Booked 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “No one expected her to break a hip and then die in the hospital. Who would think—”

  “We were only trying to help. Nothing else was working. For goodness sakes, she even refused to wear one of those alert things in case of a fall. And she refused to have safety bars put in the shower. Said they were for old people!”

  “We really should tell the sheriff’s department. What if someone saw us there?”

  “SHH . . . no one saw us. Besides, people are pointing to that book curse and you’re pretty well covered.”

  Moving my shoulders back, I tried to feign some sort of a stretch so I could turn my neck and see who was talking, but the minute I leaned back, my mother poked me in the arm. She had returned to her seat and I jumped. I figured it was a great opportunity to see who was behind us. It wasn’t. One of the ladies dropped something and the two of them bent down to look. My mother was oblivious to all of this.

  “Good thing I managed to find you, Phee. It’s getting even darker in here. You’ll have to meet Gloria Wong. She used to live in the house behind me but moved in with her daughter. We had a lovely chat.”

  Before I could say anything, the theater went pitch-black and an announcement was made to turn off all cell phones. Great. Really easy to turn it off in the dark. I fumbled around until I was satisfied my ringtone wasn’t going to ruin the overture.

  Unfortunately, I never got a look at the ladies seated in back of us. And while Magnolia and Gaylord were singing love songs, I was repeating the dialogue I overheard, pausing every now and then to linger on the words “We were only trying to help.”

  For a long movie, it wasn’t as agonizing as I thought it would be. It seemed to fly by in no time with rich melodic songs, some terrific dance routines, and a heartbreaking romance to boot. I swore I could hear people sniffling at the end. Too bad I couldn’t hear those women behind me.

  The minute the houselights came on, I stood and turned around. It was too late. Whoever was sitting in back of me had already blended into the crowd headed for the exit.

  “Phee”—my mother pulled on my arm—“don’t you want to stay and watch the credits?”

  At this point, it didn’t matter, so I sat back down and stared at the screen. We were the last few people to leave the theater, and I quickly found out why my mother didn’t race out the doors like everyone else.

  “The parking lot is a madhouse and half these people can’t drive. No sense rushing so someone can put a dent in your car.”

  “I see your point. The rental company would charge me a fortune.”

  We took our time getting to the car. Then we waited while a lineup of vehicles pulled onto the street. It was slow going as we drove the two miles to her place. Apparently everyone living in the vicinity of my mother’s house had decided to see that movie.

  “Mom,” I said as we waited at a red light, “you’re not going to believe the conversation that was going on behind me when you went to talk to your friend Gloria.”

  I then proceeded to tell her what I had overheard. “What if it was Jeanette sitting behind us? I suspected she was up to something that first night with the carbon monoxide leak. It seemed too contrived. As if she wanted to make herself appear like a victim, too. If it was her in back of us, she all but admitted to killing Edna Mae.”

  “Anyone can admit to anything sitting in a dark theater. Too bad you didn’t turn around to get a better look.”

  I forced myself to keep my mouth shut.

  The light finally turned green and we moved along. There were two SUVs in front of us, each competing for the slowest speed on record. By the time we turned onto my mother’s street, we were still following one of them. It slowed down when it got near to our house, and I kept a good distance behind.

  “Mom! Look! That’s the beige SUV we keep seeing in front of Jeanette’s house. At least I think it looks beige.”

  “See who’s getting out!”

  It was Jeanette. She got out and walked in front of the vehicle just as her garage door opened.

  “She must have taken the garage door clicker with her,” my mother said.

  “Uh-huh.” As Jeanette entered the garage, the driver of the SUV started down the street. I hit the high beams to get a better look at that car. Sure enough, WEST VALLEY HOME MORTGAGE SOLUTIONS was as visible as could be.

  “Do you want me to follow that car, Mom?”

