The Broken Spine

by Dorothy St. James

  “To visit Dewey, of course,” Flossie explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She maneuvered toward the platform lift she used to get her wheelchair from floor to floor in the library. “Well, clearly our plan to entrap the killer flopped. Anne, could you show me how the 3D printers work?”

  “Really?” Anne’s eyes lit up. “You really want to see the printers? No one has asked to see those printers.”

  “Honey, I want to hear about everything,” Flossie called over her shoulder.

  “I’d better check on Brantley in the café.” Tori followed in Flossie’s wake, heading toward the stairs.

  “That’s not your job.” I started to chase after my friend, but Dewey meowed again so plaintively that the sound froze my muscles.

  My little kitty never meowed like that. He needed something.

  I opened the vault door to check on him. Like the naughty kitty that he could be, Dewey scuttled between my legs, nearly knocking me down as he rushed out into the basement hallway.

  “Dewey!” I whisper-yelled. What was that kitty up to now?

  At least he wasn’t darting toward the stairs. With the library as full as it was right now, his appearance upstairs would be a disaster. Still, I needed to catch him. I chased him as he skittered along the wall and around a corner in the large maze of a basement. He came to a sudden stop at the back door, the exact door where the two of us first met on that fateful night nearly two weeks ago. He scratched at it.

  “I’m not opening the door,” I told him. “I’m not letting you run loose through town. It’s not safe out there.”

  Dewey glanced at me and then scratched at the door again.

  “It’s not safe,” I repeated, as if that would change my stubborn kitty’s mind. The words had barely left my mouth when the basement door swung open. And in walked Mayor Goodvale.

  “Ah, Miss Becket,” he said and flashed his slick politician’s smile. “Just the librarian I was looking for.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Mayor Goodvale remembered my name. He hadn’t even hesitated. That had to be a first for him. I doubted it was a good omen.

  “Mayor,” I said. Dewey backed away from the door. He squatted low and growled like a bobcat. “What can I do for you?” I reached into my pocket for my phone. I needed to call for help.

  “For starters, you can keep your hands where I can see them.” His smile never wavered, which unnerved me. He took a step toward me. He let go of the metal basement door. It slammed closed with a bang behind him.

  I pulled my hand from my pocket and backed away from the mayor. Dewey stuck by me. His small body pressed against my leg. “How did you get in here? That door is always locked.”

  “Darling, did you forget I’m the mayor? I have the keys to the city. Literally. At least when it comes to the public buildings.”

  “Ah. That must be convenient.”

  “It is.” He took another step toward me. “Now, let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

  “About what?” I could shout, if I needed to. There was a library filled with people upstairs. Jace was upstairs with a gun. So was Detective Ellerbe. I wasn’t in danger. Not really.

  If I did start shouting for help, the mayor could easily deny he was threatening me. I’d end up looking like a fool. But I supposed I’d rather look like a fool than end up hurt or dead.

  “People have been talking about you,” he said, still wearing that false smile of his. “They’re calling you a human library. They’re saying that you’re lending out books. Old books. Books that should have been packed up and sent to the landfill.”

  I swallowed over a lump in my throat. “Most of the residents want books they can hold in their hands, not tablets. Duggar was making a mistake.”

  “No, it wasn’t a mistake!” Dewey hissed at the mayor’s clipped tone. “Duggar knew exactly what he was doing.”

  “And I ruined his plans.” Feeling braver, I put my hand on my hip. “And I ruined your plans as well. I know what you did. I didn’t at first, but I finally figured things out. I now know why Duggar had insisted those books be taken away. The two of you planned to sell them and keep the money for yourselves.”

  “That’s not quite what we’d planned.” The mayor slowly shook his head. “Duggar wanted to keep some of the books. I planned to sell the others.”

  “To help your son,” I supplied.

