The Battered Body

by J. B. Stanley

  The Battered Body: A Supper Club Mystery © 2009 by J. B. Stanley.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First e-book edition © 2010

  E-book ISBN: 9780738720463

  Book design by Donna Burch

  Cover design by Ellen Dahl

  Cover illustration © 2008 Linda Holt-Ayriss / Susan and Co.

  Interior illustrations by Llewellyn art department

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  To Owen and Sophie

  I love you more than cupcakes

  “The most dangerous food is wedding cake.”

  —James Thurber

  “It’s how much?” Librarian James Henry turned pale as he glanced back at the real estate listing on his lap.

  The real estate agent, a prim blonde with purple-tinted lipstick and calculating blue eyes, reached over her polished mahogany desk and removed the listing from her client’s soft lap. “I’m sorry,” she smiled icily. “I’m sure we can find you something in your price range that would suit you just perfectly.” She uncapped a ballpoint pen and held it poised over a blank sheet of paper. “What would you say your price range is, Mr. Henry?”

  “About half of that one.” James gestured at the listing that his Realtor was tucking into a blue folder, and his eyes slid toward the shiny brass plaque on her desk. Apparently, Joan Beechnut had been the area’s leader in home sales for the last three years.

  Seeing that her client had noticed her laurels, Joan smiled proudly, revealing small, ferretlike teeth coated by a thin line of purple.

  “I’m planning to win again this year,” she stated haughtily, and then she began flipping through her binder of house listings. “It’s too bad you didn’t call me earlier in the fall,” she chided him as her fingers raked through listing after listing. “If you had, you would have had so much more to choose from. As it stands, well, most folks don’t put their houses up for sale right after Thanksgiving. They’ve got Christmas shopping on their minds and no one likes to move over the holidays.”

  “Well, I have to,” James replied rather testily. “My father is getting married on Christmas Eve, and I’m sure Pa would rather not carry his new bride over the threshold only to remember that his adult son is sleeping in the bedroom down the hall.”

  Joan’s brown eyes, hidden beneath an expensive pair of aquamarine contacts, twinkled at the thought of some interesting gossip. “A second marriage, eh? Did your parents get divorced?”

  “My mother died a few years ago,” James stated flatly. “That’s how I ended up as Shenandoah’s head librarian. I used to be a professor at William & Mary. That’s why lots of folks in Quincy’s Gap call me Professor,” he added with pride.

  Blue Ridge Realty wasn’t in James’s hometown of Quincy’s Gap, however, and Joan was unimpressed by James’s title. “And what about you?” She gestured at his left hand. “No wedding ring, I see? Will you be living all alone in the three-bedroom, two-bathroom house you’d like to purchase?”

  James squirmed in his chair. He didn’t appreciate the “all” Joan had placed before the “alone” for emphasis. “Yes, it’ll just be me.”

  Joan flipped through more listings. “No pets?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm, then you don’t need a big yard.” She turned back several pages.

  “But I like to garden,” James piped up before the Realtor restricted him to a yard that could be mowed with a pair of barber’s clippers. “In fact, I’d like an excuse to buy a riding mower, and if the house had a deck or a patio, that would be great too. Decks are perfect for growing tomatoes.”

  “Tomatoes, huh?” Joan stared at James for a moment and then removed a listing from the binder and placed it in front of him with a flourish.

  James gazed at the image of a sad-looking ranch with a flat and treeless expanse of front lawn. Even though the photo was black and white, James could see that the roof was stained, the front stoop appeared to be sagging, and chips of paint the size of dinner plates were missing from the wooden siding.

  “It’s a perfect fixer-upper for a handy guy,” Joan said enthusiastically, as though the house were a valuable gemstone that only required some simple polishing in order to make it sparkle. “A new coat of paint, a bush planted here and there, and you’re good to go.”

  “And a new roof, replaced stoop, and who knows what else inside.” James handed the listing back to her. “And I’m rather a novice with power tools, so I’d prefer not to buy something that needs this kind of overhaul.”

  Shoving the rejected home back into the binder, Joan laced her fingers together and leaned forward on her desk. “You know, I have some lovely apartment rentals over at Mountain Valley Woods. They’re just starting to lease Building F. Why don’t I take you to view a few of them? You could move into a brand new two-bedroom apartment and relax while waiting for the perfect house to come onto the market.”

  James thought about the idea of living in Building F of Mountain Valley Woods. He could easily visualize the crisp, white walls, pristine carpeting, and sparkling kitchen. He could also imagine the lifelessness of such a dwelling. Even if he filled it with his books and bought some prints to hang on the unscathed walls, he knew that an apartment would never feel like home. Even the decrepit ranch Joan had shown him had more character than four square rooms that had never witnessed a moment of human history. Besides, how could he possibly live in a place with the ridiculous title of Mountain Valley Woods? It was as if the developers strung together every geographic noun they could think of to use as the complex’s name.

