Murder in a Basket (An India Hayes Mystery)

by Flower, Amanda

  I blinked in surprise. “Wow, Bobbo. Thanks.”

  “I like having you around. I mean who else is going to pick up my slack around here when I want to goof off? I’m sure Jefferson is not willing to pitch in.”

  I snorted. “Touching, really.”

  “Aww, India, you know I love you.”

  “Yeah, I know. Now, about picking up your slack, I’d like to renegotiate.”

  Bobby rolled his lovely baby blues at me, and I followed him back upstairs. Andy and Bobby shared a high five at my expense when Bobby related my basement hysterics, and I returned to the reference desk, making a point to ignore them both.

  By mid-morning, I could hardly keep my eyes opened as the late night was catching up with me. A pretty African-American girl approached the desk with a big smile on her face. Her smile put me on my guard. In my experience, students who approach the reference desk rarely smiled. They winced, grimaced, and chewed their fingernails. The reference librarian was the last resort before they threw themselves on to the mercies of their professors for an extension.

  “Are you India Hayes?”

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  “You can. I’m Angela Darren, and I would like to interview you about the murder on campus. My sources tell me you caught the murderer red-handed.”

  “What is this for?”

  “Oh, right, sorry. This is my card.” She handed me an embossed ivory business card with the name of the college’s student newspaper in the center. Under Angela’s name, there was the phrase investigative reporter.

  “I don’t think this is a good time.”

  “I have a deadline. I need a comment from you to finish my story by eleven.”

  I looked at the clock behind the checkout desk. It was a quarter after ten.

  I hemmed and hawed and was relieved when I saw Erin walk up behind Angela. Erin leaned on the reference counter. “What are you doing here, Angela?”

  The student reporter’s eyes narrowed. “I’m interviewing Ms. Hayes about the murder.”

  “Buzz off about it. She won’t tell you anything.”

  “This has nothing to do with you, Erin. Why don’t you go off with that guy librarian I always see you with? Now that would make an interesting piece for the paper.”

  Warning bells went off in my head. I definitely needed to talk to Bobby about his relationship with Erin. I didn’t relish the idea of the argument to come, but from Angela’s statement, they had gone too far, even if everything was perfectly innocent, which I suspected it was.

  Erin tapped her tapered nails on the counter as if sharpening them before administering a scratch.

  “Angela,” I interjected into their glare-off. “I’d rather you kept me out of the article altogether.”

  “No way,” she said. “A crime-solving librarian. That’s good stuff. It’s the heart of my story.”

  I winced. “Just put down ‘no comment’ for me.”

  Angela looked from me to Erin and back again. “Have it your way.” She walked away.

  Erin had heard about my adventure the night before. Despite telling Angela I wouldn’t talk, Erin wanted all the gruesome details. I gave her the gist, then shooed her away.

  The reference desk phone rang.

  “Hello, Ms. Hayes, this is Deena in the provost’s office. I have the provost on the telephone for you. Please hold one minute.”

  “Uh, what—”

  Before I could finish my question, Lepcheck came on the line. “I wanted to thank you for your part in my sister’s case.”

  “Thank me?” Unease settled over me like an itchy wool blanket.

  “Yes, I suppose my nephew was right to ask for your help. Detective Mains stopped by my office this morning to personally tell me the news.”

  “The news?”

  “That Celeste Berwyck was arrested for the murders of my brother-in-law and sister.”

  “They’re sure Celeste’s the murderer of Jerry and Tess?”

  “That’s what the detective said.” Lepcheck sounded annoyed. He wasn’t used to thanking people, and I prolonged his agony with my questions.

  “What will happen to Derek?” I asked, pressing my luck.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s lost all of his parents. Will you or Debra take him in?”

  “He’s legally an adult. He’s far too old to adopt.”

  “I’m not suggesting adoption, but he needs a family to look after him, especially right now.”

