Death In The Stacks: An Elinor & Dot library mystery

by Linda S. Bingham

  “Some families aren’t close. I got a cousin nobody’s seen since he was fourteen.”

  “At least you know he’s kin to you. I’m not sure Janie even knew that much. After her parents died, she was invited to share Eula Wyckham’s home. She finished high school, got married, and had no further contact with the woman till this summer when Eula Wyckham began attending New Community Church.”

  “Where Janie works.”

  “I don’t think it was a coincidence. Eula Wyckham was dying and wanted to re-establish a connection with Janie, perhaps tell her about the will. But, although Janie welcomed her to the church and sold her a ticket to her latest fundraiser, she drew the line at going to Wyckham’s house. Janie didn’t want to be friends with Eula Wyckham.”

  “What would’ve happened to the nurse if she hadn’t had car trouble that day?”

  “I think she would have lived to die of cancer. And Patrick Allen Childers would be tapping away at his latest romantic fantasy.”

  “I never would’ve figured him for getting into something like that. No wonder he kept it to himself.”

  “That Saturday, July 1, the last day of her life, a trouble light showed up on Eula Wyckham’s dashboard. She was on her way to her final appointment of the day in a remote valley on the north side of Big Bear Mountain. She couldn’t call her mechanic from there, but on her return trip, she realized she could stop off at the Calender residence and pay Janie for that banquet ticket.” Elinor interrupted herself. “Did you find a ticket among her effects?”

  “Yep. Poor lady paid for a dinner she never got to eat.”

  “Just as well—it wasn’t very good. Janie said the woman took a ten-dollar bill from her pocket, which means she didn’t need her totebag inside the house.”

  “That kid Jeffrey could’ve seen it in the car and taken it. Wyckham could’ve driven off without noticing it was missing.”

  “She would notice when she got to the library. A bag would be substantially lighter without a laptop in it. Janie says she left the room to fetch the ticket, and when she returned, Eula Wyckham told her, without emotion or ceremony, that she had cancer and was dying. Somehow in the telling, Janie realized that Eula Wyckham was her mother.”

  “She couldn’t be.”

  “I’m wondering now if either sister was Janie’s mother? Eula Wyckham was a midwife earlier in her nursing career. That might be significant.”

  “What if none of it matters? The Calenders live right off 143 and Mathew Calender is known to go off into the wilderness for days at a time. His wife works. His kids run around getting in trouble. The murderer reads our appeal in the newspaper and thinks Mathew Calender is the perfect one to lay the blame on. He watches for his chance, plants the laptop we’re looking for, and eventually Mathew Calender finds it.”

  “In this scenario, Jeffrey Calender doesn’t steal the computer from Eula Wyckham’s car, a third party stashes it in Mathew Calender’s workshop.”

  “I know for a fact the sixteen-year-old hated Childers’ guts for what he did to her boyfriend. She told me so.”

  “Guy Pettibone was in jail when Patrick was killed. Does anybody think that a teenaged girl plunged a knife into Patrick’s throat? Why plant the laptop at all? Why not just fling it off the Kiamichi River bridge?”

  “Dammit! I just can’t come up with a good reason for that computer ending up where it did and how the Calenders acted when it was found. Anybody else would’ve said, I have no idea how that laptop got in my shop. But Mathew Calender goes and turns himself in and signs a confession. Maybe he’s craftier than I give him credit. He can’t give us a single detail about either crime other than to say he stabbed the old lady in the library and Patrick Allen Childers in the alley behind his business. Without proof, we have to let him go. And you’ve been no help, Elinor. All this business about banquet tickets and birth mothers—it’s just a distraction, something to send us chasing down rabbit holes. Meanwhile, the real homicidal maniac is out there somewhere getting away with murder.”

  Ruff, tired of waiting for DeWayne to retrieve the tennis ball, had turned his attention to DeWayne’s shoelaces. Aggrieved and aggravated already, DeWayne took this as a final insult.

  “Dadgummit! Look at that. Little booger’s chewed right through my laces.”

