MELODY and MURDER (Melody The Librarian Book 1)

by Leslie Leigh

  “You think someone murdered Jacob? Why?”

  “I don’t know why,” I admitted. “Maybe as a convenient way to make him go away. I’ve realized that there is a singular lack of sympathy for these street people. Seriously, all the comments I’ve heard about his death are pretty much what you might say about finding a dead pigeon. ‘Oh, he’s better off,’ or ‘Good riddance. He used to drive my customers away,’ or ‘At least he didn’t suffer.’ They’re all just glad that he’s gone.”

  “Lack of sympathy doesn’t equate to a motive to commit murder, Mel.”

  “Hey, haven’t you heard of a housewife killing her husband because of the way he chews his food? Day after day, some little annoyance grating away on someone’s nerves with no way to make it stop? And then, one day they snap.”

  Michael nodded. “Yeah, but it’s a stretch.”

  “This wouldn’t be unheard of, Michael,” I continued, making my case. “In Central and South America, the homeless street people – including children – were sometimes gathered up by police and never seen again. They did so in collusion with the merchants who thought their presence was making the tourists uncomfortable.”

  “So you think the police chief did it?” he smiled, eager to express his sarcasm. “Or was it the pastor? Come on, Mel, tell me who I should arrest.” Michael turned to smile at Sam, thinking she would appreciate his sense of humor. Sam, however, glared back at him.

  “I don’t know why you’re not taking this more seriously, Michael,” she scolded. “Melody is making some valid points. She seems to be the only person who is giving any thought to this man’s death, and you should hear her out.”

  I made a mental note to swear my undying loyalty to Sam for the way she’d just backed me up. Her reprimand sobered Michael up. “Okay, Mel, is there anything else you think that I should know?”

  Now that I had his full attention, I tried to keep my emotions under wraps and present my hunches calmly and logically. “Alright. So we’ve established motive, albeit among a broad pool of potential suspects. Onto the method: it’s unlikely that Jacob would eat a sufficiently large enough quantity of poisoned feed to induce a coma, either accidentally or intentionally. But there are other ways to deliver the chemical. Alpha-chloralose is not water soluble, but it will dissolve in alcohol. Jacob was found with an empty bottle of wine. It’s possible that the wine was spiked with the poison.

  “As for opportunity, anyone wishing to harm Jacob would have had ample opportunity to do so. He was vulnerable, with nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, and at the mercy of the charity or malevolence of others. He was a moving target, available 24 hours a day, seven days a week.”

  Both Sam and I watched as Michael digested this information. Finally, he said, “It’s a good theory, but it’s all speculation.”

  “Which is why an autopsy needs to be performed,” I insisted.

  “Like I told you earlier, Melody, there are other considerations.”

  “So you don’t want to ruffle the Chief’s feathers, is that it? Well, how about a different tact? What if you were to test the wine bottle found at the scene? If it’s clean, I’ll drop the whole thing and you’ll never hear another peep out of me about this. But if there are traces of the avicide or something else in it, then you’ll request an exam. Deal?”

  “And how would you get your hands on the wine bottle, Mel?”

  “I would go to the library and remove it from under the sink,” I said matter-of-factly.

  “You’ve got the bottle in your possession?” Michael asked, incredulously.

  “Yes, I do. The Chief didn’t seem concerned. I offered to clean up after his deputy dropped it, and he was more than willing to have me do it.”

  “Wow,” was all Michael could say, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s go get the bottle and I’ll have it tested. We’re sure not going to get any answers from the police. And if there’s no poison residue, you’ll let this drop, right?”

  I made an X across my chest with my finger. “Promise and hope to die,” I said, before realizing that it was kind of an insensitive remark, given the context.

  “Good enough for me,” Michael replied with a smirk. He looked up to see Mom and the kids approaching. “When we leave, just tell Mom you want us to see where you work. Don’t say anything about this to her. I don’t want word to get out to anyone until we’re done with the test.”

  “When will I hear back from you on the results?” I persisted.

