by Jenna Harte
“You must know a lawyer, Soph.” Randy looked up from his computer screen. “I’ve been researching but can’t seem to find one I think we can afford.”
“Why would I know a lawyer?”
“That whole business with your dad and more recently with Joe Cullen’s murder.”
“The business with my dad didn’t have to do with murder, and I didn’t have a lawyer when Mr. Cullen was murdered.”
Randy frowned. “What about Devlin? Did he have a lawyer?”
Inwardly I made a face, because AJ did have a lawyer who had also once been his girlfriend. I might have been able to look past that if she hadn’t told me I couldn’t see AJ because it would look bad to the police during the Cullen murder investigation.
On the other hand, what were the chances I’d see her or that she’d see AJ if I gave her name to Randy to help Vivie? Randy and Vivie ran in completely different circles than AJ, and AJ did the best he could to stay away from Jefferson Grove unless he was seeing me.
“Becca Thoreau was his lawyer. I think she’s out of Charlottesville.”
Randy turned back to the computer and typed in Becca’s name into the search bar. “Thanks Soph.”
I turned to leave.
“Hey Soph.”
“Yeah.” I stopped and turned back to him.
He studied me for a minute and then shook his head. “Never mind.”
I frowned. What was that about? I had a moment to wonder if he was going to ask me out now that his wife was in jail. I’d never do that again. It went poorly the first time when we were in high school. It was why Vivie hated me.
Then I wondered if Tracy had told him that I knew about them. That could cause me problems if he decided to fire me. But he turned back to the computer, so I let it go too.
I headed out to the bar, I waved at Tina as I passed by her. Tina had a rough start as a waitress a couple of months ago. She often got confused with orders, but she was friendly and all the customers liked her. Or maybe it was how well she filled out her wench uniform that got her great tips.
As I reached the bar, Spike held up a hand for me to high-five. It was our normal greeting, but I didn’t like it. He had to be near six-four and I was only five-three. I always had to jump, and even then, I mostly slapped his wrist. Tonight, was no different.
“I heard you’ve gotten yourself into some trouble again.” He leaned closer. “I hear the lady was your friend.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry about that, Soph. You gonna be alright?” Spike was one of those guys who was terrifying on the outside, but all mushy on the inside.
“Yes.” I was sad about Marla, and still a bit shaken from seeing her body, but I didn’t feel I couldn’t do my job. Did that make me a bad friend? “I’m doing fine.”
“Well, you look better than old Junior Junior over there.” Spike nodded toward the other side of the bar. “He’s halfway to slobbering drunk as we speak.”
“That’s not like him.” I peeked around Spike to see Junior Junior. He sat with his forearms on the bar, his hands gripping his drink, and his head hung low. If he had a dog, he’d be the perfect protagonist for a country song.
“Even when he comes his usual nights, he doesn’t get that lit. He was here last night too.”
“Really?” I looked back up at Spike. “He usually only comes on weekends.”
“I know. Weird. I’ve already called his son, Tri-J, to come get him.” Spike stopped. “What will Tri-J call his son? Quad-J?”
I snorted. “How about Junior Junior Squared.”
Spike let out a loud “ha.” “Good one, Sophie.”
I glanced at Junior Junior again. “You know, he was in Marla’s neighborhood when she died. Maybe it shook him?”
Spike shrugged.
“Maybe I should talk to him.”
Spike’s eyes narrowed on me. “Maybe you get him some water. You’re here to serve drinks, not counsel.”
“I thought bartenders were pseudo shrinks.”
“Only if they keep serving the drinks.”
I saluted Spike. “Yes, sir.” I grabbed a high ball glass, put in some ice and then filled it with water. I set it on the bar. “Hey Junior Junior.”
His head appeared to weigh a million pounds the way he strained to lift it. “Hey.” His eyes were glassy and unfocused.
“Here’s some water. Tri-J will be here soon.”
He dropped his head in response. I decided he wasn’t in any mood or condition to chat. I started to turn away when a hand grabbed my arm.
“You found her.”
“Marla? Yes. You were there too.”
He shook his head. “She was such a nice lady. Who’d do that to her?”
“I don’t know.” Was Junior Junior really all torn up over Marla? I felt some guilt that I wasn’t more upset. Then I wondered what his relationship with Marla was. While her husband was gone, was she canoodling with the landscaper? It was a cliché, but clichés were based in truth. My own mother was a cliché; she ran off with her trainer. I wondered if she’d tried to seduce AJ, since he’d done a lot of work around the house when he was a teen.
I pushed that scary thought aside and focused on Junior Junior. He didn’t have all his faculties at the moment, and I knew Sergeant Scowl had interviewed him, but I was curious. Who’d get through the gate into Monticello Heights and stab Marla with coupon sheers? “Did you see anyone there?”
He took a deep breath. “Nah. Just the usual.”
Maybe just the usual killed her. “Like who?”
“Well . . .” He scrubbed his hands over his face, and I took the opportunity to push the glass of water closer to him. “There was you. And I saw you talking to Mrs. Tappen.”
“Anyone else?”
