by Nora Page
“Leanna is always lovely,” Cleo said. “What can I help you with? Are you looking for a book?”
“I was looking for you,” Maybelle said pointedly. “I saw the door open and thought I’d come give you a piece of my mind. You ruined my boy’s birthday. You and your meddling friend Buford Krandall.”
Cleo’s heart quickened. Rhett flicked his tail. His ears were down, as horizontal as airplane wings.
“Vern’s upset,” Maybelle said. “He can’t concentrate. He has important work, more important than shelving books.” Maybelle scowled. “If you are working. It’s a mess in here.”
Cleo bit back a retort. “Is he upset about Bitsy? Where is she, by the way?”
Maybelle thumped her cane. “Bitsy! She’s not even Bitsy. She’s Liza something or other.” A scowl sunk deep into Maybelle’s perpetual frown.
“She’s always been Bitsy to you,” Cleo said, assessing Maybelle. The elder Givens was in a fine fume. To hear her talk, Maybelle was a bundle of frailties and aches. Cleo thought Maybelle was stronger and heartier than she let on. It wouldn’t take massive strength to hit Buford Krandall over the head. Guts, that’s what was needed most. Determination. Anger. Maybelle had all of those. But could she strangle a young, fit woman like Whitney?
Cleo wanted to keep Maybelle chatting. “It’s who Bitsy is now that matters. She did the right thing, telling you and Vernon and the police. She’s a good person.”
Maybelle snorted. “Good people don’t live lies. They don’t trick my boy. Poor Vernon, he does so much for everyone else, giving out loans and helping. There he was, thinking he’d found the perfect girl after such a disappointing first marriage. Do you know, that previous wife of his kicked me out of the house? Me! His mother!”
Cleo thought wife one sounded pretty sensible. With relief, she heard footsteps in the back. Leanna had been fast. It wasn’t Leanna’s voice she heard next, though. Cleo swung around, her heart thudding.
“Mama? Are you all right? Is she bothering you?” Vernon Givens wore a suit jacket of lemon-curd yellow and peachy pants, and he wasn’t alone. Leanna stood at his side. Her eyes flashed white. She angled them sharply down, toward Vernon’s gloved hand and the glint of metal pressed into her waist. A gun!
Cleo’s head spun. This was all her fault. No, she corrected, it was Vernon Givens’s fault. He’d been the name at the top of her list, and now she was sure he belonged there. The only question was whether the two main women in his lives knew. That and how she and Leanna could get away.
Maybelle greeted her son as if all was normal. “There you are, Vernie. You’re working too hard again. Where’s that Bitsy? I want to get home. She’s going to make us late.”
“She’s in the car,” Vernon said. “You won’t have to worry about her bothering us again, Mama.” His eyes narrowed at Cleo. “You won’t bother us anymore either. It’s a shame you had to involve Leanna. I had high hopes for her in banking—and more.” He gripped Leanna tighter. With his other hand, he touched her hair. Leanna’s knees shook.
Cleo remembered her phone, left on the window seat by Rhett. She inched that way. She was reaching for the phone when a cane smashed down on it, sending shattered pieces flying. Rhett flew too, off the bench and across the room, claws skidding down the hall.
Run, Rhett, run! Cleo thought, wishing she and Leanna could too.
Chapter Thirty
“See?” Maybelle said, waving a gnarled finger at Cleo. “Vernie’s in a temper, and it’s your fault.”
Vernon Givens held his mother’s cane in one hand, the gun still firmly in the other, wedged over Leanna’s hip. He twirled the cane before setting it down.
“Nice how it stands up, isn’t it?” Maybelle said. “Handy. It’s new. Cost a mint. Thurgood says I can get it reimbursed if I win my lawsuit.”
Cleo weighed her options. She and Leanna together probably couldn’t overpower Vernon Givens. He was a big man and clearly mad in the mind as well as temper.
“I know what you did, Leanna,” the bank president said, clucking his tongue disapprovingly. In an angry burst, he shoved Leanna at Cleo. They both grasped for each other. “You missed a page in the printer. Stupid. I told you how slow it is to print. You have to watch that it’s done.”
Cleo held Leanna’s shaking hand. She considered her options. Her best and possibly only course of action seemed to be to lie. It had to be a good lie, her best bluff ever. “Well, it’s good you found that page,” she said. “We can give the full set to the police now, and Bitsy—Liza—will be convicted of murder. We’re very, very sorry this happened to you, Mr. Givens. Maybelle, we’re sorry for you too, aren’t we, Leanna.”