  “Within the week,” Michael smiled. “I’ll have the lab expedite the tests. Good enough?”

  Sam and I looked at each other and smiled. “Sure, that would be great. “Poor Michael. Caught in a crossfire between his sister and his wife, he hadn’t stood a chance. I could tell that he realized it now. Still, even more than the pressure we’d applied, I think he knew it was the right thing to do. I felt obliged to acknowledge this. “Thank you, Michael.”

  Chapter 14

  Michael was a man of his word, and contacted me on Thursday. There were only a couple of patrons, so I took the call at my desk, keeping my voice low as I asked whether the test results were in.

  “Yes, they are. Are you ready?” he teased. “I wish I could imitate a drum roll for you, but, alas, I didn’t inherit your musical talent. Alright, then. The test results revealed…yes, traces of alpha-chloralose! I still don’t know how you guessed this, but your deduction was correct. Your Jacob did drink from a bottle that was laced with pigeon poison.”

  I was speechless. I felt pleased that my hunch was proven correct – but only because Jacob’s death wasn’t dismissed as unworthy of anyone’s time or attention. At the same time, it felt scary to think that someone would actually murder him. That is, if the substance was present in his body, which had yet to be determined.

  “Are you still there?” Michael asked. “I was allowing you time to gloat and say, ‘I told you so!’”

  “No, I don’t feel like gloating. This is disturbing, now that it’s no longer a theory. So what’s the next step?”

  “I’ve already contacted the coroner and given him a heads-up that I’ll stop by tomorrow with the paperwork he needs requesting the autopsy. Our timing was good; Chief Benson had just emailed him that the authorization for cremation had been approved by Human Services. The coroner is able to perform the autopsy immediately.”

  “And then what happens?” I asked.

  “Well, as long as I’m in the neighborhood, I’ll come into town and advise the chief that I’m opening an investigation. Professional courtesy. And I’d like to speak with that pastor…what was his name?”

  “Donald Paul,” I said. There was a pause. Michael must have been writing down the info.

  “Pastor Paul,” he mumbled. “I’ll find out where he purchased the avicide. Most likely, it was the hardware store. I’ll ask for a list of customers who purchased that chemical. It may be a little premature, but I’ve got a hunch that the autopsy will show the alpha-chloralose in the vagrant…I mean, in Jacobs’s system, so I might as well be proactive.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked, realizing as soon as I formed the question that I’d likely be rebuffed.

  “Yes, there is. Do not talk to anyone about this. It’s a small town, and the sooner word gets around, the more defensive people will become. Now, I’m willing to share some information about the investigation with you as long as you keep it to yourself. After all, you got the ball rolling. But I’d rather have the element of surprise on my side, for as long as possible.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Well, that’s all I have for right now. I’ll be in Crawford at 8:00 and will hit Lake Hare afterwards. Maybe we can grab some lunch together, depending on how things go.”

  “I’d like that,” I said. “Okay, thanks for the update, Michael. See you tomorrow.”

  Marian walked by as I was saying goodbye. “Melody, were you talking with your brother? Sorry, but I heard you say his name.”
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  “Yes, that was Michael. He might be passing through town tomorrow. There’s a chance we might have lunch.”

  “That sounds lovely,” she smiled. “It must be nice to be close to your family again. Well, whenever you need to take off, just let me know. I’m flexible.” Her expression became stern. “Provided he stops in and says hello to me.”

  “I’m sure that can be arranged, Marian.”

  “Look, did you see this?” Marian placed the latest issue of the weekly newspaper on my desk. She opened it to the obituary page and pointed at Jacob’s name. I scanned the brief summary. No mention of any surviving relatives. Cause of death, undetermined; funeral arrangements pending.

  “Oh, my god, Marian! He was only 34 years old!”

  “That surprised me, too,” she said. “I would have guessed he was at least 10 years older, if not twenty.”

  Jacob Miller. I don’t think I’d heard his full name used. He was just Jacob to everyone, like a mascot that everyone referred to on a first name basis. It was the shortest of all the obituaries: no mention of military service, employment; no family or friends; no achievements noted in passing. It was perfunctory, a life encapsulated in two paragraphs.

