by Nora Page
Cleo and Henry had gone to the police station after Pat’s arrest. Cleo had turned over the handful of notes she’d grabbed from Pat’s terrible “Happy Thoughts” jar. She’d read them as Gabby cataloged them into evidence. They were chilling.
“Her resentments went back decades,” Cleo said. “To kindergarten, when Dixie embarrassed Pat in front of the class. To that camp, where Dixie and her popular friends picked on Pat. It turned into a pattern. Dixie made fun of Pat’s job, a lowly cleaner. Her dull husband, her mousy looks, her plain house … But then Dixie would tell Pat that she was just joking, having fun. She said that’s what best buddies did.”
“She was a viper!” Belle Beauchamp swooped in with a wave of lilac perfume, kisses all around. The innobrarian and accused murderer had been released following Pat’s confession to not only Dixie’s murder but Mercer’s too.
“Dixie did the same thing to me at that awful camp,” Belle said. She shot an apologetic look to Mary-Rose. “Sorry, I know your auntie-in-law ran that place. She surely didn’t know what kind of snakes she had out there. The glittery girls, is how I thought of them.” She smoothed her immaculate platinum bob. “The worst of it was, I dreamed of being just like them. Bold. Beautiful. Unstoppable. I guess I went a little too far, if y’all thought I was capable of murder.”
“Anyone is,” Mary-Rose said generously. “I was saying so to Cleo just the other day. The police thought so too. They had Cleo on their suspect list. Right, Gabby?”
Gabby had been passing by, a plate of healthy snacks in her hand, apple slices and bananas. “I never thought Miss Cleo did it,” she clarified.
“Thank you, Gabby,” Cleo said, narrowing her eyes affectionately at Mary-Rose, who was chuckling that Cleo could have done it.
Gabby greeted everyone, including Belle, whom she addressed with a formal “Ms. Beauchamp.”
“Ms. Deputy,” Belle said in return. She held out her hand, but the initial stiff handshake quickly turned into a hug. “Y’all saved me,” Belle gushed. “All of y’all. That chief of yours would have locked me up for good, and right when I figured out my life’s calling too.” She beamed. “Go ahead—ask me what it is!”
Cleo inwardly groaned. Oh please, she prayed, let it not be redecorating libraries or innovating bookmobiles. In the days following her release, Belle hadn’t returned to the library. In the innobrarian’s absence, Cleo and Leanna had gotten on with their work. Leanna’s technology center was set up for research and fun, but not light shows. The bookshelves were firmly bolted in place and packed with books. The walls glowed in peachy paint.
“So, you found a calling?” Cleo ventured to ask.
Belle turned dramatically, arms outstretched, taking in the place. Cleo’s pulse rate surged.
“I did!” Belle said. “I’ve found my true calling. Now, wait for it …” She fluttered her fingers toward the ceiling. “Real estate!”
“Real estate?” The chorus came from all members of Cleo’s cluster of friends.
“Why that’s wonderful! I’m so happy!” Cleo exclaimed. She realized her reaction might appear rudely enthusiastic. “For you, I mean,” she amended.
“Yep, I’ve had enough of libraries,” Belle said. “It’s tougher than I thought. People are so darned demanding about wanting books. I’d take BOOK IT! out, and people would think it was cute and whatnot, but then they’d get grouchy, demanding quiet and books and places to read. When I was languishing behind bars, I had a revelation. I told you I always wanted to be like Dixie. That wasn’t quite true. I want to be better than Dixie, and I’m going to do it at her own game.” Belle twinkled at them. “I loooove looking at properties, and I betcha I can find folks their dream homes a lot better than Dixie Huddleston ever could. It’s about passion and pushing boundaries. Ooh … there are my first clients now. Did you hear? Jefferson and Amy-Ray both inherited equally from their mama.”
Jefferson Huddleston entered, dressed in full mime attire, flanked by his frowning wife and scowling sister. Belle leaned in and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “If I can make those three happy, I’ll know I can work with any client. The clown there wants a warehouse setting for his miming school. His wife needs to be in throwing distance of her office. His sister … well, she’s easy. She just wants to unload her mama’s house. I already have a buyer for that.”
