The Corpse at the End of the Chapter

by Karen Hayes

  THE CORPSE

  AT THE END

  OF THE

  CHAPTER

  A Copper Penny Mystery

  by Karen Hayes

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters,

  And incidents are the products of the author’s

  imagination. Any resemblance to actual events

  or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, without permission of the author.

  Copyright © November 2019 by Sharee Hughes

  ISBN: 978-1-7107-2362-5

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  Karen Hayes is a fictional character in the second book of my Victor Keolanui mystery series, Killer Whale. When I was writing that book and coming up with the series the character of Karen Hayes wrote and Mandy Saunder’s’ enjoyment of that series, I thought to myself—why not write that series. I was intrigued by the character of a 50+ woman, a widow, starting up a bookstore and having someone murdered right there in her store during her Grand Opening. So, here is the first book of the Copper Penny mystery series—and I have more ideas to come. Just remember, someone named Karen Hayes didn’t really write this series—I did.

  Sharee Hughes

  ACKNOWLEGEMENTS

  Lyrics quoted on pages 197-197 are from the Willie Nelson hit “Always on My Mind,” as recorded in 1982.

  Written by Wayne Carson, Johnny Christopher, and Mark James.

  Published in 1970.

  ONE

  THE WEATHER WAS NOT COOPERATING WITH THE Grand Opening of the Book Nook in Misty Valley, Oregon. It would have been fine if it had been one of those misty rains the town was named for. But this was a deluge.

  The bookstore boasted a small patch of lawn in front of it, with a sidewalk leading to the street. On each side of the sidewalk, standing tall and straight like sentinels, were two enormous sycamore trees, whose lofty branches had, as they did each autumn, bequeathed their leaves to the ground below. Copper Penny, the proprietor of the new ready-for-business bookstore, had carefully raked the fallen leaves into piles for the children to jump into. However, the wind that had brought in the storm had scattered the leaves here and there and they now lay like soggy cornflakes on the lawn and sidewalk. She sighed as she looked through the window at the downpour outside. A few customers had come in and were browsing the shelves, but the rain had kept many away.

  And before we go any further, we had better say that, yes, her name really was Copper Penny. It was not just a nickname. When Marcia and Ralph Penny had their first glimpse of their darling baby girl, with her springy red-gold curls and cupid-bow mouth, they could think of no other name for her. Of course, that had been more than fifty years ago and her hair had darkened somewhat since babyhood, but it still lived up to her given name–even if, as of late, she had to resort to a bottle to hide the silver that had crept in.

  Her late husband, George, had liked the name so much that, when they got married, he insisted she keep her maiden name. Copper Penny, he said, sounded much more fun than Copper Meyerdierks. George had died this past spring–had a heart attack while teaching English Literature to the ninth and tenth graders at Misty Valley High School. With their children gone off to live in Seattle, Boise, and San Diego, Copper decided that the only way through her grief was to keep busy. Her mother had come u from San Diego and had spent a few weeks with her after George’s death, but had thought it best bot to intrude upon Copper’s grief for too long. But while her other was still there, the two of them had come up with the idea of how she could ake good use of a portion of the ample life insurance George had left her. She converted the empty building that had once been the Misty Valley Boutique (which had died when the J.C. Penney–no relation–store had gone up in Pleasant View, the next town over) into a cozy bookstore. (Now the J.C. Penney store was gone, too, once the new Walmart was built.) And upstairs was a small apartment that was just the right size for her. So once the renovations were done, she sold the home she had shared with George for so many years and moved into the little apartment. She’d downsized considerably, as she had no need of all the furniture the house had required. But she was comfortable.

  Monica Towers, her sales associate, approached. “Excuse me, Ms. Penny. Old Mrs. Lafferty is looking for Aaron Anderson’s new book, Blue Butterfly. She said she read a review of it in the paper. I couldn’t find it in our inventory.”

  “That was a pre-publication review,” Copper told Monica. “The book won’t actually be out until later this month. I have a preview copy, however. Tell Mrs. Lafferty she may borrow it. It’s on the desk in my office.” Copper, an Aaron Anderson fan herself, had read the book almost the minute it had arrived in the mail. She already had her order placed so as soon as it became available, the Book Nook would have it.

  Copper was curious as to why Old Mrs. Lafferty (so-called to distinguish her from her daughter-in-law, Young Mrs. Lafferty), as the town’s librarian, had not received her own preview copy. Oh well, there was no telling who publishers had on their lists of people to send out advance copies to. Maybe this publisher preferred to send their freebies to people who would order multiple copies to sell rather than to small libraries that would order only one or two copies to loan out.

  Copper looked around in satisfaction at her new little store. She was pleased with how she had it set up. At one end were aisles of books on full floor to almost the ceiling shelves, just like you would find at a library, but without the Dewey Decimal labeling. She even had some of those little rolling step stools (that stopped rolling once you stepped on them) to make the top shelves more accessible. In the center, for easy visibility to customers entering the store, were three circular stands for the display of whatever she might want to feature at the time. Definitely a best seller or two, and a stand for books on a certain theme. Currently one stand featured books on Oregon history, which she knew some students were studying in school this fall. Another featured the top fiction sellers and the third some of the most popular non-fiction titles.