  That was likely to change in the days and weeks ahead, I thought.

  The next day, Michael arrived at the library at 11:00. It was a little early for lunch, but I was anxious to hear the latest developments. Michael doesn’t wear a uniform. He wore a polo shirt, slacks, and a coat to conceal his radio and holster. Marian made quite a fuss over him, not having seen him in about ten years. I winked at him as he brought Marian up to date on the last ten years of his life. He congratulated her on her retirement.

  “I can say with complete confidence that nobody will ever be able to fill your shoes.” He glanced meaningfully in my direction, enjoying a little dig at my expense.

  “Now, don’t get me in the middle of your sibling rivalry, you two.” she cautioned. “I’m so glad that Melody is the one replacing me, although she could probably choose to work anywhere she wanted. We’re lucky to have her.”

  “I suppose,” he said, nonchalantly. “You ready to go, big sister? I thought maybe we’d grab a burger before I head back to the post.”

  “You two go ahead,” Marian said, giving Michael a hug. “Take all the time you need.”

  Michael insisted on dining at Burger’s, and since there weren’t a lot of venues from which to choose, I concurred. This time, though, I ordered a salad and bread sticks.

  “Tell me everything.” I said, once the waitress left.

  “Well, the coroner is sawing away on Mr. Miller as we speak,” he said. He no doubt noticed my reaction as we sat waiting for our food, but he continued anyway. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he called while I’m here. He’s just doing a partial autopsy; that should tell us what we need to know.

  “And then I stopped in at the police station and met your friend, Chief Benson. I informed him that I’d opened an investigation and requested an examination of the deceased. I asked him to provide me with a copy of his file on the case. You’ll never guess what he said.”

  “Um…he said, ‘What file?’ Correct?”

  “Bingo. So I told him to give me what he had, which consisted of his one-page report the day he picked up the body and a copy of the request for burial/cremation services. He suddenly seemed to take an interest in the matter and asked why I was investigating. I told him about the wine bottle residue.”

  “Oh, crap; so he knows I was behind it.”

  “Give him some credit,” Michael said. “Nothing gets past the Chief. He also noticed the similarity in our last names and asked if we were related. I was very impressed with his deductive skills. Oh, by the way, there were some full and partial prints on the bottle fragments. The coroner will lift a set during his exam.”

  “Well, that should be helpful,” I offered.

  “Yes, but there’s a chain-of-custody procedure used in gathering evidence, which was woefully ignored here. A lawyer would have a field day with it. So let’s hope that other material comes our way, if not an eyewitness or an actual confession.”

  “Did the Chief offer to assist?”

  “Oh, sure, he was cooperative as could be. Once we confirm Jacob was poisoned, I’ll request the Chief’s participation. You never know; being local, they could tap into sources that I can’t.” Michael paused to sip his iced tea. “Oh, I did speak with Pastor Donald, who confirmed that the poison was bought at Crane Hardware. Mr. Crane provided a list of everyone who’s purchased alpha-chloralose in the past 12 months. Not to say that someone couldn’t have purchased it out of town or through the mail, but it’s a start.”

  “Who’s on the list?” I eagerly asked.

  “See for yourself,” he said, casually, and handed me a notebook page as the server brought our lunch. When I saw Michael’s plate piled high with a gravy burger, I regretted my choice.

  “Let’s see how many I know here,” I said, studying the list. There were only a dozen names. “Mr. Van Dyke, Marian Schultz! Do you think she done it?” That got a weak smile from Michael. “Chief Benson himself, George Lowell, I think he’s the mayor, and – oh, my god – Mom’s on this list!”

  “I will follow my investigation regardless of where it may lead. Sorry, Mom.” I slapped Michael’s knuckle. What a thing to say…but I chuckled. “This list isn’t complete,” Michael said. “I assume that Mr. Crane himself uses the stuff, but he’s not on here. And I don’t see the pastor’s name anywhere.”

