Since our basement vault library didn’t yet have the funds to purchase a small computer for the space, Flossie had suggested we utilize an old-fashioned card-catalog system to keep track of the library books. I liked that idea. We were, after all, protecting and celebrating the tactile analog world.
While poking around in the maze of rooms below the first floor, Charlie had literally stumbled into a discarded card-catalog cabinet made of sturdy oak. He’d complained how the antique had bruised his thigh until Tori had promised to kiss it later.
“Then why are you—?” Jace started to ask.
It was a question I didn’t want to answer, so I blurted out, “Are you sure that shelf didn’t fall over by itself? Are you sure Duggar’s death wasn’t the result of a horrible accident?”
“The bolts securing the shelving unit to the floor had been removed.” He gave me a meaningful look.
Did he think I already knew the bolts were missing? I had to force myself not to look away or do anything that made him detect the guilt gurgling around in my stomach like battery acid.
My parents had instilled in me a strong sense of right and wrong. So of course I felt horribly guilty about taking the books that were slated to be removed from the library for my basement library without permission. I felt guilty about sorting the catalog cards during work hours. And I felt guilty about not telling Jace that Flossie, Tori, and Charlie had been in the library at the time of the murder.
If Duggar’s death had been accidental, wouldn’t that alleviate much of my guilt? Sure it would.
But that wasn’t the only reason I wanted Jace to tell me that Duggar hadn’t been murdered. I loved this small town of mine and had a difficult time believing that anyone in Cypress—especially the steely Mrs. Farnsworth—could be capable of taking another person’s life.
“Perhaps the bolts were removed as part of the library’s renovation project? Perhaps Duggar leaned against it and accidentally knocked it over on himself,” I said, hoping Jace would agree with me, hoping that the professionals, in the shock of the moment, had made a grave mistake.
“If he leaned against the shelf, it would have fallen away from him, not toward,” he pointed out. “Someone had planned for him to die.”
“I don’t like it,” I said.
He leaned slightly closer. “What don’t you like? That I’m here investigating?”
“That too.” Jace made me uncomfortable. “But mostly I don’t like the thought that Cypress might not be the idyllic paradise it appears to be. It kind of feels like we lost part of our innocence yesterday.”
He inhaled a slow breath. “I agree. It does feel like that. I came back here because I needed . . .” Instead of telling me why he had moved back to Cypress from New York, he shook his head.
I wasn’t surprised he didn’t explain himself to me. We weren’t friends, and I wasn’t someone he trusted as a confidant. No, I was a suspect. Everyone who was in the building yesterday was a suspect.
Well, not officially everyone. Jace didn’t know about Flossie, Tori, or Charlie. Another sharp twinge of guilt pinched me in my gut.
But none of my friends were killers. I was fairly certain of that. Sure, I didn’t know Charlie. He was a stranger to the town, having only recently moved here from Las Vegas. What reason could someone like him possibly have for pushing a heavy shelf over onto our town manager?
None that I could think of.
“Let’s get back to this disagreement you had over Duggar’s plans for the library,” Jace said. “I heard from some of the other library employees that you’d been angrier than a rabid raccoon ever since the town manager announced the modernization plans. One witness even said”—he pulled his casebook from his pants pocket, flipped through the pages, and then read to me—“Tru loves these books in the library and would go to any lengths to protect them.’”
He snapped the notebook closed and waited with his brows raised expectantly for me to answer the charge.
“That’s true,” I admitted.
“Is it now?” he asked slowly.
I nodded.
I couldn’t say he looked pleased at my admission. He didn’t. He gave me the impression that he was disappointed. Had I said something I shouldn’t have said?
Wait a minute. Had I? My mind replayed the statement he’d just read to me. I wondered some more about why his expression had suddenly hardened. Why his eyes had darkened. I bit my lower lip. He didn’t really think that I could have—?
My heart beat a little faster.
“You don’t think—? I . . . I mean, I . . . I didn’t—” I stammered. “Everyone was upset over the changes to the library. Just look at—”
My hand shook as I gestured over toward where Mrs. Farnsworth was standing with her hands fisted on her hips. At that moment Anne emerged from the computer mainframe room, where five oversized computer servers that she called the “heart of the new library” were kept.
The younger woman was dressed in flip-flops, ripped jeans, and a dark gray T-shirt with “Ancient Alien Theorist” written across the chest. I sucked in a sharp breath as I watched her walk right up to Mrs. Farnsworth.
Anne wore a guileless grin on her adorably rounded baby face. That grin was about to be crushed. Her outfit broke just about every single one of Mrs. Farnsworth’s dress codes.
The one time I’d worn open-toed sandals to work, Mrs. Farnsworth had lectured me mercilessly for nearly an hour on the kind of image every employee was expected to present to the reading public. According to Mrs. Farnsworth, librarians were expected to look professional and as plain as an old brown shoe. Librarians should never distract from the serious reading and research that happens within these hallowed walls.
Mrs. Farnsworth’s widening gaze traveled from the slap-slap of the young tech’s flip-flops to the bright purple streak in Anne’s raven-black hair. Her shoulders tensed for only a moment before her expression softened, transforming her face into the picture of elegant beauty. She placed her hand on Anne’s shoulder.