  All they needed was to add River, Brook, or Stream and they’d have listed all the things on a Shenandoah County map, James thought with a wry grin, and he stood. “I’ve got some time, Ms. Beechnut, so I’d rather keep looking at houses, if that’s okay. But right now, I’ve got to get back to work.”

  Doing her best to disguise her frown, Joan rose as well and vigorously pumped James’s hand in farewell. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you something. But even if the perfect house just fell into my lap today, it would take at least thirty days to close, so you may want to go ahead and make plans to stay someplace else on your father’s wedding night.”

  R
uffled by the smirk in her voice, James pivoted. “I’ve got friends who will put me up as long as I need,” he declared with feeling.

  “Well, those must be some nice friends,” Joan replied and closed the door to her office.

  “They’re the best,” James mumbled happily to himself as he got into his old Bronco and headed back to work.

  At the library, James realized that he had used his entire lunch hour at the Realtor’s and hadn’t had the chance to eat anything. He dug through the staff fridge for any enticing leftovers, but was disappointed to find only an assortment of condiments and a piece of string cheese that had turned hard enough to double as a cudgel.

  “I come bearing dessert.” Scott Fitzgerald, one of the twenty-four-year-old twin brothers who formed James’s full-time staff, breezed into the kitchen. He dumped a covered cake plate onto the counter, shoved a wave of his unkempt hair behind his ear, and removed the Tupperware lid with a flourish. “Yum, yum! It’s Mrs. Hurley’s famous chocolate angel food cake. She brought it in ’cause Francis and I helped her design and print out her own Christmas cards using our computers. She told us we were magicians and that she was going to make us a dessert every week ’til Christmas.” He smiled. “We’ve got the best job, Professor.”

  “Yes, we do, Scott.” Saliva leapt into James’s mouth as he inhaled the rich scent of buttery chocolate. “Oh my, I think it’s still warm.”

  “Yep.” Scott reached for a knife and two paper plates. “She said she just took it out of the oven, strapped it to the back of her bike, and headed over here. That’s the kind of woman I’d like to marry someday, Professor.” He cut an enormous slice of cake, slapped it onto his plate, and handed the knife to his boss. “Of course, the future Mrs. Fitzgerald also has to have a fine appreciation of sci-fi and fantasy, video games, and the Discovery Channel.” Scott’s front teeth sunk into the moist cake. He chewed and swallowed as rapidly as a rabbit munching on a lettuce leaf.

  Eyeing Scott’s lanky frame, James cut a marginally smaller piece of cake for himself. “What I’d give for your metabolism,” he muttered to Scott. “Enjoy it while you can.”

  “No problem, Professor,” Scott said dutifully as he washed down his cake with a swig of Mountain Dew. “I ate a double-decker bacon-ranch cheeseburger for lunch, and it barely made a dent. I totally should have super-sized the whole meal.” He glanced toward the door of the break room. “Uh-oh, Francis isn’t looking happy out there. I’d better see what’s up.” Scott hurriedly wiped his mouth with a paper towel and dashed out of the break room and around the circulation desk.

  James cut himself another piece of cake as he watched Francis grab his brother’s slim arm and gesticulate toward the Children’s Corner. Assuming that Francis had merely found a glitch involving the craft he had planned for the kindergarten class that was scheduled to arrive any moment, James finished the cake in a leisurely fashion. The twins were more than capable of handling twenty-four energetic five-year-olds.

  Licking the last crumbs from his plastic fork, he washed the cake knife and pondered over whether to brew a fresh pot of coffee.

  At that moment, however, a patron approached the circulation desk with a tower of hardcover romance novels, and James hustled from the break room to check out her books and pack them neatly in her deep-red Friends of the Shenandoah County Library tote bag.

  “I gotta do somethin’ to keep warm over the winter months,” the elderly woman told him with a sly grin. “Some steamy books, a plate of cookies, and a tumbler of whiskey. That’s the trick to survivin’ the long, cold nights when you live by yourself.”

  Watching the old woman shuffle away, James wondered about his own plans for the winter months. First and foremost, he wanted to buy a house. Secondly, he had to figure out the details of Jackson and Milla’s wedding gift. He knew that he wanted to treat them to a wonderful honeymoon, and since they didn’t want to leave until after the New Year, James had four weeks to come up with the perfect trip. And just as soon as his father’s wedding was over and the newlyweds were out of town, James wanted nothing more than to focus his attention on rekindling a romantic relationship with Sheriff’s Deputy Lucy Hanover.

  “Professor!” Francis approached the desk wearing a worried frown and carrying a basket brimming with cotton balls. “He’s gone! Glowstar’s gone!”

  Searching his memory bank for the name Glowstar, James came up blank. “Who?”

  “Our elf,” Francis answered impatiently. “The Elf on the Shelf ? You know, the stuffed elf we take out every year who magically moves around the library and watches the kids to make sure they’re good.”

  “Right!” James remembered and grinned. “And he reports their behavior to Santa Claus after every library visit. I hadn’t realized his name was Glowstar.”

