by Nora Page
Leanna already had another gig lined up in addition to her bookmobile stocking and helping Cleo guide the library repairs. She’d be waitressing at the Pancake Mill, with a benefits package that included free pie.
“I’ll have to jog around the spring between orders to work off all that pie,” Leanna said, fork poised over a slice of chocolate pecan. They were enjoying a picnic potluck, Cleo’s favorite kind of meal and with her favorite folks too—friends, family, and pets both furry and feathered.
Bitsy had filed for divorce and would be a whole lot quicker about it than Kat Krandall-Stykes. She wasn’t leaving Catalpa Springs, though. Nor was she separating from Maybelle, for which the grumpy octogenarian seemed unusually grateful and almost maternal. Cleo had seen the two just the other day, heading off to the foot doctor and a Ladies League meeting. The Gala would go on.
Mary-Rose shooed a curious peacock away from the potato salad. Cleo’s best friend was off the hook for sabotaging Buford Krandall’s drilling machine. It looked like Ollie would be too, though the silly boy seemed almost disappointed, saying the sabotage would have given him “cred” among environmental activists.
Fred understandably disapproved of his son’s sentiment, as did Angela. However, Angela used her lawyering skills to persuade Fred to let Ollie return to his cottage in Cleo’s garden. Ollie needed to find his own way, Angela said. He needed to pay rent and get a real job, Fred grumbled. Cleo had a plan to make Fred happy and inspire Ollie to other endeavors: she would task the young man with air-potato control.
“How’d you guess it was Vernon Givens?” Mary-Rose asked, digging into a plate filled with salads: potato, macaroni, rice, broccoli and bacon, and sweet ambrosia. Cleo had gone light on the broccoli and heavy on the ambrosia. It was fruit and a salad, even if floating in waves of whipped cream.
Mary-Rose waved her fork, “I mean, the bank president? A man who wears pastel suits and was always so chatty and nice and doling out loans? Do you think he’ll get a peach-striped prison uniform?”
Cleo shrugged modestly. “A bump on my head jostled the idea free.” Her various bruises had dimmed to murky yellows. She hoped she could get through the summer with no further attacks by air potatoes or vehicles or anything else.
“No, I know you,” Mary-Rose said. “There’s more to it than a bump. Leanna said you knew.”
“Cats,” Leanna said. She was back in her vintage fifties attire, a red polka-dot sundress with matching flip-flops.
“Yes, cats. Something Bitsy said,” Cleo explained. She lowered her voice, since Rhett was right behind them at the next picnic table, sunning on the bench, his paw hanging down and occasionally bopping Mr. Chaucer. She explained how the terrible skin-a-cat saying had gotten her thinking. “I might have forgotten all about it until the car crash, when Bitsy was talking about skinning her knee and us escaping by the skin of our teeth. It’s such a trite saying, you don’t think of its meaning. Buford meant it. He saw another way to use the information he had about Bitsy. He knew Vernon would care just as much, if not more. I think Buford might have been planning to use the blackmail money he got to help the library. He told me he had a plan, a solution we could ‘take to the bank.’ And Vernon did pay. He funneled money through an account he set up for Liza Blackwell, Bitsy’s former name. Bitsy had no idea the account existed. It looks like Vernon was already planning to kill Buford and set up Bitsy to take the blame.”
“The driver of the van that ran you off the road was Vernon Givens too, right?” Mary-Rose said, shaking her head. “Why? Where’d he get that van anyway?”
Cleo nodded. “Yes, that was Vernon. He’d have been delighted to get rid of Bitsy and me in one hit-and-run or fake carjacking. I think he tried before by cutting the brake lines in Words on Wheels. Or he was just hoping to scare me off. He never expected his mother to be on the bus that day, let alone driving. When he came after Bitsy and me on the bridge, he thought I was the only other person who knew Bitsy’s past. In his twisted reasoning, he could be done with the whole thing if he got rid of us. The police found the van. Gabby said it belonged to a man Vernon gave a second mortgage to. The man couldn’t repay the loan and owed him.”
Cleo took a sip of lemonade, gathering her thoughts. “Vernon also tore apart Buford Krandall’s library, looking for more incriminating clippings or photos. He cut the page from Killings in Cotton Country and returned the book to the library, thinking it would go unnoticed. That’s what ended up tipping us off to Bitsy’s secret past.”
“Goes to show, you should never harm a library book,” Leanna said.
They all raised glasses to that sentiment. “Or steal from a library,” Cleo added.
Mayor Jeb Day, library swindler, was under investigation for fraud and misuse of public monies. Thankfully, the mayor had replaced the library funds and others. He had to. Jimmy Teeks, the enforcer, made sure of that before packing up and heading down to Florida on vacation. Cleo wasn’t sure if she approved of Jimmy’s destination or questionable ways, but she’d be forever grateful for his help, just as he was forever grateful for libraries.
“What did Buford Krandall have on Mayor Day, anyway?” Mary-Rose asked. She tossed bits of piecrust to the peacocks, who danced in delight.
