Wise words. No wonder Spence and Nolan were such good friends. They were good people. I was beginning to suspect Fiona had been as well, in spite of what Betty had put her through.
Shaking off a sense of sorrow and regret for what Fiona had dealt with, I hurried to ask a few remaining questions before leaving. “How bad off was Buddy’s company?”
Nolan’s expression implied it was pretty bad. “If it wasn’t for Fiona, Buddy wouldn’t have been able to keep his company open.”
Spence’s brow furrowed. “How can you be so certain?”
“I saw his books.” Nolan leaned into his desk, dividing his attention between Spence and me. “Fiona was very, very smart. She was great with finances. At first, Buddy didn’t want her help to save his company. He was too proud. So she asked me to consult with her on strategies to restructure his company.”
Spence arched an eyebrow. “Did you have any suggestions?”
Nolan’s sigh was heavy. “Buddy had two choices. He could either close his business or accept Fiona’s help. He didn’t like either choice, but Fiona finally persuaded him to accept her offer.”
I took a moment to absorb this new information. Spence seemed to be doing the same. “Thank you. You’ve given us a lot to think about.” I glanced at my watch. “We should get going. We’ve taken so much of your time already.” I raised the strap of my chocolate handbag to my shoulder and stood in preparation of leaving. The two friends rose with me. “If I could ask one more question, though. Do you know who Fiona’s lawyer was?”
Nolan shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t. Lisa May might have that information. I think Fiona met with her lawyer recently. Perhaps she set up the appointment for her.”
Intrigued, I paused. “Why had Fiona met with her lawyer?”
Nolan chuckled. “Are you sure you’re a librarian and not a reporter?”
Undaunted, I grinned. “Librarians are naturally curious as well.”
“I’m not sure, but I think she wanted to discuss the property her uncle had left her.” He frowned. “Now that I think about it, she’d said Willy Pelt had wanted to buy the property from her. In fact, he’d made a bid, but he was lowballing her, so she refused to sell.”
I froze. Willy had told me Fiona had willed the property to him. I made an effort to appear nonchalant. “This conversation, was it recent?”
“I think so.” Nolan circled his desk. “Within a couple of weeks or so.”
Spence stepped aside from his chair, clearing a path for me to the door. “How did Willy react to Fiona not selling her property to him?”
Nolan arched an eyebrow. “Fiona implied he was not happy. I had the impression they’d exchanged some rather heated words.”
I doubted that after those heated words, Fiona had willed her property to him. Willy had lied to me. Why?
Chapter 22
“Aren’t those women members of Fiona’s writers group?” I pointed through the windshield of Spence’s hatchback toward the two middle-aged women walking across the library parking lot Thursday afternoon.
“Yes, they are.” Spence had driven me back to the library after our very informative meeting with Nolan.
I’d declined his invitation to lunch, requesting a rain check instead. I needed to work through lunch if I had a prayer of getting caught up on my projects. With myriad distractions from this investigation, I hadn’t gotten as much work done as I’d planned.
“I need to talk with them.” I searched my memory for their names. “I’ve been meaning to ask them about Fiona’s writing style.”
“Her writing style?” Spence pulled up at the curb a few yards away from the library’s entrance. “I thought you’d finished her book.”
“Yes, and that was helpful.” I tracked the women’s progress across the parking lot toward the library. “But it’s just one story. I’m hoping they can tell me about some of her unpublished work. I can’t remember their names, though.” I’d been so focused on trying to recall the writers’ names that I hadn’t noticed Spence getting out of the car. When he pulled open the passenger door, I jumped. “Smooth move, Mr. Holt.” I laughed as he handed me out of the car.
“You’re welcome, Ms. Harris.” Spence closed the passenger side door. “Dolly Byrd is the blonde. Tammy Hawkins is the brunette.”
“You’re the best. Thank you.” I drew my hand from his.
He shoved his hands into his pants’ front pockets. “Do you want me to talk with Ms. Dolly and Ms. Tammy with you?”
