The Librarian's Last Chapter (A River Valley Mystery, Book 3)

by Cynthia Hickey

  I settled back on my bed and stared at the ceiling while Mom immersed herself in channel surfing. Soon, my eyelids grew heavy.

  *

  “No, I’m not taking you to the library today.” Duane walked beside the intern pushing me in a wheelchair out of the hospital.

  “But, I’ve got work to do.” I gave him my most pleading look.

  “You are going to rest until Monday if I have to tie you to a chair.” The thunderous look on his face gave me little room for argument.

  “Can I at least go to the PTO meeting tonight?” I couldn’t get used to the new acronym. “I need to get things moving on the book fair. I promise I’ll be sitting very nicely in a chair.”

  “You’ll be putting out feelers.”

  He knew me so well. “You could always go with me.”

  “No thanks.” He shuddered. “Besides, I have to be at the football game.”

  Who was the wise guy that scheduled a meeting on a Varsity game night? I always went to the home games to cheer on my favorite coach. I’d bring that up first thing. “Can I go?”

  “Like I could really stop you.” He tossed me a smile. “Just be careful, okay?”

  “I will. I need a car.”

  He sighed. “We’ll stop at the rental place on the way home. I’m sure your insurance company will reimburse you until you can purchase a new one.”

  The thought of my pretty powder blue Prius being totaled still stabbed at my heart. Before that, I drove a Sonata. I’d loved that car, too. My solving mysteries sure kept the local car dealership in business. “I want something sexy. Like a red Mustang convertible.”

  “Great. The killer can spot you easier.”

  The silent intern handed me into Duane’s care. With his hand on my elbow, Duane helped me into his truck. I felt fine except for the bruises across my chest and my swollen knees. I waved at Mom and Leroy and almost fell backward when my knees refused to bend the way they were meant to. My fiancé placed his hands on my ample rear and hoisted me onto the seat. “Thanks. The knees weren’t working very well.”

  “Yet, you want a car to go gallivanting around town.” He loped to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. He drove us across town to the only car rental place in town.

  They didn’t have any convertibles. Oh, well. The temperature was too chilly for driving with the top down anyway. They gave me the keys to a Ford Fusion. Cute car. If I liked it, maybe that would be the next car someone wrecked for me.

  Duane followed as I drove my new ride home. The exertion from driving, coupled with waiting on a very slow service rep to get me the keys, left me trembling from exhaustion. I was more than ready to camp out on the sofa for the rest of the day.

  My sweetie fetched me a tall glass of ice, a diet soda, and the remote to the television. “I’ve got to get to work now. Will you be all right?”

  I nodded. “Leroy is bringing Mom here. We’ll recuperate together.” In fact, they should have beaten us there. “I need my purse.”

  He handed it to me, kissed me goodbye, and rushed out the door. I punched in Mom’s number. “Where are you?”

  “In the guest house.” She sounded breathless. “I’ll be there in a few.” She giggled. “Leroy is making me feel better.”

  Eew! I punched the off button. I’d rather focus on the sight of Mrs. Grimes’s bloated face then picture what my stepfather was doing to make my mother feel better.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Opting out of taking prescription pain medication, I downed three Ibuprofen with the last of my diet soda and staggered to the bedroom to get ready for the PTSO meeting. No amount of makeup would cover the bruises from last night’s accident, so I settled for pulling my hair into a ponytail and donning my most fashionable skinny jeans and a colorful blouse.

  If my attacker was in attendance at the meeting, I wanted them to see how battered I could get without quitting. I slapped on some lipstick that matched the rose in my blouse. As I carefully navigated the stairs on swollen knees, Mom entered through the front door. So much for keeping me company all day. She and Leroy still acted like newlyweds, often leaving me in the lurch.

  “Are you hungry?” She held up a casserole dish. “Tuna. Is Lindsey home?”

  My stomach rumbled. “No, she texted me to say she was eating at a friend’s house. She’ll be home around seven. Will you stay and wait for her?”

