She watched us as we drew nearer. A cherubic smile softened her rosy-cheeked features. Her pale lavender track suit was roomy around her petite frame. “Ooh, you girls are out early this mornin’.”
Jo stopped and returned her smile. “So are you, ma’am.”
“I prefer to bring my trash out in the mornin’s.” A gentle breeze ruffled her wavy white hair as she glanced back at her trash can. Her gaze strayed up toward the still-dark sky, where the stars winked down at us. “I love this time of day. Don’t you?”
“Yes, it’s so peaceful.” Oh, no. I could see Bobby’s trash can. It was steps away at the curb in front of his house. I scanned the streets—no sign of the garbage truck, but I could hear it. The sound was faint, but it must be nearby. We were running out of time.
“It’s my favorite time of day too.” Jo’s smile was tense around the edges. She must be anxious also.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Our new friend shifted her stance, bringing my attention to her purple sneakers. “It’s so still. One of the rare times you can hear yourself think. I imagine that’s why you run this early.”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re right.” I caught Jo’s attention and hoped she could read my stare language: we need a distraction.
Jo nodded. Was she signaling me, or agreeing with what I’d said? “We usually jog this early.”
The older woman’s blue eyes examined our features. “Oh? I haven’t seen you before, and I’m out most mornin’s.”
I checked the time on my black-banned watch. We needed to move. Maybe if we continued jogging, we could circle back for Bobby’s trash. But the truck was on its way. “We usually jog through different neighborhoods. Excuse—”
Jo interrupted me. “Ma’am, I wonder if I could trouble you for a glass of water? I’m afraid I didn’t drink enough before my friend and I met for our run, and my throat’s awfully dry.”
“Yes, of course, dear.” Our companion looked concerned as she turned to me. “Would you like some water too?”
I inclined my head, sending Jo an approving look. “I’m not thirsty, ma’am, but thank you. I should keep going. I want to get my miles in before work.”
Bobby’s neighbor made certain I wasn’t thirsty before she led Jo into her home. I turned to jog past Bobby’s house, biding my time until Jo and her hostess were behind closed doors. Jo’s ability to read my silent message impressed me. She was a good friend.
As I jogged away, Jo’s voice carried across to me. “Ma’am, do you have a library card?”
Correction: Jo was a great friend.
Chapter 25
“We didn’t find the bloody clothes or knife in Bobby’s trash.” Speaking with Spence almost an hour later, I was still weighed down by disappointment. “There was nothing incriminating in any of the bags.”
I’d texted him earlier to let him know Jo and I had accomplished our mission, but that I’d have to fill him in later. I’d been anxious to go through the two bags before getting ready for work. I hadn’t wanted to be late.
“Nothing at all?” Spence’s concern worked its way through the cell connection.
“Just a bunch of trash. Bobby recently changed the oil in his car. I found an oil filter, a couple of containers of five-W-thirty, and a lot of oily rags.”
Spence paused before continuing. “What did you do with his trash?”
“I put the bags in my trash can.” I rolled my chair closer to my desk. Maintenance had repaired it—and gotten rid of the squeak. “The sanitation engineers will probably think I’d hosted a party over the weekend with all the bags of barbecue potato chips and soda.”
“You mean Coke.”
I heard the humor in Spence’s voice. I chuckled. “No, I mean soda.”
“When in Rome…” He sobered. “How’s Jo?”
The disappointment in her eyes would stay with me the rest of the day. “She’s pretty upset, but working hard not to show it.” I massaged the knot tightening at the nape of my neck. “Until this morning, I don’t think either of us realized how much we were hoping we’d find something in Bobby’s trash, irrefutable proof of Jo’s innocence that would finally—finally—convince the deputies to take her off their suspect list.”
Spence paused again. I imagined him seated behind his faux ash wood modular desk in his spacious, bright newspaper office. “If Bobby’s the killer, it’s possible he got rid of the evidence earlier or some other way.”
I remembered him raising that possibility last night. “I can’t think of anywhere else to look. For all we know, he’s burned his bloody clothes and buried the knife.”
Silence settled over the phone as I tried to puzzle out our next steps. Who to investigate? What questions to ask? How best to convince the deputies their stubborn refusal to look at any other suspect was enabling a murderer to walk free? It had been almost a week since Fiona’s murder; six days since Jo, Spence, and I began our inquiry.