“No, thank you. I want this to be an informal chat. If you’re there, they might curtsy.” I gave him a teasing grin.
“Very funny.” His tone was dry, but I detected a blush stealing up his neck.
“Thanks again for coming with me to speak with Nolan. You were a great help.”
“We’re partners in this investigation. Remember?” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I’d better get back to the paper. Let me know if you get any good information from Ms. Dolly and Ms. Tammy.”
“I will. Drive safely.” I watched him climb back into his car and pull away from the curb before I entered the library.
It didn’t take long to find Dolly and Tammy. The building wasn’t that big. The two women were in the romance section. That’s what Zelda had told me they wrote.
“Dolly. Tammy. It’s good to see you again.” I strode up to them as casually as I could manage. “I don’t know if you remember meeting me Saturday. I’m Marvey Harris, the library’s new director of community engagement.”
Dolly turned to me with huge blue eyes that dominated her round, porcelain face. “I remember meeting you, Ms. Marvey. And it’s so good to see you again too.”
Tammy adjusted her black-rimmed glasses. “Yes, how are you, Ms. Marvey?”
“Please, call me Marvey.” I folded my hands in front of my hips. “A better question is how are you ladies holding up? I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Dolly had a habit of ending her sentences as though she was asking a question. I had to resist the urge to answer.
Tammy clutched her library books to her chest with both arms. “We weren’t especially close to Fiona. Still, it’s a shock that something like this can happen to someone you know, especially in a town as quiet as Peach Coast.”
“I agree. It’s just a shock.” Dolly’s head bob sent her pale blond hair swinging above her slim shoulders. “We were her critique partners but, like Tammy said, we didn’t spend much time with her. We just got together to discuss our writing.”
I glanced at the shelves of romance novels surrounding us. “You both critiqued manuscripts with Fiona? But Fiona wrote mysteries. I thought you wrote romance.”
“Well, at first Fiona wrote romances too. Contemporary romance.” Dolly sounded like she was asking me rather than telling me. I was tempted to respond, I don’t know.
Tammy released her books long enough to tuck her hair behind her right ear. “They were really good. Fiona was a big believer in writing what you know, and you could tell by the stories she wrote.”
“That’s right.” Dolly waved her hands. Her sparkly pale pink nail polish caught my attention. “All her stories were set in small towns. And she wrote a couple of stories about women who’d moved to a new town and fallen in love with one of its wealthy residents.”
Tammy tightened her hold on her books. “Well, you can see how that’s like her and Buddy Hayes.”
“Yes, I see the similarity.” And it made sense. Successful novelists often advised aspiring authors to write stories about what they know.
“But then she suddenly stopped attending our critique sessions.” Dolly looked to Tammy as though seeking confirmation.
I frowned. “Do you know why?”
Dolly flipped her hands. “When we asked her about it, she said things had gotten really busy at work. She had an accounting fir
m with Nolan Duggan.”
“But we thought maybe she had writer’s block.” Tammy used her books to gesture between her and Dolly. “So we tried to talk with her about it and encourage her writing. You can see how talented she is.”
“Yes, her book is hard to put down.” I nodded, hoping Tammy and Dolly would keep their confidences coming.
Dolly tapped the other woman’s forearm. “But remember, we did notice Fiona stopped coming to our critique group right around the time Zelda started attending again.”
I heard again Floyd’s suspicion over the timing of Fiona’s audit and Zelda leaving her job. Had that happened before or after the women had found themselves attending the same critique meetings? Awkward. I made a mental note to follow up with Zelda.
“That’s right.” Tammy’s eyes widened. “We’d wondered if it was a coincidence or if it was deliberate.”
Dolly shrugged. “We thought Fiona may have stopped coming because she and Zelda couldn’t stand each other, although they’re both on the board.”
A cloud passed over their faces at almost the same moment. It seemed they were both remembering Fiona wasn’t on the board anymore. Perhaps Fiona’s death had affected them more than they’d thought. I gave them a moment to gather themselves.