  He huffed in frustration. “Not at first. But then Luke came home. Ran home, more like. That boy of mine wasn’t prepared for life outside Cypress. He certainly wasn’t prepared to take a job where he made so much money. He thought the cash flow would never run out. He didn’t understand that even if his paycheck was large, he still needed to live within his means. They say he can’t stop shopping, those head doctors my wife sent him to. I don’t know if that’s true, but he’s always clicking on links online, unable to pass up what he calls ‘the perfect deal.’”

  He took another step toward me. Dewey let out a sharp, feral meow. Before I could stop him, my skinny kitty darted down the hallway and around a corner toward the staircase that led up to the main library. Without even thinking about it, I started to run after him before he got us into even more trouble.

  The mayor grabbed my arm. “I’m not done with you, darling.”

  My shoulders dropped, not because I was afraid for my life, but because I was afraid Dewey would get caught upstairs. “I suppose not. What do you want from me?”

  “Everything.” His smile disappeared. “I want everything you took from me.”

  A fresh wave of guilt washed over me. My lungs tightened with the crushing weight of it, leaving me feeling as if I needed to gasp for air. “You killed Duggar because the books you’d planned to sell weren’t in the boxes.”

  I didn’t push that shelf over on Duggar, but I felt just as responsible.

  The mayor’s grip on my arm tightened. “It . . . it was an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt him. He . . . he was like a brother to me. But . . . but the books . . .”

  “Were gone,” I finished for him when his voice broke. Tears filled my eyes. “And Luke’s life was in danger. I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  His grip tightened even more. “You should be sorry. This is your fault.”

  His words gutted me. I was only trying to do the right thing.

  “You need to make this right,” he said. “First, you’re going to tell me where you hid the books. They’re not at Duggar’s house. They’re not at your house. Where are they?”

  “Was that what Charlie and Grandle were doing at Duggar’s house? They were looking for the books?” But they left with boxes.

  “I gave that bookseller the spare key I kept for Duggar. He easily found enough moldy books at Duggar’s to pay off Luke’s debts. Can you believe that? Duggar was hoarding a fortune on those shelves in his living room. Grandle seemed satisfied. And the murder charge against Luke was going to be dropped. Mrs. Farnsworth was seeing to that.”

  “Um, she said the police—” I tried to tell him.

  “But then Charlie called and said that he couldn’t sell the books until he had proof that Duggar had willed them to me. He has them set aside. And Grandle is back out there, demanding his money or blood will be spilled.”

  “But Duggar didn’t leave the books to you in his will.” And Charlie had proved once again that he was a decent guy. I owed him (and Tori) an apology.

  “I know that!” the mayor snapped. “Seemed like a cursed inconvenient time for that bookseller to get a conscience. He’d have gotten a cut of the sales, you know. It would have set him up right nice with his new business. But, no, he has to have papers proving provenance or some sort of nonsense before he’ll get Luke the money he needs. His morals are going to get my boy killed.”

  “I am sorry about Luke’s troubles.” I truly was.

  “You’
ll be even more sorry if you don’t hand over the books.” He gave my body a violent shake.

  I held up my hands. “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You thought those books Charlie had taken from Duggar’s house would cover Luke’s debts, and yet you still broke into my house to search for the library books?”

  “They’re not yours to keep,” he growled in my ear.

  “And when you couldn’t find the books, you kidnapped Dewey?”

  “Kidnapped who?” the mayor spat.

  “Dewey. My cat.”

  “That beast at your house? It attacked me and ran out the front door when I tried to kick him.”

  “You kicked my cat?” I twisted out of his grip and started to swing at him. “He’s a defenseless little animal. How dare you hurt him!”

  “Wait a minute.” He threw up his hands and deflected most of my flaying blows. “I’m the victim here. Your cat attacked me. You stole from me. Me!” The mayor kept his hands in front of his face. “Just tell me where you put the library books.”

  “No!” I started to run down the hallway following the path Dewey had taken in the basement’s maze of hallways. I moved as if I’d just spotted my favorite author signing books at the American Library Association’s annual conference. (Believe me, that’s fast.) I wasn’t simply running away from him and the threat he posed. I was also running from my guilt.