“Not on that street. There were kids playing on Lafayette when I drove in.” He looked up at me. “Kids wouldn’t do that.”
“No. I don’t think kids would do that.” I waited a beat. “Were you friends with Marla?”
“Yes. She was real nice to me. She’d give me tea or lemonade, even on days I wasn’t working on her yard.” There was a reverence in his voice that suggested affection.
“She was very generous.”
“I gave her tips on her garden.” He let out a long sigh.
“It’s some garden, Junior Junior.”
He frowned and waved a shaky finger at me. “Don’t get no ideas about it though.”
“About the garden?”
“About me and Marla. I know how all you snooty toots are with the gossip. We was just friends.”
Snooty toots. That was a new one. “Okay, Junior Junior.”
“Not that I wouldn’t have liked to take her out to a nice dinner . . . but she was married.”
“Did you ever see him? Her husband?” Had anyone in Monticello Heights ever seen the elusive Mr. Naylor?
“Sure.”
“Recently?”
“Ah . . . I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember seeing him?”
Junior Junior frowned into his water. “I don’t remember.”
“So maybe you didn’t see him?”
“Parker!” Spike barked at me. “Paulie needs a refill.”
I jumped at the command and with a quick goodbye to Junior Junior, moved down the bar to where Paulie sat with his buddy, Walt. Both had to be nearing their hundredth birthday. They both had wrinkled faces and bright twinkling eyes as if they had a naughty secret. Rumor was that their friendship and drinks at the Booty Burgo were their secret to their long lives.
Paulie grinned when I arrived. “There’s Miss Boop.”
They were also the only ones that got away with calling me Betty Boop.
“Boop-oop-a-doop. What can I get you two fine gentlemen?”
My shift was typical for a Wednesday night, not crazy busy, but steady enough that I wasn’t able to talk to Junior Junior again before his son escorted him home. By two a.m., Randy had left, and Spike and I were left to close up, which we did, and then he escorted me to my car and I headed home. All and all a typical day.
Chapter Eight
The Top Gun theme playing on my phone woke me sooner than I’d have liked. Normally, I ignored early morning phone calls, but Top Gun was AJ’s ringtone, so I reached for my phone sitting on the arm of my rollaway couch/bed. I opened my eyes enough to see that it was six o’clock, and to swipe the answer button, making sure video chat was off.
“Hullo.”
“Good morning lazy bones,” AJ’s chipper voice greeted me.
I wasn’t awake enough to explain to him that since Randy left the Booty Burgo early last night, I’d closed up with Spike, which meant I didn’t get to bed until close to 3 am. Three hours of sleep doesn’t make one a lazy bones. I grunted in response.
“I’m sorry, Soph. I know you like to sleep in on Thursdays, but this is the only time I had to call you today.”
I might have been too tired to talk, but I wasn’t so out of it that I couldn’t smile at the idea that AJ didn’t want to go a day without being able to talk to me. I was glad the phone wasn’t on video because I didn’t want AJ seeing my goofy grin, alongside bedhead, and morning breath, which I’m convinced can be seen. “S’alright.”
He laughed. “Do you miss me?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“I should be home Saturday.”
That perked me up a bit, although not enough to open my eyes. “When?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll give you call when I can. In the meantime, go back to sleep.”
“’kay.”
“Will you dream of me?”
“Probably.”
He laughed again and I could see his big smile and sparkling blue eyes in my mind. “Stay out of trouble, Warrior Princess.”
“Be safe Flyboy.”
My Thursday was uneventful, except for Aunt Rose learning that while she won her category in the county fair’s pie contest, Carl Jackson had said her pie had a soggy bottom. Aunt Rose was livid, so I avoided her, staying in my room to finish my library program plan for Friday and Saturday, and later that night, work my shift at the Booty Burgo.
On Friday, I was up at 8:30. I showered, dressed and put my room back in order, and then headed to the kitchen. Aunt Rose was sitting at the table drinking her coffee and reading the current issue of People Magazine.
“Good morning, Aunt Rose.”
“Good morning, Sophie.” She cut me a look that made me look down to see if I forgot to dress. “How long are you going to be working at that den of sin? You come in all hours of the night smelling like cheap beer.”
“Hopefully not too long.” I poured myself a cup of coffee and put a slice of bread in the toaster. “The library should let me know soon if I can have more hours.”
“You’re a walking contradiction, you know that?”
“I am?”
“A librarian and a bar maid. It’s enough to give me whiplash.”
I shrugged and then put peanut butter on my bread. Ten minutes later I was out the door heading to the library. I arrived at ten, giving me an hour to set up for the pre-school program. Both my preschool and school-age programs would be on Ivan and Koschei the Deathless, but for the little ones, I’d leave out the darker bits, like how Ivan is cut up into pieces and thrown into the sea. This was one of my favorite tales because it was about a warrior princess Marya, who, in my mind should have been able to save herself. Instead, Ivan is the hero, but he wouldn’t have had to save his wife Marya if he’d listened to her and not opened the dungeon door that held the evil sorcerer Koschei the Deathless, who then escaped and kidnapped Marya.
