“I can’t imagine a businessowner would want to jeopardize their reputation in this town,” Molly remarked. “I mean, reputation is everything here.” She paused and tilted her head. “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Well, what if we look at what happened after the event?” Molly continued with her line of thinking. “Did anyone leave town abruptly?”
“Good question. I have no idea.” I ran my fingers through my auburn curls as this case rested on my chest like an elephant had decided to take a nap right on top of me. “Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a detective. This is a lot of work! Nancy Drew made it look so easy.”
Evangeline, who was not a warm and fuzzy type of person, laid her hand on top of mine tenderly. “Don’t get overwhelmed. I know Susan tasked you with working on this, but it’s not entirely up to you. The BBPD is on the case too. You can only do what you can do. Why don’t you start by exonerating all the library staff members, since Chief James seemed to think it might be an inside job? And then you can follow your lead…Camille…”
Leave it up to the cataloguer to find a logical, systematic way of doing things. I was lucky to have her on my team. “Good thinking. After lunch, I’ll go talk to each one of the staff members on the attendee list. Let’s see, Tom in Reference, Barbara in Circulation, and Jada in Tech Services.”
“Good luck,” Evangeline said after chewing her last bite of orange.
“Thanks, I have a feeling I’ll need it.”
I ambushed Tom as he was leaving his reference desk shift. Getting his interview out of the way first was a good plan because he was a talker, and I’d be able to rein him in by using the excuse of having other staff to talk to. At least that was my plan.
“Hey, Tom, do you have a moment?” I followed him from the reference desk to his office like a puppy dog.
He whipped around, his long gray ponytail following the motion and landing on his shoulder. “Sure, Sunshine. What do ya need?”
Tom was originally from Minnesota, and he had the accent to match. Friendly beyond reason, he often went on long tangents about obscure bits of history or random facts. I had a feeling he watched a lot of documentaries or something, which was perfect for a reference librarian, because you never knew what a patron was going to ask you. Reference librarians required knowledge of a little bit of everything as well as innate curiosity and a boat-load of patience.
“I just want to ask you a few questions about the gala on Saturday.” I held up my notepad to indicate I’d be jotting some things down.
“You betcha!” He smiled as he took a seat at his desk and gestured for me to take one of the chairs across from it.
It was very narrow, but I wiggled my generous hips into it and flipped open the notepad to the next blank page. “I know Chief James asked you some stuff yesterday…”
Tom’s nose scrunched up. “Oh, no, he didn’t really ask me much. We were mostly talking about our mutual interest in World War II weaponry, specifically tanks. Did you know the DD amphibious tank was crucial in our victory at Normandy?”
“Uh…” See? This was exactly how Tom sucked you into a long, meandering conversation that, while not entirely unpleasant, could certainly tick away precious minutes. I cleared my throat. “Sorry, I have others to interview, so I just want to ask you a few things.”
Also, Chief James didn’t really question him about the gala? I thought that was his whole point for coming into the library yesterday. He seemed to think one of us had betrayed our profession, our town—each other! Didn’t that mean he swept through the building on a mission of interrogation?
“Sure, sorry. I just get really excited when it comes to history.” Tom’s grin grew even wider.
“Oh, that’s fine, no worries.” I got excited about things too. Bridgerton. Dark chocolate. Coffee. One of my YA patrons loving a book I recommended. But I had to get to the bottom of this cruel crime against the library, against my town, against my livelihood!
“Can you tell me about your night from the period of after dinner to when the Founders’ Bible was stolen?” I figured I’d keep it open-ended and look for clues.
“Well, my wife and I went downstairs after dinner to mingle with the crowd and get our dance on, don’tcha know?” He chuckled as the memories appeared to dance behind his eyes. “I don’t really remember anything specific until the mayor made the announcement about the donations, and then everyone was in full celebration mode—until we heard the glass shatter. I thought my heart was going to stop, my wife screamed so loud.”
So that’s where the scream came from. My ears were still ringing, days later.