  Just to the right of those stands was a Relax and Read area. A sofa and a couple of easy chairs were grouped around a coffee table that held the current issues of favorite magazines. The fragrance emanating from the coffeepot that sat by a stack of Styrofoam cups on an end table by the sofa invited people to stay awhile. Wi-Fi was also available to people who lacked the internet in their homes and might want to bring their laptops in with them to access email, although Copper knew they could also do that at the Library without having to take their own computers.

  Beyond this was the children’s section. Plastic child-sized chairs in bright colors surrounded a low, white block-like table on which were some favorite children’s picture books and stories. A few toys, coloring books and crayons were also there for younger children or those who weren’t in the mood for reading. Everyone was welcome in the Book Nook.

  At the rear of the store was Monica’s station–a three-sided desk/counter area that held the store’s computer and the cash register. The computer held a complete list of the store’s inventory and also a program that accessed aa list of all books in print. If a customer asked for a book the store did not carry, Monica (or Copper herself, if necessary) could look to see if that book was indeed still in print and place an order for it. Normally, racks of special candy bars and breath mints would stand on the counter next to the cash register as a temptation to buyers. But today almost the entire desk area was covered with trays of hors d’oeuvres. Those customers who were not browsing the bookshelves were chatting and nibbling. Some were actually making purchases. It had been awhile
since Misty Valley had had its own bookstore.

  “Cheer up, Copper,” said a voice in her ear. “Weather’s supposed to clear up tomorrow. More people will come then.”

  She turned to see Harvey Blodgett, the local sheriff. “Thanks, Harve,” Copper said. “Actually, the weather report said it would be nice today.”

  Harve shrugged. “Oh, well, this is Oregon. You know what they say—if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.”

  Actually, that was said about a number of locations, but Oregon was definitely one of them. Harvey wiped his hand across his damp hair, flicking a few drops onto Copper’s new Mohair sweater.

  “I think it’s going to be more than five minutes before we see a change today,” she said with a laugh, brushing the drops of water from her sweater. “Help yourself to a cup of coffee, Harve. It’ll take the chill off.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” said the sheriff. “Looks like you’ve got some other appetizing looking stuff over there. Maybe I’ll do a taste test. Who did you have make them?”

  “Well, Monica made the cucumber sandwiches, I did the bacon-wrapped shrimp and Eve Gardner made all the rest.”

  “Eve, huh? Well, I’ll definitely want to sample everything.” Eve Gardner, a trained pastry chef, ran the local bakery and was noted for her delectable goodies, both savory and sweet.

  Harve poured some coffee into one of the Styrofoam cups and wandered over to the counter, where he filled a paper plate with several of the snack items offered. Harvey Blodgett was never one to pass up free food. A perennial bachelor, Harve Blodgett, at forty, hadn’t had a woman to keep him on a good diet since his mother had died fifteen years earlier, about the time he became sheriff. The stomach that hung over his belt was a testament to that.

  “Copper, this is just the cutest little place.” A woman came in the door shaking out her umbrella behind her. “It’s just too bad it’s raining. I watched the news last night and it said nothing about this storm.”

  “Well, Marian, my experience has been, the weather man is wrong more often than he’s right,” Copper said.

  “That’s true, but they need to realize how much we depend on their forecasts. I sent Jeremy and Patti off to school this morning with just light jackets. Guess I’m going to have to pick them up. I can’t have them walking home in this. They’ll catch their death. But I just had to come and see what you had done here. It is really charming, Copper, really charming. I hope it does well.”

  “Thanks, Marian,” Copper said. “Take a look around, why don’t you?”

  “I will,” Marian said, depositing her umbrella in the stand Copper had so thoughtfully provided just inside the door. “Maybe I’ll even buy a book. Point me in the direction of the mysteries.”

  “Second aisle from the left, right side,” Copper told her.

  “Great. I’m so looking forward to reading the new Aaron Anderson, Something about a butterfly.” And Marian was off to the bookshelves. “The library doesn’t have it.”

  “It’s not out yet,” Copper tried to call after her, but Marian wasn’t listening. Marian never listened.

  Marian Fisher was in her mid-forties, with two grown children from her first marriage and two youngsters from her second. Marian and Robert (Bob) Fields had been high school sweethearts and had married just days after their graduation. And no one counted when Robert Junior’s birth came sooner than nine months after the wedding. Two years later Gloria had come along. The Fields seemed a really great family until one day Robert Senior decided marriage and a family were too confining, Misty Valley was too confining, and Oregon was too confining. So he took off for Alaska along with the 17-year-old daughter of the Methodist minister, who had also found not only Misty Valley, but being the daughter of a minister, too confining. Robert Junior, who had actually been called Robert, had been fifteen then and Gloria thirteen. Losing their father had a real impact on the teens. They decided their mother was at fault, and as soon as they graduated high school, they left Misty Valley and never looked back. But by then Marian had met and married another Robert, Robert Fisher, although he went by Rob. Jeremy, now seven, and Patti, five, helped Marian cope with the alienation of her two older children. Losing herself in murder mysteries was another way Marian coped. Copper hoped she would be a good customer.

