Murder in the Stacks (A DAFFODILS Mystery)

by Mary Clay

  "He's working on an exciting business deal down here," she continued. "With the demise of the shuttle program, there's a possibility that the government, needing money, may be willing to sell off part of the Canaveral National Seashore Park. That's prime real estate and a terrific investment. He's put together a high level team of historians, environmentalists, archeologists, and lawyers to help convince the government." She pointed to his empty mug and Peter nodded. Penny Sue refilled it and passed the cream.

  Peter swung around to face Ruthie and me. "This is all very preliminary, but a major unspoken reason for the park's existence was to provide a controlled buffer for the Kennedy Space Center. Without the shuttle program, there's really no need for the buffer. Private launches will likely be made from Cape Canaveral which is government-owned." He stared at Ruthie. Penny Sue had obviously mentioned Ruthie's huge inheritance. "It's a great chance to get in on the ground floor of a very upscale development on prime real estate. There isn't much undeveloped waterfront property left in Florida."

  "Isn't your real estate firm in St. Augustine?" I asked. "Why are you interested in property down here?"

  Peter grinned across the top of his coffee. "Because there isn't much left to develop up there. Besides, the weather here is better."

  Ruthie was no fool, for all her seeming innocence. "Isn't that prime turtle nesting territory?"

  Peter's smile diminished but didn't disappear. "Yes, that's why I've assembled a team of eminent scholars, and I plan to preserve and protect all of the environmental and archeological features like the Indians' Turtle Mound."

  "That's nice to hear," Ruthie said, but didn't sound sincere.

  Peter set his coffee mug down. "Well, I should be going. I have over an hour's drive ahead of me. Nice meeting you ladies," he said. "You really should try the bowling. It's amazingly realistic." Peter winked at Penny Sue. "I'll be back. I have to defend my championship. It seems the local champ wasn't there tonight. I heard a lot of mumbling that I wouldn't stand a chance against him." Peter grinned widely. Nice teeth. "I can't ignore that challenge."

  "No, you certainly can't," Penny Sue gushed in her buttery drawl. She cradled his elbow and ushered him to the front door.

  I turned to Ruthie. "How long do you give that one?"

  Ruthie sniggered. "Until a richer or handsomer man shows up. Of course, she's not a one-man woman, so she could easily keep a couple on the string."

  "I heard that!" Penny Sue shouted from the hallway.

  "Boy, that was quick. No long kisses or passionate groping?" I said.

  "Tacky, tacky, tacky." Penny Sue stomped to the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of Irish Cream and dumped it in her coffee.

  "Come on, Penny Sue, I'm merely stating a fact. You're the one who juggled an Atlanta Falcon and a Brave at the same time."

  She sat down, curled her lip, and gave me the old snake eye. A moment later a corner of her mouth turned up. "It wasn't just two; you forgot Lyndon. Three." She grinned smugly. "I juggled three good looking, rich men. If ya got it, flaunt it."

  I smacked my forehead with the palm of my hand. "Of course, how stupid of me to forget Lyndon, the sleazeball who tried to manipulate you to retrieve the evidence that he was a thief."

  She reared back. "He wasn't a thief, Lyndon bought those turtle eggs, even if it was illegal. And he really liked me--"

  "Wait," Ruthie said forcefully. "Forget that stuff--it's old history. What did you find out about the rude realtor who works for Peter? That was the reason you went bowling in the first place."

  "Oh, yeah." Penny Sue took a sip of coffee and put on her serious face. "Well, I had to be coy, since I didn't want to tip my hand. The guy's name is Willy, and he's a hot head. Peter has no proof, but he suspects Willy might sniff white powder on occasion. Peter would have fired him long ago, except Willy's father is a St. Augustine bigwig who owns a fair amount of land in the historic district. Willy's family goes back generations."

  "So? Do you think Willy had a reason to kill Abby or the other guy?"

  "We didn't get that far," Penny Sue replied. "Like I said, I had to be cagey. But if his family owns a lot of land, they stand to lose a fortune if Kevin's New Smyrna Beach theory turns out to be true."

