Murder by Page One

by Olivia Matthews

  “I am too.” He bent to collect the chair’s legs, then crossed to put them beside my office door.

  “Oh, I should do that.” I followed him, carrying the broken chair back.

  Adrian shoved one of the chairs from my little conversation table to my desk. “You can use this until you get a new one.” He stepped back.

  “I’ll leave a note for maintenance.” I surreptitiously checked the replacement chair, giving it a rough shake to check its construction. It seemed fine. “I keep thanking you.” I chuckled, struggling to feel normal again.

  “And I keep sayin’ you’re welcome.” He flashed an unsteady grin. “You’re sure you’re all right? It was a close call.”

  “Yes, it was, but I’m fine now. Why would the chair have collapsed now when it’s been fine all week?”

  “Beats me. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Adrian headed toward the door. “I’ll leave that cardholder report with you, then. Let me know if you have any questions.”

  I glanced at the report on my desk. “Right. I want to analyze the demographics of our new cardholders to see who we’re reaching.”

  “I’ll leave so you can get to it.” He looked back over his shoulder. “And to your lunch before it gets any colder.”

  I returned to my desk. My poor baked ziti. Not even a few wisps of rising steam remained, but I was too hungry to care. I settled onto the sturdier—I hoped—chair and returned to my lunch. I tried to read the report Adrian had printed for me, but my mind kept straying.

  The food helped me concentrate. It was hard to think on an empty stomach, and I’d need to remain focused if I was going to help campaign for a bigger library budget as well as work on clearing Jo’s name.

  “You don’t have to call me every day.” Jo’s voice traveled down the phone line with exaggerated patience Wednesday evening.

  “I know I don’t have to.” I balanced my elbow on my desk and kept one eye on the clock in the lower-right corner of my computer monitor. I needed to check on Phoenix before leaving for tonight’s town council meeting. “I want to. How did it go today?”

  “The same as yesterday, unfortunately.” Jo’s sigh was full of frustration. “Customer traffic is still at a snail’s pace.”

  “We’re only four days out from the murder. It’s probably too early to be worried.”

  Jo sighed again. “My mind agrees with you, but it’s hard not to be anxious. This is my livelihood. My store provides jobs for the community. If my profits take a serious nosedive, I need to fix it fast, or a lot of people will be affected.”

  My grip tightened on my cell phone as I picked up Jo’s tension. Everything she said was right and identified another reason why our inquiry was so important. The longer Jo remained under suspicion and Fiona’s murder remained unsolved, the more damage would be done to Jo, personally and professionally.

  “Clearing your name so the deputies can actually solve Fiona’s murder will go a long way toward restoring normalcy in Peach Coast.” I spoke with confidence, hoping to ease some of Jo’s anxiety.

  “You’re right, and I appreciate everything you and Spence are doing to help me.”

  “That’s what friends are for.” I imagined Jo sitting in her office—or perhaps she was at her customer counter—smiling.

  “For keeping each other out of jail? I appreciate that.” Her voice was thick with humor. “Have you had any new developments in the inquiry?”

  “Unfortunately, nothing concrete, at least not yet.” I filled her in on my strange conversation with Betty and my even stranger conversation with Bobby.

  “Well, a lot of people are fixated on certain routines.” Jo sounded as confused as I’d felt after speaking with Betty. “I suppose if you’re used to cleaning on Saturdays and it had become a habit, you’d assume everyone would feel the same way.”

  “I’m not buying it, Jo. It sounded a little delusional to me.”

  She laughed. “It does to me too.”

  Having brought a smile to her day, my job was done. “Same time tomorrow?”

  Jo chuckled. “You don’t have to check in with me every day.”

  “But I want to.”

  After wrapping up our call, I hurried home. I couldn’t be late for the council meeting. We needed everyone to show up in support of the increased budget request. This vote was too important.