  “You don’t want me to go to the meeting with you? I’m a part of this mystery, you know.” Mom marched to the kitchen.

  I followed. “I didn’t know you wanted to go.”

  She dished out two servings of tuna casserole with crunched potato chips on top. “Of course I do. We’re partners. Like Cagney and Lacey or that other show, Rizzo and someone.” She waved the spoon as if the names didn’t matter. “Or Sherlock and Watson. You’re Sherlock, because he’s a smart aleck.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I sat at the table while Mom placed my plate in front of me. “We’ll have to eat fast. I don’t want to be late.”

  “We have thirty minutes. It’s only a ten minute drive. Eat.” She sat across from me, her hair poofed over the top of the bandage on her forehead. I tore my gaze away from the way she’d teased her bangs to try and hide the white gauze. Vanity at its finest.

  We finished our late dinner and left the house at ten minutes before seven p.m. If we were lucky, we’d walk in right as the meeting started. All eyes would be on us. Because of my sore knees, I relented and let Mom drive. I hated her white beast of a car. People could see us coming a mile away.

  Mom squeezed the beast between two compact cars. “I don’t know why they don’t make bigger parking spots,” she said, squeezing her way out the small space available.

  “They’re trying to encourage people to buy cars that have better gas mileage.” Getting out was tricky with my achy body, but eventually we entered the side door of the library.

  Ten people turned to stare, among them, Cheryl Wright, Estelle Willis, the freshman English teacher, Janet Snyder, head of the PTSO, and her husband Brad, who was the band leader. Behind us, Sarah Boatwright, squeezed her way in. That made thirteen members. Not as much as I would have thought considering how many students were in ninth through twelfth grade. Obviously, most parents were like me and too busy to add one more thing to their schedule.

  Janet glanced at her watch. “If everyone will be seated, we can get started.”

  Averting my eyes from the stock room where Mrs. Grimes met her demise, I sat at the oblong table. I glanced around the room. Everything looked much the same as I’d left it. The antique books still sat in a stack on the desk. I should have counted them. Now, there was no way of knowing whether one was missing. The book fair crates were still in front of the main doors, although someone had moved them back a bit to allow entrance.

  I zoned out as the minutes from the last meeting were read, only snapping to attention when Janet called my name. “Yes?”

  “You had something to discuss with the group?”

  “Oh, yes. I’d like to ask for help with this year’s book fair. Principal Dean asked me to continue for the sake of Mrs. Grimes and I thought a Haunted House, or tunnel, would be a good way of attracting the attention of high school students.”

  “While I don’t approve of celebrating Halloween,” Janet stated. “I do see how this would draw in the students. Today’s youth love this type of evil entertainment. What will the PTSO get out of helping?”

  I wasn’t aware they would want part of the funds. “What do you usually get?”

  “We’ll want twenty percent. I refuse to dress in costume but will be more than happy to run the cash register.” Janet motioned for Cheryl to write her name beside cashier. “The rest of you can help in whatever manner you see fit.”

  My family didn’t celebrate Halloween either, but now that Lindsey was sixteen, she often joined in with her friends in harmless pranks. The Haunted House might be another way of keeping the students from wandering the streets.

&n
bsp; “What about flowers for Harriet’s funeral?” Cheryl blinked, her eyes glistening. “I motion that we send an arrangement.”

  Janet glanced around the group. “Is there going to be a service? I wasn’t aware she had any family.”

  Estelle nodded. “A small memorial is being set up by members of the school. I think flowers are a great idea.”

  “What kind?” Janet shrugged. “We knew very little about her.”

  I spotted silk daisies in a pot on her desk. “Daisies.”

  “Very well. Cheryl, write that down.” Janet reached for a bottle of water. Her hand shook, spilling some on the table in front of her.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “This talk of death upsets me.”

  She didn’t seem upset. Instead, she seemed very focused on the topic at hand. I needed to find a way to get all my suspects in one room together. “If it bothers you to hold the meetings here, why not move them? Norma Rae Jennings owns the tea room on Main Street. Maybe she would be glad for the extra business.”

