“Hey, it’s me.” I realized Barbara, the circulation manager’s extension was lit up, and when I glanced over at the circulation desk, she waved at me. “I have a call for you. I’m going to transfer it, okay?”
“Sure, of course.” Hmm, someone who doesn’t have my direct number. I went through the whole greeting spiel again when I answered.
“Hi, Sunshine, it’s Allison Adams over at BBPD,” the perky female voice announced.
Oh! That’s ironic, considering I was about to call the police station. “Hi, Allison. What can I do for you?”
“Well, we just got a report that Knox Monroe ran away from his new foster placement’s house, and we wondered if he’d stopped by the library? He went there before, so we thought maybe he went there again.”
I stood up at my desk and scanned the area from the lobby, over to the periodical section, to the reference area, to the circulation desk and back to my area and Molly’s. I didn’t see any teenagers at all, let alone a runaway. It was too early in the day for most of them to come out. They were basically nocturnal creatures, after all.
“I haven’t seen him, but I’ll tell everyone to keep an eye out,” I promised her.
“Okay. Let us know if you do see him,” she said. “Oh, and please call us before approaching him…”
My suspicions spiked. “Why? What do you mean by that?”
“Uh, well,” she cleared her throat, “uh…he punched his new foster dad yesterday.” A long, soft sigh hissed down the line. “This poor kid. I really wish someone could help him.”
“It sounds like he doesn’t want to be helped,” I pointed out. Most of my patrons were the really well-mannered, studious, nerdy kids, but from time to time, I encountered someone who needed an attitude adjustment. Sometimes, I was able to get through when no one else could, not parents, teachers, counselors, or coaches.
“He’s going to have a hard life if he doesn’t let anyone help him,” Allison stated, her voice dipping down in sadness.
“I’ll let you know if I see him.” I thanked her for calling and hung up, my heart pinging with pity for the kid. Losing your parents as a teenager would be a horrible thing for anyone to go through. I was sure he wasn’t actually a bad kid—he was just acting out. I bowed my head for a moment and said a little prayer for him, asking God to help soften his heart to the idea of letting someone in, someone he could talk to and lean on. Someone he could trust.
Then I saw Molly wrapping up her program and saying goodbye to her preschool patrons while checking out a few books to their parents. Evangeline was coming down the steps with her lunch bag tucked under her arm, and just moments after that, Jada emerged from tech services with a huge glass bottle that looked like it contained radioactive sewage or something. She took a sip as she traipsed over to my desk.
“What’s that?” Evangeline nodded toward the bottle.
“Oh, it’s a protein shake. It has kelp in it!” She said it as if kelp was a gourmet treat.
Evangeline’s nose wrinkled up. I tried to refrain from expressing my own opinion on the “protein shake,” but I was pretty sure it was painted all over my face.
“Whatevs, I’m just trying to be healthy!” she exclaimed. “Are we going outside?”
The storms that passed through yesterday and last night had cooled the temperatures down, and the sun was basking in wispy feather-like clouds at its pinnacle in the sky. “It’s awfully bright out there,” our boss complained.
“Put on your sunglasses and deal with it,” I said. “I have news for you guys, and I don’t think I should share it in the building.”
“News on Mrs. Monroe?” Molly asked as she joined us.
“Yup!” I popped the “p” on the end of the word before we headed out to the courtyard. I spent a few moments bringing them up to speed on what I’d learned about Willa Bryce Monroe’s children—who were fifty-nine and fifty-six years old, respectively—and the connection her son had to Marco Callaghini.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” Molly sighed as she stirred the fruit into her yogurt cup.
“Her funeral is Monday,” Jada said. “I saw her obituary in the paper today. I can’t believe how many things she’s been involved in—for someone who never held a paying job, she worked her entire life.”
“She was the model of civic engagement,” I agreed. “And her support of the library is…” I started to get choked up when I remembered that $20,000 check she wrote the library for our annual gala this year.