  A scream from the children’s area took Copper’s gaze to that area. Two children were fighting over one book, and the little girl was screaming. They were having a tug-of-war with the book and Copper was sure they would pull it in two.

  “I saw it first,” the little girl hollered.

  “No, I did,” the boy hollered back.

  The children’s section sported a sign giving the rules of the area—“Please be nice to the other children. This area is for them, too.” But these were pre-school age children. They had not yet learned to read. The book was a picture book, the few words on its pages minimal descriptions of the featured pictures.

  A young woman in jeans and a sweat shirt hurried over to the children’s area, her face red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Copper,” she muttered as she rushed by. “Missy, stop it now,” she called softly to the little girl. “We need to be quiet in here.”

  “But he took my book,” Missy said, starting to cry. “I was reading it first.”

  “Were not,” said the boy, using the distraction of Missy’s mother to take control of the book. Missy tried to grab it back, but the boy ran off to the counter, where he reached up and snagged himself a miniature open-faced cucumber sandwich.

  “Now, now, Billy,” Copper said as she approached him, wondering where the child’s mother was. “Books from the children’s section have to stay in the children’s section.”

  Billy just looked at her with that ‘you-just-try-and-stop-me’ look that only little boys between the age and two and four can give and crammed the little sandwich into his mouth. “Yuck,” he said a moment later and spit it out on the floor.

  “Billy,” Copper said. “Please clean up your mess. There are some napkins on the counter.” Billy ignored her and went down one of the aisles, looking for his mother, Copper assumed.

  Sighing, Copper grabbed a couple of napkins and cleaned up the bit of sandwich that Billy had spit out on the floor.

  Another scream echoed through the store, but this time it did not come from the children’s section. This was an adult scream, a terrified one.

  Everyone dropped what they were doing and ran down the aisle in the direction of the scream. There was little Billy looking up at his mother, Lucy Stafford. Lucy was looking down at the floor, screaming. Copper’s eyes followed the woman’s glance. There, lying in a heap at the end of the aisle, was Old Mrs. Lafferty.

  A couple of other customers screamed. Because other people were screaming, Billy started to scream, too. The sheriff cleared everyone aside and knelt by the fallen woman. Quickly he checked for a pulse.

  “Is she dead?” Copper asked.

  “I think so,” he said, “but we need to get the paramedics here. They can check her out.”

  “Dead? Oh, no!” An elderly woman, Carol Roberts, started to scream, but instead, fainted. Marian Fisher, who was standing behind her, caught her so she didn’t fall all the way to the floor. Another woman started fanning the fainting woman while Wendy Barnes, who was a nurse, immediately ran to the restroom and dampened a paper towel, which she brought back to pat on the older woman’s face.

  In the midst of the pandemonium, the sheriff looked up and saw Monica. “Call 911,” he ordered. The frightened girl nodded and pulled out her cellphone. The hospital and ambulance were in Pleasant View. It would take them awhile to get to Misty Valley. “Call the Parker boy at the fire station, too,” Harve added. “He’s an EMT.”

  The sheriff turned to Wendy. “Is she going to be okay?” he asked, nodding towards Carol Roberts.

  Wendy nodded. “I think so. Let’s get her over to that couch.” With the assistance of a male customer, Wendy and Marian were able to get Ms. Robe
rts over to the Relax and Read area and revive her.

  “What do you suppose happened?” Copper asked.

  “I don’t know,” the sheriff answered. “Heart attack, maybe. I know she has high blood pressure. She always mentions that when someone misbehaves in the library. And, of course, she is over-weight. We’ll need to wait until the Medical Examiner has checked her out to know for sure.”

  Copper noticed the pool of red forming under Mrs. Lafferty’s body. “Harve,” she said. “I don’t think people bleed from heart attacks.”

  Slowly, the sheriff turned the woman’s body over. A knife fell out of the wound in her chest, landing in the pool of blood. Harvey pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. “I’m across the street,” he said to the person on the other end of the line. “Bring rubber gloves and plastic baggies. I think we’ve got a murder on our hands.”

  TWO

  MURDER WAS NOT COMMON IN MISTY VALLEY. It had been more than fifty years since a drug-crazed hippie had shot and killed the clerk at the Cabot Lodge because she didn’t want to rent him a room. It upset Copper to think that the first murder in so many decades had to take place in her book store on its grand opening day. Who would want to kill Old Mrs. Lafferty? And why? She was a librarian, for heaven’s sake. Who went around killing librarians in a small town in the middle-of-nowhere, Oregon?

  Monica reported that an ambulance was on the way, but it was a little over thirty miles, so it would take a while. They’d get there as quickly as they could, although the rain made the narrow moun-tain roads slick and dangerous. Ron had been in the shop earlier and was no doubt on his way back to the fire station, as he didn’t answer the phone there. The sheriff told her not to worry about Ron, as there was no way Old Mrs. Lafferty could be revived.