“Did you notice anything unusual? Anyone behaving in an odd way?”
His nose wrinkled again. “Unusual or odd how? We’re in a library. There’s always unusual and odd stuff going on in here. Libraries are magnets for…uh…interesting people.” He capped off his observation with a wink.
I couldn’t argue with him there. “Did you happen to notice any of the guests wandering off to parts of the library that weren’t being used for the party?” I recalibrated my question.
Tom scratched his scalp, where his gray hair was thinning, and looked up at the ceiling as he tried to access his memories from the night. “Now that you mention it, I did see those two ladies in the evening gowns…I don’t know their names, I’m sorry. They seem to be friends of the mayor’s wife?” he attempted to prompt me.
“Rosita and Heather,” I tried to hold back my gasp. It seemed to corroborate my suspicions about Camille stealing the money and the Bible to foil her husband’s chances of re-election. “Where did you see them?”
“The periodical collection on the other side of the hallway that leads to the offices,” he said. “I saw some sparkles back there—turned out to be that pink dress, I think.” He laughed as the picture of it filled his mind. “But I’m sure they were just having a private conversation—or, I don’t know, maybe they really wanted to see the current issue of Glamour?”
“Or maybe they were plotting to steal our money…” My voice trailed off as I scribbled down a few notes on my pad.
Tom laughed even harder at my accusation. “I daresay, if I was going to a fundraising gala to steal a priceless artifact and the proceeds of said gala, I probably wouldn’t wear such…provocative attire.”
He had a point, but that could have just been part of the ruse. If accused, they could say, “Would I really wear a pink sparkling gown if I wanted to fly under the radar and steal something?”
“Thanks, Tom,” I dismissed his point because I was really liking how the evidence pointed toward Camille and her Mean Girl clique. “If you think of anything else, will you let me know?”
“Of course. Good luck, Sunshine. I hope you can recover our stolen funds.”
“Me too, Tom. Me too.”
He lowered his chin as if to signify the seriousness of the situation. He knew as well as I did that our jobs were at stake.
Barbara, the Circulation Manager, was my next stop. She was busy training a crew of volunteers, showing them how to read the Dewey Decimal call numbers and shelve books. “Do you have a moment, or should I come back later?” I asked, leaning over the counter.
“Hey, Sunshine. Just a sec, and I’ll be right with you.” She instructed the volunteers to load up a cart with books and wheel it upstairs to shelve. “I’ll check your work later this afternoon.”
The three volunteers, elderly ladies from the community, all looked excited to be part of our mission. See? That’s what the library is all about: connecting our community with information and entertainment, and fostering a sense of belonging. Who could possibly want to stand in the way of such noble aspirations? Only a twisted, evil, selfish person!
“What can I do for you?” Barbara straightened her shirt so the buttons aligned with the ones on her skirt. Now her buttons went in a straight line from chin to ankle, matching her personality. She was very much a by-the-book kind of person, pardon the pun, and
she ran the public services area of the library with efficiency and aplomb.
“I wanted to ask you a few questions about Saturday night,” I said. “Chief James probably spoke to you yesterday?”
“Why, yes, he did.” Concern gripped her aging features as she clutched the pearl strand encircling her neck. “I just feel so horrible about what happened, but I’m sorry to say we weren’t there at the time.”
“No?” I searched her face, looking for any signs of falsehood.
“No, Stanley started feeling ill after dinner. I think he simply ate too much. He thought it was the fish at first, but when no one else seemed to be affected…”
Stanley was her husband, a short, stocky man with thick glasses and a waxy complexion. “I’m sorry to hear he didn’t feel well. Is he okay now?”
She nodded, smiling in apparent gratitude. “He is fine now, thank you. Must have had to work it through his system.”
That wasn’t a particularly pleasant thought so soon after lunch, but I rolled with it. “What time did you leave?”