Cleo admitted she didn’t know for sure. “Gabby thinks Buford found out about the mayor’s financial indiscretions, including some questionable loans he received from Vernon Givens. Buford was on the town council and library board and had access to accounts and statements. He might have noticed something and used it to go after both Vernon and the mayor.” Cleo thought of her poker days, with Mary-Rose tugging on her pearls. “Or Buford might have been bluffing, working from intuition,” she said, feeling a little sad for the man who’d tried to help her library, albeit illegally. “I suspected there was fishy business with the mayor’s casino plans. Perhaps Buford thought the same and tricked the mayor into admitting something.”
A woof reverberated over the spring waters. Kat Krandall-Stykes had two hands on a leash, but this time it was Beast digging in his paws behind her. The big mastiff was pining to play with the peacocks.
“Kat here gave me a clue too,” Cleo said, as Kat inched Beast closer. “I wish I’d realized sooner.”
“Me?” Kat said, out of breath from the dog-tugging effort. “Heel!” she commanded.
To Cleo’s surprise, Beast sat, wagging his tail and panting earnestly at the peacocks, strutting and displaying their plumage a few yards away. “Kat, you said anyone with a kind word about Buford was lying or tricked or wanting something from him.”
“Darned straight,” Kat said, looking pleased. “I mean, he had a few good points—who doesn’t? But it was doing Buford’s true character a disservice if you discounted the bad.”
Cleo agreed with her first point. “He loved libraries and books.”
“And a good old drawn-out fight,” Kat said.
Leanna snapped her fingers. “The day of the funeral reception, Mr. Givens got up and gave a long, gushy eulogy for Buford.”
“There you have it,” Kat declared. “I should have noticed.”
Mary-Rose lobbed a piecrust over Beast, reaching the peacocks. “I was being horrible that day, saying such bad things about the departed.” She smiled. “Good thing, or you might have suspected me, Cleo. You never did, did you?”
“No,” Cleo said immediately. Not really. “I think, and Gabby agrees, that Vernon made a point of giving that long-winded eulogy so folks would remember him being at the party. It was an alibi of sorts. He’d killed Whitney not long before. She’d been wearing the scarf he used to choke her, purchased at a yard sale along with some other supplies she got for hiding out in my cottage and likely Krandall House too. The woman who sold her the items remembered Whitney’s hair and snappy attitude. Gabby said Vernon confessed to killing her, but claimed it was self-defense. Defense of his reputation. Whitney saw him inside Krandall House the night she and Ollie went to sabotage the machine. Remember how Ollie said Whit
ney went back on her own? She’d seen Vernon in the library and figured he was up to something. He said she tried to blackmail him, just like her uncle had. They arranged to meet the day she died. He was supposed to pay her, but instead he strangled her. She probably felt safe—or cocky—being so close to a big group of people. If he hadn’t killed her then, he likely would have gotten her later. He had Buford Krandall’s gun hidden in a vault in the bank.”
Kat shook her head. “That’s just plain mean. Poor girl, she seemed like a worthy adversary, a true Krandall through and through. A fighter, like Buford. We sure had some good battles over the years. You know the worst of it? He won.” She raised a fist to the sky, grinning. Beast, sensing an opportunity, lunged, only to get scared off by three peacocks hissing. He turned snout and woofed at Rhett, who issued a hiss rivaling the birds’. With a mournful groan, the mastiff flumped on the ground next to the snoring Mr. Chaucer.
Henry ambled up, holding a plate of second helpings. “Who won?” he asked. “Cleo? The library?”
“Buford,” Kat grumbled. “He left me that dump of a house! It’ll take me years to clear those vines. I’ll go broke buying weed killer, and I already got a rash. He did it to make me suffer.”
Cleo couldn’t hide her smile. Thurgood Byron had called her the other day. The Happy Trails lawyer was another man of poor filing habits and had forgotten where he put Buford’s will. The eccentric Krandall had left his family home to Kat, with the condition that she wasn’t allowed to sell the property and had to “maintain” it. He also left a hefty chunk of money and his library books to the Catalpa Springs Public Library. Cleo pictured the renovated reading room filled with new treasures.
Mary-Rose was eying Kat warily. “You’re not starting up that drill and water bottling again, are you?”
“And make his restless spirit happy? Heck no. I’m thinking of getting the whole place designated as a bird refuge. Wouldn’t he hate that? I’m taking down those creepy whirligigs and putting up feeders.” She laughed. “A new project.”
Later, Henry and Cleo strolled to fend off post-picnic drowsiness. They walked down the boardwalk, Rhett and Mr. Chaucer beside them. When they reached the viewing platform, they leaned on the railing, looking out toward Krandall House.
“All this because Buford Krandall happened to pick out a Priscilla Pawpaw book at the library,” Henry said. “You never know where books will take you. I wonder how Priscilla’s doing? Is she back?”