“Don’t worry, we’re definitely going to do something for her here,” Evangeline announced. “I don’t know what yet, but it’s in the works. I’m meeting with the library board about it next week after the funeral.”
Molly nodded solemnly, but then a flash of deviousness streaked across her face. “I did notice something interesting in her obituary.”
“You did?” “What’s that?” “What do you mean?” All of our eyes snapped to Molly as our piqued curiosities tumbled out of our mouths.
“It said she was a devoted wife and mother,” Molly explained. “And I’m sure she was a devoted mother…but…”
“The affair.” I remembered hearing about that when we investigated the Boxbury family during our last case, the Mystery at the Marina.
“Exactly. It’s pretty common knowledge that she and Carlton Boxbury had a torrid affair when her kids were in their teens,” Molly reported.
“I heard she almost left Mr. Monroe for him,” Evangeline added.
“Really?” I knew it was wrong to speak ill of the deceased, but I did find it fascinating, especially given the judgy-ness she’d expressed toward the mayor about his second wife, Camille, whom he’d originally started seeing when he was still married to his first wife.
“You know who’s an expert about all things Willa Bryce Monroe, right?” Molly asked.
“Tom,” Evangeline and I said in unison.
“For sure,” Molly agreed.
Tom Watson was our head reference librarian, and he knew a little about everyone and everything. We also had an archivist who was hidden away on the second floor. I imagined he knew a thing or two about the Monroe family as well. I could definitely question both of them, but it seemed like I’d found a very interesting connection between Mrs. Monroe’s son and the developer who wanted to build in Bryce Beach. I wondered if Nathaniel Monroe had anything to do with Marco Callaghini choosing Nathaniel’s hometown for expanding his empire. I still needed to share my insights with Chief James.
“Did you ever look at that online diary?” Jada questioned.
“Oh, right. I forgot about that. I was going to have Liz help me.” Elizabeth Cooper was my summer tech intern, a wiz with all things computer-related, and she’d even won hacking competitions.
“Before I forget,” Evangeline said before dabbing her mouth with her napkin, “we officially have a new librarian. Falcon Roberts is coming on board as our new cataloguer!”
“Wow, really? I was sure he was completely unimpressed by our little small-town operation,” I asserted.
Evangeline chuckled. “On the contrary, he’s looking for something relaxing and slower-paced as he heads toward retirement. He’s used to an academic environment, and he hasn’t worked with Dewey classification since early in his career, but he’s looking forward to getting back to his roots.”
“Everyone wants to move to Bryce Beach!” Molly exclaimed. “I can’t blame him. It is pretty awesome here…”
“Yeah, when no one is getting murdered…” I hated to put a damper on things, but it was true. A murder—and of our most revered town elder at that—certainly tainted our quaint small-town image.
When I got back to my computer, I looked up Mrs. Monroe’s obituary in the online version of The Bryce Beach Gazette. It looked so official there on the screen in black and white. I concentrated on the part about her family that Molly referenced earlier:
Willa Bryce Monroe was preceded in death by her parents, Nathaniel Matthew Bryce and Pene
lope Estelle Grayson Bryce, and her husband, Piers Allen Monroe. Survivors include two children, Nathaniel Bryce Monroe and Matilda Grace Monroe, as well as dozens of nieces, nephews, great-nieces and great-nephews. In addition to being a devoted wife and mother, the late Mrs. Monroe was an avid beekeeper and produced many locally famous varieties of honey. She was a renowned philanthropist, donating both time and money to dozens of worthy causes, including…
I stopped reading there. A devoted wife and mother… It was an interesting characterization when we knew she’d been estranged from her children for many years. Was she estranged to the point of cutting them out of her will? Was her son vengeful enough to conspire with a developer with mob ties and send his mother to an early grave?