  "Yeah, but that doesn't give him a motive to kill Abby. Besides, aren't we jumping to conclusions?" Ruthie asked. "We don't know that Abby was murdered. Maybe she had a heart defect or something, and died of natural causes."

  "It's pretty unusual for two people to die in a library on the same night," Penny Sue shot back.

  "True," I said. "I wonder if the autopsies have been finished and if there was any connection between Abby and the bum."

  "Don't call him a bum," Ruthie objected. "It's disrespectful. His spirit could be here right this minute."

  I looked up at the ceiling and spoke to the unseen spirit. "I didn't mean to be disrespectful. I was parroting what most people at the library call you. I apologize. I was thoughtless."

  "Any way we can find out about the autopsies?" Ruthie continued.

  "Woody sure isn't going to tell us." Penny Sue turned to me. "What about your friend, Deputy Ted?"

  "I haven't seen or heard from him in months. He may have gone back with his wife for all I know. Heather Brooks is a better candidate."

  "Good idea. How can we reach her?"

  "We certainly shouldn't call the Sheriff's Office; we need to keep this low key," Ruthie said. "A couple of times when I was out riding around, I noticed her car in the public lot on Hiles. She was probably looking for speeders or doing her reports."

  "Yeah, police stake that out all the time. We should make a point of looping by there whenever we go out. We'll stumble across her," Penny Sue agreed. "I'm sure she'd be more likely to talk without an audience."

  "Guthrie and I will try to get the scoop on the ... dead man. Is there anything else?" I asked.

  Ruthie gazed at the box in the corner. "Someone should go through that box, in case there are incriminating notes or other clues. Is her computer in there?"

  "Yes." Penny Sue yawned. "Ruthie, you and Kevin are prime candidates for that job. You're already cataloging the boxes Alice got from Abby's room."

  "The fact that Mrs. Johnston asked for an autopsy tells me that Abby didn't have a congenital condition or a serious illness her mother knew about. Unless they were completely estranged, a mother would know." The instant the words left my mouth I though of Ann and Zack, Jr. If they were seriously ill, would they tell me? Would they hide it so I wouldn't worry? The little boogers better not! I was going to call them first thing in the morning.

  Penny Sue had the day off, so I called my daughter Ann from the privacy of my car parked in the library lot. After a stint working at the U.S. Embassy in London, she was now living in Washington, D.C., studying for a master's degree in International Relations. I caught her before she left for class.

  "Are you sick?" I asked. No sense beating around the bush.

  "No! Why do you ask?"

  "Have you talked to your brother? Is he all right?"

  "I spoke with him on his birthday. He seemed fine then."

  "If you were injured or had a horrible disease, would you tell me?"

  "Of course. Mom, what's up? Penny Sue's down there, isn't she? You always act crazy when she's around." Ann sucked in a breath. "Lord, y'all haven't stumbled over a body again, have you? Every time Penny Sue goes to Florida, someone ends up dead."

  "This wasn't our fault."

  "It never is. Penny Sue is a magnet for murder and mayhem."

  "You sound like your father."

  "Well, it's true. Why do you think I'm sick?" Ann asked.

  "Oh, I'm just upset. A lecturer at the library turned up dead. She was a young woman, only in her forties." About my age! "Her mother didn't know of any health problems. It made me wonder if you and Zack, Jr. would tell me if anything was wrong, or if you'd try to shield me from bad news."

  Ann sighed. "Mom, I'd tell you if I had problems. You'd be t
he first person I'd call. I'd want your support."

  Tears welled in my eyes. "Do you promise?"

  "Yes, cross my heart. I'll tell you first if I'm ever sick. Do you want to know about cramps and colds?"

  "You don't have to go that far. Just swear you'll tell me if there's anything serious."

  "I will. So what's the deal with the dead lady? You're not accused of a crime, are you?" Ann asked anxiously.

  "No, but her death is suspicious, and the police are taking an unusual interest in Penny Sue's Cousin Kevin."

  "The professor?"

  "One and the same."

  "Mom, if you're not a suspect, please don't get involved. I'm having a hard enough time with my thesis without having to worry about you."

  "Okay, darling. Forget I called. I'm being silly." I checked my face in the rearview mirror. No tracks of my tears. "I need to go or I'll be late for work. I love you, sweetheart. Be careful."