  “He likes shoes,” Elinor remarked. “DeWayne, I’m sorry I haven’t been more help to you. But I think my tangled skein of yarn is about to smooth out. I need to call Dot.”

  *****

  They were making progress on planning the library rededication. Claire Holmes, the emcee, had written an appropriately secular introduction to the program. Their acting mayor, Shelby Jacks, would announce a modest increase in next year’s library budget. Band director Randy Faulkner would provide a string ensemble to play a Beethoven sonata. Libby and Dot had set out a clipboard to sign up patrons willing to speak about the library resources and programs most important to them. Rexie Roberts would compliment the library’s video selections and recommend certain fitness titles that were lacking. Mothers of the library’s youngest readers would thank the Gypsy Lady who kept their small ones rapt with attention for almost half an hour every Saturday. Still others would make a pitch for favorite authors and genres.

  “And then I’ll utter a few more unreligious words,” Claire summed up.

  “And the library will have closed the books on an unfortunate narrative,” Elinor agreed.

  “You’re still thinking we can get it on the schedule for October 1?”

  “It doesn’t interfere with your fall fete, does it?”

  “That’s not till the end of October.”

  “Oh, Claire, before I forget. You remember the day I tried to get that password out of Lucy Childers?”

  “How can I forget? Did you ever figure out what it was?”

  “I think I’ve finally cracked the code. I have a call in to tech support so I can give it a try. But what I wanted to say is that while Ann Berry was helping me look for the password, she found your name scribbled on a folder Patrick left on his desk that evening. Seems he was working up an insurance quote for you.”

  “Those were the poor man’s final thoughts? How sad.”

  “I thought I had it right here, but I must’ve left it on the breakfast table. I’ll drop it by tomorrow.”

  “I’ve been so busy I never did get back to that project.”

  “Well, now you can. Good day.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  Elinor opened the door to Claire’s office. Across the hall, Janie Calender had her head down over a spreadsheet. Elinor didn’t disturb her.

  *****

  Claire Holmes stared at a blank sheet of paper, pen poised, waiting for inspiration for her Sunday homily. She looked up to see Janie Calender locking her office door, purse over one arm. “Is it lunch time already?”

  “Still early. I’m off to the post office. Need anything while I’m out?”

  “Can’t think of anything. I’m waiting for that couple who wants to get married.”

  “I’ll be happy to pick up a sandwich for you.”

  “Don’t bother. As soon as I’m done with them, I’m heading out to visit Mrs. Tabor. She’s out of the hospital now.”

  “Oh, good. Give her my love. I’ll try to get by to see her myself soon. See you later, then.”

  An idea came to Claire and she quickly jotted it down. “Bye,” she said vaguely.

  Janie Calender drove along Water Street to High, turned left toward town, and drove past the post office. At the center of town she turned west on Main. Two blocks further she crossed the railroad tracks, turned left, went another block, and turned left again, bringing her around to Depot Street, now heading east. She drove slowly past the Fordyce Chandler Civic Center, noting the pattern of vehicles parked along the street and in front of the police station. There was Elinor Woodward’s car and Dot Hardwick’s. There was Chief Ratliff’s patrol car. All accounted for.

  Depot Street meandered th
rough the Bois d’Arc neighborhood and turned into a country lane called Route 2, though it had another name on Google Maps. Here, houses were set back from the road to give a horse or a cow an extended front yard to graze. Another mile and Route 2 crossed the state highway, continuing on, now running northeast. Janie chose a long driveway shaded by a mature stand of pines, entering confidently, unafraid. The drive opened out to a clearing that was the setting for the beautifully restored farmhouse known still by the name of its first inhabitants, the Cooper sisters.

  Janie got out of the car and approached the front door. She knocked loudly, got no answer, and walked around to the carport and knocked again. This door was inset with a window. She peered in and saw a manila folder lying on a small table just within. She tried the door and found it unlocked, not surprising in these parts. She herself seldom locked anything but the front door. Entering the house, she called out to anyone who might be in the house.

