Murder, Plainly Read

by Isabella Alan

  Amber thought for a moment. “I think I did, but I can’t be one hundred percent sure. Why?”

  “Someone got into the bookmobile, and I want to know where that key came from.”

  “Let me ask around to see if anyone noticed them missing. I’ll text to let you know.”

  I smiled. “Tha—”

  But my thank-you was cut off when a familiar-looking mustard yellow sedan sped into the parking lot.

  “Uh-oh,” Amber muttered.

  My sentiments exactly.

  Bunny stopped her car directly in front of the book drop by the front door. She paused just long enough this time to slam her car door before storming inside the library.

  Amber ran for the library. Oliver and I were two paces behind her.

  I ushered Oliver through the glass doors. The library had a no-dogs policy, but I didn’t think the library staff even noticed, with Bunny standing in front of the circulation desk with her hands on her hips.

  “I want to speak to the director.”

  The young man at the desk licked his lips. “She’s left for the d-day. She should be back tomorrow.”

  “I want to talk to her about getting my job back now that Austina is gone and killed someone. I’m the most qualified. I know how to run the bookmobile better than anyone.”

  A patron sitting at one of the computers quietly got up and bolted out the door. An Amish mother in the reading area with her child scooped up the child and did the same. I couldn’t say I blamed them. Bunny looked like she was about to pop.

  “And I want a raise,” Bunny snapped. “You should pay me at least as much as Austina was making.”

  “You will have to take that all up with the director, and like I told you, she’s not here,” the young man said, still stammering.

  Amber stepped forward. “We’re going to have to ask you to leave or we will call the police to escort you out.”

  Bunny spun around and glared at Amber. Tiny Amber was a third Bunny’s size, but she held her ground and glared back for all she was worth. She really would make a terrific librarian.

  There glare-off was interrupted when Bunny caught sight of me. “What are you doing here?” She gave me her death glare. “Don’t you have your own life? Why are you so focused on mine?”

  “I didn’t come here to talk to you, Bunny. It’s a public library. I had no idea you would be here,” I said calmly.

  “Likely story, after you come to my house and practically accuse me of murder.” Spittle flew from her mouth.

  Amber turned to me with wide eyes.

  Sirens broke into the air.

  “Did you hit the emergency button under the counter?” Bunny asked the trembling man at the circulation desk.

  “Y-yes,” he said.

  “I can’t believe this.” She threw up her hands. “I come in here asking about my job and every last one of you overreacts.”

  As if we were the ones overreacting.

  Bunny stormed out of the library and walked into two approaching police officers. Amber and I went to the glass door to watch. Oliver and the male library worker were hiding in the children’s section somewhere.

  The officers who arrived were from the Millersburg Police Department, not the sheriff’s office. I was grateful for that. It would take longer for it to get back to Mitchell that I was on the scene when Bunny was arrested for disorderly conduct.

  Even through the glass door we could hear Bunny yelling at the officers about being fired and Austina the killer librarian.

  Amber shook her head. “She’s not doing herself any favors.”

  “No, she’s not,” I agreed. And I thought I officially had my prime suspect for Bartholomew’s murder.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The Prim and Curl was on Clay Street, which ran perpendicular to Jackson Street, the main drag that ran through the center of Millersburg.

  I snapped a leash on Oliver’s collar despite his snuffling protests and decided to park in front of the courthouse and walk to the hair salon. It was a short walk.

  Outside of the salon, my father was sitting at a park bench throwing scraps of donuts to the two mourning doves at his feet. Oliver saw the mourning doves at the same moment I did and dove under the nearest bush.

  I waved at Dad and he shooed the birds away. One took off, but the other hopped a few feet away and didn’t even bother to flutter his wings. That second dove must have really liked donuts. I couldn’t say I blamed him; they had sprinkles.

  I waved at Dad. Then I knelt on the sidewalk and reached into the bushes to pull Oliver out. It took a couple of tugs—he’d really wedged himself in there—but finally I grabbed him around the middle and yanked for all I was worth. After a second, he came flying out and into my arms, and I landed hard on my tailbone in the middle of the sidewalk.

  Oliver was unharmed as I cradled him in my arms. We sat there panting for a moment, I from exertion, he from fear. When I had enough energy, I struggled to my feet and hobbled over to my father on the bench.

  He grinned at me as I sat down. “Tough day?”

  “It was okay.” I told him about it, leaving out the part about being greeted at Bunny’s door with a shotgun. There was no need to add that worry to my father’s concerns, especially while my mother was redecorating. There was only so much a man could take.

  I eyed the box of donuts, now resting on his ample shelf of a stomach. “How many were in there?”

  “A dozen?” he said.

  “You don’t sound so sure of that.”

  He grinned. “Maybe a dozen plus.”

  I arched my brow. “And now there are three.”

  “I shared them with my friends.” He pointed at the mourning dove that hopped in place. “I suppose Oliver would be upset if I called this winged creature a friend, but it’s the truth.” He reached over and patted Oliver on his back.