  “Are you nuts? It will look too obvious. People are always calling the sheriff’s station to report someone is following them. Especially at night. Lucinda once called, but it turned out to be the newspaper guy on his delivery route. Of course, that was daylight. No, you’ll think of something else.”

  Yeah, sure I will.

  I lowered my headlights and took my time pulling into the driveway. I could have kicked myself for listening to my mother. Now I was left with a nagging question—Who was driving the beige SUV?

  Chapter 11

  That thought plagued me for at least twenty minutes as I tried to get some sleep. What if it was a woman in that beige SUV and she and Jeanette were the two voices I heard behind me at the theater? Jeanette certainly knew Edna Mae from the book club, but what reason would she have for harming her? Then again, the voice did say, “We were only trying to help. Nothing else was working.” Did Edna Mae need help? And if so, why would it be Jeanette’s concern?

  Jeanette. Jeanette. Jeanette. That woman was ruining my sleep. First the wackadoodle story my mother came up with about the wife of Jeanette’s boyfriend (and we don’t even know if she has one) and now an entirely different Jeanette—perpetrator instead of victim. Was there a way real investigators figured this out? Maybe if I had paid more attention in my Intro to Psych class in college . . .

  I slowly let Jeanette slip out of my mind and wafted into a wonderful oblivion. Wonderful until the obnoxious ringtone from my cell phone sent a shock through my body like lightning striking a golfer. I never should have turned it back on after the movie. I jumped up and reached across the nightstand for the phone.

  It was the middle of the night. Or at least it seemed that way. Everything was still dark. Who the heck could be calling me?

  I expected my voice to be clear and audible, not the foggy jumble of syllables I sputtered out. “Hullo. Who’s this . . . what’s-the-matter?”

  “Phee! Did I wake you? Phee! It’s me. Nate. Nothing’s the matter. Sorry. I thought you’d be up by now.”

  It was starting to sink in. Nate. Nate calling me at some obscene hour.

  “Up by now? It’s still dark.”

  “There’s only a one-hour time difference.”

  “Tell that to the sun.”

  “Sorry kiddo. Listen, I got the info back from Rolo. The book’s as clean as a whistle. No cyphers. No secret messages. No nothing. Believe me, he gave it the once-over. But there is one thing.”

  “What?”

  My mind was starting to clear, and I knew this was probably important.

  “That book isn’t off the grid. It’s so far off it would take light-years to even reach the grid!”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying no one’s ever heard of it. Or the author, for that matter. Who the heck is Lily Margot Gerald? No info there either. Nope, this gal is totally, and I do mean totally, off the radar.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, Phee. When something is that unknown, it almost becomes suspicious for that very reason.”

  “Like the book was planted or something?”

  “Something. But what? I don’t know. Anyway, the sales information for The Twelfth Arrondissement is pretty dismal. Given the Amazon rankings and the info Rolo was able to get from other distributors, the book only sold a handful of copies, and I’ll wager those were the ones your mother’s book club is reading. How many women are in that club?”

  “It varies. Usually twelve to seventeen, but they share books and take them out of the library, too. Why?”

  “Well, according to the info
rmation Rolo dug up, and don’t ask where, even the worst-performing self-published book usually sells seventy-five copies. It would appear yours didn’t even reach twenty percent of that.”

  “How did he find out that information?”

  “Let’s just say Rolo’s skills aren’t limited to cyphers and codes. His real expertise is computer hacking. And let me tell you, I’m on thin ice here. Seems the book curse piqued Rolo’s interest and once that happened, there was no stopping him.”

  “Oh my God. You’re not going to get into any trouble, are you?”

  “Let’s hope not. Working on cyphers is one thing, computer hacking is a whole different animal. However, since Rolo is acting ‘solo’ on this, I’m going to look the other way for the time being.”

  “That’s a relief, but I’m not getting anywhere here. I fly back next week, and it can’t be soon enough. I’m no investigator. All I’m doing is spinning my wheels. Everything I touch seems to have tentacles, and in order to get information, I’m fudging the truth at times. Is that what you have to do in order to pull information from would-be suspects?”