  I felt like a member of a family of ducklings as Viv, Floyd, Adrian, and I followed Corrinne across the town hall’s lobby after the council meeting Wednesday evening. Corrinne stopped less than an arm’s length from Mayor Byron Flowers, who was pontificating in the direction of several town council members.

  The council president looked up as we arrived. The expression in the older gentleman’s watery brown eyes telegraphed he knew why we were there, even if the mayor didn’t. In fact, I had the sense he and the other council members had been expecting us.

  Our head librarian straightened her shoulders. Viv, Floyd, Adrian, and I flanked her.

  “Excuse the interruption, Mayor Flowers.” Corrinne’s voice was clipped to military precision. The council members used her interruption to vanish. “We were disappointed by your insistence that the council table tonight’s discussion of the library budget. May we ask why you did that?”

  Byron was a tall fit man with impeccable—and ostentatious—taste. His double-breasted brown pinstriped suit probably cost as much as the library’s annual budget. His toothy grin shouted, “I want to be everybody’s friend!”

  The mayor’s cerulean blue eyes glinted at my boss in barely veiled admiration. “Corrie! Seeing you always brightens my day.”

  Corrie? Viv, Adrian, and I exchanged quick, questioning glances. Floyd looked like he wanted to pull up a chair and rip open a bag of popcorn.

  Corrinne’s temper chilled the air around me. “Why did you table our budget discussion, Mayor Flowers? That increase is crucial to our goal of expanding our outreach and providing more services to our community.”

  It was little things like Corrinne’s emphasis on the mayor’s title and name that made me think she and the town official had a history. I didn’t know her well enough to ask. Yet.

  “The meeting was running a little long, didn’t you think so, Corrie?” Byron folded his hands together in front of his hips.

  Virtual steam wafted from Corrinne’s ears, seeming to increase the heat in the crowded lobby. It was disconcerting to see someone who was usually so coolly serene on the cusp of erupting in anger. “Mayor Flowers, I’d prefer you address me as Corrinne. And no, I didn’t think the meeting was running long. Were you late for a hair appointment?”

  I caught my breath. Corrinne had asked the question with the feigned sincerity for which Southerners were famous. Now I wanted to pull up an armchair beside Floyd and share his make-believe popcorn.

  “Touché, Corrie—Corrinne.” The golden-blond hair currently under discussion glinted beneath the bronze lantern chandeliers. The mayor smoothed a hand over its perfection. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed—”

  “I’m not the only one who’s disappointed. My team and I asked our patrons to attend tonight’s meeting to show their support for our budget request.” She threw both hands out to encompass us. “My team’s here tonight because of that agenda item, and yet you insisted the council remove it.”

  Byron’s gaze remained on me. “You must be Marvella Harris from New York City. I’m Mayor Byron Flowers.”

  I inclined my head in greeting. “Do you support increasing the library funding, Mayor Flowers?”

  The mayor seemed taken aback by my directness. In my peripheral vision, I saw Viv and Adrian send me a quick look. Floyd smiled. Too late, I recollected Spence’s numerous lectures on “easing into a discussion.” This probably would’ve been a good time to practice that.

  Byron bounced on his toes. “I understand you’ve been doing some a
mateur detecting, Ms. Marvella.”

  Proceed with caution. “What makes you think that, Mayor?”

  “Oh, I hear the rumors that get around town.” Byron clasped his hands behind his back and puffed his chest forward. “A good mayor keeps one ear to the ground. Now, I don’t know how things operate in a big city like New York, but here in Peach Coast, we have plenty of law enforcement types. We don’t need any more help.” He winked. I could envision him, standing in front of a mirror, practicing the gesture.

  I tried to arrange my features to convey clueless innocence. My older brother, DeAndre, insisted I excelled at that. “I don’t know what you consider ‘amateur detecting,’ Mayor. I’ve only been asking a few questions out of curiosity about my neighbors.”

  Byron looked skeptical. “There’s no need for that, Ms. Marvella. I assure you, our law officers don’t need any help.” He shifted his attention back to Corrinne. “In fact, I’m surprised you’d let her get involved, Corrinne. Why, it gives the impression your staff doesn’t have enough to do.”