  Janet’s eyes widened. “Hold the PTSO meetings off campus? Is that done?”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Cheryl said. “This place gives me the creeps now.”

  Brad glanced up from where he played online gambling on his phone. “Fine with me. I’m only here because Janet drags me. She can force me to attend there as well as here.” He bowed his head back over his phone.

  “This is my last year anyway,” Estelle said. “I’ve almost got enough money to retire. Once that happens, I’m out of here.”

  “The loyalty in this room just warms my heart.” Janet slapped the phone out of her husband’s hands.

  Mom and I glanced at each other, both clamping our lips together in an effort not to laugh. River Valley had more than its share of quirky residents.

  “I have a question.” Mom raised her hand.

  “You aren’t in a classroom, Gertie.” Estelle shook her head.

  “I’m just wondering why no one in this room has commented on the way Marsha and I look. Granted, you probably all know that we were run off the road last night.” She speared each member with a look as if by doing so, they might confess. “Maybe one of you are responsible.”

  “Good grief.” Sarah banged her palm on the table. “Are you accusing one of us of reckless driving? We are responsible members of society.”

  “No.” Mom stood. “I’m accusing someone of trying to kill me and my daughter.” She grabbed her purse. “See y’all at the next meeting.” She stormed out the door.

  I muttered my apologies and followed as fast as my bruised body would allow. “What this about?”

  “Just trying to flush out a bird.”

  I made note of the models and colors of the cars in the parking lot. If one of them tried to run us off the road, I wanted to know without a doubt who to blame. “Don’t you think that made the target on our backs bigger?”

  “Yes, so don’t tell Leroy.” She slid behind the wheel of the Caddy. “He’ll make me stop helping you.”

  Whether or not she was actually helping was debatable. I stared at my reflection in the window on the way home. I did find it curious that no one mentioned the accident. Maybe they thought it would embarrass us? “I think we need to make attending the memorial service a priority.”

  “I agree. We need to be everywhere at all times until the killer is flushed out of hiding.” Mom pulled into the driveway. “You still have your Taser, right?”

  “Never leave home without it.”

  “I bought one myself when Leroy and I were traveling the country.” She patted her purse. “I think I need a gun. If we’re both armed, no one will mess with us. We’ll find some innocent way of letting folks know we have weapons.”

  Who was this woman? I rarely carried my gun, although I was tickled to death when I found a pink 9-millimeter. I kept it locked and safe on the top shelf of my closet. “Bruce is going to have a heart attack if he finds out you have a gun.” I shoved my door open.

  “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  “What are you going to tell Leroy?”

  “That I want to start target shooting. He doesn’t need to know that the target is someone trying to kill my girl.” She grinned at me.

  My mama, the she-bear. I understand how she felt, being a mother myself. If someone tried to hurt Lindsey, I wouldn’t hesitate to put them in the crosshairs.

  We entered the kitchen to the sight of our men and Lindsey playing Chinese checkers. I never could get her to play games with me.

  Duane smiled. “How did the meeting go?”

  “Good. What are you doing here?” I bent to give him a kiss.

  “The other team forfeited. Not enough eligible players.”

  “Ouch. I should have plenty of help for the book fair.”

  “You look exhausted.” He pulled me into his lap.

  “Gross.” Lindsey stood. “If you’re going to start that, I’m going to my room.” She flounced away, sending the four adults into laughter.

  “She’ll change her mind about that someday,” Mom said.

  “Not too soon, I hope.” Although Lindsey had a boyfriend a few months ago, she still seemed to prefer spending most of her times with her girlfriends. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe it wouldn’t all change soon.

  Duane wanted a child of his own someday. With me pushing thirty-six years old, I guessed we’d have to start right away after getting married. Me, a mother of a new-born with a daughter almost out of high school, starting all over with diapers, potty-training, and hormonal mood swings.

  I slid from his lap and headed for the refrigerator. “Anyone thirsty? We have tea.”

