But it was nothing of importance—just a mention of the town reimbursing him for some business he conducted with the Carthage Company on their behalf.
“Nothing useful?” Sunny asked.
“Not so far, but I’ll have to dig into it more later when we aren’t so busy.”
I tapped my fingers against the pitted oak top of the circulation desk. I’d never heard of a Carthage Company operating in the area, but it had probably been out of business for years. I straightened the papers and closed the folder. Maybe Aunt Lydia would know more about it if I could remember to ask her.
As I placed the file back on the shelf that held any pulled archival materials, I glanced over at the front doors. “Uh-oh, there’s Zelda, making a beeline for the desk.”
“Looks like she’s on a mission. Can’t believe she doesn’t have the whole story yet, but you never know.”
Zelda reached the desk, breathing hard. “Hello, dears. Let me just catch my breath.” She leaned against the counter. “Have some news for you, Amy, if you have a minute.”
I looked her over, noting her flushed cheeks and mussed curls. “Sure. You heard about the break-in and poor Clark Fowler, I guess?”
Zelda fanned her face with one hand. “I did, but this has nothing to do with Clark, tragic as that is. Or the problem at your house. Already talked to Lydia and some others about all that. No, this has to do with our little investigation.”
“What investigation?” Sunny asked, widening her blue eyes.
“Oh, it’s silly.” I shot Zelda a sharp look. “Just some historical stuff Zelda and Walt were looking into. Related to Richard’s research.”
“Okay.” Sunny bit her lower lip. “Didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s nothing, my dear,” Zelda fanned vigorously. “Walt and I are digging into the past for some information Amy thought might prove useful.” She stopped her hand in midmotion. “Might even help your little group’s effort to halt the subdivision, come to think of it.”
Sunny was suddenly all attention. “Really? I’d like to hear more about that.”
“Be happy to share if Amy agrees.” Zelda glanced at me.
“It’s fine,” I said. “But maybe we should talk in the workroom. We can leave the door open to keep a lookout for patrons who need assistance.”
“Oh, I’ll cover the desk,” Sunny said. “Just fill me in later.”
I thanked her and invited Zelda to walk around the desk and into the workroom.
“So what did you find?” I asked as I pulled the door closed behind us.
Zelda perched on one of the stools. “That Clark was right, for one thing. About Eloise and some of the children probably being sick before the mushroom incident, I mean.”
“So there might have been another reason for the deaths?” I stopped short as I stepped on a pencil that had rolled from the table onto the floor. Picking up the pencil, I noticed the dust clinging to one of the table legs. The workroom could stand a thorough cleaning. I sighed as I stood up. One more thing that needed to be done . . .
“Possibly.” Zelda smoothed her zebra-patterned skirt down over her knees. “I mean, it’s just hearsay, but some of the older folks we’ve talked to remember Eloise Fowler feeling poorly long before she died. Old Mrs. Croft, who worked the drugstore counter back in the day, recalls Eloise buying some stomach medications and complaining of nausea and cramps and other problems. Mrs. Croft didn’t think much of it at the time, although she says she also noticed that Eloise had lost a considerable amount of weight over a few months.”
“That is interesting.” I tapped the pencil against my palm, my mind racing. Perhaps Daniel Cooper hadn’t been the only person to die of poisoning in Taylorsford. But he’d passed away in 1925, and Eloise Fowler and the children hadn’t died until more than thirty years later. If Eleanora had left town soon after the trial, she couldn’t have been involved in the orphanage case. Which meant maybe there had been someone else who’d wanted Daniel dead and then killed the others. But why? Unless it was a psychopath, of course. A serial killer . . . I banged the pencil against the edge of the table, shattering the lead.
Zelda eyed me for a second before continuing to speak. “And the Reverend Kilpatrick, who’s in a nursing home now but still has all his faculties, told us he was concerned over the health of the orphans several months before their deaths. He went out to lead a Bible program that summer and felt many of the children were far too thin. Claims he even questioned Eloise about whether the town leaders had given her enough money for groceries.”