“We left around seven, not long after dinner finished up,” she said. “So we missed all the hubbub. Though, in retrospect, I’m glad I wasn’t there. I probably would have fainted when the Bible was stolen.” She fanned herself as though she were in danger of fainting even at the thought of it. “That Bible has been our literal and symbolic connection to our town’s founding for hundreds of years, Sunshine. Donations can be replaced, but that Bible cannot.”
I didn’t need to be lectured about the significance of the Founders’ Bible. I still remembered my first glimpse of it as a fourth-grader at Bryce Beach Elementary. We’d taken a field trip to the library to see it, and then some woman—probably a children’s librarian, now that I thought about it—dressed up in colonial garb, told us the story about the founding fathers’ shipwreck and how they swam to shore, then decided to settle right here in Bryce Beach. I was in awe of something that old even back then, though I couldn’t begin to grasp what a treasure it truly was.
I decided not to respond to her insinuation that I didn’t fully appreciate the value of what was lost. “Did you notice anyone behaving oddly before you and Stanley left?”
She shook her head. “No, it was a great evening until we had to leave.” She made a tsk-tsk sound. “Stanley and his sensitive stomach. I’ve been trying to get him to see a doctor about it for many years… It’s not the first time we’ve had to cut our evening short due to gastrointestinal distress…”
And on that note, I took my leave. I needed to track down one more library staff member who was in attendance at the gala, and that meant a trip to the bowels of the library, otherwise known as Technical Services.
Alright, so first of all, it wasn’t really the bowels because it was at the back of the building. If you wanted a human body metaphor, it would be more like the feet. Or the butt, maybe? But the hallway to get there was twisty and dark, kind of like I imagined intestines being.
I pressed the buzzer button because I’d left my keys on my desk. Through the glass in the door, I saw one of the tech services staff coming to let me in. I recognized Linda O’Neal, a petite dark-haired lady who always wore denim. Lots and lots of denim.
“Hey, Sunny,” she said brightly, not disappointing me in her patchwork denim skirt. They didn’t get too many visitors back here unless it was someone trying to track down a missing book that was supposedly on the shelf but wasn’t. And in that case, the visitor usually wasn’t in the best mood.
“Sunshine,” I corrected her, trying to keep the smile firmly implanted on my face. I hated being called Sunny. The only thing worse than being called Sunny was when someone made a “baking” joke about my last name. That was utterly mortifying.
“What can I do for you, Sunshine?” She emphasized my name with a tiny shred of snarkiness.
“Is Jada in?” I glanced around, seeing if I could answer the question for myself.
“No, she’s still at lunch.” Linda stared at me, unblinking, like she was trying to stave off an eyeroll.
Jada was one of the newer staff members at the library. Young, idealistic, and somewhat flighty, she hadn’t yet developed what I would call a great rapport with her staff. My guess was they didn’t think she’d paid her dues and shouldn’t be a manager, but she had a brand-spankin’-new master’s degree in library science, so that trumped years of experience, at least when it came to management. For better or worse.
“Any idea when she’ll be back?” I added the appropriate gentle tone to this delicate question.
Linda shrugged and, yes, there was that eyeroll she’d attempted to suppress. It wormed its way out despite her best efforts. “No idea. It’s Tuesday. She might not come back before her four o’clock yoga class.”
I narrowed my eyes “Really? It’s only one o’clock now…”
“Well, yoga is very important, you know…” Linda’s words dripped with sarcasm.
I wondered if Susan knew about Jada’s disappearing acts—it sounded like a regular thing from the picture Linda was painting. “Okay, thanks. I’ll stop by tomorrow, then.”
“Right. Tomorrow…well, she’s leaving for vacation tomorrow,” Linda disclosed.
My ears perked up as I remembered our lunch-time discussion about anyone skipping town after the event. Tomorrow would be four days after the gala, but…could this still be of significance? Jada was fresh out of library school, presumably saddled with student loan debt. Even library managers didn’t make a ton of money. We certainly didn’t go into this profession to get rich. Maybe she was absconding with the money and then planned to return when things died down? Of all the potential suspects in the library, Jada was the only one I didn’t know well. Maybe Chief James knew what he was talking about, after all?