  “No, thanks.” Duane stood. “I only stopped by to make sure you made it home safe. Walk me out?”

  I followed him to his truck and stepped into his arms. After several minutes of kisses that left me weak, I stepped back. His face was in shadow, yet I knew every angle. “I love you.”

  “Ditto, beautiful.”

  “Even with the colorful bruises?”

  “Even then. I can’t wait until I don’t have to leave.”

  “Darn morality.” I grinned.

  “Yep.” He kissed me again, then got into his truck. “I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe we can head to the lake and do some fishing.”

  I hated fishing, but if it meant spending time with him, I’d go. I stood and watched him back out of the drive. As I turned to head back to the house, car headlights flicked on.

  Why was a car sitting on the street with its lights off?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Purse over my shoulder, and the swelling in my knees down, I rushed into the front office of the high school, ready to tackle the locked drawer. I signed the volunteer book and grabbed my volunteer badge. With a grin and a wave to Cheryl, I headed down the hall.

  “Wait.” Cheryl rushed toward me. “Mr. Dean wants a detailed report of what the haunted house will entail.”

  “He wants it now?”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry. I know you have tons of work to do.”

  Not to mention a drawer to break into. “I don’t have all the details, but I’ll come up with something.”

  “Then, once he approves it, he wants a copy in each of the teacher’s boxes.” She gave an apologetic smile. “He wants me to help you. Do you mind coming to the teacher’s lounge?”

  I groaned and followed her. It didn’t do a lot of good for me to plan anything. Something always got in the way. The last person I wanted to plan something scary with was Cheryl. She’d shiver and get pale at every chainsaw maniac I mentioned. Not that I particularly enjoyed haunted things, but after what I’d gone through the last few months, people in costume weren’t frightening. I didn’t intend to go through the tunnel of doom anyway. “We’ll call it the Tunnel of Doom. Write that down.”

  She rolled her eyes and sat at a round table in the lounge. “At least let me sit down.”

  Thankfully, the lounge was
empty. We wouldn’t have others injecting their ideas.

  “Okay, I’ve written down the name. When we’ve finished planning, I’ll type it up and take it to Mr. Dean for his signature. I’m sure he will also want to participate.” She poised her pencil over her pad. “What else?”

  “We’ll need a lot of black … something. Garbage bags or plastic. Something to make the hall with. I’ll have little rooms where something macabre is being acted out. There will also be horrifying monsters lurking around corners and following the attendees.” I rubbed my hands together. Kids loved this kind of stuff. “We’ll have a tape of scary music playing in the background. There will also be covered boxes that people can stick their hands in to feel something gross.”

  Cheryl paled with each thing she wrote down. “Are you sure Harriet would have liked this sort of thing?”

  “The book club members are the ones who said she loved Dracula.” Goodness. We could do something warm and fuzzy but not one high school student would bother to attend. “Isn’t the whole point of this to involve the students and make money?”

  “Couldn’t we do a carnival or something?”

  “We could.” I’d actually prefer something along that nature. “But how would we get the people with the money to actually make their way to the book fair with dollars still in their pockets?”

  “That’s the clincher.” Cheryl tapped the eraser end of her pencil on the table. “As much as I hate Halloween, it is a good idea. Maybe we could have a happy scarecrow at the end of the tunnel making balloon animals?”

  Was she serious? “Uh, if you feel that strongly about it. I actually think you might be on to something.” The book fair might be for the high school, but most of the students had younger siblings. “We could do the Tunnel of Doom on a smaller scale and have games put on by the PTSO and student council, a pumpkin patch, bean bag toss, three-legged race, all the old-fashioned fun that kids of today are missing. We’ll have a clown making balloon animals right inside the side door to lure in the families with younger kids.”

  “Now you’re talking.” Cheryl’s pencil raced across the paper. “It’s a lot of work to do in a little over three weeks, but if we recruit help now, we can do it. The book club can focus on the inside of the library while everyone else does the tunnel and games.”