  “Yoohoo! Anyone home?” She reached for the folder on the table.

  Elinor stood up from a kitchen chair she had pulled over to the corner formed by right-angle counters. “Yes, someone is home,” she said quietly. “I’ve been expecting you, Janie.”

  “Oh, my goodness, Mrs. Woodward! You scared me to death.”

  “That folder is empty. Patrick Allen Childers did not leave notes for Claire.”

  “What are you talking about? I… I don’t know…”

  “Yes, you do. You were listening over the intercom when I told Claire about that folder, but it was a ruse, Janie. I know that you killed Patrick Allen Childers. He was about to tell Claire there was no long-term health policy in her name. She thought the premium was too high and wanted to save the church money. Patrick called back and, not knowing you had anything to do with it, tried to get more information about the so-called policy. You said that you could easily clear up the confusion and would bring the policy to him that evening, the night of the youth banquet. You said you might be late, and he agreed to wait for you. You sent your husband and children to the banquet without you, and drove your daughter’s car to that dark alley where you stabbed Patrick Allen Childers to death.”

  “Mrs. Woodward! My husband confessed to that crime. It’s horrible, but true. Mathew did it.”

  “Your husband made a noble but futile effort to keep the mother of his children out of prison. He had no idea you had already killed Eula Wyckham. He figured it out, though, once Jeffrey showed him a Dell laptop identical to the one you worked on at home. Eula Wyckham carried yours away by accident, didn’t she? And you followed her to the library to get it back.”

  “That is not true!”

  “You must have been horrified when you discovered the switch.”

  “That stupid, stupid woman!”

  “You never let anyone touch that machine because it contained all your secrets. The invoices you created to look exactly like the ones you paid at the office, though yours were always for slightly more. Dot Hardwick has been going over the church’s accounting procedures and estimates that you’ve skimmed off a hundred thousand dollars in the past two years, but you don’t have a penny of that money, do you, Janie? It’s all gone to feed your gambling compulsion.”

  “Elinor Woodward, if you think I’m going to let you get away with calling me a liar, a killer, and a thief, you’re wrong. That interfering old nurse couldn’t stop me, and you’re not going to stop me either!”

  Janie yanked open the knife drawer that stood between them. The drawer was empty.

  “I removed the knives,” Elinor said.

  Janie lunged for the next drawer, but froze when the lights suddenly came on in the kitchen. She whirled around to find Dot Hardwick and Rexie Roberts standing in the doorway, Dot holding a half-grown dog.

  “Don’t you touch her,” Rexie warned. “I know Tai Chi and I’m not afraid to use it.” Twisted in her hands was a pair of black tights. She pulled Janie Calender’s arms behind her and bound them. Janie, shocked, white, and speechless, sagged into the chair Elinor had vacated.

  “Oh, my, god. I can’t believe this is happening to me,” she said.

  Dot was on the phone. “We’ve got her,” she tersely reported and hung up.

  “Eula Wyckham wasn’t your mother,” Elinor said. “What was she really? Your aunt?”

  “I’m not kin to anybody,” Janie said. “They were sisters, Eula and Ada. Eula Wyckham brought me to Oklahoma as a newborn. She was called out one night to deliver a baby for some wretch who already had a bunch of sick, half-starved kids. She didn’t want another and begged the midwife to get rid of me, just toss me out the window on her way back to town.”

  “She saved your life. Why did you hate her?”

  “You think she did me any favors? My mother was chronically ill and my father a drunk. She thought she could make up for it by leaving me her sad little house and ugly car? I would never drive a car that dark. It would turn my luck.”

  “What’s wrong with driving a dark car?” Rexie wanted to know. “I was thinking of making you an offer on that car. It’s parked over at Mr. Weathers’ place. We walked over.”

  “You let Mathew take the blame for all this,” Elinor said.