Dolly looked around as though confirming we were alone. Still, she lowered her voice. “Zelda isn’t nearly as talented as Fiona.”
Tammy nodded in silent agreement, then adjusted her glasses. “Fiona was a natural writer. Zelda…she has to work a bit harder. Just look—Fiona was published less than two years after joining our group. Zelda has been trying to get published for almost a decade.”
I took a moment to digest that. What made Fiona switch from writing contemporary love stories to mainstream mysteries? “How long had Fiona been writing mysteries?”
Tammy shrugged, exchanging a look with Dolly, who also seemed at a loss. “She must’ve switched after she left the critique group. We had no idea she was even thinking of switching genres.”
“But it was right around the time Buddy Hayes died.” Dolly’s sigh was long and sad. “Well, I can understand how you might not be in the mood to write romance if you lose the love of your life.”
Tammy hugged her books a little tighter. “And considering Fiona was always preaching about writing what you know, it seemed fitting she’d switch genres.”
Dolly scanned our surroundings. “That’s right. She turned around and wrote a story so similar to the rumors Ms. Betty started, implying Fiona was somehow responsible for Buddy Hayes’s death.” She rolled her eyes. “As though anybody believed that.”
Tammy brushed her hair from her forehead again as she hummed her agreement. “Nobody believed those rumors but Betty and her clique. But it sure does make for a good story.”
Dolly giggled. “And it’s a great way to get back at Ms. Betty for planting those rumors all over town.”
“Did Zelda or Fiona ever confide why they didn’t like each other?” I didn’t bring up Floyd’s suspicions. I didn’t want to share what I thought; I wanted to know what they thought.
The two women exchanged a look and a shrug before Dolly turned back to me. “Jealousy, maybe? Fiona was a much better writer than Zelda.”
“But the tension didn’t really start until after Zelda quit her job,” Tammy offered. “She and Fiona were both accountants. Maybe Zelda was jealous of Fiona’s success with her firm.”
“Other than that, we really don’t have any ideas.”
Tammy nodded in silent agreement, dislodging the swatch of hair she’d tucked behind her ear. Her eyes stretched wide at the scandal. “If the deputies weren’t looking into Jo Gomez for Fiona’s murder, my money would be on Zelda being the one who killed Fiona.”
“Mine too.” Dolly lifted her pale thin eyebrows. “Zelda couldn’t stand Fiona.”
I glanced at my watch. “I should get back to work. Ladies, I’m very sorry for your loss.” I turned to make my way back to my office.
Tammy had said Zelda might’ve been jealous of Fiona’s accounting practice. That didn’t seem like a strong enough motive for murder. On the other hand, Floyd might be onto something with his theory of a connection between Fiona’s audit and Zelda leaving her job with the bank.
Question: How do you ask a person if they killed someone for getting them fired?
There was a snake. On the driver’s seat of my car.
And it was moving.
My heart stopped. My mind blanked. My muscles froze, cementing me to the asphalt parking lot outside of the library Thursday evening. The box of files I’d carried from my office and had intended to deposit on the backseat of my blue compact sedan dropped from my numbed fingers. It created a loud splatting noise that snapped me out of a terrified trance.
My heart galloped. My mind rushed to recall everything I’d read about snakes in coastal Georgia. No sudden or threatening movements. If you didn’t bother the snake, the snake wouldn’t bother you.
What if the snake was in your car? I think that counted as “bothering you.”
How had it gotten into my car?
And how was I going to get it out?
With three slow and unsteady steps, I backed away. I was in an agony of fear with each step. Determining I was out of the snake’s line of sight, I spun and sprinted back to the library. My tote bag slid down my arm to hook at my right elbow. My handbag bounced against my left hip. My pulse and pumps pounded in my ears.