  Lepcheck’s tone bristled. “It is none of your concern, Ms. Hayes, how my family deals with private matters. You’ve helped us, yes, but I will kindly ask you to butt out.” He hung up the phone.

  The minute I replaced the receiver in its cradle it rang again.

  “We have a situation.” Mains voice said over the phone.

  “A situation.”

  “It’s your parents.”

  “Okay,” I replied, knowing full well I wouldn’t like what I was about to hear.

  Mains swallowed hard. “They’ve chained themselves to the bell tower.”

  “Geez.” We were the middle of fall semester, and the library was busy. It would be hard for me to get away, and I told Mains so. “Why don’t you try Carmen? She’s not working right now.”

  “I’d rather not. She’s still mad at me over the festival.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The scene at the high school was one I was all too familiar with—my parents in the middle of a media circus. Mom leaned out of the top windows of the tower, waving to the crowd below—a cluster of high school students, teachers, and police. Dad, restricted to his wheelchair, had chained himself to the tower’s entrance, barring anyone from entering and reaching Mom at the top.

  Mains spotted me immediately. He stood among a cluster of amused police officers and livid school board members. He waved and hurried over.

  “I wish I could say I can’t believe this. But then I’d be lying,” I said.

  Mains shook his head. “Do you think you can talk any sense into them?”

  I laughed. “I can try.”

  Mains ran his hand through his dark hair. “Your dad won’t let anyone inside the tower.”

  I nodded, knowing my parents’ method of operation. “What brought this on? I thought they were happy with their petition.”

  “The school board moved up the wrecking date to this coming Saturday. A wrecking company offered to come in and demolish the tower at a substantial discount.”

  “What about the restraining order?”

  “The judge overruled it, saying the wrecking deal took precedence because it would save the city money.”

  “Great.” I squared my shoulders. “Wish me luck.”

  Officer Knute stood in front of Dad with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

  “Knute, can you give us a minute?”

  “I was told to stay here and watch the perp.” Knute eyed Dad.

  Dad shook his fist. “Perp? Perp? I’m not a perp. I am a concerned citizen trying to save our cultural heritage from cretins like you. If you had your way, the world would be one big mini-mall.”

  Knute grinned. “Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me. Does the mini-mall have a smoothie shop? I love a good smoothie.”

  I blinked. Did Knute crack a joke? Would wonders never cease?

  Dad glowered. I guessed he didn’t find it quite as amusing as I.

  Mains called from a few feet away. “Knute, over here, please.”

  I smiled at Knute as he slunk off. Mains shot me a pleading look before returning to his group of cops and board members.

  After he was out of earshot, I said, “Daaaad.”

  “Don’t lecture me, India. The judge’s decision was a pure violation of the restraining order. He had no right to overturn it. Your mother and I had no choice.”

  “But . . .”

  “This bell tower was here when your grandfather went to high school, when I went
to high school, when you went to high school. I will not let the board tear it down when it’s a town landmark. We’re trying to get it declared as a historical site, but do you know how long that takes? Years! We don’t have years. We don’t even have weeks. They’ll have the wrecking ball here in three days.”

  “But did you have to go to this extreme? Couldn’t Lew have handled this legally?”

  “Of course we have Lew on the case, but a bunch of lawyers jabbering back and forth isn’t going to bring the public’s attention to the problem. This will.”

  It certainly did that. A local news van pulled into the high school parking lot.

  “Where’s Zach?” I didn’t see any sign of the large labradoodle, which I’d put in my father’s care.

  “Oh, he’s fine. He’s at the church with the secretary. He’s a very nice dog. Reminds me of Riley.”

  Riley was Dad’s childhood pet, praised to mythical proportions by my father. Before he could wax nostalgic about Riley the super dog, I asked, “Can I go in and talk to Mom?”

  “Of course, honey.” He rolled his wheelchair away from the door and let me squeeze in behind him.