Cleo had no doubt about that. “It’s a gorgeous house,” she said. “That was another bitter resentment of Pat’s. She and her husband were set to buy that property years ago. Pat had an in with the former owners. Then Dixie swooped in, supposedly as Pat’s agent, and took it for herself.”
Belle looked delighted. “Is that so? I really am set to outdo Dixie, aren’t I? Guess what? I’m the buyer! Fair price, I swear. Although, the place has a tad of termite damage in the trusses. Plus there was that death in the kitchen. Nothing like a murder to drop the price, is there? I’m getting it for a song!”
She departed in clouds of floral perfume and air kisses.
“Good gracious,” Henry said.
“Thank goodness!” Cleo exclaimed. She reached over and petted Rhett, who sputtered purrs.
“Speaking of that house,” Gabby said, “We found out how Pat managed some of the death omens. Remember the birds in Dixie’s kitchen? We looked over Pat’s bank account. She bought two live doves at a wedding and party supply shop over in Claymore. People release them when the happy couple comes out of the church. Pat got the smoke bomb at the same place. It wasn’t really a bomb. It was a ‘prop,’ the party people claimed. They said it was to make photos look foggy and atmospheric.” Gabby’s expression suggested that birds and smoke weren’t on her dream-wedding list.
Cleo glanced over at Luck and Lore, safe behind glass and lock. “This book has chapter after chapter of omens, good and bad,” she said. “Pat spent a lot of time at Dixie’s and could have read the book there. She’d know what would scare Dixie. A bird in the house is definitely bad luck.”
“But why bother?” Mary-Rose asked, sounding irritated. “Why not just ditch Dixie and get herself a new friend?”
They all looked to Cleo, who politely offered Gabby the chance to reveal the twisted logic.
“You found her out,” Gabby said with a smile. “You get to explain. Besides, it’s still too incomprehensible to me.”
To Cleo too. “Pat’s absolutely certain that she doesn’t have long to live. She believes in fate and patterns. Her older female relatives all passed away at seventy, if not before. She’s sure she will too, even though everyone from Dixie to her doctor kept telling her she’s fine. Attempts at comfort upset her more. She thought no one took her seriously, no one appreciated her fears.”
Mary-Rose clicked her tongue. “She talked herself into her own story, didn’t she? Sad, except for the part about killing two people.”
Cleo did feel sorry for Poor Pat. Pat had wanted to be Cleo’s friend, and Cleo hoped she hadn’t let Pat down entirely. “Pat encouraged me to investigate the case. I think she saw it as a chance for us to bond. She wanted a real friend.”
“I think she wanted to keep you close,” Gabby said. “You’re the town sleuth. If she saw you getting too near the truth, you could have been in trouble.”
Henry edged closer to Cleo. “I wondered why you didn’t get any threats. That’s why. She saw you as her new best pal.”
Cleo tried to sound unconcerned, but Pat’s deceit rattled her. “Pat tried to be nice to me in her way. She returned Luck and Lore to the library. I’d told her how much I wanted the original copy. I wish I hadn’t been so stubborn about that! She’d taken the book from Dixie’s the day she killed her, a memento, something Dixie treasured.”
Mary-Rose shuddered. “Then she went after the whole town. That’s the scariest part, the escalation. It makes my skin crawl if I think too hard about it. Put-down Pat must have started feeling pretty gosh-darned powerful. Laughing at all of us. Terrifying us.”
Gabby nodded grimly. “Pat started with small frigh
ts. She wanted Dixie to feel death coming for her, the fear and dread Pat herself felt. Then, like you say, it escalated. She didn’t want Dixie to just be afraid—Dixie had to die. Pat admitted that she replaced Dixie’s medicine with sugar syrup. She got the syringes from Dixie’s purse. She even bookmarked the website she consulted that showed how to do it. She had a key to Dixie’s so she could let herself in anytime. She house-sat for Dixie sometimes and cleaned for her regularly too. She really resented cleaning that beautiful house that could have been hers.”
“Refilling a syringe seems easy enough to figure out,” Mary-Rose said, “But bees?”
