The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

advice on how to instill in you a lifelong love of reading.”
    “She succeeded in that goal,” Olivia said and noticed a look of satisfaction settle on the librarian’s face. “I’d like to sign up for a library card, but I’m also here on a research mission. Do you have a few minutes to spare?”
    Leona took Olivia’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “For you? I have nothing but time.”
    After listening to a single sentence, the librarian cut Olivia’s request short. “How strange! Mr. Plumley wanted information on the same house.” She lowered her voice until it was barely audible. “Tell me. Is it haunted? I don’t recall a single episode of violence occurring in that house, and there are no records documenting anything unusual about the people who lived there, but something must set that house apart. Within one month, a bestselling author and the long-absent daughter of my dear friend and colleague are seeking information on the same property.” She put her hands on her hips. “I suggest we trade information. You show me your cards and I’ll show you mine.”
    Olivia hadn’t expected the librarian to be so plucky, but she liked her all the more for it. She raised her hands in surrender. “I’ll come clean, but what I’m about to say is for your ears alone.”
    Leona led Olivia and Haviland into the staff room. She poured two cups of coffee, set them on the table, and offered the poodle a bowl of cool water. “Nick Plumley said he was conducting research for his sequel to The Barbed Wire Flower . You’re read it, haven’t you?”
    Brandishing the hardcovers she had tucked under her arm, Olivia said, “Yes. I thought it was a compelling story.”
    “Me too.” The librarian poured a generous splash of milk into her coffee and, seeing no spoon handy, stirred it with a plastic straw. “As you know, the novel is based on a prison camp set up in New Bern. It was a large camp and employed many families from the surrounding counties. Men who were too old or had a physical disability that prevented them from enlisting became the prison’s guards. Some of the German POWs spent four years in that camp. Plumley’s descriptions of the guards educating their captives about democracy and capitalism are accurate. He was also correct in his depiction of how well the prisoners were treated. It was, for most of the war, a community of men exhibiting mutual respect and even friendship.”
    Though this recap was interesting, Olivia didn’t see that it had much to do with Harris’s house. “Yes, I remember that. The Germans were also encouraged to make items out of scrap materials for their own use or to sell. They were allowed to keep every cent of the profits they earned. The prisoners were so content that they never tried to escape—at least not until the pivotal scene in which a disgruntled Nazi captured and transported here toward the end of the war plans a rebellion. One of his confederates kills a guard, and together the escapees hop a freight train for the Midwest and are never seen again.”
    “What many people don’t know is that the event Plumley depicts so graphically actually happened,” the librarian stated solemnly. “The murdered guard was from Oyster Bay. His name was James Hatcher. Plumley gave both him and the Germans fictional names, of course, but I’ve met Hatcher’s son, and he believes Plumley described that night in perfect detail.”
    Olivia tried to rein in her impatience. “Did James Hatcher live in the house Plumley’s researching?”
    “No. I thought one of his descendants might have and that’s why Mr. Plumley was fixated on it, but that turned out to be a dead end.” Leona took a sip of coffee and stared at Haviland, her eyes glazing as she traveled into the past. Olivia began to shake her foot under the table. She was not accustomed to sitting still.
    Finally, the librarian blinked twice and, surfacing from the past, returned her attention to Olivia. “I wrote down the names of three families who’ve lived in the house. During the war, it was the Whites, but they moved out of town before the armistice. The next family, the Carters, were there the longest. They raised two boys in that house before moving to Florida in the early nineties. After that, it belonged to the Robinsons, the couple that sold it to your friend last month. They’re childless, and if the gossip chain is accurate, the wife is an agoraphobic.”
    That explains the dated interior, Olivia