Leanna managed a jerky head bob.
Vernon’s face was as colorful as his attire. Pink splotched his cheeks, and his blue eyes sparked.
Cleo knew she had to keep talking. “Yes, just awful. Of course the police told Leanna to check those accounts. You can put in a complaint with them. It’s probably not even entirely legal, is it?”
Vern muttered no, it wasn’t. He was looking slightly baffled, which was good.
“What’s this about? What’s she saying?” Maybelle demanded. “You think Bitsy—our Bitsy—had something to do with these crimes? Slander! We’ll sue!”
“Bitsy was desperate to keep her past a secret,” Cleo went on, mentally substituting Vernon’s name for Bitsy’s. “She thought it would bring down the Givens name.” She tsked and nudged Leanna to do the same.
“What?” Maybelle squawked. “That’s ridiculous. Look at all the extra mess she went and caused. Where is she?”
Cleo would like to know that too. They all looked to Vernon.
“You’re right,” he said. “Bitsy’s ugly past would have looked very bad for me and Mama. I’m bank president. I have a reputation to uphold.” Vernon grabbed the cane again and jabbed it toward Leanna and Cleo. “You’re messing with me too. What else did you meddle in? Where are the rest of those printouts?”
Leanna said something incoherent ending with “desk.”
“At the reading desk over there,” Cleo said, pointing. “You’ll see that Leanna printed Liza Blackwell’s banking information, like the police asked. You can throw those out, but the police will just look again.” She prayed her fib rang true—or at least gave Vernon pause.
He snatched up the papers. Maybelle sat on the window seat, grumbling that her feet hurt and she wanted to get home. “You work too much, Vernie,” she said to her son, who was flipping through the printouts.
“How do you think I got to be bank president, Mama?” he snapped.
Maybelle looked more shocked than when he’d been swinging around her cane.
Vernon threw the papers down. “You’re lying,” he said. “You didn’t tell the police. They wouldn’t use a silly Tammy Temp to snoop at my files. You would, though, Mrs. Watkins. How’d you know? Or was it a guess?”
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Cleo murmured.
Leanna sucked in air, and Cleo knew she understood. Buford had used that terrible phrase when Bitsy said she didn’t care who he told about her past. More than one way to profit from the secret he’d discovered. More than one person to blackmail. Vernon cherished his reputation. There were other little clues along the way too, words Cleo wished she’d thought about more closely.
“Skin a cat,” Vernon said with a sneer. “That’s exactly what that crackpot Buford said. We can do this now or later. Either way, that lie you just tried to trick me with will come true. Bitsy will be ruled the killer. Murder–suicide, just like her dear old daddy. Fitting, isn’t it? Come on. Hurry up. Mama needs to get home and put up her feet.”
Maybelle scowled at them, whipping her head from her son to Cleo and back. When she spoke, her tone was more leery than demanding. “What are you all talking about?”
Cleo felt a teensy bit bad for Maybelle. So she didn’t know that her golden boy was a killer.
“Mama,” Vernon said, his voice sudd
enly sugary, “why don’t you go wait outside? These ladies and I have some unfinished business.”
Leanna gulped audibly. Cleo could guess that unfinished business wasn’t library or banking business. Her lying hadn’t worked. She looked around. She could throw a book at him. She could signal Leanna and they could toss every book they could grab. Books shouldn’t be thrown or harmed, but under the circumstances, Cleo would do it. But he had a gun … A morbid game of rock, paper, scissors played out in Cleo’s head. Gun beats book, beats flesh and arms. Maybelle was gathering her purse and cane. On impulse, Cleo grabbed her, clutching the wiry older woman to her chest. Leanna leapt in to help. They managed to pin a thrashing, kicking Maybelle between them. She was as strong as a ticked-off mule.
“Maybelle!” Cleo cried. “Stop! Your son wants to kill us! You see that gun?”
Maybelle landed a firm back kick on Cleo’s shin. “Slander!” she yelled. “Vernon, tell these crazy people they’re wrong.”
Vernon waggled the gun, not quite aiming at them, but not pointing away either.
“Bitsy said you don’t like to harm anything or anyone, Vernon,” Cleo said, holding tight to Maybelle’s bony body. “She says you don’t even like to fish. Your contractor, DeWayne, said you don’t let him kill mice—he has to live-trap them. You’re a good man, Vernon. You don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Of course he doesn’t. You don’t do that anymore, do you, Vernie?” Maybelle said. “Hurt animals and such?”