“Her parents used to keep bees,” Gabby said. “They’d make her help with the hives as a kid. What a chore! I used to complain about walking the dog and taking out the trash! Anyway, from her work, Pat knew of a hive that wasn’t watched over very closely, and she raided it. Bees are sluggish in chilly weather. Smoke settles them too, and she had another one of those smoke canisters for doing just that. We found a beekeeper suit stuffed under a bunch of cleaning rags in her garage.”
“Always the quiet ones,” Mary-Rose said. “You’d never guess until they unleash and start throwing around pancake batter. That should have tipped us off, Cleo. To think, she killed her friend and then went to book group and breakfast! Pancakes, no less!”
Cleo thought back to that day at the Pancake Mill. She’d stuck up for Pat and her unusually emotional behavior. She’d thought Pat was upset because she was defending her friend, when really she’d just killed her.
Gabby confirmed the time line. “Pat swiped the honeycomb insert early that morning, like around five a.m., and stuffed it in a cereal box. Then she let herself into Dixie’s house, left the cereal box open in the pantry, and closed the door. All she had to do next was pretend to show up early for coffee, so early she woke Dixie up. Dixie was groggy. She popped some bread in the oven to warm, went into the pantry, and then …” Gabby hesitated and everyone shifted uncomfortably, knowing what happened then.
“The coffin threat, agitated bees, and sugar-filled syringes were all inside,” Gabby said. “Pat admitted that she locked the door and fled after Dixie started yelling. She was afraid even then that Dixie would bully her out of her plan.”
Laughter rose by the fondue. Cleo looked beyond her circle of friends, to the reference room. “Poor Mercer. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Gabby nodded. “Pat had a key to the library, a copy she kept on file for cleaning jobs. She let herself in to return Dixie’s overdue book. Then Mercer came in, planning to meet Belle. He recognized the book, and she feared he’d figure out what she’d done. Worse for him, he insulted her. He said he wasn’t here to meet a frumpy cleaning woman. Those oversized scissors were right there on the table …” Gabby trailed off again.
Cleo shook her head sadly. “What I can’t understand is why she targeted Words on Wheels with that smoke bomb and coffin notes, and why she did it when she was inside the bus.”
“She was being ‘nice’ to you again,” Gabby said, rolling her eyes. “She wanted to clear your name. I mean, no one could think you’d smoke-bomb your own bookmobile.”
“No one,” Mary-Rose said, firm this time in Cleo’s innocence.
Gabby continued. “Being inside and getting hurt in the incident earned her sympathy too, which she craved. Same with the coffin notes. She pretended that she was a victim too. She started moving on with her grievances after Dixie’s death. They covered pretty much the entire town. That’s why she left the random threats, to spread fear everywhere. She sent personalized notes to people she especially disliked. The only note Pat didn’t send was the one Jefferson received. Amy-Ray admitted she left that one, hoping to scare her brother away from their mother’s house. Plus, she liked messing with Jefferson.”
“Pat was getting bolder too,” Cleo said. “Driving you off the road, Mary-Rose, and vandalizing Iris’s studio. Iris routinely embarrassed Pat at book club.”
Gabby nodded. “The resentments and retributions would have continued to build. Thank goodness you discovered her when you did, Cleo.”
Cleo reached for Henry’s hand and looked at her friends. “Gabby showed me Pat’s list of personal hatreds. You all were on it. My best friends, the people I love the most! She’d come to see me as her new best friend and resented time I spent with you all. In some twisted way, she thought she’d find happiness if others were miserable.”
Leanna had joined their little huddle. She shuddered. “That would never have helped her. It’s like we were saying before this all started. Blowing out someone else’s candles won’t make yours burn brighter. Speaking of which …” Her eyes lit up. She beamed, holding up her right hand and clicking her fingers.
The front door swung open and in came. Mary-Rose’s granddaughter Zoe and her friends, wheeling a cart topped with the biggest sheet cake Cleo had ever laid eyes on.
