“I was just giving Falcon a tour of our facility,” Evangeline explained, taking on a formal tone that seemed to be part of her new director persona.
“Wonderful to hear. Um, I need to speak with you at your earliest convenience.” I raised one brow to stamp a sense of urgency onto my request.
“Of course. Let me finish up Mr. Roberts’ tour, and then I’ll be right down.” She gave me a smug smile before directing our cataloguer candidate toward the activities room.
I went back downstairs, the need to tell someone what was going on blazing like a wildfire inside me. Molly was in the middle of story time now, and Tom and Barbara both looked busy. I’ll go tell Jada, I thought and began to head toward technical services, but then I was afraid Evangeline would come looking for me, and I wouldn’t be at my desk.
I couldn’t imagine her giving the candidate a terribly long tour—there wasn’t much to see, anyway. We were just a small-town public library. I remembered from Mr. Roberts’ resume that he had spent most of his career at the state university library, which probably seemed like the Library of Congress compared to our tiny operation. Unless he was looking for a small-town atmosphere with a much slower pace, I wasn’t sure how happy he’d be working here.
Slumping into my desk chair, I thought about who else I could call. “Oh, my mother!” I exclaimed loud enough that Molly shot me a dirty look from across the room, her eyes a sharp glare stabbing into me over the top of the picture book she was reading to a gaggle of squirming children.
Holding my desk phone to my ear, I hastily dialed my parents’ phone number I’d had memorized since I was six years old. My mother answered on the first ring: “Honey, are you okay?”
Leave it to my mother to assume something happened to me when a million other things could prompt a call. Of course, given my recent brushes with death, it was understandable she would react that way. However, I knew my mother, and she’d been answering my calls in this exact manner for decades now. Ever since I moved out of the house.
“Mom, I’m fine,” I assured her, not wanting her to worry about me. Like that was even possible.
“What’s going on? You never call during the workday.”
“Haven’t you heard the sirens?”
“Sirens? No, honey, your father has been mowing the yard. I can’t hear a darn thing! He just came inside.” She pulled the phone away from her ear before yelling, “Phillip! Don’t you dare track grass clippings into the house. I just swept!” She only called my father his full name when she really meant business. And, despite her pulling the phone away, I would be hearing her shrill voice echo in my ear for the rest of the day.
“What were the sirens for? I asked you if you’re okay,” she reminded me.
“Mom, I have some terrible news.” I bit my lip, trying to decide how to tell her.
“What’s that?”
I sighed, gathering up the strength to form the necessary words. “Willa Bryce Monroe was found dead about an hour ago. Her body was—”
“Oh, honey, I already know that,” she cut me off.
What?!
“How did you know already?”
“Well, Evelyn from next door heard something on her scanner, and her husband Arnie is best friends with Keith James, and—”
Keith James was Chief James’s father. I forgot his parents lived in my parents’ neighborhood. I also forgot how fast word spread in small towns. It would behoove me to remember that in the future.
“Well, isn’t it awful?” I couldn’t believe my mother was being so blasé about this. Mrs. Monroe was one of the most respected and notorious members of our community, and undoubtedly the wealthiest.
“It is certainly sad,” my mother agreed, “but not terribly unexpected. She was eighty-four, you know.”
Eighty-four. I wasn’t quite sure, but I had guessed she was around eighty.
“Mom, she didn’t die of natural causes,” I whispered.
There was silence for a moment. “But—”
“Mom, she was shot.”
More silence.
“Mom?”
“Sunshine Marie Baker, you better not be spreading baseless rumors!” my mother gasped. “I was told she drowned. I figured she wanted to go for one last swim…”
“What? No! Why would you think I’d make that up?” I scoffed. “I just came from the police station. Not that you should repeat what I just told you—” Oh, no. Chief James was expecting me to keep that to myself, wasn’t he?
“So it is just gossip, then?” My mother tsked me! “Sunshine, I thought I raised you better than that.”
“No, it’s not gossip. Chief James told me that himself, but the information won’t be released to the public until after the autopsy.”
“Who would want to kill an old, helpless woman?” my mother sighed.
“Well, she was the richest person in town,” I reminded her, “and she had openly opposed the developer who was trying to buy the property at Magnolia and Pine. Actually, she was going to bid on the property herself to keep his deal from going through.”
“You don’t think…”
“It happened right before the town council meeting!” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I looked up to find Evangeline had snuck up on me. She was hovering over my desk like a gargoyle, her eyes thin slits.
What’s going on? she mouthed, but it sounded more like a long hiss.
“Mom, my boss needs to speak with me—” It sounds official, right? “I will call you back later. Please don’t tell anyone I told you that.” Please? I added silently, but that time was more for God’s ears.
I hung up the phone and whipped around to face Evangeline, who was standing with her hands on her hips, not body language I typically saw from her. “What happened? What were the sirens about? Did you go down to the beach?”
“Sit down.” I gestured toward the chair across from my desk where my teen patrons sometimes sat. Okay, only Anna Cooper, but still.
She huffed as she slid into the chair and leaned toward me. “Spill it.”
