The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery) Read Free

General Hospital, she pulled a lot of extra shifts. She hadn’t mentioned it, but perhaps she’d been called in to work. I sent her a text.
    Strangely, my buddy Lance—arguably the world’s sexiest librarian—wasn’t answering his phone or texts either. Lost in a good book, perhaps.
    Ordinarily, I would have called the would-be man in my life, Officer Tyler “Smiley” Dekker. He was an excellent listener, but I knew he was out of town on police training and not due back until the morning. He’d been mysterious about the “training assignment,” but apparently outside communication with cell phones or other devices was discouraged.
    My uncle Mick was tied up with a “project” that involved being out late every night. He’d also been busy acquiring a few new properties near the shop including the building across the street, through a discreet third party, I understood. I couldn’t imagine what he’d do with a vacant dress shop and the apartment overhead. Better that way.
    As I am the first person in my family to go straight, the less I knew about any of Mick’s activities the better. My uncle Lucky was still lost in the newlywed world with his bride, my good friend, Karen Smith. Their current activities were probably legal. The newlyweds were off on yet another little mini-moon, as Karen called their frequent trips. Still, after a month, you’d think they’d let their four feet touch the ground, I thought sulkily.
    Speaking of four feet, I did have two sets of those. Walter, Karen’s pug, was spending the weekend with me, as was Cobain, Tyler Dekker’s large, shaggy dog of no known breed. I was in charge of him until Smiley’s return whenever from wherever. I loved the dogs and that was fine. Not that I was complaining. Not in the least; I was merely thinking that someone in my life might have answered their phone or texts.
    As conversationalists went, the dogs were light on dialogue—if you didn’t count snorting and snuffling and passing gas—but on the other hand, they didn’t hog the conversation and weren’t prone to melodrama. They were curled up on my bed with the flowered comforter in the attic accommodations that I adored. Next to the books, my little garret was the best part of my job with Vera. It was relaxing to cuddle up with the dogs and stroke their fur, but it wasn’t enough to take my mind off the sense of doom that Muriel Delgado had brought with her. I felt a little shiver thinking about it. I had a feeling this visit was about money, as most things are. I spent a lot of time worrying about Vera’s money, her champagne tastes and what I knew was a beer budget. The Van Alst fortune isn’t what it once was. These days, there was hardly enough money to cover the basics around this vast estate, let alone take a hit from some con man—or woman, in this case.
    At two in the morning, I was still awake worrying about Vera’s visitor and listening to the wind howl. The midnight walk in the snow with the two dogs hadn’t helped me get to sleep. All around me were signs that the Van Alst fortune was in decline. In the harsh floodlights and frosty air, every crack was clearly visible. The lifting tiles on the vast roof resembled an old reptile, lying down for the last time. I itemized the immense expenses Vera and her estate must have. The house needed a combination cook and housekeeper. It required someone to keep the extensive grounds and maintain the building. The signora was devoted to Vera. I wasn’t even sure if Vera paid her. The signora had her quarters and her food. What else would she want except to have Vera finish a meal for once? Kev was about the same. Mostly he needed a place to lie low where nobody would think to search for him, as a consequence of a small disagreement about a large amount of money with some impatient “colleagues” down in Albany. Kev had a “suite” of rooms above the garage. This suited him. The three monster-sized meals (minimum) a day suited him