I dropped the broken pencil into an old cigar box that held other pens and markers. “Had they?”
“She said so, but who knows? Might have been afraid to say otherwise—worried about offending the town council and losing her job.”
“I guess that’s possible. I still worry about that.” I tried to end this statement with a little laugh, but it came out more as a nervous squeak.
“Oh, don’t you fret. Everyone knows you do a great job with hardly any funding.”
“Well, not everyone,” I said. “By the way, speaking of common knowledge, what do you know about Kurt Kendrick? I guess you heard he’s really Karl Klass, Paul Dassin’s former ward?”
“Yes, I heard that.” Zelda brushed some invisible lint from her dark blouse. “I wasn’t terribly surprised, to tell you the truth. That he was not quite who he said he was, I mean. Never did trust the man. He had some business dealings with my late husband, you see.”
I stepped closer to her. “Really? What sort of business?”
“Well, you know Steve owned a moving company, right? Anyway, not long before he passed, he took some jobs with Kendrick. He said the pay was incredible for what he had to do.”
“Which was?”
“Just transporting a few art pieces, or so Steve claimed. He did say it was different from his usual moving jobs. He had to take more precautions, for one thing. The pieces were packed up in cases with all sorts of protective wraps and such, so he didn’t see what they were, but he had to drive extra careful so he didn’t jolt them or anything.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“No, I didn’t, because it always seemed like the timing was odd. Late at night or early in the morning. And Steve wasn’t allowed to talk about it. Supposedly so no one would try to hijack his truck. I guess the artworks were really valuable, and Kendrick was worried someone would try to steal them. Anyway, Steve moved stuff between Kendrick’s gallery in DC and the estate out here. Back and forth, it seemed like.” Zelda lifted her shoulders as if shaking off a chill. “It just never felt right to me, is all. Not anything I could put my finger on. And once, when business was bad, he offered Steve a private loan. Said it was to tide us over, but I told Steve no way, and that was the end of that.”
Zelda leaned forward. “Just between you and me, I’ve heard that Kurt Kendrick did lend money to others in town, even when the banks refused. Don Virts, for one. He had a bad credit history, and the only way he got his practice set up in town was with a private loan from Kendrick.”
I swallowed a swearword. Now here was a smoking gun. If Don had borrowed money, a lot of money, and hadn’t repaid it, perhaps Kendrick had sent a message through some hired goon? Maybe killing Doris had been his way of threatening Don to pay? Sending a message that the rest of Don’s family would also be at risk unless he coughed up the cash? I shook out my clenched fingers and forced a casual tone. “Aunt Lydia thinks Kendrick must’ve made his money illegally. His original stake, I mean. She said maybe he’s gone straight since then, but she suspects he started out by running drugs.”
Zelda nodded. “Wouldn’t surprise me, to be honest. Although I’m not sure he’s such a choirboy now. Like I said, I always felt there was something not quite right about those deals he struck with my husband. Even Steve seemed a bit nervous, although he liked the money. But he often mentioned that Kendrick’s assistants packed guns and looked like thugs.”
“Bodyguards or
private security, I guess.”
“Yes, I suppose.” Zelda placed one finger to her chin. “Anyway, Mr. Kendrick was nice enough when Steve died. Sent me a check for work Steve had supposedly done for him right before the accident. I wasn’t sure that was the truth, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“I can’t blame you for that,” I said right before a loud bang from the direction of the circulation desk made me jump.
“I demand to see the director!” shouted a man’s voice. I spun around and pushed my way through the door, Zelda on my heels.
Dashing out of the workroom, I came face-to-face with a furious Bob Blackstone, who was leaning across the desk, shaking his fist at Sunny.
“What’s going on?” I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart. Yes, this was the mayor and basically my boss, but I wasn’t going to tolerate anyone bullying my staff. “Mr. Blackstone, there’s no need to yell. Whatever your problem, let’s discuss it calmly and quietly. This is a library, after all.”
