Murder of a Stacked Librarian: A Scumble River Mystery

by Swanson, Denise

  “A minute or so.” Skye narrowed her own matching emerald eyes. “Why? Are you two discussing something that I shouldn’t know about?”

  “Of course not,” May huffed. “I don’t have any secrets from you.”

  “Right.” Skye believed that about as much as she believed in Santa Claus.

  “So why aren’t you at your own party?” May asked. “I hope you aren’t sulking because of that stripper.”

  “Actually, considering everything, her act was pretty tasteful.” Skye looked her mother in the eye. “I was looking for you.”

  “Why?” May tensed. “What’s wrong? You’re not calling off the wedding, are you?”

  “Not in a million years.” Skye shook her head vehemently, but when her mother relaxed, she said, “Although you might think this is worse.” She glanced between May and Charlie. “Have you two heard what our esteemed mayor is up to now?”

  As soon as Skye finished telling them about Dante’s plot to do away with the Scumble River Police Department, May exploded, using words few of her friends or family would have ever guessed she even knew. She sputtered on and on, calling her brother names that questioned his parentage and his eternal salvation.

  Finally, running out of obscenities, May turned to Charlie and said, “That little weasel. I looked the other way when Dante fiddled with our mother’s trust fund to buy new ‘toys’ for his own farm, and I forgave him for trying to steal her estate away from the rest of us when she passed, but this is too much. We have to stop him. I will not let him wreck my daughter’s life.”

  “There’s no way that snake will get away with this.” Charlie ran sausagelike fingers through his mane of snow-white hair. “Did he forget that I’m the president of the city council this year?”

  “I doubt Uncle Dante forgot that. He must have some scheme worked out.” Skye wrinkled her brow and asked, “When’s the next meeting?”

  “Son of a buck!” Charlie’s thick white brows almost disappeared into his hairline, and he jumped up from his seat. “It’s tomorrow night.”

  “When we’ll all be at the rehearsal dinner.” Skye slapped her forehead with her palm. “He planned it for when you wouldn’t be able to attend. And right before New Year’s Eve, when a lot of townspeople wouldn’t be there either.”

  “Fu—” The color of Charlie’s complexion was somewhere between beet and lobster. “He must have been plotting this for months.”

  “Do you think he’s telling the truth about the incinerator being a moneymaker for Scumble River?” Skye bit her lip. “A lot of people might be willing to sacrifice the police department if they think their taxes will be lowered.”

  “To misquote Winston Churchill,” Charlie deadpanned, “Dante occasionally stumbles over the truth, but when that happens, he picks himself up and hurries away as if nothing happened.”

  “How many votes does Uncle Dante need from the council to pass this?” Skye asked.

  “Four. A simple majority.” Charlie’s blue eyes were frosty. “Which he might be able to swing if the representatives are allowed to vote in a closed session by secret ballot rather than roll call.”

  “Well, I can make sure everyone knows what he’s up to.” May patted her perfectly coiffed salt-and-pepper hair.

  “And I can ensure we don’t vote in executive session.” Charlie looked at Skye. “But I’ll have to miss your rehearsal dinner.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” Skye hugged her godfather. “Just save all our jobs.”

  May sprang to her feet and announced dramatically, “I need a telephone and my address book.”

  “I want to make a few calls, too.” Charlie kissed both women’s cheeks, then disappeared up the aisle, yelling goodbye over his shoulder.

  “Let’s go.” May seized her daughter’s hand and stomped out into the lobby, where she hugged Skye and said, “You have a good time and don’t worry about a thing. Charlie and I will fix Dante’s wagon. He’ll never know what hit him.”

  May marched over to where Jed was sitting, grabbed her husband’s arm, and spoke rapidly into his ear. Skye’s father shook his head, but when May’s voice rose, he hurriedly chugged the rest of his beer, struggled to his feet, and fetched his and his wife’s coats from the rack. Within seconds, the couple was out the door.