  The mayor cursed and chased after me. But my legs were longer, stronger. He had no chance of catching up.

  Until I stopped at the base of the stairs.

  I stopped so abruptly the mayor slammed into my back.

  “You’re lying.” I whirled around to face him. I shook my finger under his nose. “You didn’t blow up in a fit of rage and accidentally kill your friend. The bolts securing the shelf to the floor had been removed. It was the only shelf in the entire library missing them. I know. I looked. You removed the bolts because you planned to kill him. You planned to take all of the books—and all of the money—for yourself.”

  Duggar’s death wasn’t my fault.

  “No.” He tried to grab me. Somehow I managed to keep out of his reach. “No. That’s not—”

  “It is what happened. The library’s hex-head screwdriver, the screwdriver used to remove the bolts, is still missing. I wonder if the police searched your place, would they find it? Or did you dispose of it? Did you dispose of the bolts too?”

  “You don’t understand,” the mayor whined. “Luke’s life was in danger. I had to do something drastic to save him.”

  “By killing your best friend? Why didn’t you explain the situation to Duggar? Why didn’t you try to work something out? Wouldn’t that have been better than murder?”

  “I tried. He wouldn’t listen to reason. Those books . . .” He slashed an angry hand through the air. “Duggar didn’t care about the money. He said those books were worth more than money to him. He wanted to put those stupid things on his shelf in his personal library so he could look at them, admire them. Can you believe that?”

  “He’s a monster,” I ground out, and truly meant it. Not because Duggar wouldn’t help out a friend in need, although that was rather deplorable. But because the town manager had planned to take those old books from a public library and hoard them for his own pleasure. The books in the library belonged to everyone. They were meant to be read and shared. Their very availability made the community a richer place. Duggar, of all people, should have understood that.

  “I’m glad you agree that I had no choice. He had to die. And now you must realize how desperate I am. Take me to those books.” The mayor’s mouth puckered. He looked as if he’d tasted my Aunt Sal’s pumpkin pie. There was something seriously wrong with the mix of spices that dear woman used.

  “If I have the books and I took you to them, what happens then?” I demanded. “Do we go our separate ways, keeping each other’s secrets?”

  His mouth tightened even more. He wore the same look people got when they were too polite for their own good and had let Aunt Sal talk them into taking a second bite of her infamous pie. “Take me to the books.”

  “What is one more murder?” I murmured. “It’s not like I’m anyone important. You usually cannot even remember my name.”

  “Oh, I remember now. I’ll always remember you. You’re Becket’s girl and a cursed thorn in my side. Get moving.”

  I held my ground. He might look at me and see a mouse. He might think he could bully me into handing over those books he wanted to sell and then submissively do nothing while he killed me. Luckily for me, he was wrong.

  I wasn’t going to take him to my secret bookroom, not when I could scream for help. I whispered a silent apology to Mrs. Farnsworth. Drew in a deep breath. And—

  “Tru? What’s going on?” Jace’s sharp voice came from directly behind me.

  Before I could answer, Mayor Goodvale pounced. He grabbed my right arm and spun me around, using my body as a shield between him and Jace. He’d twisted my arm behind my back with such force, I was afraid bones might snap.

  Jace reacted just as quickly. He’d drawn his gun and had aimed the deadly weapon at the center of my chest. I’d never felt so vulnerable in my life. I prayed this wasn’t going to be the last emotion I’d ever experience, because it sucked.

  “Thank goodness you’re here, Detective. You know I never believed what others said about you. I never believed the whispers saying you couldn’t be trusted.” The mayor’s grip tightened. He pressed what I assumed was the missing hex-head screwdriver into my hand and squeezed my fingers (which were turning numb) around its handle. “I caught Ms. Becket in an attempt to move vital evidence, evidence that proves she killed my friend Duggar.”

  He then sniffled and heaved a ragged breath. Was the mayor crying?

  “I loved that man like a brother.” His voice cracked. “She took him from me.”