  “Why shouldn’t he? He’s never done anything for the kids and me. While he was off playing the great macho hunter, Sara was plotting her escape, and Jeffrey was growing weirder by the day. When he realized it was me the police were looking for, he wanted to spare them, not have them see their mother carted off to prison. But he didn’t have the imagination to come up with a single detail. Nobody believed him.”

  “Why did Eula Wyckham bring her computer into your house?”

  “She had been writing to some woman she claimed was my sister.”

  “And she wanted you to have that information while she was still alive to pass it on. Time was running out for Nurse Wyckham.”

  “She had become obsessed with finding those people, but it was only to appease her guilty conscience. I didn’t care about brothers and sisters I never knew I had. She said she would send one last message and that I would have to follow up. I just wanted her out of my house. I went to get that ticket and the fool packed up the wrong computer and I didn’t notice till after she was gone.”

  “You had to act quickly before she opened your computer and understood what you were working on. You were smart to take a bold approach. Rather than sneak through the back door of the library and look guilty if someone saw you, you would come through the front door and walk straight over to the copy machine and raise the lid. We were so busy we hardly noticed, but if we did, we would think you were refilling the paper tray or unclogging a jam. With the view of that back aisle blocked, you went to the back where Eula Wyckham had just taken what she thought was her computer out of her bag. You had brought a thin sharp blade from your husband’s workshop and a latex glove he used for staining furniture. Premeditated murder, Janie. You stabbed Eula Wyckham in the throat and watched her fall face forward into the keyboard of the library’s #3 machine. You removed the latex glove, pulling it over the handle of the knife, and dropped them both into her totebag and shoved it behind a row of books. You slipped the laptop into your own bag, returned to the copier and lowered the lid. You came over to the desk to pay for copies you never made, and even had the presence of mind to sell me a ticket to the Little Rays banquet.”

  “I always ask for a receipt when I give people cash,” Dot said.

  “What do you get out of playing the slots?” Rexie wanted to know.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Janie whispered. “It makes me happy.”

  “You should try organic exercise. It does wonders for depression.”

  Sirens announced the approach of law enforcement. DeWayne Ratliff and Shelby Jacks crowded into Elinor’s kitchen.

  “I think this confession will stick,” Elinor said to DeWayne.

  “Jesus Christ, Janie,” Shelby said. “Why didn’t you just throw the friggin’ laptop in the river?”

&nbs
p; “Nobody would know it wasn’t mine. They were just alike. I never dreamed Jeffrey would go snooping around his father’s shop.”

  A uniformed deputy appeared in the doorway. “It’s not in her car, DeWayne.”

  “Where’s Childers’ phone?” DeWayne demanded. “Come on, confession is good for the soul, Mrs. Calender. Where’s the cell phone you took from this tabletop?”

  “Upstairs over Mathew’s shop , behind the red stain.”

  *****

  Elinor peeked in at the apple pie browning in her oven and went to open the door to let Ruff in. “Here you go, Ruff. I saved you some piecrust.” The bite was gone in a single gulp. The dog was almost fully grown now, already living up to Kate’s promise of becoming a sentinel and companion. Ears rising to full alert, he let out his signature rrrufff.

  “Must be Dot. She’s early.”

  The Datsun pulled in next to Elinor’s car in the carport and Dot entered the kitchen. “Mmmm, smells good in here. Finally feels like fall. Did you want to walk over?”

  “It’s a fine day for it, but I’m taking a covered dish. Besides, I don’t want the dog following us.”

  “What do you reckon she’ll wear?”

  “The bride? Oh, probably her customary outfit. After all, they’re having the service in the backyard. Claire said she would wear her robe, though, to give the occasion a sense of custom.”

  “She could hardly preside over a bigger bunch of non-conformists.”

  “Regular attendance at Sunday morning worship has little to do with being ethical and good-hearted.”

  Friends of longstanding need no preamble and Dot took the change of topic in stride.

  “I didn’t rule Janie out because she’s a church lady and do-gooder. It was just that Rexie kept turning up, you know?”

  “Like a guardian angel?” Elinor said, teasing her friend.