  A few crumbs peppered the ground and the mourning dove pecked at the scraps all the while keeping a keen eye on my father. I suspected the bird was hoping for a larger offering. Oliver remained transfixed in his state of terror and he buried his head deeper into my armpit.

  “Mom inside?” I pointed a thumb behind us to the salon.

  He nodded. “She’s been in there for hours. At this rate, I expect her to come out with a different face.”

  I chuckled. “What are you doing out here?”

  He stared down at the donut he held delicately between his thumb and forefinger. It was a chocolate cake donut, his favorite. I was more of a maple cream stick kind of girl.

  Dad sighed. “I didn’t have anything else better to do.”

  I scooted closer to my dad. Since he’d retired, he had yet to find his footing in life after work. It was a huge adjustment for him to work every day for forty years and just stop. I knew he was having trouble finding a direction. He was of retirement age, but he could still work if he wanted to. His company was sorry to see him go, but he decided to retire so he and Mom could spend half of the year in Ohio with me.

  “What about the woodworking Jonah was teaching you?”

  He grimaced. “I discovered I’m not very good at it. When Jonah gave me a lesson, I almost cut off my thumb. Don’t tell your mother I spent a small fortune on all those power tools.”

  “Oh, Dad.” I sighed.

  Dad bumped my shoulder. “Don’t give me that look. It’s bad enough I have to deal with your mother pitying me.”

  I rested my hand on Oliver’s warm back. He’d finally stopped shivering. “I’m not pitying you, but I hate to think you’re bored on my account.”

  “I would not trade seeing you for my job. Being here with you even if I am bored out of my skull is better than being in Texas away from you.”

  I kissed his cheek.

  “Donut? It cures all ills.” He shook the box at me.

>   I held out my hand, and he popped the maple cream stick into it. He got me.

  “That’s my girl.”

  I took a big bite, and the donut exploded in my mouth in a wave a sugary goodness. I suppressed a groan and told myself if I counted the donut as my lunch, then it wasn’t that bad to indulge. I licked cream from the corner of my mouth. “You’re not helping my diet.”

  “Diet?” Dad snorted. “Why do you need to be on a diet? You’re perfect just the way you are.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “So, I have told you what I’m doing here. What brings you here?”

  Oliver wiggled his nose out from under my arm. I suppose the smell of fresh cream stick overcame his fear of the mourning dove. I broke off a corner of the donut and fed it to him, careful not to give him any cream. Too much sugar wasn’t good for him. Truth be told, the dough part of the donut wasn’t great for him either, but my pooch was an emotional eater and he needed baked-good comfort at the moment. He got that from me.

  After swallowing his morsel, he reburied his head.

  “I need to talk to Mom and Willow about the library book sale. Mom drafted Willow to be our third coconspirator. Honestly, I’m hoping to turn the entire thing over to them. They’re more than capable, and I have enough on my mind.”

  “Like the murder.”

  I nodded.

  He polished off the remainder of his donut in one bite and meticulously wiped his silver goatee with his napkin. “I hope you aren’t getting involved in the investigation. I know you found the body, and that must have been terribly upsetting, but your involvement should start and end there.”

  I pursed my lips. “I have been asking a few questions. Nothing more than that. Austina is my friend, and I can’t believe she would do this.”

  “And how does James feel about you asking questions?”

  I scuffed the bottom of my boot across the grainy sidewalk. “He’s not a fan.”

  “Ahh,” Dad said, breaking the sound into four syllables. “Well, I won’t tell you not to get involved because it sounds to me like you already are and I’m sure James will do his fair share to discourage you. But I do want you to promise me one thing.”

  I looked at him. “What’s that?”

  “I want you to be careful. Be careful for me.”

  “Always.”

  He sighed and picked up the last donut. My dad was an emotional eater too.

  I patted my father on the knee. “Want to come in with me?”

  He glanced at the door. “No, thank you. I was in there for five minutes when we first arrived. I barely came out with my life.”

  I stared at the glass door. “What happened?”

  “You’ll see.”

  On that ominous note, I stood up. The mourning dove finally flew away. Not that Oliver witnessed its departure. He was too busy hiding from it. I faced the bench to peer through the salon’s large storefront window. Inside there was a flurry of activity as hairstylists and manicurists fluttered around the room with hair dryers and nail polish in hand. I couldn’t see my mother or Willow. It wasn’t a place I was eager to take Oliver into after his encounter with the mourning dove. He had no fear of people, but the busyness of the place might grate on his fragile nerves.

  Dad seemed to understand my hesitation and said, “Leave Oliver out here with me. I’ll keep close watch on him while you go into the battle zone.”

  I agreed and handed Oliver to my father. Even though the mourning dove was long gone, Oliver wasn’t taking any chances. He curled into a tight ball on my father’s lap. As I walked away, I heard my father whisper, “Here, have a donut—it will take the edge off.”

  I pretended I didn’t hear that.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  As I opened the front door of Prim and Curl, the scent of hair dye and spray hit me like a flatiron to the face. I waved the cloud away from my nose and narrowed my itchy eyes. I would need a shower after visiting this place. I sneezed.