  Skye had no idea exactly who her mom was planning to telephone. However, she was certain that by tomorrow morning most of Scumble River would know about Dante’s latest scheme. Thankfully, the rest of the bachelor/ bachelorette party was uneventful and a lot of fun. It was well past midnight when Skye got home. And although she was tired, she immediately turned on her laptop—Wally had given her his old one when he bought himself a new model. She was determined to find out as much as possible about towns that had built incinerators.

  While she waited for the ancient machine to boot up, she fussed over Bingo. The black cat hadn’t been getting his usual quota of attention and pouted until she brought out his favorite treats. He pounced on the Whiskas Temptations that Skye scattered across the sunroom floor; then, after he’d found the last crunchy nugget, he hopped next to her on the love seat and purred.

  Finally, the monitor blinked into life and Skye clicked on the AOL icon. And clicked. And clicked. Crap! The Internet was down again. As with cell phone coverage, Scumble River’s wireless service was iffy at best, and apparently, tonight wasn’t her lucky night.

  After several attempts at other locations in the house, including the second-story balcony, Skye admitted defeat and switched to plan B—trying again in the morning.

  Skye and Wally had agreed that they’d spend the two nights immediately before their wedding apart. She had wanted some time to herself before the big day and thought it would be good for Wally to have a little alone time, as well. This would give them both a chance to say goodbye to their single lives, contemplate the step they were about to take, and anticipate their future together.

  Thinking about how Dante’s scheme could change that future, Skye put on her flannel pajamas, washed her face, and went to bed. She was sound asleep within seconds of lying down and dreamed of billows of smoke blowing away all her hopes and aspirations as Scumble River burned.

  Skye was up before six, feeling edgy and unrested. Aiming to lighten her mood, she selected a cheery butter yellow twin set to wear with brown wool slacks and her new suede ankle boots. Once she was dressed, she fed Bingo, gave him fresh water, and cleaned his litter box. As she drank a cup of coffee and ate a bowl of Special K, she tried once again without success to access the Internet.

  She had promised to meet Wally at nine at the police station in order to drive to Lawnton to reinterview Neil Osborn. Neil’s secretary had said that her boss rarely got to the jobsite before ten, and Wally wanted to arrive shortly after Yvonne’s ex.

  But before Skye resumed her role as psych consultant, she really needed to go online. As she finished the last of her coffee, she pondered her options. The library wasn’t open until later, and she didn’t want to use the PD’s computers in case Dante had somehow bugged them. She had no idea if that was even possible, but why take chances? Was there anywhere else she could go?

  A moment later, Skye silently yelled Eureka! The one place in town that always seemed to have a signal was Tales and Treats Bookstore. And, thank goodness, the bookstore’s café had started opening at six in order to supply the before-work crowd with their much-needed fix of caffeine and sugar. She’d indulge in a cappuccino, log on, and dig up some facts about the profitability or, she hoped, losses of municipality-owned incinerators.

  Feeling slightly more optimistic now that she had a strategy, Skye headed out the door. She had a lot to accomplish within the next twenty-four hours, and she was determined to get it all done before her wedding.

  When the bookstore was open, customers entered Tales and Treats through the main doorway. But during the early-morning hours, when only the coffee shop was doing business, patrons came in through the side entrance that brought them direc
tly into the café. As Skye turned the corner into the alley and saw that the line went all the way to the sidewalk, she hesitated. Did she have enough time to wait?

  Shrugging because she really had no other option, Skye joined the queue. What seemed like an eternity later, she finally greeted Orlando Erwin, the co-owner of Tales and Treats, and placed her order.

  While Orlando made her cappuccino, she looked around. Most of the small tables were already occupied, and several people were tapping away on their laptops. Relieved, Skye paid for her drink and reluctantly declined his offer of a muffin. After she’d stuffed herself the night before, it wouldn’t be wise to indulge in the calorie-laden treat. At least not if she wanted to fit into her wedding dress.