“Willa Bryce Monroe’s body was found washed up on the beach at a property on Shore Drive.”
My boss’s jaw dropped open as she sat suspended on the edge of her seat, blinking and speechless.
“She was shot,” I blurted out. Darn it! I spilled the beans again!
Now Evangeline’s hand flew to her mouth. In the children’s area, the sound of Molly’s voice faded, and the hubbub of young children and their parents filled the room, carrying over to my area.
Molly’s eyes flashed over to us, a questioning gaze on her face. One look at Evangeline, and she understood we should wait for Molly to join us. “Call Jada,” she told me. “Let’s have an early lunch.”
Our foursome gathered in the courtyard, though it was too hot. Even with the breeze floating in off the water, I felt sweat beading on my forehead. But we needed some privacy, and this was the best we could do while we were at work.
“So what’s going on?” Molly asked as she settled herself on the picnic bench. Jada slid in behind her, looking cool and fresh in a green and white striped linen dress that tied around the waist. Evangeline still wore black and long sleeves, despite the heat, and I was fairly certain she was impervious to it.
“This morning, a couple BBPD officers were here investigating the attempted theft of the donation box in the lobby—it was some kid who tried to steal it. I think the same one who tried to steal that woman’s purse at the coffee shop on Friday night, remember?”
Evangeline and Molly both nodded, but it was clear they wanted me to get to the juicy part of my story. The trouble was, I didn’t relish being the bearer of bad news. I felt like I was telling them their favorite great aunt had been murdered.
“They got a call on the radio just after they apprehended the suspect,” I shared, my eyes bouncing from Molly’s blues to Evangeline’s and Jada’s browns. “Body found on Shore Drive…”
All three pairs of eyes widened.
>
“It was Willa Bryce Monroe,” I stated, swallowing down the lump in my throat. I doubted I would be able to stomach anything I’d brought for lunch. My insides felt like they were a churning pile of goo. “She’d been shot.”
A gasp hissed out of all three mouths simultaneously as my friends’ shocked stares locked onto mine.
Evangeline closed her eyes for a moment as she sucked in a deep breath. “We’re going to do whatever it takes to bring her murderer to justice,” she said. “And, Sunshine, you’re in charge. Just let us know what you need us to do.”
The general public was probably blissfully unaware of what a powerful force a small group of librarians could be. We were trained to synthesize mountains of information, to catalog and classify it, and to create pathways for accessing it easily. We were also well versed in making something out of nothing—in building infrastructure and programs out of minimal resources. And we threw our hearts and souls into everything we did—we didn’t get into this line of work to make money, after all. We did it because of the raging passions within us for fostering literacy and democratizing access to information.
So when we went to work on investigating Mrs. Monroe’s murder, we went at it full force. By the time the library closed that evening, we already had pulled up every bit of public information we could find on the developer who wanted to build shops, restaurants and condos in our town.
“His name is Marco Callaghini,” I stated matter-of-factly as we gathered in the library conference room with all of the evidence we’d collected.
“I bet he has ties to the mob,” Evangeline offered. “He’s in New York, and he’s clearly Italian.”
“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Jada chimed in, “but it’s certainly possible. How can we delve a little deeper?”
“He’s worked on projects all up and down the East Coast,” Molly shared. “Most of them are in small towns like this. How much do you want to bet he has a personal contact in each one? And leverages it.”
“Didn’t Tom say the mayor was all for the new development?” Evangeline speculated. “Maybe he and Mr. Callaghini knew each other before?”
“Liz is coming in tomorrow,” I shared. “By then, I suspect the news to be reporting what happened to Mrs. Monroe. The whole town will be in mourning. I can have Liz look into Mr. Callaghini more closely. What I want to know is…how could he be so obvious? We all know Mrs. Monroe was the main voice of opposition to his project, but to just blatantly murder her? I mean, doesn’t he know we don’t do murders in this town? He might as well be standing there holding a smoking gun!”
“If he is part of the mafia,” Evangeline said, obviously still stuck on that theory, “he’s going to leverage all his contacts and power. Deals will be made; money will be exchanged. Officials will look the other way.”
“Surely Chief James would never fall for that!” I jumped in. I had gotten to know our chief of police fairly well over the past few months, and he was a “play by the book” kind of guy. He was certainly not corrupt.
“I hope they don’t go after Chief James next…” was all Evangeline said in response.
A chill shot up my spine.
Six
Chief James’s office was my first stop the next morning before heading into work. I’d spent the evening curled up on my sofa, Paige on one side of me and Bond on the other, while I went through the copious amount of information we’d collected on Marco Callaghini. I was taking it all straight to the police. This time, I didn’t want to hold any evidence or hunches I had close to my chest—time was of the essence, and I didn’t want this evil man to get away with murder, quite literally.
By now, everyone at the police station knew me. I got a much different reception today than I got when I first began stopping in to chat with Chief James. The treatment before had been downright frosty—now it was maybe a smidge hotter than lukewarm. Unless Allison the Cadet was working the desk, in which case I got a beaming smile and an update on all the latest gossip in Bryce Beach: who was dating whom, anything scandalous that had happened, etc. I sensed there was a bit of ambivalence on the part of the other officers. On one hand, I’d proved to be a competent amateur sleuth—on the other hand, I’d done their jobs better than they had.