  "You're the one who needs to be careful!"

  I worked checkout, which was fairly slow. The crowds had thinned considerably since the crime tape had been removed. There was only an occasional question from patrons about Abby, and the library's gossip level was back to normal. Whenever I got a chance, I quizzed my coworkers about the identity of the so-called bum. No one knew the dead man's name, and he didn't appear to have checked out any books. The only comments were that he seemed too clean to be homeless, and he did more people watching than reading. Not much to go on. It appeared Heather Brooks was our best hope for finding out about the man's death.

  By afternoon, the day was really dragging. I kept checking my watch, but the hands did not seem to move until about four o'clock. That's when a disheveled man dressed in khaki slacks and a wrinkled dress shirt, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, rushed in the library and made a beeline for the magazine section. He had sandy blond hair in dire need of a trim, and a round, boyish face. He did a three-sixty degree inspection of the library, then raced toward me.

  "Has a slender fellow with curly hair been in the magazine section today?" he asked with a distinct British accent. "A bloke about my height. He comes here often, I understand."

  Could he be talking about the dead bum? "Uh, there is a gentleman that fits that description."

  "Has he been here in the last two days?" the Brit asked anxiously.

  I wasn't certain we were thinking of the same person, but in any event I sure as shootin' didn't want to break the news that his friend might be dead. "Let me get the branch manager. She may know something. I'll only be a minute." I scurried to the back room, found Terry, and quickly explained the situation.

  "Goodness," she said, eyes round. "I have no idea how to handle this. I guess I should refer him to the police."

  Terry followed me to the front and introduced herself to the man, who said his name was Leonard Kydd. "There was an accident involving an unidentified male. He may be the man you're looking for. The best thing you can do is contact the Volusia County Sheriff. Come to my office, and I'll call them for you. Are you a relative?"

  Panic crossed Leonard Kydd's face. "No. I have a cell, I'll phone myself. I appreciate the information. Have a nice day," Leonard mumbled over his shoulder as he pounded out of the library.

  "I don't know if he's going to call the Sheriff, but I am." Terry turned on her heel and hurried to her office.

  Guthrie and Alice were stretched out in lawn chairs, sunning themselves in the parking lot when I arrived home. A cool wind was blowing from the north and the beach was shadowed by the condo this late in the day. A small patch next to the front door was one of the few spots in full sun. Guthrie tipped his glass at me as way of greeting.

  "Alice and I are resting up from a full day of investigation. Man, I think we're on to something."

  I shut my car door. "Good. I had an interesting development, too. I'll fill you in later. Now I need to get out of these clothes and put my feet up. Where's everyone else?"

  "Kevin, Ruthie, and Penny Sue are in your living room going through Abby's computer and books."

  My living room? Great. How come I always end up with the short end of the stick? I slung my purse to my shoulder. "I'm beat. Any plans for dinner?"

  Alice answered. "We're sending out for seafood--my treat. That's why I told Kevin to take the books to your condo. Penny Sue's dining room table is bigger than yours. I thought we'd eat at six-thirty."

  "That's fine. We can fill each other in over dinner." I started for my front door.

  Guthrie held up his cell phone. "Just call me with your order after you change. I already have everyone else's."

  I snuck into my bedroom, drew a bath, stripped and sank into the tub. The warm water and solitude were heavenly. My solitary, peaceful life had suddenly been turned upside down and I felt like I was back in the sorority house. Only I wasn't 20 and didn't have the energy I did back then. I wasn't used to so much company and commotion.

  Don't get me wrong--Ruthie was an ideal houseguest. She liked to meditate, watch TV, and clean. The cleaning part was fine with me, since it wasn't my strong suit unless I was upset about something. That's when I cleaned the floors and closets, sometimes even straightening the drawers in the kitchen. The amount of effort was in direct proportion to my distress.

  As guests go, Kevin was on par with Ruthie, since his favorite pastime was reading. Penny Sue was a disaster waiting to happen. Fortunately, she typically wasn't in residence, except now that she'd lost her fortune and was trying to sell her house in Georgia. Even Guthrie wasn't too bad, until Timothy moved to Houston. Before that, Guthrie only dropped in for an occasional drink after working on old computers all day. But Alice had completely disrupted our social equilibrium, such as it was. She was a take-charge, brusque woman used to calling the shots. I felt my life was out of control and I was merely a staff person--a lot like my marriage to Zack. Although the water in the tub was growing cold, I was getting hot at the mere thought of my worthless ex-husband.