  Skye found a seat and had been surfing the Web for several minutes when she struck pay dirt. A city out east had built an incinerator, expecting to use the fees to pay off the construction loan and then, once it was free and clear, gradually make a profit. Instead, the town was now millions of dollars in debt.

  Their problem was that the machinery had never worked correctly and they’d needed to refurbish it several times, borrowing more and more money to fix the faulty mechanisms. Who was to say that Scumble River would have any better luck with their equipment?

  Skye made a note of the URL where she’d found the article, then started her second search. This time she was looking for crime statistics on towns that had eliminated their police force and relied solely on the county sheriff’s department for protection.

  An hour later, Skye had her facts compiled and left the café. Her next stop was the local newspaper. The Star’s owner and editor, Kathryn Steele, lived above its offices, and she was known for being on the job nearly 24-7. Kathryn and Dante had had many disagreements, so Skye was betting the journalist would be open to printing a special edition with the story about Dante’s plans for Scumble River.

  The newspaper’s front counter was vacant when Skye entered the building. The space had a dusty, slightly deserted feeling to it, and the odor of ink made Skye’s nose wrinkle in anticipation of the sneeze she could feel threatening the back of her throat.

  The jingle of the bell above the door must have alerted the owner because Skye heard Kathryn call out, “If you have a story for me, I’m in my office. Anything else, come back at nine when Nan gets here.”

  “Hi, Kathy,” Skye called as she made her way toward the sound of the woman’s voice. “I hope it’s not too early for me to stop by.”

  “Depends.” Kathryn was seated behind a desk overflowing with papers. “Have you and that hot police chief of yours found Yvonne Osborn’s killer?”

  The newspaper owner was an attractive woman in her thirties. Her dark hair was held back with a large gold barrette, and diamond studs twinkled in her ears. Skye had always wondered about Kathryn’s background and apparent wealth. She’d arrived in Scumble River four years ago, purchased the Star, and changed its content from mostly advertisements and local sports statistics to actual news.

  Realizing she’d been lost in thought and hadn’t answered Kathryn’s question, Skye said, “Not quite yet, but we’re hoping to make an arrest soon.” She indicated the visitor’s chair. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Be my guest.” Kathryn leaned forward. “What can I do for you?”

  “Have you heard about the mayor’s plan to eliminate the police department in order to fund the construction of an incinerator at the edge of town?” Skye asked, pulling her notes from her tote bag while she closely watched the newspaperwoman’s expression.

  “Not in so many words.” Kathryn adjusted the lapel of her exquisitely tailored red suit. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

  Skye outlined Dante’s scheme, then summed up the articles she’d researched on incinerators and towns that had eliminated their police forces. While Skye talked, the newspaperwoman scribbled furiously on a yellow pad she’d pulled from one of the towering piles on her desktop, pausing occasionally to ask a question.

  After providing Kathryn with the Web addresses of the articles to back up her claims, Skye said, “So you didn’t know anything about Dante’s plans?”

  “Well . . .” Kathryn said slowly, plainly considering how much she would share with Skye. “Someone did mention the idea of using the sheriff’s department in place of local police. And on a separate occasion this person also asked what I knew about town-owned incinerators.”

  “But you didn’t connect the two or investigate it as a story?”

  “No.” Kathryn pursed her lips. “The conversations took place several days apart, and at the time, I thought the person was referring to articles that she had read and just wanted my opinion.”

  “Who was it?” Skye twisted the strap of her tote bag into a knot. “Clearly that person knew about the mayor’s scheme.”

  “Sources are confidential.” Kathryn tapped a perfectly manicured nail on a folder. “But I guess since she’s deceased and wasn’t really a source . . .” She trailed off, then seemed to make a decision and said, “It was Yvonne Osborn who brought up both topics.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Out of Circulation

  As Skye drove to the police station, a new anxiety gnawed at her. Had her uncle been involved in Yvonne’s death? It appeared that the substitute librarian had been aware of the mayor’s scheme. What if she had confronted him? Could Dante have been behind the wheel of the vehicle that forced Yvonne’s car off the bridge? Although he didn’t own an Escalade, he was partial to Cadillacs. If he were going to steal an SUV, he’d be drawn to his favorite brand.