Mary-Rose led the cheers, Gabby lit the candles, and usually shy Leanna climbed on a chair and addressed the crowd. “Here’s to the grand reopening of the Catalpa Springs Public Library!” Leanna said to great applause, “And to Cleo Watkins and her fifty years of service as the best and bravest librarian in Catalpa County and beyond.”
“How did you all know?” Cleo whispered under the roar of cheers and clapping.
Mary-Rose hugged her tight. “You know you can’t keep a secret this big in Catalpa Springs, Cleo Jane. Leanna and I have been planning this for months. Did you really think it was coincidence that the contractor insisted on this day as the for-sure library completion date? Leanna was looking into the library records and discovered your first workday right here, fifty years ago today. Shame on you for not telling us!”
Cleo’s eyes welled with happy tears. Henry gripped her hand.
Before her, the cake blazed, fifty candles over fluffy waves of icing. Pink strawberry icing, Cleo noted, just like the birthday cake Dixie had swooped in and grabbed her luck from all those years ago.
“Miss Cleo gets to make a wish,” Leanna said, raising her voice again. “Before she does, let’s all wish Cleo many continued joys on the open road as captain of Words on Wheels!” A cheer rose, louder than before.
Cleo leaned over the cake. She closed her eyes and silently repeated the wish she’d wanted at thirty and every birthday since: health and happiness for all those she loved. Then she filled her lungs and blew a great gust. She opened her eyes to wispy smoke, a boisterous crowd, and her beautifully restored library filled with friends, family, and booklovers. Leanna handed out slices of cake, and happy patrons filed by, thanking Cleo for her service to the library and in catching criminals.
Henry put his arm around her, and Cleo’s heart swelled. New roads awaited her, in Words on Wheels and in life. As she gazed around, she knew Dixie had never swiped her luck. Cleo Watkins had all she could wish for and so much more.
Mary-Rose’s Honey Pie
This is a sweet variant of the classic Southern chess pie. Chess pies are custard based, often with a bit of cornmeal for thickening and a splash of vinegar or, in this case, lemon juice. Whether plain or flavored with honey, peanut butter, lemon, or coconut, a chess pie is easy to whip up and sweet to eat.
Ingredients
One 9-inch pie shell (premade, your favorite recipe, or the recipe that follows)
Buttery piecrust
1¼ c. all-purpose flour
1 T. sugar
½ tsp. table salt
½ c. (1 stick) unsalted butter, diced and chilled
3 T. (more or less as necessary) ice-cold water
1 tsp. vinegar
Blend the flour, sugar, and salt. Toss in the diced butter, and incorporate it using a food processor, pastry cutter, or your fingers. Aim for a sandy texture with a few buttery lumps. Make a well in the flour.
Blend the water and vinegar together and then add to the flour mixture. Gently mix until you have a shaggy dough. Add as little water as possible, but enough so that the dough holds t
ogether. The humidity in your kitchen will affect how much you have to add.
Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead—be gentle but firm. Flatten the dough into a circular disk, wrap it in plastic wrap, and let it rest in the refrigerator for at least an hour.
When you’re ready to bake:
• Preheat your oven to 375°F, with a rack positioned in the middle.
• Roll out your piecrust and put it in your pie plate. Let the pie dough rest and chill in the fridge while you make the filling.
Honey filling
½ c. dark brown sugar
½ c. (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted
3 T. cornmeal
2 tsp. vanilla
¼ tsp. table salt
¾ c. honey
3 eggs
½ c. heavy whipping cream
2 tsp. lemon juice
• In a medium or large bowl, whisk the melted butter, brown sugar, cornmeal, salt, and vanilla. Whisk in the honey next and then the eggs, one at a time. Finally whisk in the cream, followed by the lemon juice.
• Pour the filling into the prepared, unbaked piecrust. Place in the middle of the oven and bake for 45 to 55 minutes.
• The top should get a lovely golden brown, the color of rich honey. Look for set sides with a jiggle in the middle. Let cool for an hour or two. Top with honey-sweetened whipped cream.
Also available by Nora Page
Better Off Read
Author Biography
Nora Page enjoys rainy weather, the perfect biscuit, and quiet evenings in with her husband and cat. You can often find her in the company of books. This is her second Bookmobile mystery.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.