Eight
Though Willa Bryce Monroe’s funeral wasn’t until Monday, the Sunday service at Bryce Beach Community Church, where she’d been a member her entire life, was as somber as a funeral. Pastor Bethany’s sermon was practically an extended eulogy, talking about her public service and referencing Matthew 25:40, where Jesus said performing service for “the least of these brethren” was the same as serving God. Mrs. Monroe had not only donated thousands of dollars through the years to the library as well as other civic organizations, but she had also volunteered at the local food pantry and numerous other charities.
Naturally, Pastor Bethany exhorted us to use Mrs. Monroe as an example as he tied this week’s sermon to the previous week’s. “You should each be using your spiritual gifts to better our community,” he said from the pulpit, and I noticed his eyes landed on me. His lips curved up slightly before he distractedly glanced down at his notes.
What did that mean?
I remembered the dinner where I was my parents’ captive audience of one, and they extolled the man’s virtues. But now Molly was sitting beside me, her gaze raptly glued to him as he listed all the ways one could be charitable in Bryce Beach.
He claimed he was going to call me after last week’s service, but he never had. Of course, then the town was turned upside down by the shocking news of Mrs. Monroe’s murder. And I was sure he was busy preparing for the funeral, which he would be officiating. The choir was preparing a special number, and a variety of floral arrangements had already arrived at the church, lining the sanctuary. I believed all the florists in the region would be set until Christmastime with the amount of business they were likely seeing right now.
Mrs. Monroe had friends all over the country—all over the world, really—and many of them would be gathering in our tiny town tomorrow to pay their respects. There was no way our modest church sanctuary would be able to hold them all.
I’d be paying very close attention at the service. Though I was almost certain the real estate developer from New York was behind the murder, I wanted to know if there was a connection to her children. I really hoped not. What a harrowing and heartbreaking conclusion that would be.
In my last case, I avenged the senseless, tragic death of marine life, including a juvenile whale. This time, I’d be avenging the tragic, senseless death of our town’s MVC: most valuable citizen.
Molly grabbed me by the arm as we parted ways in the parking lot. Caught off guard, I nearly went crashing into her. “What the flim-flam, Molls?” I chided her, trying to regain my balance.
“I don’t know if I want to be alone today,” she confessed, her bottom lip protruding in a convincing pout. “You wanna come hang with me and Murph?”
Molly’s golden retriever mix puppy was hardly a puppy anymore. He was tiny at the beginning of summer, but now that we were approaching the end, he’d doubled or tripled in size.
“What’s in it for me?” I teased her.
“Lunch?” Her eyebrows waggled. She knew how easily swayed I was by food.
“Sure. I’ll go home and change clothes first, okay?”
“Yep. See you soon.” She smiled as she headed to her car.
I’d been planning to start reading a new book this afternoon, but I understood Molly’s need for company. This was a time for our community to huddle close together. We were in mourning.
Molly put out a pretty impressive spread of cold cuts and chicken salad, plus she’d gotten her hands on a bag of these potato chips I really loved and were hard to come by in our small town. “This is amazing!” I gushed as I stuffed my face with a chip that was a little too big for one bite, but I showed that bad boy who’s boss.
“I know, right? I’m glad you were able to come.” Molly sat at her breakfast bar with Murphy obediently perched at her feet, hoping for a scrap. “So, I’ve been thinking a lot about Mrs. Monroe’s Natty…”
“Oh yeah?” I had a feeling I knew where she was going with this.
“I think I’m going to go down to the shelter on Tuesday after the funeral and put in an application to adopt him. I don’t know if he’ll get along with Murphy, but I feel like I have to try.”
I nodded. “That’s really sweet of you, Molls. I’d do it myself, but I think Paige and Bond would probably kill Natty, or me, or both.”
“Yeah, something tells me they wouldn’t take too kindly to having a dog around!” She laughed and took a sip of her iced tea.
When my phone buzzed on the table beside me, I glanced up at Molly, asking permission to be rude and take it during our meal. She smiled and nodded, so I swiped to answer. It was a local number, but not one I recognized. “Hello?”
“Sunshine?” came a male voice. It wasn’t my dad, brother, Chief James or Tom from work. Those were about the only males I spoke to on a regular basis.