At the entrance, I rocked back on my heels. Our patrons couldn’t see me so frazzled and afraid. I might cause a panic. I stepped to the side of the door and drew several deep breaths. The evening air was warm and salty from the nearby wetlands as it filled my lungs. Marginally more in control, I straightened my back, squared my shoulders, and reached for the door handle with fingers that trembled. My legs were stiff but my knees shook. Stepping forward, I felt like one of the robots from Isaac Asimov’s The Robot Series.
Adrian and Floyd were deep in conversation as they strode toward the door behind me. Their shift was over, and their replacements were on duty. But they hadn’t yet noticed me.
I blocked their passage and raised my hands to stop them. “There’s a snake in my car. On my driver’s seat. I think it’s a cottonmouth.” I spoke in a stage whisper.
Floyd’s cool gray eyes darkened with worry as he scanned me. “Did it bite you?” His concern created a comforting space in the center of my panic.
“No.” A hysterical sob caught in my throat. It was just after five o’clock. How long had the snake been in my car? I continued speaking in a stage whisper. “I don’t like snakes.”
The librarians sprang into action.
“I’ll get the broom from the storage room.” Floyd turned and strode toward the employee offices.
“I’ll grab a trash can.” Adrian went to the circulation desk, then rejoined me in seconds.
My attention dropped to the large shipping box in his left hand and the trash can hanging from his right. He’d removed the garbage bag. “What are we going to do?”
He lifted the container. “We’re gonna sweep the snake into this here bin.”
Oh, no, no, no. No. The thought of getting close to that monstrously large and certainly venomous creature made me lightheaded. I closed my eyes briefly. “I…don’t know if I can do that.”
“Can’t do what?” Floyd had returned in time to hear my confession.
I gestured toward Adrian’s supplies. “Transfer the snake into the trash can.”
“We’ll handle it.” Floyd held the door open for Adrian and me.
It struck me that my rescuers behaved as though they’d done this before. Finding a snake in a car didn’t seem unusual to them. I couldn’t think about that now.
My still-shaky legs carried me across the threshold and back into the parking lot. I pointed out my powder blu
e compact to the two men. My finger shook as though I was conducting the world’s smallest orchestra. At about a yard from the sedan’s hood, I muted my keyless entry before pressing the button to release the locks. I didn’t want to risk startling the snake with the car alarm’s high-pitched pinging sound. The muted snick was loud enough.
Floyd stilled beside me. “Your car was locked?”
“Yes.” I read confusion in his eyes.
“Then how’d the snake get in?” Adrian sounded as puzzled as Floyd looked.
I spread my arms. “I’ve been asking myself the same question.”
Adrian looked through the side window. “Yep. That’s a cottonmouth.”
I swallowed to dislodge the lump of fear in my throat. I briefly closed my eyes, still seeing the serpent’s orange, black, and brown patterned skin. “Aren’t those poisonous?”
“They sure are.” The young librarian assistant sounded almost gleeful.
I suppressed a shiver. There were four types of poisonous snakes in North America: cottonmouth moccasins, rattlesnakes, copperheads, and coral snakes. How had I been lucky enough to discover one in my car?
Gathering my courage, I nudged the file box aside with my right foot, then opened my driver’s side door. I pulled it wide to give Floyd and Adrian room to maneuver, and to give myself distance from the snake. I watched in fascinated horror as my companions closed in on the enormous, venomous reptile. It was actually sunning on my seat. How was I going to sit there to drive home? My palms were sweating.
Adrian squatted beside the chair, extending the trash can out in front of him. He was more than an arm’s length away, but he still seemed so close. Too close. I held my breath, pressing a palm against my chest to keep my heart from bounding out of my body. Floyd extended the broom into the car. I bit my lower lip to keep from screaming. Floyd used the broom to guide the snake into the trash bin Adrian held with his bare hands. The two men worked together to efficiently and effortlessly contain the snake. The entire operation was over in minutes. As I watched, Adrian put the box lid on the trash can and straightened from his crouched position. I knew one thing with absolute certainty—there was no way I could ever do that.
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