“It’s you I want to talk to, anyway,” Bob replied, lowering his voice and dropping his hand to his side.
“Well, here I am.” I lifted my chin to meet his angry gaze.
“Not for long, though, if I have anything to say about it. You’re a town employee, you know. You need to watch your mouth and think before you start spreading rumors.”
So this was about me mentioning the argument in the diner to Brad. I should’ve known. “I wasn’t relaying any rumors. I just told the chief deputy what I saw.”
“And set him and his boys on me. They’ve been hounding me ever since, practically accusing me of Fowler’s murder. I had to call my lawyer to get them off my back.”
“If you have nothing to hide, it will be cleared up soon enough,” Zelda said, wrinkling her nose as she eyed Bob.
“You stay out of it, Zelda Shoemaker,” Bob said. “What are you doing behind the desk, anyway? Sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong, I bet. I know that’s your favorite hobby.”
“Volunteering,” Sunny and I said in unison.
Zelda snorted and stepped out from behind the desk to face off with Bob. “None of your business, Mr. Mayor. What should be your business is this crime wave that’s struck our town. Two murders and a break-in within a month? I’d think you’d be concerning yourself with that problem, not harassing young women just trying to do their jobs.”
“If they stuck to doing their jobs, everything would be fine. But this one”—he pointed at me—“is too busy throwing innocent people under the bus for crimes they didn’t commit. Someone”—he cast another suspicious glance in my direction—“even tried to implicate Mr. Kendrick by saying his car was seen by Ms. Fields near the archives’ building the day Doris was killed. But I’ve gotten word that the sheriff’s office looked into it and already exonerated Kendrick. As they will me, soon enough.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. So Kurt Kendrick had been cleared of any suspicion. Well, maybe the authorities were convinced, but I wasn’t. Not yet.
“And I’m just trying to do my best for this town too,” Bob said, “with no thanks from Miss Flower Child over there and her tribe of hippies, or whatever they are, who spend most of their time trying to prevent honest businessmen from conducting legal transactions.”
Sunny brushed back her hair with one hand. I couldn’t be quite sure, but I thought she thrust up her middle finger as she did so. “If you mean that subdivision project of yours, yes, I do mean to prevent it. As do a lot of other people, and not all of them ‘hippies,’ as you said. We’re holding a protest a couple of days from now on the old Cooper place, by the way. Thought you should know.”
Bob flushed as red as a ripe tomato. “Just try it. That’s my land. I’ll have you arrested as trespassers.”
“Not if we stay on the road behind the fence. That’s public access. And Mrs. Tucker gave us permission to use the edge of her land that connects with your property. So I don’t think you can stop us, Mr. Mayor.”
“Jane Tucker, Brad’s mom?” I asked, blinking rapidly. Talk about awkward, especially if Brad had to arrest any protesters.
Sunny shrugged. “She supports our movement. Not that surprising. She doesn’t want a bunch of houses springing up next door to her family home.”
“Truth is, nobody wants all those houses except you, Bob. And whoever is bankrolling you,” Zelda said.
“Nobody’s bankrolling me,” snapped Bob. But he shifted his gaze, looking past Zelda to stare at a “Reading Transforms” poster on the wall behind the desk. “I’m working with developers on the project, but it’s just me making any investment.”
I’d always heard you could tell someone was lying if they wouldn’t look you in the eye, so I was pretty sure this was not the truth. “Whatever the situation, Mr. Blackstone, you really can’t blame people for being less than thrilled with your project. A lot of folks think that land should be turned into a park. Something we don’t have. Something that would benefit everyone.”
Bob turned his intense gaze on me. “Something that would cost money to maintain. A drain on town resources. Just like this library.”
Zelda stepped forward and shook her finger at Bob. “You may be the mayor, but you can’t make decisions without the town council’s approval. So don’t be threatening to do anything to this library. You want to see protests, you’d surely see some then, I promise you.”
