “Who do you think did it?”

Yes, Willa. You’re the crime journalist,” Josiah cocked his head at me. “Who do you think did it?”

I shrugged. “I’m at a loss. You guys know the townspeople better than I. Do you have any idea who would want to hurt Lavinia?”

The four of them shook their heads.

“I don’t.”

“Can’t think of a soul.”

“Everyone liked Lavinia.”

“Maybe it wasn’t about Lavinia,” Cordelia said. “Maybe she just got in the way.”

Hattie frowned at her sister. “In the way of what?”

“Someone who wanted to take something from the library,” Josiah said.

“But there’s nothing, ‘cept old books in there.” Cordelia wrinkled up her face and turned to me. “None of those books have any value, do they?”

I shook my head. “Not that I know of.”

“Not the books,” Josiah said. “There are some valuable bronzes in there.”

“Oh, you mean that bust of Franklin Pierce?” Cordelia asked.

“That one’s not worth much. The real treasures are the ones by Frederick Remington.”

“You mean the horse ones?” Hattie asked.

Josiah nodded. “Most people think they are replicas, but I’m pretty sure a few of those are originals. I remember back in sixty-five when Idris Bates donated them to the library. It was quite a to-do back then. ‘Course, as the years have gone by, people have forgotten about them.”