Jace and I were too far away to hear what she was saying to the techie, who was as giddy about destroying the only library within a sixty-mile radius as Duggar had been.
“She was in the library yesterday morning,” I mused aloud. “But I didn’t see her come into the media room. Everyone else”—save for my friends—“had come running to see what had happened. But she didn’t. I wonder why.”
“Who?” Jace asked.
“Anne Lowery. She’s in charge of the computers that are replacing our books.” I tried, but I couldn’t keep the note of disdain from my voice. “I guess that makes her the most important person in the library now.”
“You don’t sound like a fan,” he said.
“I suppose she’s a nice person.” I shrugged. “Mrs. Farnsworth sure is being friendly with her this morning.” Which made absolutely no sense. Mrs. Farnsworth had refused to even speak to Anne the first week the computer tech had started working at the library. She’d given me the fun job of following Anne around, answering all of her questions, and helping the young woman figure out the best (and swiftest) way to gut one of the town’s best assets. It’d been an agonizing exercise. Anne’s obvious excitement about tossing out all the books in favor of a computer system didn’t help endear her to me.
Jace watched as Mrs. Farnsworth continued to chat with Anne. He then turned to frown at me.
“You’d been arguing with Duggar.” Gracious, he simply refused to let that go. “You found an enemy in your newest coworker. And you clearly disapprove of how Mrs. Farnsworth has taken a liking to a new employee who has a job that clearly outranks yours.”
“Now, I wouldn’t go that far. Her job is completely—”
He held up a hand and plowed on with his grim speech. “Tru, it’s written on your face like words in a book. You’re carrying around heaping piles of anger. Plus,
you’re obviously hiding something from me. Tell me what I should think.” He opened his notebook again and flipped through the pages. “I need you to tell me again what you were doing yesterday morning.” He tapped a pencil on the blank page in front of him. “You can begin by telling me exactly what time you arrived at the library, who was already in the building when you arrived, and who might have seen you.”
“What time?” I repeated back as I groped for answers. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I certainly couldn’t tell him that I’d broken into the basement back door a few minutes after midnight and that no one had been in the building at the time.
My neck burned—a sure sign that my skin was turning red and blotchy. If that didn’t suggest guilt, I didn’t know what would.
Should I tell him the truth? Nancy Drew would instinctively know what to do. I’d read and reread all of her books from cover to cover while dreaming that one day I’d encounter an adventure and, yes, a little danger in my life. The teen sleuth had made these kinds of moral decisions seem so easy, so straightforward.
Now that I had my chance to step into a real-life mystery, nothing felt right. I didn’t know what to do. None of this felt easy.
If I told Jace about the secret bookroom, he’d have to report what I’d done. Those books I’d so lovingly rescued would be put back with the others waiting to be hauled away.
But what choice did I have? Tears filled my eyes as I opened my mouth to confess all.
This was it.
The library would die today.
Chapter Five
There . . . there is something I did, um, something that—” I stammered just as Police Chief Fisher sauntered through the front entrance. An older gentleman with a bristled mustache and salt-and-pepper hair that had been cut so short his scalp showed through, walked in beside him. The new man was wearing a dark navy suit and swaggering like a sheriff in an old Western movie.
The sight of the two lawmen heading straight for me made my mouth turn drier than Aunt Sal’s Sunday biscuits. “Honest! I’m not guilty of murder,” I had an urge to shout. Shouting, however, would only make me look suspicious. Besides, Mrs. Farnsworth would never abide such behavior. And she was already looking at me differently ever since I’d found Duggar’s body.
To rein in my jangling nerves, I gripped the edge of the desk.
Jace cocked one eyebrow as he took note of my whitening knuckles before turning his attention toward the police chief and his companion.
Fisher gave me a quick, dismissive nod before catching hold of Jace’s arm. “Son, I’d like you to meet Detective Gregory Ellerbe from the state’s Regional Investigative Unit of SLED. He’s going to be helping us figure out what happened.”
So this was the expert from the State Law Enforcement Department that Mayor Goodvale had demanded, the expert who would take charge of the investigation?
Jace had schooled his features and showed no sign of resentment as he welcomed Ellerbe to Cypress. He even smiled as he shook the man’s hand. “I’ve been looking forward to your arrival, sir. I’m anxious to go over my notes and theories with you. Right now, I’m questioning one of the librarians who was working in the building at the time of the murder and who had reason to—”
“Splendid, boy,” Fisher interrupted. “I was telling Ellerbe how you’ve taken this bull by the horns, so to speak. He’s here to interview the librarians. He wants to begin right away.” Fisher’s gaze flicked toward me again.
I held my breath, not looking forward to having not one, but three officers of the law pick apart my teensy-tiny lie. I fully expected to be the first one in the hot seat. Perhaps even the only one.
But Fisher had apparently looked straight through me. He pointed over toward Mrs. Farnsworth. “There’s the head librarian and her new assistant. You’ll want to talk with both of them.”