“Anymore?” Leanna whispered.
Cleo’s pulse raced. She leaned into Maybelle, whispering harshly in her ear. “Your Vernon killed Buford. I bet he killed Whitney too, and Leanna and I will be next and Bitsy as well, if he hasn’t already harmed her. Maybelle, you have to help us. For your family’s sake. For Vernon’s. This has to stop.”
“Bitsy?” Maybelle said, suddenly indignant. “Why would he harm Bitsy? I know she’s not really Bitsy, but she still runs me to my appointments. She’s a fine daughter-in-law, like the daughter I never had.”
“She’s not fine, Mama,” Vernon snapped. “You two, let go of Mama.” He waved the gun.
Cleo and Leanna hung on tight. Beyond Vernon, Cleo could see through to the hallway and the open door to the staffroom. Her eye detected movement. Her nose caught a whiff. Cleo tried not to stare at the puffy plumes of black and white, all in a line, making their way across the hall. Behind them, a fluffy orange tail waggled, the sign of a Persian about to pounce. If Rhett launched, some little skunks would most likely run their way. A desperate idea formed. Cleo nudged Leanna, whispered, “Skunk—out the front.” With Maybelle’s grumbles covering Cleo’s whispers, Cleo began a countdown. “Three … two…” She waited as Rhett’s rump wiggled in attack anticipation.
“One!” She shoved Maybelle toward her son, counting on him catching her and dropping his gun in the process. Rhett pounced, skunks scattered, and a sulfurous stink filled the air, mixing with Vernon’s curses. Cleo and Leanna raced to the hall, Leanna tugging Cleo along. Cleo hadn’t thought about what they’d do once outside. She couldn’t hope to outrun Vernon, but Leanna could. She remembered that night as a teenager, trespassing with Mary-Rose, about to get caught by the police. Mary-Rose, the faster runner, slowed and let Cleo get away. It was time to repay that good deed.
“Go!” she commanded Leanna, hearing footsteps pounding behind them, accompanied by more cursing and a crash and grunts. She anticipated Vernon’s grasp or, worse, a bullet. “Run!”
Leanna was out the door, but she was still tugging Cleo along too. Cleo tripped on the step and faltered. “Leave me!” she cried. “Go get help!”
They were just down the steps when a hand did grip at Cleo’s sleeve. She yelped, feeling herself fall and Leanna tipping with her. Unsteady arms caught her. She looked down to see a whimpering pug and up to see Henry, pulling her into his arms. Gabby stood beside him, gun in hand.
“Henry! Gabby!” Leanna cried. “Inside! It’s—”
Gabby put up a shushing finger and gestured for them to get back. Gabby crept to the door. “Police!” she yelled. “Come out!”
After a tense few minutes, Vernon Givens staggered out. His elbow was twisted behind his back, wrenched there by Jimmy Teeks. Jimmy shoved the big banker, who fell to the floorboards in a pastel pile at Gabby’s feet. Gabby had efficiently cuffed him and read him his rights by the time Chief Culpepper, Mayor Day, and eager cub reporter Toby from the Catalpa Gazette rushed up.
“The car!” Cleo cried, remembering Vernon’s other possible victim. “Bitsy! I think she’s inside!” The Givens’s hulking SUV was parked out front. Cleo tried the doors and found all locked. Late afternoon sun bore down. The car would be boiling.
“I need a key,” Cleo cried. “Maybelle!”
“Out of the way.” Maybelle Givens pushed Cleo aside and raised her cane. She gave the front passenger’s window a mighty smack. Glass fell in diamond chunks. They found Bitsy in the far back, limp on the floor. Her arms and legs were tied, and tape covered her mouth. Her face was pale. As gently as possible, Cleo tugged off the tape and fanned Bitsy.
Maybelle gasped, rounded, and stumped back to her handcuffed son. She gave him a slap and a tongue-lashing to end all. Cleo heard Gabby trying to restrain Maybelle and take away her cane. Henry and Cleo untied Bitsy while reporter Toby flitted among them, giddy at his biggest scoop ever.
The chief and newly arrived firemen pushed in to tend to Bitsy. Cleo went to check on Maybelle, now standing on her own in the overgrown lawn, looking withered and shaky. “I’m so sorry,” Cleo said.
Maybelle snorted. Cleo waited for the gruff reply. Instead, tears rolled down the elder woman’s cheeks, and she looked worriedly toward the SUV.