“Yes?”
“Hi, it’s Paul Bethany.”
Seriously? Now is when he chooses to call me? While I’m sitting at Molly’s house? Great timing.
“Oh, hello, Pastor Bethany. Great sermon today.” I glanced over at Molly. My best friend’s jaw was clenched, her brows furrowed. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve, uh, been meaning to, um, call you,” he stammered, sounding a little nervous. His voice was squeaky as he continued, “But then Mrs. Monroe…”
“Right…” I wished he would get to the point. I would have to let him down easy, and I was fully prepared to make a gracious rejection speech.
“In any case, I was going to tell you I wanted to get to know you a little better, but now I’m calling to ask you if you’d speak tomorrow at Mrs. Monroe’s service?” His voice rose on the last syllable with a hopeful pitch.
What?!
He slipped in the “wanted to get to know you a little better” part so fast, I wasn’t even sure he said it until I replayed his whole sentence in my mind a few times. Molly looked like she was about to come unhinged across the room—and did he just ask me to speak at a funeral with less than twenty-four hours’ notice?
Jesus, take the wheel!
“Uh, Sunshine?” came his timid voice, sounding like someone’s hands were squeezing his throat.
“Oh, uh, it’s really flattering that you thought of me, Pastor Bethany—”
“Please, Sunshine, please call me Paul,” he implored.
“I…just…public speaking isn’t really my thing.”
I flashed back to the night of the annual fundraising gala that I was in charge of and specifically getting roped into introducing the mayor. I truly thought there was an above average chance I might just die right there at the podium, but somehow—a great testament to the power of the Good Lord above—I managed to get through the harrowing ordeal relatively unscathed.
“Ms. Dupree warned me you’d say that,” he laughed, “but she assured me that with a little encouragement, you’d agree.”
“Ms. Dupree?” I choked out. My boss threw me under the bus? My friend threw me under the bus?
“Yes, I called the library on Friday afternoon to see if the new director would mind saying a few words about Mrs. Monroe and her impact on the library, but she told me you’d be a much better choice since you knew Mrs. Monroe personally—and she even said you were one of the last people to spea
k with her before her untimely passing.”
Evangeline, I muttered under my breath, fist clenched. She must have been getting me back for making her speak with her ex-husband during my last case when we needed information about the marine biology lab at the state university where he used to work.
Molly had come over to sit next to me on the sofa, and Murphy had followed her like a…well, like a puppy dog. They were both perched right next to me, breathing down my neck.
“Five or ten minutes, Sunshine, that’s all I need. Maybe you could talk about how much she cared about the town and fostering literacy?” he suggested.
I gritted my teeth, none too happy that I was being put in this situation. It was impossible to say no to him. Even though I had zero romantic interest in him, he was still a kind man, and he was turning out to be a good minister. “Alright…” The word slipped out before I had a chance to stop it.
“Oh, thank you so much, Sunshine! The mayor has agreed to speak, as well as Mrs. Monroe’s son. I think it will be a wonderful tribute to her. I’m sure she would be greatly pleased.”
Mmmhmmm.
I said goodbye and turned to Molly, who was about to explode with curiosity. “What did you just agree to?”
I rolled my eyes. “I have to give a eulogy tomorrow at the funeral,” I announced, huffing out a long, exasperated sigh.
Though I could use this to my advantage. I could stand up there and say some choice words about the murderer and then survey the crowd to see how they reacted. Oh, yes. This could be a very good investigative tool indeed. Almost like a lie detector test!
“Did he say anything else?” Molly asked as she stroked the long golden fur on Murphy’s back.
“Nope, that’s it. Just the speech. Five to ten minutes. I can do that, right?” I chose not to tell her about his awkward blurt about wanting to spend time with me. Surely that was just my imagination.
“Of course you can! You can do anything you put your mind to!” She patted me on the knee, and her genuine smile told me she actually believed it.
Dangerous Curves Boxed Set 1: 3 Cozy Christian Mysteries Page 39