Working the front desk today was Sgt. Bartrum Porter, who was close to retirement. “Hey, Bart.” I gave him a little wave to go along with my “first-name basis” greeting. He grumbled something about how Chief James was expecting me and to go on back, or at least that was what I gathered from the three syllables that actually sounded like English.
The chief’s door was ajar, but I knocked on the door jamb anyway. I understood he was still a man of formalities, even if we had progressed to a new understanding after my two successful cases. I was finally being welcomed to participate in the investigation, and I was grateful. Surprised—but grateful.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Chief Baker said, his dark eyes settling on me and his fingers lacing together on top of his desk, his usual way of greeting me. Except he was finally—finally!—calling me by my first name.
“Good morning…uh…” I wasn’t quite sure if I could reciprocate.
“What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to discuss Willa Bryce Monroe,” I told him matter-of-factly.
“Right.” He continued to stare at me, a smug smile tugging at his lips.
“So?”
“So?” he parroted back.
“Do you have the autopsy results yet?” I pressed. My notebook was out, pen in my hand, ready to go. I meant business.
Chief James scoffed. “This isn’t CSI, Ms. Baker.”
Two steps forward, one step back.
“I have been investigating the developer who wanted to buy that property off the boardwalk, Marco Callaghini,” I offered. “I am sure he has something to do with this. And I’m pretty confident he has mafia ties.”
“Sunshine…” A heavy sigh hissed out of Chief James’s mouth. “You know the state police are taking the lead on this case. We aren’t even doing the autopsy here. It’s happening in the city.”
I knew by “the city,” he meant at the capital, where the state police were headquartered.
“Come on, Vincent,” I got brave, “you know as well as I do that the state troopers don’t know our town like we do. And I was one of the last—if not the very last—to speak with the victim before she…passed.” I swallowed hard because that word tasted so bitter on my tongue. I was still grappling with the reality that she was gone. She seemed like such a fixture in our town, like she might live forever. And I think we all believed she’d succumb to old age—not be the victim of a gruesome murder.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we’ve already taken a statement from you, and I’m not sure what else we can do at this point,” Chief James continued. “Oh, I did want to thank you for reporting the attempted theft at the library. We’re trying to get the suspect some help.”
My eyebrows flew up. “What kind of help? He’s just a kid, right?” I couldn’t help my curiosity—he was the same age as my patrons. What if there was something I could do? Maybe he was just rebelling against his parents and needed more structure since it was summertime and school wasn’t in session.
Chief James sighed as he internally debated whether or not he should share any details with me. “It’s a sad story, actually. The boy’s parents died in an accident last year, and he’s been in the foster care system ever since, bouncing from home to home. He was in Cherry Grove before, but he moved in with a new family here in Bryce Beach a few weeks ago. CPS thought this new family and a fresh start would be good for him. It was hard to find a placement due to his age and…background. He’s been responsible for a rash of thefts in the area, and he seems to be getting bolder.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I looked down at my feet and my chipped toenail polish. Worrying about my need for a pedicure seemed petty when a child was suffering. “I will pray for him. What’s his name?”<
br />
“Knox Monroe,” he answered. “No relation to Mrs. Monroe, or at least that we know of.”
“Interesting.” I tapped my fingers on the surface of his desk, earning me a glare from the chief. I see what he did there. He distracted me from the murder case by trying to stir up my sympathies for this young man.
“I’m sure the state police are looking into the developer,” he stated as if he was reading my mind, which had already returned full force to Mrs. Monroe.
When a ding sounded from his computer, his eyes snapped to the screen. His jaw clenched as he read something before returning his gaze to me. “Looks like the autopsy just came back.”
A rush of excitement pulsed through me. I leaned forward, a hopeful expression painted on my face—hopeful he would let me stay.
“Just a moment.” He clicked a few times, then his eyes hastily scanned the document he’d pulled up on his monitor. I couldn’t see from my position, even leaning forward as far as I could without falling off my chair. His expression turned more and more grim as he continued to read. He was so engaged, for a moment, I thought he’d forgotten I was sitting there.
Then he looked up, his dark eyes taking on a glossy sheen. “She’d been dead for at least forty-eight hours when they found her. Single bullet to the chest—ballistics is analyzing it.”
I nodded. My lungs squeezing in my chest, I wasn’t sure I could get my words out at first. “Forty-eight hours means I was probably the last person to talk to her before she was killed. Let me help, Vincent, please? Have you looked into the mayor? To see if he has connections to Mr. Callaghini?”
Chief James’s nostrils flared. “I believe the state police, as well as my detectives, have already finished looking through Mrs. Monroe’s house. I’ll let you take a look around, but don’t touch anything.”
My heart began to pound against my ribcage. “Okay,” I choked out. “I’ll let you know what I find.”
Dangerous Curves Boxed Set 1: 3 Cozy Christian Mysteries Page 37