“Oh, okay…” I glanced down at my notepad where I’d already crossed off my name, Molly’s and Evangeline’s. I drew lines through Tom’s and Barbara’s names. Then I drew a big fat question mark next to Jada.
I thanked Linda, Queen of Denim, for her time and headed back up to my little cubbyhole in the YA area. I supposed I should try to get some actual library work done.
But now I had two suspects…
Seven
Bond was sitting in the window, soaking up the last rays of late afternoon sunshine when I unlocked the door to my house. Paige slinked between my legs, welcoming me home. I breathed a deep sigh of relief now that I could finally relax, but once I brewed a cup of coffee and tried to curl up in my favorite reading nook with my new book, I found my mind wandering back to the case over and over and over again.
It didn’t help that I got a text from Molly that only enabled my apparent obsession with the Bryce Beach Bandit, as I had nicknamed our perpetrator.
Molly: Hey. Any luck this afternoon?
Me: Define luck.
Molly: Um. You want Merriam-Webster’s definition or…?
My immediate thought: Haha for book nerd humor.
Me: I have a new suspect. And I want to spy on Camille, I think. Like, how do you go about doing that?
Molly: I think I’m the wrong person to ask.
Me: Pretty sure I need some spy gadgets.
I looked over at Bond, who was staring at me from across the room, probably wondering when I was going to stop fooling around and serve him his dinner. “You got any spy gadgets, cat?”
He blinked, then continued staring.
Molly: Here’s a wild idea: you could just go talk to her?
Me: Like just show up at her house? The mayor’s house?
Molly: That’s what detectives always do in the movies, isn’t it? They show up unannounced and catch their suspects or witnesses off-guard. That way they don’t have time to prepare.
Me: I feel like I need a guise or something. If I don’t have gadgets, I definitely need a guise.
Molly: What about a gal pal? Would that work?
Me: YES! Are you free tonight by chance?
Molly: No plans after dinner. Do
n’t they live just off the boardwalk?
Me: They sure do.
Molly: Let’s meet at The Candy Shoppe. I have an idea.
Me: You’re the best!
Molly: See you at 7?
Me: I’ll be there!
Bryce Beach comprised a cove carved out between two points of coastline that jutted out into the Atlantic. On one end of the beach stood an old-fashioned lighthouse; though not in use anymore, it served as a quaint backdrop for touristy postcards and wedding photos. On the other end was a large marina and fishing pier that we shared with the next town over, which was called Berrywood.
Bryce Beach had an adorable little boardwalk, just like so many other quaint little ‘burgs on the Eastern seaboard. Berrywood had one too, but ours was far superior. (Of course!) We had a half dozen nice restaurants, a few cafés, a bookstore, some clothing stores, some souvenir shops, and a few specialty shops as well, one of which was wall-to-wall candy. The Candy Shoppe was my absolute favorite place to go as a kid. Oh, right, who am I kidding? It was still my favorite place to go, even at forty-two. Angelo’s Ristorante Italiano and The Sophisticated Bean, a fancy coffee shop, were my other favorites.
I got to the beach early because you never knew what the parking situation would be like, though a Tuesday evening in early spring was usually a safe bet. Ten years ago we never had any parking problems, but Bryce Beach was featured in one of those “best small towns in the USA” lists about a decade ago—and we’ve been paying for it ever since.
I parked my little red Mazda CX-3 on a side street, a little further from the beach. The mayor’s house was only a block from my spot, so I’d be able to make a quick getaway if needed.
I didn’t know what I was so worried about. I was just going to ask Camille a few questions. I’d integrate her answers with the evidence I’d collected so far—and probably overanalyze it half the night—but nothing…bad…was going to happen.
Dangerous Curves Boxed Set 1: 3 Cozy Christian Mysteries Page 6