“Oh, Maybelle!” Cleo hugged Maybelle’s bony frame. “Bitsy will be okay. I hear the ambulance now.” Henry and Leanna joined them, along with Mr. Chaucer and a skunk-scented Rhett Butler. The pug sniffed at Rhett, drew back, and sneezed.
“You’re a smelly hero, Rhett,” Leanna said as they all stood in a loose circle around sniffling Maybelle. “You and the skunks.”
“Rhett alerted us,” Henry said. “Mr. Chaucer and I were out for a stroll when we saw Rhett in the next lot over. We thought it was odd that he’d be all alone. We came over and looked in the window, and”—he caught Cleo’s eye—“I thought I’d lose you. I didn’t know what to do. I saw Mr. Teeks driving by and flagged him down. Then I spotted Gabby and got her too.”
“Good boy, Rhett,” Cleo said, reaching to pat the Persian, who was looking mighty pleased for a cat who’d need a lot of bathing.
Maybelle frowned all around and pushed her way out of their circle. She sniffed mightily and declared, “That cat’s fur is all choppy and messy. He reeks. Skunks and cats … that’s no way to run a library, Cleo.”
Cleo hid a smile, thinking Maybelle Givens would be okay.
Jimmy Teeks was stomping across the lawn. Cleo intercepted him. “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Teeks. I owe you all the books you ever want.”
His expression didn’t change, but his small eyes seemed to harden. “I’m not done yet,” he said in that high, unnerving voice. “The mayor misjudged your library fund.”
“Misjudged?” Cleo asked. She glanced over at the group of men. Jeb Day was looking ridiculous in polka-dotted plaid Bermuda shorts and a button-down dress shirt. He was shifting from foot to foot, nervously glancing their way.
“Mistaken. Misappropriated. It’ll get it fixed. I’ve arranged it.” Jimmy Teeks pointed a single stubby finger at the boy mayor, who dipped his head and slunk behind the bulk of Chief Culpepper. “I’ll tell you why too,” Jimmy said.
Cleo listened, fascinated, to Jimmy’s story. When he was done, she gave the man a hug.
“What was that about?” Henry asked, when Jimmy Teeks left, blushing and stating he had “business to attend to.” That business included jerking his head at the mayor, who followed behind him, looking scared.
Cleo relayed Ji
mmy’s story as she and Henry gazed at the library. Cleo could once again picture the blue tarp gone, the New Reads shelf filled, and patrons streaming in, library lovers like Jimmy Teeks. Libraries and reading were his refuge, Jimmy told her, both as a kid from a bad home and as a young man doing a stint in prison. Jimmy had standards, a code. He’d never swindle a library, as he’d caught the mayor doing. Tipped off by Cleo, Jimmy had discovered Mayor Day was funneling library funds and other town monies to his pet projects and personal accounts.
“It’s going to be all right,” Cleo said, letting relief and marvel flood out. “Jimmy said he’d arrange it.”
Henry reached over and tentatively reached for her hand. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Several days later, they all gathered at the Pancake Mill. The skies were as sunny as the mood. Ollie was back to furiously blushing in the presence of Gabby Honeywell, who was off duty for the day and still glowing from nabbing her first murder suspect. Mary-Rose’s husband, William, was testing out his new bionic knee and getting walker and cane advice from Happy Trails residents, bused in by Tamara the gate guard. Cleo smiled, seeing Adelaide Cox and Mary-Rose’s mother coaching William on walker maneuvers. Little Zoe and a friend lounged under a moss-veiled oak, engrossed in a reading competition. Pages flipped fast, eyes darting. The kids had already visited the guest of honor, Words on Wheels, newly fixed and polished.
Cleo couldn’t stop looking at her beautiful bus. TJ and Joe had delivered the bookmobile just this morning. The mechanics had removed the dents, polished the bumpers, shined the wheels, and repainted the script in opalescent greens and golds that sparkled in the sun. The red and orange flames across the front were freshly tipped in icy blue. The bus looked like it was flying, even standing still.
“She’s beautiful,” Leanna said, and this time Cleo was delighted with the pronoun choice and with Leanna’s plans. Leanna had quit her job at the bank. Vernon might not be there, but the upsetting associations were. Leanna had told Cleo how the bank president had been increasingly friendly and flirty. Cleo hated to think that he’d not only planned to murder Bitsy, his “current wife,” but possibly try to seduce Leanna.