  The inside of the bell tower was dark. The only light shone from the open-air windows at the top of the tower, where the bell and my mother waited. The school board had long ago cut off electricity to the structure. Probably when that happened, the writing was already on the wall for the tower’s future.

  “Mom?” I called, looking up the three stories of winding wooden stairs. I had an eerie feeling I was looking at a scene out of a gothic novel.

  “Up here! Are you alone?” My mother’s head peeked over the top banister. Her gray pigtails flapped in the breeze.

  “Do you really think that Dad would have let anyone else pass?”

  “No. Your father is good at keeping back dissenters.”

  “I’m coming up.”

  “Okay.” Her head disappeared.

  I started my way up. The first step creaked and gave a little under my weight. This was going to be great, I thought sarcastically. Each step after that creaked with my slow progress. At the first landing, I looked up. My mother’s head appeared again. “What’s taking so long?”

  I gritted my teeth. “I’m almost there. I don’t want to crash through one of these steps and plummet to my death.”

  “You’re exaggerating. The staircase is perfectly safe. Hurry up, and we can have a snack.”

  “You packed a snack?”

  “Well, how am I to know how long I will be up here?”

  I doubled my speed, hoping the steps would hold. My mother may have food covered, but I wondered about other personal niceties. I doubted there was a bathroom up by the bell. Afraid of the answer, I didn’t ask.

  When I reached the final landing, Mom sat cross-legged to the right side of the bell. A backpack lay open beside her with her Bible, a half dozen mystery novels, a bag of organic mini-bagels, and a jar of peanut butter. She was committed to the long haul. She patted the wooden floor beside her. “Have a seat.”

  I sat.

  Mom handed me a peanut-butter-slathered bagel. I ate half of it before I began my argument. “Don’t you think it’s time to go down? The news crew is here. I think you’ve made your point.”

  Mom shook her head, and her gray braids flew back and forth. “Now is the time to hold firm,” she replied like any true revolutionary. “Some days I wonder if your father and I successfully instilled our values into our children. Mark is goodness knows where, Carmen is so provincial, and you . . .” She trailed off wistfully.

  “This has nothing to do with values. I agree the bell tower should be saved if it can be done safely. And think about it, what would happen if the tower fell on the marching band? Do you want that on your conscience?”

  “What are you saying?” My mother scowled. “That your father and I want to be responsible for the death of children?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” I grimaced. “Have you considered the issue from both sides?”

  “Of course we’ve looked at the problem from every angle.”

  Uh-huh.

  “You make it sound like we haven’t saved a building before. What about the old library that’s now a senior center? Or the old farmhouse on the county line? What about those?”

  “But the levy—”

  “We know the levy might not work, and we are in the process of applying for grants to restore the tower to ensure its safety. We brought licensed contractors in, four in fact, from different firms, and they all agree the bell tower isn’t in danger of falling down any time soon. We took those findings and the contractors to the school board, but they wouldn’t even listen. Instead, they were perfectly happy to rely on the opinion of their one-horse contractor—who partially owns the demolition firm, might I add. Well, is it any surprise he thinks it’s unsafe?”

  I shouldn’t have tried to argue. I shoved the rest of the bagel in my mouth.

  Mom polished off her bagel and started another. She could eat and eat and never gain an ounce. It was disgusting and oh so unfair. “How’s the investigation coming?” She gave me a beady-eyed look.

  I looked out the open-air window. I had a clear view over the high school’s football stadium to the square in downtown Stripling, where my mother’s church quietly waited for Sunday morning. It probably wouldn’t be a great idea to leap through the window just to avoid my mother’s questions. I’m sure I’d regret it the minute I cleared the windowsill. “What investigation?”

  “Debra Wagtail gave me a call and told me about your birding expedition.”

  Nothing in Stripling happened without my mother knowing about it.

  I sighed. “It’s over.” I related the events of last evening.

  “Celeste didn’t do it.” She it said matter-of-factly.

  I blinked. “Do you know her?”