  Jace lowered his gun. “That is disappointing. Was hoping it’d go another way.” He shrugged. That’s when I noticed Dewey standing by the detective’s side. My little brown and black tabby rubbed against his leg in one of those deep kitty hugs. “But what can I say? She’s been our lead suspect all along.” He tucked his gun back into its holster and pulled out his handcuffs. Dewey’s green eyes appeared to glitter at the sight of it. “Well, there’s only one thing that needs to be done now. I’ll take her in.”

  The mayor’s grip tightened even more. My right arm screamed in pain. He caught the screwdriver as it slipped from my now useless hand. He pressed the point of it into my side. “Actually, son, go fetch the chief. I want this done all official-like. Can’t have her getting off because we didn’t cross all our t’s.”

  “I can call him once I get the scene secured.” He reached for me. “Hand her over.”

  “Son.” The mayor sighed. “She killed my friend. Give me a few minutes with her.”

  Jace stared at me for a long while before he gave a short, brisk nod and turned away.

  “What?” I wheezed through the pain searing up and down my arm. Was he serious? “You . . . you’re going to leave me here? With him?”

  Jace didn’t turn back. He didn’t slow his step. Just like when we were in high school, he was going to walk away as if he didn’t know me. I didn’t know why I was surprised.

  Dewey stayed. He sat down and started to wash a paw.

  Did no one care about me? Not even my cat?

  “Now that we’re alone,” the mayor breathed in my ear. He poked me in the side with the screwdriver. Its point was sharp. “How about you save yourself a world of pain and take me to the—”

  His grip on my arm suddenly went slack. He started to pitch forward. Unable to catch myself in time, I tumbled forward too. Dewey gave a startled yelp and jumped out of the way a moment before I landed face first on the concrete floor with the mayor on top of me.

  “Get him off her,” I hear
d Jace order just as someone rolled the unconscious mayor off my back. I eased up onto my elbows to find both Jace and Charlie frowning down at me.

  “I didn’t kill Duggar,” I told them.

  “Don’t be daft. We know you didn’t,” Charlie said.

  “Did you really think I’d walk away and leave you to the mayor’s whims?” Jace sounded insulted. “What kind of cop do you think I am? Even if I thought you were guilty, I wouldn’t do that. But I also couldn’t attack him from the front. Not when he had that knife to your side.”

  “A-a-a—knife?” I stammered. It wasn’t a screwdriver he was poking me with, but a knife? I saw it lying on the ground next to the unconscious mayor. It was a big bowie knife. There was one like it in my backyard shed. Had the mayor taken it during the break-in?

  “Your nose is bleeding.” Jace tossed his handcuffs to Charlie before helping me scramble to my feet. He took a crisp cotton handkerchief from the mayor’s suit pocket and handed to me.

  “Um, thanks.” I pressed the handkerchief to the stinging scraped skin on my nose.

  From the ground beside me, the mayor groaned. “Son, you’re making a huge mistake. You’ll never work in law enforcement again.”

  Jace ignored him. “Do you need me to call for medical care?” He ran his hands up and down my arms and along my side. “He didn’t break anything, did he? He didn’t stab you?”

  “No.” I stepped back from his gentle touch and picked up Dewey. My nerves were still badly shaken from thinking Jace had left me in the mayor’s sick clutches. I needed to use my kitty as a shield between us. “I don’t understand what’s going on. What made you suddenly start to believe me?”

  “I’ve always believed you, Tru.” Jace scratched Dewey’s soft head. “This little guy, however, deserves all the credit for saving you. When he ran up to me in the reading room, I knew there was something seriously wrong. He led me to the basement stairs, where I overheard you talking with the mayor, which in itself wasn’t suspicious. So I didn’t say anything or make myself known. But I’d never seen Dewey so agitated. He kept clawing at my leg, as if he were trying to tell me to do something specific. Always trust a cat’s instincts, Tru. They’re smarter than we are. I listened to your cat and grabbed the first person I could find as backup before going back downstairs.” He nodded toward Charlie.