  Let me get involved? Byron’s words stirred me to introduce him to a side of me he probably wouldn’t enjoy meeting. I was aware of Viv and Adrian giving me more distance. Floyd seemed almost gleeful.

  I opened my mouth to set Byron straight about my needing anyone to let me do anything, but Corrinne spoke first.

  Her gaze continued to blast the mayor. “Are you attempting to tie the budget of the town’s library and resources to our individual behavior, Mayor Flowers?”

  Beside me, Floyd grunted. “Sounds like it.”

  Viv crossed her arms over her flowing silver blouse. “Voters, especially women, will have a problem with your implication that a woman needs permission to exhibit intellectual curiosity, Mr. Mayor. What do you think, Adrian?”

  The librarian assistant seemed surprised to be brought into the conversation, but quickly rallied. He shoved his large hands into the front pockets of his tan Dockers and rocked back on his brown loafers. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Mayor, but I think you’re outside of your mind with that kind of talk.”

  Even I could figure out the gist of Adrian’s response. I struggled to contain a smile as I turned back to Byron. His face was flushed with embarrassed color. His gaze bounced from Floyd, to Viv, to Adrian, then me before returning to settle on Corrinne.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Byron’s voice stalled. He appeared to search for an explanation. The future of five votes depended on it. “I mean, all I meant was that…citizens can’t take matters into their own hands. I mean, the deputies are responsible for the investigation, Ms. Marvella.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise, Mayor.” I widened my eyes to emphasize my clueless innocence. “But I’d really like to know whether you support the proposed increased for the library’s budget next year.”

  Byron cleared his throat. “My staff and I are looking into that. Please excuse me. I have to have a few more words with the town council president. Have a good night.” His eyes locked with Corrinne’s before he spun away.

  I watched him walk off in the opposite direction from the council president. “Why would the mayor be opposed to increasing our funding?”

  “It’s an election year.” Floyd sounded disgusted, as though he’d gotten a dry pastry. “He probably doesn’t want to have to defend supporting a bond issue on the ballot.”

  Adrian nodded. “Or explaining to us why he doesn’t support it.”

  I hid a smile behind my hand. Was he anxious about explaining his lack of support to all of us…or just Corrie?

  Chapter 18

  They say authors should write what they know. If that bit of conventional wisdom held true for Fiona’s debut mystery, the novel may have prompted the sheriff’s department to open an investigation into Buddy’s death. In fact, several people may have recognized themselves in the story and had their feelings hurt. The narcissistic ex-wife whose every conversation was a ballad of self-pity. The stepson who drifted through life without direction or goals. I wondered about the “dangerously attractive” business partner. Was there anything personal between Fiona and Nolan, or was their relationship all about business?

  I rolled off the puffy seafoam sofa, where I’d sprawled with a copy of Fiona’s In Death Do We Part shortly after returning from the town council meeting Wednesday night. Earlier, I’d changed into baggy sapphire cotton shorts and an oversized navy T-shirt. Grabbing my empty glass, I padded barefoot into the kitchen for a refill of water.

  Although I’d only been reading the mystery for two days, I already was more than halfway through it. Fiona’s story was indeed a page turner. She’d built a world of diverse characters, each creepier than the last. The protagonist was empathetic. The villainous ex-wife was thoroughly unlikeable.

  After adding fresh ice and refilling my water glass, I returned to the living room. Phoenix had taken my spot, stretching out on the sofa. He tracked my progress as I re-entered the room. This wasn’t the first time he’d displaced me. Without missing a beat, I settled onto the opposite end of the cloth sofa. I could feel him staring at me as I drank my water.

  I glanced up and met his glare. “Why are you looking at me as though I’ve asked you for money?”

  He didn’t bother to explain himself. Instead he continued to track my movements.

  “I understand why Fiona was getting such rave reviews for her book. And she was deserving of every word. Snappy dialogue. Tight pacing. Lots of tension.”