“Don’t worry, Zelda. I won’t touch your precious library”—he glared at me—“no matter how much I’d like to. But I would appreciate it if town employees stopped suggesting I had anything to do with Clark Fowler’s death. That’s a damned lie.” He yanked down his jacket sleeve so hard, a button popped off and flew onto the circulation desk. Bob grabbed it up before Sunny or I could move. “Didn’t like the guy, but I’m no killer, whatever some outsider might think.”
Outsider. There it was. Because I wasn’t born here. Because I hadn’t lived here all my life.
But Bob Blackstone plans to bring in a lot more outsiders, doesn’t he? So look him in the eye and smile. I don’t care how much your stomach knots up. Don’t you dare let him intimidate you.
“I only told Deputy Tucker what I saw and heard. The honest truth. Never claimed I thought you were guilty of anything. That’s not for me to say.”
“You’re right it’s not,” Bob Blackstone said before turning his glare on Sunny. “As for you and your friends—go ahead and protest. Won’t make a damned bit of difference.”
Sunny pressed one finger against her lips for a second before replying. “I guess we’ll see.”
“Yeah, we’ll see all right.” Bob turned on his heel and strode out of the library.
“How’d he get elected, again?” I asked as the front doors slammed.
“Hell if I know,” Sunny replied.
“Laziness.” Zelda shook her head. “No one willing to run against him and his family name, and everyone figuring it doesn’t matter anyway. No one wanting to step up and fight for change. See what it gets us?”
Sunny thrust back her narrow shoulders. “I’m willing to fight.”
Zelda looked her up and down and smiled. “Maybe you should run for mayor next election.”
“Maybe I will,” Sunny said, her eyes sparkling.
I almost said something about losing my assistant but stopped myself in time. It wasn’t such a bad idea, all in all. The town could use someone like Sunny.
“I’ll vote for you,” Zelda said. “Heck, I’ll be your campaign manager, if you want.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Sunny said. “But first, we have to stop this development.”
“No, first we have to shelve some books.” I pointed at a couple of full book carts. “Unless Zelda wants to be trained to be a real volunteer.”
Zelda grinned and patted her curls. “Think I’ll run along now. Got a hair appointment.”
“Sure you do,” I said with a grin of my own. But I quickly sobered as I thought of everything she�
�d told me. “I do appreciate what you’ve found out from your interviews. Sounds like some of it might actually tie into current events.”
“Could be.” Zelda turned to go but paused to look back at Sunny and me. “The thing is, if it does, such knowledge might be dangerous.”
Sunny placed her hands on her hips and tossed back her hair. “In my experience, lack of knowledge is what’s really scary.”
“Spoken like our next mayor,” Zelda called out as she headed for the front doors.
“You’ve done it now,” I said as Sunny grabbed one of the full book carts. “Zelda is going to nag you to run for office until you do. And my aunt will probably join the effort.”
“I don’t mind.” Sunny pushed the cart out from behind the desk. “I think it’s a brilliant idea. Don’t you?”
“I think I’d better start looking for a new library assistant,” I said.
Chapter Fifteen
Dragging myself home after work that Thursday, I considered calling Richard and cancelling our eight-o’clock date. I wasn’t in the mood to make small talk or deal with anything that required being pleasant. But I’d made the mistake of mentioning Richard’s invitation to Aunt Lydia, so I was stuck. If I didn’t go over to his house and visit for at least an hour, I’d never hear the end of it.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Aunt Lydia examined me and pursed her lips.
“Sure, why not?” I’d thrown on an old pair of jeans and a worn *NSYNC concert T-shirt. Battered sneakers completed my ensemble.
Disapproval wrinkled Aunt Lydia’s brow. “It’s a bit . . . inelegant.”
“Well, Richard’s seen me in my gardening outfit, so this is a step-up.”
“I just thought perhaps that lovely little sundress . . .”
No, no, and no. I knew which dress she meant. The one she’d bought for me because she’d said the peach fabric went perfectly with my coloring. The one with the low-cut neckline that made me look more like a waitress at Hooters than a librarian.
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