  “Yeah, sometimes. I prefer to think of it as a strategic tactic. So, what did you find out?”

  For the next ten minutes I told Nate everything about everyone. From my suspicion about Minnie Bendelson’s death to my mother’s obsession about a jealous wife. I didn’t leave anything out. The dog park, the pool, the theater, and my conversation with Jerry White. By the time I was finished, Nate knew more about Sun City West than most of its residents.

  “Keep at it, kiddo. If there’s something to connect all of this, you’ll find it. Meanwhile, I’m sure Rolo will keep me posted on the book end of things. It’s still pretty darn strange that this particular novel would be selected for your mother’s book club.”

  “Thanks, Nate. I appreciate it. Hey, before you hang up, who’s handling accounts receivable while I’m gone? I dread the thought of walking back into a mess.”

  “Not to worry. They dragged in Moira Donahoe.”

  “That’s wonderful! How did they manage that? When she retired she swore she’d never set foot in that office again.”

  “Moira likes you. Said you were the only competent clerk in a . . . what did she call that? Oh yeah, ‘in a kennel full of tail-chasing dogs.”’

  I giggled. “Thank her for me. And you, too. Catch you later.”

  “Okay, kiddo. Hey, you do know you can call me if you have any questions or if you just want to talk over stuff. Right?”

  “Absolutely. And get an App with a time zone map!”

  I tapped the End button and glanced at the window. The sun was just coming up, and I was wide awake. No possibility of getting back to sleep now. I threw on my shorts and a top and walked into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I figured that while it was brewing, I could watch the local early-morning news from the small TV on the counter, inches away from the table. I made sure the sound was low, hoping Nate’s phone call hadn’t disturbed my mother or Streetman and that they were still enjoying some sleep.

  A commercial for high-speed Internet ended and the anchor came back on the air. I was halfway listening to her when I heard the words “interesting story coming out of Sun City West, following our Breaking News.”

  I turned the volume up a notch and listened to the “Breaking News” about a foiled carjacking in North Phoenix. Then another series of commercials. I waited patiently for the “news” out of Sun City West, expecting some story about a coyote or golf tournament. What I heard instead hit me harder and faster than the brew sitting in the coffeepot.

  “That’s right, Sean,” one of the two news anchors went on. “Apparently there’s a book circulating around Sun City West that some people claim puts a curse on its readers.”

  The banter continued as I took my first sip of coffee.

  “Is this a popular book that most of us would have sitting on our shelves or downloaded on our e-readers?”

  “Not at all. And until this story came out of Sun City West, no one had heard of it.”

  At that moment, the female anchor held a copy of the book up high and read the title out loud. “The Twelfth Arrondissement.”

  “The Twelfth Arrondissement? I’ve never heard of it, Carla. So, tell me, what’s the book about, and what’s this curse?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to read the book, Sean, but from what I can tell, it’s some sort of gothic romance-mystery.”

  “And the curse?”

  “Well, that’s just it. A book club in Sun City West, Booked 4 Murder, got a little more than it bargained for when four of its fifteen or so members died unexpectedly and a fifth member had a near encounter with death. They were all engrossed in reading that book. We’ll expect to have more on that story on the evening news when their librarian joins us.”

  “I’ll be holding my breath for this one, Carla, but I’m not so sure I’ll be putting the book on my reading list anytime soon.”

  As both anchors chuckled and moved on to the next story, I held back the urge to run into my mother’s bedroom and shake her awake. Instead, I popped a bagel into the toaster and went to get my notes. I couldn’t imagine how that story got to the news media. Jerry White? He mentioned sending an e-mail to the local paper. Did he decide to contact Channel Five instead?