I wasn’t completely surprised that Fisher had ignored me. All of my life, people have acted as if I had nothing important to say. I’d been talked over and my ideas disregarded more often than I cared to remember. And yes, it bothered me to no end because I did have opinions and could be passionate about things that mattered to me, especially books.
But at that moment I wasn’t the least bit upset. For the first time in my life my plain-Jane looks and plain-Jane personality were paying off. Without realizing how suspicious it might seem, I let out a long sigh of relief.
Unfortunately, eagle-eyed Jace noticed.
When Fisher and Ellerbe circled around the front desk and headed toward Mrs. Farnsworth and Anne, the young detective didn’t budge.
“Aren’t you coming?” Fisher asked. “It might be instructional to watch how a professional manages a murder investigation.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Jace said, without shifting his troubled gaze away from me.
Fisher shook his head with a look of consternation, but he left Jace behind without another word.
“I know you’ve been lying,” Jace whispered. “Things are going to go sideways for you, and really quickly, if you don’t start telling me what happened yesterday. Tell me what happened, and perhaps I can help get you a plea deal.”
“A what?” I said too loud.
“Shh,” Mrs. Farnsworth admonished.
“What?” I whispered. Jace couldn’t be saying what I thought he was saying.
“Was it an accident? Or was it something you did in a fit of rage? I can’t imagine you meant to hurt anyone,” he continued.
I would have protested. Heck, I did start to protest, but before I managed to do much more than mutter a few incoherent sounds, that brown tabby cat stepped out from wherever it’d been hiding and stood behind the detective. It stared at me with its round, almost accusatory emerald-green eyes.
“Umm . . .” Mrs. Farnsworth would take one look at the cat and assume right away that I was the one responsible for letting it in. She always seemed to assume I caused trouble, like stray-cats-roaming-through-libraries kinds of trouble. I didn’t know why. I’d only made a few mistakes during my time working here. Like the time I’d accidentally locked myself in the bathroom. Or the time I’d accidentally deleted the entire online card-catalog database.
Both of those things had happened years ago, when I’d first started working for her. I’d spent every day of the past thirteen years trying to convince her I wasn’t a royal screwup, that I could be trusted to unlock the library in the morning and lock it up at night. I couldn’t let a little thing like an uninvited cat derail all my hard work. “Excuse me.” I skirted the counter and chased after the stray, which had dashed away the moment I moved toward it.
Jace chased after me. “Why are you running? You can’t run from this. We all know where you live.”
“I’m not running. I need to get something from the stacks in the reference department,” I called over my shoulder, totally forgetting that all the books had been removed from the shelves.
“Shh!” Mrs. Farnsworth shushed us with even more force. “Detective,” she said in her commanding, whispery voice that somehow carried across the room, “I think you should hear this too. Anne, here, has some information about yesterday.”
I was tempted to join them. I wanted to hear what Anne was telling them, but that cat twitched its tail, darted around my legs, and ran directly toward the conference of librarians and police. With a quick sprint on my part, I was able to scoop up the cat and whirl toward a wall in time to hide it.
Hugging the skinny stray to my chest, I rushed toward the back stairs.
Ignoring the call to join his colleagues, Jace caught up to me.
“He’s my cat.” I don’t know why I stopped my mad dash to tell him that. I hugged the wiggling, growling beast even tighter to my chest. “He’s not supposed to be here. Mrs. Farnsworth would murder me if she found him.” I winced. “Sorry. Poor choice of words.”
Jace folded his arms across
his chest. He looked amused.
The darn cat growled like a bobcat and dug its claws deep into my arm. But I was determined. I refused to let the beast go. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone he’s here.”
I simply needed to hold on to the spitfire just long enough to get him to the back door. What I didn’t need was a nosy detective following me downstairs, where he might stumble across the secret bookroom.
“I should have known,” he said with a rueful shake of his head.
“Known what?” The cat sank his teeth into my arm. I gritted my teeth to keep from letting out a yelp.
“That this is your big secret. Of course someone like you would be mixed up with something like this—a cat.”
“Someone like me?” What did he mean by that?
“And here I thought it was something more—” He looked up at the tall ceiling. It was a coffered tin ceiling decorated with delicate rosettes.
“Yes, Detective?”
“Nothing.” He chuckled. The sound of his I’m-better-than-you laugh made me feel two inches tall. I might as well have been transported back to high school, back to that day when he’d crushed me as if I were no more important than a gnat in the middle of a crowded hallway. “You didn’t want anyone to know about your cat.”
“That’s right,” I said. I was smart enough to agree.
I shouldn’t feel insulted that he looked at me and pictured a lonely (slightly crazy) cat lady. For one thing, he was only half off the mark. The one thing missing from my life as a lonely cat lady was a cat. And I was holding on to an exceptionally lively one right now. Besides which, letting him assume that I collected cats like my mother collected pig-shaped buttons seemed to convince him I wasn’t responsible for Duggar’s death. I could live with that.
“I didn’t want anyone to know the cat was in here,” I confessed.
Instead of leaving me to deal with the hissing stray alone, Jace moved closer to me. “I’ve never seen a cat with such unusual markings on its head. Those stripes come together to form the shape of a skull, don’t they?”
The Broken Spine Page 4