“All ready this morning?” Mrs. Wayland, the head librarian, stopped by where I was setting up pictures and props to use in telling the story of Ivan and Marya. She’d fostered my love of fairy tales and folklore as a child as an enthusiastic new librarian. Today, now in her forties, she encouraged me to share my excitement of stories in the children’s groups.
“Yes.”
“Any thoughts on October’s programming?” She sat in one of the little chairs I’d set up for the kids to sit in, pulling her reading glasses down over her nose to look at my materials.
“October is Halloween. I originally thought about witches.” There was fantastic folklore around witches.
Mrs. Wayland’s face scrunched up, which was the response I thought I might get. I’m not sure if it’s a southern thing, but there are a lot of people who equate witches with the devil, which is also appropriate for Halloween, but a problem for many parents.
“But now I’m thinking monsters.”
“Not demons, I hope.”
“No. I’m thinking of current lore, like the Loch Ness monster, Sasquatch, the rougarou and then—”
“Rouga-what?”
“It’s a Cajun monster with the body of a man and the head of a wolf in Louisiana. I thought the kids could then create their own monster and lore,” I explained.
Mrs. Wayland thought for a moment. Her expression suggested she wasn’t convinced my idea was good, but she nodded. “It is Halloween, I suppose.”
“The kids will love it.” How could they not? Who wouldn’t want to create their own monster?
“Well, I’ll let you finish up.” She stood. “I’ll be talking with the Library Board of Trustees about making some position changes here that would allow me to give you more hours when Mrs. Kohler leaves.”
Mrs. Kohler was the children’s librarian. I liked her and she knew a lot about children’s books, but she wanted to run the same programs she ran when my father was a kid. “She’s leaving?”
“She’s retiring and moving to North Carolina to be closer to her grandchildren. As you know we’re a small library in the middle of nowhere. It’s hard to find qualified librarians.”
I didn’t know that, but I could have guessed it.
“Only one person with a library degree is required, which of course is me. So, I’m going to talk to the board about hiring you for children’s programming, and you’d be in charge of children’s department, although of course you wouldn’t be a librarian, and you wouldn’t get paid what Mrs. Kohler or a degreed librarian would earn. But I suspect it would compete well with what you earn at the Booty Burgo.”
Hope and excitement made my heart flutter. “Thank you, Mrs. Wayland. That would be wonderful.” It would be like a dream come true. Maybe I could make a living telling fairy tales after all.
“I can’t make any promises at this time, but I wanted to let you know.”
I nodded.
She took a deep breath. “It won’t look good if you’re involved in a murder case, again.”
My heart kerplopped to the pit of my stomach.
“I know Mrs. Naylor was a friend of yours, Sophie, and I’m sorry for your loss. But as you know, the library is a pillar of the community and we can’t have someone working here that might sully things.”
“I was just a witness. I’m not involved.”
“I didn’t think so, but I have to say these things.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
From behind Mrs. Wayland, two children ran toward me. “Miss Sophie!” They launched themselves into my lap.
I laughed. “Kimmy and Austin, how are you?”
Mrs. Wayland smiled. “Have a good program today, Sophie.”
My pre-school age program went well. Afterwards, I had an hour until the older school age kids’ group. I used the time to review my plans and set up their activities. While I always covered the same topic with both groups, because of the age disparity, I planned different discussions and activities. The second
group went well even though Jeremy Smith asked me how much blood I’d seen when I found Marla. I glanced toward Mrs. Wayland’s office hoping she hadn’t heard and wished parents would pay more attention to where their children were when discussing adult topics. It wasn’t a surprise that people were talking. Murder was a big deal in Jefferson Grove and people here liked to gossip. But kids don’t need to know stuff like that.
After my second program, I had another hour at the library which I spent shelving books. I was in the young adult section shelving Cassandra Clare’s novels, when I heard a woman say, “Now that Vivie Danner is in jail, maybe I’ll look into that coupon group.”
I peeked between the shelves to see Jennifer Babbitt sitting at a table sifting through the coupon box.
“Do you think she killed that woman?” Karen Weir, sitting with Jennifer, tossed a coupon back in the box. I knew of the two women because they’d been in high school with my brother. Will had dated Jennifer for a time and they had even planned to stay together while they both attended University of Virginia. They didn’t stay together, and Jennifer ended up marrying a man who wasn’t from around here. She moved back eight years ago, Lani told me when I was catching up on town gossip, when she and her husband had their first child so she could stay home and be close to her family.
Karen had left for college after high school as well, but returned home and eventually married Steven Weir. He was ten years older than her and worked as the high school English teacher. In fact, he was our high school English teacher, which often brought speculation about Karen and his relationship when she was his student.
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t put anything past Vivie, although she’s too meticulous to kill in such a messy fashion.” Jennifer studied a coupon and then set it in a pile next to a small pouch.
“I hear Marla’s coupons were worth a lot.”
“It seems more likely her husband did it. Did you ever meet them?” Jennifer reached into the box and pulled out a small stack of coupons.
Karen shook her head. “No. She didn’t seem to get out much, except for the coupon group, I hear.”