  Francis’s frown deepened. “This is serious, Professor. The younger kids always get pretty wild this close to Christmas vacation, and Glowstar’s the only way we’ve been able to keep them in line. The whole ‘You better watch out’ chorus Scott and I like to sing has lost its power without that elf.” Francis cast a frantic look over his shoulder. “For example, I’ve got twenty-four kindergartners back there that are supposed to be gluing cotton balls together to make Santa’s beard. Instead, they’re gluing them to their fingers, the chairs, the carpet, their friends’ hair …”

  “Oh.” James could see that this was no laughing matter. He hated when the library became untidy. “You’re not using glitter with this project, I hope.”

  Francis glanced away. “Um, it’s supposed to create ‘the twinkle’ in Santa’s eye.”

  James walked around the circulation desk. “And what is it being used for in lieu of an eye twinkle, may I ask?”

  “Uh,” Francis removed his glasses and began rubbing them vigorously on his plaid shirt. “Well, one kid has doused his side of the table with a magical silver snowfall, and now there’s glitter everywhere but on Santa’s face.”

  “We need to distract them before things get any worse.” James took Francis by the elbow. “Announce a reward. The first kid to clean up his or her space will be given the opportunity to find Glowstar and win a prize for spotting his whereabouts. I’m sure the elf’s just hiding in the stacks somewhere.”

  “And their reward?” Francis inquired. “They’re going to need motivation, Professor. These twenty-first-century kids don’t lift a finger without the promise of instant gratification, so I’ll need to tell them ahead of time what to expect.”

  James’s gaze swept around the library. All he had were bookmarks and tote bags. He doubted the average five-year-old would work too hard for literary paraphernalia. “I bought a box of candy canes at Food Lion,” he mused aloud. “I was going to put them out on the circulation desk for our patrons to take as they exited. Do you think that’ll work as a motivator?”

  “Absolutely!” Francis quickly nodded. “I think our entire educational system would grind to a halt without candy, Professor. Kids will do anything for sugar. I’ll go make the announcement before all the picture books are covered with glue and glitter.”

  As Francis jogged back to the chaotic Children’s Corner, James decided to empty the reshelving cart while conducting his own search for Glowstar. By the time the cart was empty, a gang of mischievous kindergartners had pulled books from a dozen lower shelves. The kids discovered dust bunnies, old Band-Aids, and a few pieces of hardened chewing gum, but there was no trace of a six-inch elf dressed in red and green felt.

  An hour later, the twins had finally finished picking up the trails of sticky cotton balls and vacuuming up most of the silver glitter from the carpet. James was just replacing the last stray—a picture book entitled Everybody Poops, which was one of the library’s most popular titles and not just with the juvenile crowd—when Bennett Marshall walked in.

  “What are you doing here?” James asked his friend. “This isn’t your regular route.”

  Bennett reached into his mail satchel and withdrew a thick pile of l
etters and catalogues held together by a rubber band. “Larry got bit by a dog this morning. I’m helpin’ out with his route, because the United States Postal Service doesn’t care what kind of evil canines are runnin’ loose in this world. The mail must be delivered, come rain, snow, hurricane-force winds, or rabid, wild-eyed, furry hounds of hell.”

  “Larry’s never mentioned any threatening dogs on his route,” James said, gesturing for Bennett to follow him into the break room.

  “That’s ’cause there aren’t any. He’s got the cushiest route in the whole valley. At least as far as dogs go. Nah, he was bit takin’ his cat to the vet this mornin’. Apparently that crazy feline decided to try to ride a pit bull like it was in some kind of kitty rodeo. Larry was attacked while pryin’ his cat off the back of one mighty irritated young dog. That pup had just gotten a whole mess of shots and was in a foul mood before Larry’s cat treated him like a pincushion.” Bennett smirked. “Guess animals get just as agitated as we do about visitin’ the doctor.”

  James laughed. “And they don’t get lollipops either. Doc Spratt has given me a green lollipop ever since I can remember. Would you like some chocolate angel food cake while you’re here? It’s homemade.”

  Bennett cast a longing glance at the cake and then shook his head. “Can’t do it, man. I got some bad news when I was at the doc’s office last week. Shoot, I felt like bitin’ somebody on my way out of there.”

  Concerned, James closed the break room door and motioned at the table. “Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

  “Nothin’ major, my man. I don’t have cancer or anythin’ that should be puttin’ that long look on your face.” Bennett pointed at the cake. “I just gotta keep an eye on my sugars. Seems like bein’ over forty comes with a whole mess of possible ails, and it would appear as though I’ve got one of them.”

  “Which one?”

  Bennett formed quotation marks with the first two fingers of his hands. “Mature onset diabetes.” He dropped his hands. “But I don’t need any pills or anything yet. I can control this thing by gettin’ back into the gym and watchin’ what I eat. And truth be told, James, I’ve only been watchin’ the food as it leaves my plate and is shoveled into my mouth. Ever since we got back from the barbecue contest this summer, I’ve been indulgin’ way too much.”