  A perky young girl sat at the reception desk. “God bless you! Welcome to Prim and Curl. We’re here to make you beautiful.” She delivered these lines with flawless precision, and I wondered how many times she had repeated those very words.

  “I’m looking for Daphne Braddock. I was supposed to me—”

  The phone rang and she held up one finger to me, indicating I should wait. “Prim and Curl. We’re here to make you beautiful.” That line again.

  I peeked around the corner. The place was packed. Not surprisingly, there wasn’t an Amish person in sight. I glanced at my watch; it was a little after three.

  The receptionist began tapping on her keyboard with the tips of her improbably long fingernails, which were painted a bright pink. “Yes, Velma,” she said. “I can squeeze you in for a nail appointment next week. Let me check availability.” There was a pause. “I’m so sorry, but the only availability we have next week is Thursday.”

  While Prim and Curl Girl was occupied, I skirted around the dividing wall that separated the reception area from the rest of the salon.

  She waved frantically at me to come back, but I ignored her. I didn’t have all the time in the world, and I wasn’t going to stand there and listen to her negotiate an appointment time with Velma for the next half hour.

  No one noticed me as I scanned the room for my mother and Willow. I didn’t see them, so I tapped the nearest stylist on the shoulder.

  She looked at me, and I wiggled my fingers at her. “Can you tell me where I can find Daphne Braddock or Willow Moon? I’m Daphne’s daughter. I was supposed to meet them here.” Two ladies across from us laughed uproariously at something another stylist said. The sound was deafening in the already tight space. “Wow, this place is jumping.”

  The stylist used a round hairbrush on her client’s hair. “It’s to die Thursday.”

  “To die?” I made a face.

  “Not die as in dead. Dye as in hair. Two Dye Thursday is when we have two hair coloring treatments for the price of one. It’s a special promotion we do every month. As you can see, it’s very popular. It’s kind of like a get-your-hair-done-and-treat-a-friend thing.” She stepped closer to me as she moved around her client’s head, brushing out and brushing down. It looked exhausting. As much as my curls drove me crazy, at least they were low maintenance. I didn’t even blow-dry my hair unless I was willing to walk around all day as a puff ball.

  “You’re all done,” she said to her client. “I’ll meet you at the counter.”

  “Thank you,” the client said. “You’re a miracle worker, Delia.”

  Delia smiled, displaying perfectly straight white teeth. “The pleasure is all mine.” She turned to me. “Can I interest you in Two Dye Thursday?” She stood on her tiptoes as if trying to get a good look at the top of my head. “You could use a little something to cover the beginning of those grays.”

  I clapped my hand on the top of my head. “Grays? What grays? I don’t have gray hair.”

  “Just one or two. I can pluck them out for you.”

  I backed away from her with my hand still firmly on the top of my head. “No, no plucking. And I’m not dying my hair either.” My hair was one of my features I was most pleased with—it was long, blond, and wildly curly. It was my identity.

  She smiled. “Sorry. Occupational hazard. I always drive my family crazy over the holidays because I want to fix their hair.” She lowered her voice. “Do you know I actually have a cousin who has a mullet? He’s had it for decades.” She shivered. “I would disown him if I could.”

  Her comment brought to mind the difficult practice of Amish shunning. I supposed what Delia wanted to do to her cousin wasn’t that much different.

  “Your mom is in the back of the shop. She and Willow are under the shake-and-bake.”

  “They’re where?” I decided that Delia the hairstylist spoke in r
iddles, and I wasn’t privy to the game.

  “It’s my little name for the dryers. It’s to the left.” She pointed to the back of the salon with her hair dryer. “At the back of the salon there is a room where the dryers are. That’s also where we do the mani-pedis. It’s a little calmer back there.”

  I thanked her and headed to the back of the salon. It was much quieter there. Two manicurists worked on clients in one corner of the room, and I found my mother and Willow sitting side by side under matching heat lamps.

  Mom held a yellow legal pad on her lap that was almost completely covered with writing. Willow also had a legal pad, but hers was blank. Clearly, she let my mother serve as secretary. Good move. Mom took meticulous notes.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said over the whirl of machines.

  Mom peered at me over her legal pad. “Angie, you’re finally here! Willow and I were discussing whether or not you would ever show up.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I muttered.

  My mother went on as if she hadn’t heard my grumble. “We have some amazing news about the book sale.”

  There was a small black manicurist’s stool a few feet away from me. I kicked it with my foot over to where my mother and Willow sat. I thought I would have to sit down for this conversation.

  “After leaving your shop this morning,” Willow said. “I stopped by the Millers’ bakery. It took convincing, but Aaron agreed to allow the library book sale to continue as planned tomorrow and Saturday. He also is going to have a farmers’ market in conjunction with the book sale and the grand opening for his pie factory.”

  “Mattie told me.”

  Mom clapped her hands. “Excellent. We have Friends of the Library and other volunteers bringing the books from the library this afternoon.”

  “And we have a tent being set up in the factory parking lot as we speak,” Willow added.

  I started to stand. “It sounds to me like the two of you have this all sorted out. You have it well in hand. I will let you take it all over.”

  “Oh, no,” my mother said. “You are not going to weasel out of helping us.”