Title: The Clue in the Library
Fandom: Miss Marple
Rating: G
Length: 907
Summary: It's very small, but Miss Marple thinks it might help.

"What have we got on the case?” Chief Inspector Slack asked.  “An elderly spinster, who attracted very little attention and yet was killed some time yesterday evening.”

Sergeant Lake, who had been reading through the notes produced by the local police, looked up with a smile.  “There is one witness who might be able to help,” he said.

“Don’t tell me, an equally elderly spinster.”  Slack stood up.  “Well, come on then, let’s get this over and done with.”

They drove to St Mary Mead and knocked on the door of one of the cottages.  When it was opened Slack said, “Good morning, Miss Marple.  I wondered if we could have a word?”

“Good morning, Inspector.  And you too, Sergeant Lake.  Do come in.”

When they were seated in armchairs, Miss Marple began, “I suppose it’s not really a clue, but all the same it was rather strange.”

“Go on.”

“I met Emily Cottle in the town library yesterday afternoon.  It is her death you’re investigating isn’t it?”  Slack nodded.  “She was very fond of romances, and had just said, ‘Oh, a new book by’ – oh, I forget the author – ‘and I haven’t read it.’  Then she took the book down off the shelf, read the blurb on the back, and said, ‘Oh no, but surely that’s impossible’, put the book back on the shelf and hurried out of the library.”

“Perhaps she found the book a bit too racy for her taste.”

Miss Marple looked at the inspector over the top of her glasses.  “In which case she would simply have put the book back on the shelf and looked for another one.  No, she had read something which reminded her about something else.”

“And you don’t remember what the book was called, I suppose.”

“No.  I didn’t think much of it at the time.  And I’m not a reader of romance, so it wouldn’t have appealed to me.”

“I can imagine you prefer rather different novels,” Slack said. 

Lake bit his lip to stop himself laughing at the expression Miss Marple gave to Slack.

Slack stood up.  “Thank you very much, Miss Marple, we will certainly follow this up.”

When they were back in the car, Lake asked him what he made of Miss Marple’s information.

Slack sighed.  “Had it been anyone else, I would ignore them.  But in this case, you, Lake, are going to the library to find the book and then make a note of exactly what it says on the back of it.”

It was some hours later that Lake returned to the office Slack was currently using.  When he did, he slid across a piece of paper with a triumphant expression on his face.

Slack read what was written on it, nodded, and then said, “What kept you so long?”

“I had to convince the librarian I was serious.  Then she had to go through her list of new books they had recently received and eliminate all those which wouldn’t have been placed on the ‘romance’ shelf.  Fortunately, there were only four.  Two were still on the shelves, and I wrote down the blurb as you had instructed, but they weren’t exactly exciting.”

“We are talking about romance novels, not Ian Fleming’s latest book,” Slack remarked.

“Well, one did mention a florist, which I thought might have possibilities.”

“But possibly not sufficient evidence for the Chief Constable to order the arrest of the town’s florist.”

“No.  The third book had gone out on loan at the end of last week, so was out of the question.  But the fourth book had been taken out yesterday.  The librarian remembered the woman who’d borrowed it had two school children with her, therefore it had to be after Emily Cottle had seen it.  So I got her address and went to find her.  She found the book so I could copy down the blurb.  She even often to lend the book to me, but I assured her it wasn’t necessary.”

“Right, in which case, I suggest we pay another visit on Miss Marple, to see if she can shed any particular light on why this might have been relevant.”

Lake drove them back to St Mary Mead, and Miss Marple greeted them with, “Two visits in one day, Inspector.  I am honoured.”

When they were once more seated in the armchairs, Slack passed over the description Lake had taken from the book.

Miss Marple read it out slowly and carefully.  “Daphne and Sandra have been friends from their first day at infant school through to going to dances as a foursome with their boyfriends, until one evening Daphne thinks she sees her fiancé and Sandra by the side of the church.  Could she have been mistaken, and what is she going to do?”  She looked up.  “Oh dear me, yes, this must have been the book poor Emily was looking at.”

“Can you tell us anything more?” Slack asked.

“One of the windows from Emily’s cottage looks onto the alleyway which runs by the side of St Stephen’s.  I think she must have seen someone she knew in the alley and suddenly realised that they shouldn’t have been with that particular companion.”

“That doesn’t really narrow our search down greatly.”

“Emily was a schoolfriend of June Weaver, whose husband, although unwell, died recently and rather unexpectedly.  I might begin my search there.”

“Thank you, Miss Marple, as usual you have been very helpful.”