  All of those local news stations have a “Push This Icon” button on their Web sites for the locals to share anything they deem newsworthy. Heck, Mankato had that, too. Did Jerry decide to forgo the letter and just push a button? Whatever the deal was, I planned to be glued to the TV for the evening news, even if it meant sitting through a zillion commercials.

  I was halfway through my second cup of coffee when my mother walked into the kitchen. She barely had time to say good morning when I told her what I had just seen on the news.

  “Goodness, Phee. It had to be one of the women from the club. Or . . . wait a second. You said the librarian was going to be on the news tonight? Maybe it was her. Trying to get some attention.”

  “The librarian didn’t strike me as someone who wanted attention. But the man she was having dinner with the other night sure did. Our very own Mr. White. The one who made a spectacle of himself at the pool. He told me yesterday he planned to send an e-mail to the local paper about the book. Remember? I mentioned it to you last night, after the movie.”

  “Yes, of course I remember. It was only a few hours ago. Hand me my coffee cup from the strainer, will you? And grab me one of those Corelle dinnerware plates. Streetman likes to eat off of them. Refuses to use a bowl.”

  “You mean we’re eating off of the same plates as the dog?”

  “The dishwasher sanitizes everything.”

  I shuddered as I reached behind me for the cup and plate. My mother walked over to the small cubby area in her kitchen that doubled for an office or “catchall,” depending upon the day, and rummaged through a stack of papers.

  “There’s one way to find out, Phee. Here’s the list of all the members in Booked 4 Murder. Seventeen names, but only fifteen are regulars. We can’t be wasting time. You’re flying back, when? Oh, I remember. This coming Thursday. That gives us less than a week.”

  “Wasting time? Less than a week for what? I’m knocking myself out here chasing down rumors and starting up conversations with anyone remotely connected to that book.”

  “Yes, yes. Nick and Nora Charles would be proud of you, but sometimes you have to take a more direct route, and I’m going to help with the driving.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I am going to call everyone on that list and ask them two questions.”

  “Only two?”

  “Stop being funny, Phee. I’m going to come right out and ask them, ‘Did you contact the TV station?’ and ‘Were you the person who recommended that book in the first place?’”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “And you think they’re going to tell you the truth?”

  “Let’s put it this
way, if someone in the club made that call or pushed that button, or whatever it is that they had to do, it will be common knowledge by lunchtime.”

  “What about suggesting the book in the first place?”

  “I don’t think anyone is going to admit to that. I know I wouldn’t. But if anyone knows anything, they might be tempted to rat out the culprit.”

  “Nice club, Mom.”

  “It is a nice club. And a cursed book doesn’t belong there.”

  I started to pour myself another cup of coffee and then thought twice. I’d be way too jittery to accomplish anything. I set down the cup and took a quick breath.

  “Mom, when we were at the Italian place that night, Jerry White was having dinner with the librarian and another couple. I recognized the lady from the pool—Josie Nolan. I found out her last name by snooping around. She and her husband own a realty company. And . . . she was at the pool the same time Thelmalee got stung. Could be she’s the one getting this rumor circulated about a cursed book.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I have no idea, but my gut feeling is that someone in the library is behind all of this.”

  “Now you’re thinking like Columbo. Go! Go find this Josie Nolan and nag her to death!”

  “Mom, you’ve been watching way too many crime shows. And that one’s been off the air for over a decade.”

  “But you’re going to do that, aren’t you? Find that Nolan woman, I mean.”

  I let out a long, exaggerated breath. “Yeah, I suppose I am. I’m going to rinse off and head over to Nolan and Nolan Realty. Time for me to look into a nice retirement place in Sun City West.”

  My mother almost jumped from her chair and, for a minute, I wasn’t sure if she was ecstatic at the thought of my eventually living here or overjoyed because I was checking out a “viable lead” in this bizarre investigation of hers.

  “Josie Nolan may think she’s showing me property, but my motives have nothing to do with real estate. Have fun making your phone calls. Maybe we can make more sense of this when I get back.”