  Pushing the concern about her uncle’s possible homicidal actions aside, Skye focused on another worrisome issue. The more she thought about it, the more she suspected that she should have told Wally about Dante’s scheme the night before.

  At the time, she’d convinced herself that she didn’t want to ruin his evening. There really hadn’t been a good moment during the party to drop the bombshell on Wally that his career was about to go up in smoke. Then they’d left the theater separately, so she hadn’t been able to speak to him about the situation afterward either.

  At least that’s what she told herself, but in truth, she’d been afraid to admit to Wally that another one of her family was about to cause him problems. She was related to half the local population, so it was inevitable that her relatives would have some run-ins with the police. But how many fiascos could Wally take before he decided Skye was more trouble than she was worth? Or maybe he’d give in, do what his father wanted—move to Texas and take over CB International.

  Wouldn’t that be the ultimate irony? A few years ago, Skye’s most fervent wish had been to escape her hometown. But slowly and surely, Scumble River and its citizens had won her over and carved a place in her heart. Now the last thing she wanted to do was leave. How could she tell Wally what her uncle was up to?

  As soon as Skye turned onto the block that held the PD, city hall, and library, she realized that informing Wally about Dante’s plans was now out of her hands. She watched in astonishment as an undulating wall of humanity marched in front of the building holding anti-incinerator picket signs.

  The parking lot was packed, and Skye had to drive several blocks before she found a space for the Bel Air. Hiking back toward the station, she heard rumbling that she thought was thunder, but as she got closer, she realized it was angry voices.

  A few more steps and she made out the words being shouted, “Hell, no! The police shouldn’t go!”

  Apparently, May had been able to rally a huge number of supporters with her calls. Skye had to give her mother and the grapevine credit; there were at least a hundred and fifty people marching, holding placards, and chanting. Quite a feat for a community with a population of just over three thousand. And all achieved in a little less than twelve hours.

  Skye stopped in front of the throng to admire some of their signs. Miss Letitia, the ninety-year-old president of the Scumble River Historical Society, held a poster that read: BURN TH
E MAYOR, NOT THE TRASH. Jess Larson, owner of the Brown Bag Bar and Liquor Store, had one that said LESS COPS = MORE CRIME. And Risé Vaughn from Tales and Treats carried a notice with ANOTHER IDIOT IDEA BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE BUREAUCRATS blazing in red letters across a white background.

  Edging through the mob, Skye recognized most of the protestors. Everyone she passed patted her on the back and told her they were a hundred percent behind Wally and his officers. She thanked them and kept moving, intent on reaching the door.

  At the front of the building, she noticed Judy Martin standing by the door that led to the stairway up to the library. Last night, Skye had never gotten a chance to talk to Judy, so she walked over to her and said, “Quite a turnout, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Judy shook her head, her sandy brown ponytail swinging. “I’m a little shocked that so many people support the police department and are willing to show it.” She wrinkled her freckled nose. “It sure makes me proud to live here.”

  “Do you have a minute?” Skye asked, admiring the petite brunette’s vintage purple swagger coat with its oversize moonstone plastic buttons. “Has Wally talked to you about Yvonne Osborn?”

  “No.” Judy furrowed her brow. “Why would he? I really didn’t know her.”

  “You hired her though, right?” Skye said, and when Judy nodded, she asked, “Did you work with her at all before you left?”

  “We spent a day together while I showed her the ropes, but that’s all.”

  “I assume you thought she was a good librarian or you wouldn’t have chosen her, but what was your impression of her as a person?”

  “Well . . .” Judy hesitated, sticking her hands in the coat’s deep pockets. “It was clearly important to her to do the right thing, not just what was easy or expedient.” Judy hunched her shoulders. “Yvonne lost her previous job because she blew the whistle on a shady deal that the library director had made with a supplier. She was willing to take the consequences of her actions and didn’t try to sugarcoat what she’d done.”