  “I think I’ve met her before, but no, I don’t know her well.”

  “Then why do you say she didn’t do it?”

  “Because, don’t you see, it’s too easy with her lying there holding the bloody spike. Come on.”

  “The scene was pretty convincing.”

  “Staged.”

  “Mains didn’t think so.”

  “What does he know? If he had his way, your brother would be in prison.” My parents might have forgiven Mains for arresting Mark last summer, but they certainly hadn’t forgotten. Another reason to forget whatever I thought Mains’s intentions were the night before on my doorstep.

  I shifted uncomfortably, grinding splinters into my backside from the rough wooden floor.

  “Lana! It’s Lew! Come to the window!” Lew’s voice ricocheted off the bell, giving me an instant headache. Forgetting our quarrel, Mom and I hurried to the window and leaned out. The crowd was still there. Lew stood beside Dad. He waved a piece of white paper in the air. “I got another judge to turn over the ruling. The restraining order against the school board is back in place. Come on down.”

  When we were back on ground level, reporters waited for my mother at the front door, eager for the evening news sound bite or quote for the local paper. While she was so engaged, I caught up with Lew, who was already heading back to his car. He didn’t have my parents’ taste for drama and had learned long ago it didn’t do any good to advise my parents as to what they should and should not say to the media.

  “Lew!” I called as he opened the door to his SUV.

  He turned. “I see you were called to the rescue.”

  “I didn’t make much progress reasoning with them.”

  “No one ever does.”

  “How true,” I paused. “Have you found a kennel?”

  Lew slid into his seat, but left the door open. “I’ve been a little busy, India. Jerry was killed last night.”

  I swallowed. “I know. I found him.”

  “You—” He closed his eyes and patted his jacket pocket for his pack of cigarettes. When he found the cigarettes, he lit one and took a l
ong pull.

  “Actually, Ina and I found him. I thought the detective would have told you that.”

  Lew narrowed his eyes in Mains’s direction. Four school board members, waving their arms wildly, surrounded Mains.

  “You are looking for a kennel, aren’t you?”

  “It’s tricky. I told you about the four-hour limit in a kennel that’s written into the trust.”

  I had a sinking feeling. “How long do you think it will be before the trust is settled between Tess’s family members?”

  “Cases like this are tricky. They can be settled in a few hours if one of the parties bows out. If everyone holds their ground, it takes longer. Add a couple of murders on top of it, it could take years.”

  “Years! I can’t keep Zach for years!”

  Lew slammed the door. The driver side window was down.

  “What are you going to do with Zach? Mom will never agree to keep him indefinitely, and I can’t either. I’m sure my cat has it in for him. We are talking about dogicide here.”

  He gunned the engine. “You’ll figure something out.”

  “Me?” I cried, but he didn’t hear me because he had already pulled away.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I headed back to my car, which was parked on the street. As I unlocked the door, I heard footsteps jog up from behind me. I turned to find Mains a foot away.

  “Thanks for coming down,” he said.

  I smiled. “No problem. You should thank Lew, though. There was no way she was leaving that tower for me.”

  He laughed. It was his awful guffaw, which my sister had grumbled about when she and Mains were high school sweethearts.

  I found myself smiling.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “What?”

  “I’m starved. Would you like to go to lunch”—he paused—“with me?”

  I felt my eyes widen. “I should get back to the library.”

  “You get a lunch hour, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Great. Knute can handle the clean up. Let’s go get a bite.”

  My mind said: Say no, say no.

  My mouth said, “Okay.”

  I gave myself a mental head slap.

  He grinned. “Great. How about Byron’s?”

  I agreed but insisted on driving myself. Byron’s was a vegetarian restaurant just outside campus grounds. It was midafternoon and most of the lunch crowd had been and gone. There were several students sitting at tables studying alongside monster mugs of free-trade coffee. The SOEC kids clustered around their favorite table in the back of the restaurant. I wondered if they were planning their next move since the festival was over.