  “No, but Agnes Wilson’s is. If it’s the same Mrs. Wilson, she volunteers at the church. By the way, someone told me that Mr. Crane sometimes got physical with the people loitering outside his store. I know…it’s just gossip, but….”

  “That would fit with my impression of him. Not exactly Mr. Customer Service,” Michael said.

  “I don’t know any of these other names,” I admitted. “I’ll bet Mom could give you the skinny on all of them.”

  “Maybe, when I feel the time is right. In the meantime, you’re sworn to secrecy, and that means not saying anything to anyone, and that includes Mom. Seriously. And I don’t want you going near any of the people on the list. We’ve already got some serious irregularities involving this investigation – like the wine bottle, for instance – and I need to control the process. Chief Benson seemed reluctantly cooperative, but if his ego got bruised, he might try to make you a scapegoat.”

  “Me?” I asked, incredulously.

  “Sure,” Michael said, as if the psychology involved should have been obvious. “Depending on his level of pettiness, he might look for someone to blame to shore up his own failings. Political maneuvering is inevitable whenever two law enforcement entities are coordinating. I hope that by being tactful, I can make the Chief feel that he’s an essential part of the team, and that will mollify any hurt feelings he may harbor. Just lay low and contain your curiosity. I’ll keep you posted on developments.”

  “Understood,” I said. “Still, I can’t believe you won’t even let me discuss it with Mom. She’s going to be so mad about withholding something this juicy. Just be sure to let her know the hush-hush was your idea.”

  Michael’s phone rang. “Detective Reed,” he said. I was amazed how he could speak so clearly with his mouth full of food. “Thanks, Doctor.”

  “It’s official,” he announced. “We definitely have a murder on our hands. Pass the salt?”

  The afternoon crept by slowly. I wished there was something I could do to help lubricate the wheels of justice, but it was all in Michael’s hands now. I also wished I could share some of the information I was privy to, just a means to release some of the energy building up in me, but I’d given my word not to talk about it with anyone. Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t listen.

  “Marian, how long has George Lowell been the mayor here?”

  “Mmmm, maybe five years. He’s the postmaster, too, you know. He’s pretty much our all-in-one government official.
One-stop shopping. If you want to bring up something about the town, you know where to find him.”

  “Is he a pretty nice guy?”

  “Most folks like him,” Marian replied. “A group of us drafted him to run for mayor. George was happy just working nine-to-five at the post office. But when Gus’ age and drinking started to catch up with him, we asked George to run. He didn’t want to – he doesn’t have a competitive bone in his body – but we convinced him that it was his civic duty to take the reins from Gus, him being versed in bureaucratic matters and all.”

  “Excuse me, ladies,” a man’s voice interrupted. It was Chief Benson. “I wonder if I might have a word with Miss Reed.”

  I had dreaded this moment, although I knew it was inevitable. The Chief and I adjourned to the break room.

  “I had a talk with your brother, the detective, today, Miss Reed,” he began. “Of course, you probably already knew that. I just wanted to let you know that I didn’t appreciate being blindsided by you over this homeless man’s situation.”

  “The murder, you mean?” I didn’t want to be confrontational, but if the Chief was going to try to intimidate me, I meant to demonstrate to him that I was no pushover.

  “Well, it was a poisoning, but I don’t think it’s been determined to have been a murder. We don’t have all the facts. You see, that’s what happens when someone jumps the gun and leaps to conclusions. Before you know it, everyone in this town will be afraid to leave their houses, thinking there’s some murderer on the loose.”

  “So you think Jacob might have ground up the poison pellets to add a little protein to his liquid diet?” I regretted the sarcastic tone immediately, but his condescending tone and refusal to accept reality dictated a strong response.

  “As I said, I don’t know what happened,” the Chief continued. “That’s why we have investigations. Be assured that if someone meant to harm Mr. Miller, we will find that person and make them pay for their crime. Now, maybe you think that local law enforcement isn’t up to the challenge of doing that, but I assure you we are.”