  I showed Phoenix the cover. The title was set in big, bold silver type at the top. Fiona’s name appeared below in similar but smaller type. The image was a cozy cottage home at night. “What do you think? Do the house and scenery remind you of Peach Coast? The fictional town in her book is Peachberry Corners.”

  As a neighbor, I mourned Fiona’s death because of what her murder meant to the community. As a reader, I grieved the loss of all the great stories she could’ve written for the world.

  “The question, Phoenix, is how close is this story to Fiona’s own experiences?”

  Phoenix rose to his paws. He crossed the width of the sofa, then curled down onto my lap in the space between the book and my torso. I kissed the top of his furry head.

  “In this story, the protagonist suspects her husband’s first wife of killing her husband and making it look like a heart attack.” Not wanting to unduly alarm Phoenix, I kept my voice low and soothing. “In real life, Buddy’s death was ruled to have been caused by an acute myocardial infarction. A heart attack. According to the other librarians and Spence, neither Betty nor Fiona was ever accused of killing Buddy, although Betty did her best to cast suspicion on Fiona. Spence should know. His newspaper did several articles on Buddy’s death. The deputies never suspected foul play, but Betty did.”

  I stroked the bridge of Phoenix’s nose. His purr was long and low. I slipped my bookmark in between the pages of Fiona’s book to mark my place. Continuing to pet Phoenix, I rose to my feet to pace between the living and dining rooms.

  “Question—does Fiona really believe Betty could’ve poisoned Buddy and made it look like a heart attack?” I meandered between the two downstairs rooms. “Or was the book simply a way for Fiona to get even with Betty for the rumors she’d spread?”

  Deep in thought, I paced for a while with only Phoenix’s purrs breaking the silence. The lingering scent of my after-work lemon-orange herbal tea soothed me. My steps carried me past my two floor-to-ceiling built-in white wood bookcases. A series of framed photographs of my family and friends crowded the mantel above my black-and-white fireplace.

  “Betty and Bobby claim they haven’t read Fiona’s book.” I kept walking and talking although I sensed him nodding off in my arms. He was an exceptionally good listener, even on his worst days. “But they wouldn’t have to read the whole book. The review in the Crier and the book’s description on the back cover gives readers enough
information to know what the book’s about.”

  I settled carefully back onto the sofa, aware of Phoenix resting drowsily in my arms. “But why did Fiona write this story? Was it payback for Betty smearing her reputation with vicious gossip? Or did she truly suspect Betty of killing Buddy?”

  Anna May’s hot pink T-shirt this Thursday morning read Coffee: A Friend for Life. “Your usual, Marvey?”

  “Yes, please, Anna May, with two slices of your delicious peach cobbler to go.”

  The sounds of my low-heeled navy pumps against the hardwood flooring were muted beneath the laughter and chatter of friends meeting for coffees and cakes. My progress to the customer counter was slow as I stopped to return cheerful greetings from the other regulars. The air was redolent with the sweet scents of pastries and flavored coffees.

  It was one of the rare mornings in which I’d driven to work. Rather than staying late at the library, tonight I planned to take files home in an effort to get caught up—perhaps even get ahead?—with my projects. Hope springs eternal.

  “Marvey, why did you have to go and tell me about that crime fiction series?” The question carried across the room from Ned the bike shop owner. “Now you know I’m hooked, and I’m already busier than a moth in a mitten. I don’t have time to be readin’.”

  I gave him my best librarian’s smile. “There’s always time to read a good book, Ned. And if you’re tight on time, watch less baseball.”

  The café erupted into gales of laughter. Non-sports fans teased the groaning baseball fans. Anna May looked on with near-maternal pleasure.

  I stopped at the counter, adjusted my American Library Association canvas tote, and offered exact change for my purchase. “How’s your week treating you, Anna May?”

  “I can’t complain. Thanks, Marvey. And how’s yours?” She took my cash and turned it into a receipt.