Cleo could fill him in. She explained how she’d run into the jumpy true-crime author at Dot’s Drop By the other day. Priscilla admitted to leaving the box of notes on Cleo’s porch on her way out of town. She’d found them when packing her suitcase to flee. She was afraid that Buford had been murdered because he’d tried to solve an old crime, and thought she might be in danger too. While she didn’t want Cleo to meet a similar fate, Priscilla was desperate for the killer to be caught and thought Cleo would be the best person to figure out Buford’s interest in her books and notes.
The killings hadn’t put Priscilla off crime, though. She had an idea for a new book, tentatively titled Blood in the Catalpa Springs Waters. Cleo had gently attempted to discourage her, both from the lurid title and from including Cleo in the story. Cleo had pointed out that the crime was already solved and thus not Priscilla’s usual topic.
All the better, Priscilla had said. “I knew someday some fool would try to solve one of my cold cases. I yelled at Buford. I warned him. See what happened? Amateurs should never try to solve crimes. Why do you think I left town? Too dangerous.”
Cleo wasn’t sure she agreed about amateurs. She tried to explain that Buford Krandall had other interests in the Tarpon Springs arson and murder case. He hadn’t wanted to solve the crime. His interest lay in blackmail. The author, however, refused to hear anything negative about her greatest fan.
Cleo and Henry lingered at the mill until the gathering wound down and the dishes were cleaned. When they were getting ready to leave, Henry cleared his throat. He rubbed his beard and scuffed his polished loafers in the gravel. “We, uh, said we might have dinner when all this is done. Dinner like a … well,… like a date?”
Cleo was aware of Ollie and his father coming down the path behind her. Fred was a reminder of her dear departed husband. She’d always hold those memories close, and Fred too. A date didn’t mean she was giving up her single self.
“Yes,” she said. “I would adore that. Let’s make it a date.”
Henry beamed, and even Mr. Chaucer seemed to have a spring in his step as they left.
“A date?” Fred asked, frowning.
“Ooh … good job, Gran,” Ollie said. “A boyfriend!”
“A gentleman friend,” Cleo corrected. Cleo hugged her son and grandson. Then she and Rhett climbed into her beautiful bookmobile. She buckled up, lowered the windows, and adjusted the mirrors. She listened to the engine purr. Then, with her cat at her side and books in the back, Cleo Watkins punched the gas and let the wind whip through her hair all the way home.
Mama’s Award-Winning Hummingbird Cake
Cake
3 c. all-purpose flour
1 c. granulated sugar
1 c. packed brown sugar (dark or light)
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
½ tsp. allspice
1 tsp. baking soda
¾ tsp. salt
3 large eggs, lightly beaten
¾ c. canola or other neutral oil
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 (8 oz.) can crushed pineapple and its juices
2 c. mashed ripe banana (about 4 bananas)
1 c. chopped pecans, toasted, with extra for garnish (optional, whole or chopped, candied pecans if you like)
• Preheat oven to 350°F. Coat two 9-inch round cake pans with cooking spray, and line the bottoms with parchment paper.
• Whisk the flour, baking soda, spices, and salt together in a large bowl.
• In another large bowl, whisk sugars, oil, eggs, mashed banana, pineapple, and vanilla.
• Pour wet ingredients into dry ingredients, and fold together until combined. Be careful not to overmix.
• Gently fold in the toasted pecans (saving aside some for garnish, if desired).
• Divide the batter between the pans.
• Bake until the cakes pull away from the edges of the pan, and a tester comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes.
• Cool cakes in their pans on a wire rack for about 10 minutes. Then flip the cakes out and let cool completely on the rack before frosting (see recipe below).
• Frost the cake. Place one cake on a cake stand or plate. Spread on 1/3 of frosting. Top with the second cake. Top this cake with another 1/3 of the frosting, and spread evenly. Cover the entire cake with the rest of the frosting. Decorate with remaining pecans, if desired.
• For easiest slicing, refrigerate the cake at least 30 minutes before cutting. Enjoy!
Cream cheese frosting*
1 c. unsalted butter, at room temperature
16 oz. (2 boxes) cream cheese, cut into chunks
2 tsp. vanilla extract
½ tsp. salt
~5 c. powdered sugar
• Place butter and cream cheese in a large bowl, and mix on medium speed until smooth and creamy, about 3 minutes.
• Mix in vanilla and salt. Then gradually add the powdered sugar, until thick and spreadable.
*Note: This recipe makes a lot of icing. If you like your cake less sweet, you can halve the recipe and still have enough for the upper and middle icing layers.
Author Biography
Nora Page enjoys rainy weather, the perfect biscuit, and quiet evenings in with her husband and cat. You can often find her in the company of books. This is her first Bookmobile mystery.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fict
itiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reaction to the recipes contained in this book.
Copyright © 2018 by Ann Perramond.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-643-5
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-644-2
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-68331-645-9
Cover illustration by Jesse Reisch.
Book design by Jennifer Canzone.
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
34 West 27th St., 10th Floor
New York, NY 10001
First Edition: May 2018
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