  Stop! I told myself. Alice was not Zack, and we were doing all of this to help Kevin. Woody obviously thought Kevin killed Abby, yet there was no way that gentle man could murder anyone. We also knew Woody was a jerk. We would not allow Woody to railroad Kevin for Abby's death. From what Penny Sue said, it was in our best interest to clear Kevin before Alice felt compelled to call in her New Jersey gang connections. After our run-in with the Italian and Russian mafias, I did not want to draw their attention again! What if Alice's contacts made the connection between us and the mob carnage during the 2004 hurricanes? Lordy, we could be sitting ducks that even Alice and Judge Daddy couldn't protect.

  Our seafood dinner was delicious, particularly because I didn't have to cook it. I took my last bite of blackened grouper and gazed across the table at Alice as I chewed. For such a little bitty person, she had one helluva big personality. Of course, if her husband was as timid as Penny Sue claimed, and her family disowned her, circumstances forced Alice to develop a tough skin. I cut my eyes at Penny Sue, who sat at the head of the table. At about five-eight, her personality matched her height, yet the two women were eerily similar. I hadn't known Penny Sue's mother well, bless her soul, but suspected Momma Parker possessed the same grit. I suppose the Judge's presence was so overpowering, her strength didn't shine through very often. A lot of Southern women were like that--it went back to the Civil War--a soft, sugary veneer over a stainless steel backbone.

  Penny Sue stood. "Who'd like decaf?" Everyone did, except Guthrie, who wanted a scotch.

  One benefit of Alice's visit was that Penny Sue's alcohol consumption had diminished considerably. That was good, because I couldn't afford to keep her in booze and the way she chugged it before Alice's arrival, I considered starting an Al-Anon or AA chapter. Penny Sue always liked her wine, but she'd started drinking more than usual after she lost her Madoff investment. Ruthie speculated that Penny Sue was self-medicating the anxiety over her financial situation. She was far from poor by normal standards, yet poverty stricken in comparison
to her old lifestyle, which was in the league of reality shows about housewives in Atlanta and Orange County.

  Once the coffee was passed around, we were ready to process the day's events. Guthrie's thoughts came fastest.

  "Well," he said dramatically, "I had a service call at a house on North Beach. Man, that house was huge! It had this fancy stacked-stone wall with a wrought iron gate and we had to, like, identify ourselves before they'd let us in. I thought it was strange that someone that rich would have old computers. Didn't you?" he asked Alice.

  She rolled her eyes. "Yes, it was strange."

  "An-nyway," Guthrie continued with a shoulder gyration, "they had been robbed which forced them to pull out their old computers. The police were there and had picked up some guys on the beach in a big van filled with stolen equipment. The cops were questioning them in the driveway, when an Englishman stormed up asking if the suspects knew a man called Splash." Guthrie took a sip of his drink. "Now, what kind of a name is Splash? The crooks said they didn't know him. Then the Brit said Splash often hung out at the library." Guthrie took a big swig this time. "The cops shooed us away, and I had to fix the computers, but that's strange, don't you think?"

  Alice glared at Guthrie. "Get a grip! Of course it's strange. Splash is obviously the dead guy found at the library."

  "I agree." I thunked down my mug. "A Brit named Leonard Kydd came to the library this afternoon asking about a guy who visited the magazine section. Terry told him a man fitting the description had been found dead. Leonard left immediately, clearly upset."

  "It must be the same person," Penny Sue said. "How many Brits are in New Smyrna Beach?"

  Kevin canted his head. "A lot, I'm afraid. A huge English contingency attended the Founders' Day celebration, since New Smyrna was an English colony established by Dr. Andrew Turnbull."

  "So, these Turnbull people might want to discredit you, too," Ruthie mused. "If your theory is correct that New Smyrna was first settled by Europeans as early as the 1400s, then that takes Turnbull down a notch."