“It’s also possible Bobby isn’t the killer.” Spence voiced the suggestion I didn’t want to hear.
“But his motive is stronger than Jo’s, and I’m sure he’s behind the threats I’ve received.” I waved my hand toward my office door. “He was here at the library the day my chair collapsed. He’s a repair person, which means tampering with my chair would’ve been quick and easy for him. He drives a dark sedan like the one that tried to kill me and Willy. And he likes snakes, especially those similar to the one that tried to drive away in my car.”
“Those are great points, and I’m not discounting them.” His calm response had a relaxing effect on me.
“I know you’re not.” I glanced at my lower left-hand desk drawer. I once again reminded myself to bring in a stash of chocolate-covered peanuts. “But I’m not ready to give up on the idea of Bobby as our prime suspect.”
“Remember his motive only works if Fiona spent his inheritance.”
I closed my eyes briefly. Spence had another good point. “You’re right. How can we verify that?”
“Change of plans.” Disappointment and frustration mingled in my brother’s voice when he called Friday morning.
“What’s up?” I saved my computer file and gave him my full attention.
“We need to move up the time for Operation Anniversary Surprise. Can you do a morning call?” Dre’s voice was almost overpowered by the cacophony of conversations in the background.
A glance at the clock in the lower-right corner of my computer screen revealed it was almost ten minutes before nine AM, class change at John Jay College of Criminal Justice where Dre taught Forensic Accounting. “Of course. I’m free tomorrow morning. Why? What’s going on?”
“Mom and Dad are going to see a play with the Carlisles.” The voices were getting closer to Dre. His classroom must be filling up.
Steve and Ruby Carlisle had been my parents’ best friends since college. The two couples had met at the University of Syracuse and had been double dating ever since. The Carlisles had just celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary.
“Oh, that sounds like fun.” I smiled, leaning back on my chair.
Dre chuckled. “It’s a musical. Dad and Steve are putting a brave face on it. They’re going into the city. They have tickets to an afternoon show, so instead of dinner, we’re doing breakfast. Do you think we can connect at nine?”
“Nine would be perfect.” I had no other plans. “I’ll decorate my dining room tonight. Consider it the satellite celebration location. It’ll make me feel more like I’m there with you.”
Dre laughed. “They’ll get a kick out of that.”
I laughed too, knowing Dre was right. My parents would love that. “Their grandcat isn’t in much of a partying mood, but I’m taking him to the vet after work tonight.”
“I hope the vet can help him. Keep me posted.” His concern was a comfort. He was more of a dog person, but
he and Phoenix had always gotten along well.
“I will. Thanks.” I straightened on my seat. “Has my gift arrived yet?”
“I’m sure it’ll come today.”
“That’s cutting it really close.” I rubbed the frown lines from my forehead.
“It’ll get here. Don’t worry. Worst-case scenario, it’ll be a day or two late. That’s not the end of the world.”
“No, I suppose not.” But it would feel that way. Their anniversary gifts included a framed photograph of Phoenix and me in front of our new home. Jo had taken the picture for us. I’d also bought them matching University of Georgia Bulldog sweatshirts, my nod to my new home. But I was and always would be a New York University alumna.
“You like Peach Coast, don’t you?” His voice was hesitant and concerned.
“I really do,” I assured him. “It’s a pretty town, and the people are great. I just get homesick now and then. I’m looking forward to you, Kay, and Clay coming to visit.”
“So are we.” He was beginning to sound distracted. It was almost time for his class to start. “And what about that other thing? Have you put it behind you?”
I sighed. “Dre, you said you wouldn’t walk away from a friend in need, either.”
“That’s different.”
“Why? Because you’re the oldest? It doesn’t work that way anymore, pal.”
“If anything happened to you, Mom and Dad would never forgive themselves—or me.”
I caught my breath. “Please don’t tell them.”
“Marvey, I don’t like keeping things from them.”
I laughed with incredulity. “Since when? I’ve been protecting plenty of your secrets, and they aren’t all from our childhood, Mr. My-Car-Was-Towed-And-I-Had-To-Borrow-Money-From-My-Sister-To-Get-It-Back.”
Dre blew out a breath. “Are you really comparing my borrowing money from you because my car was towed to your running around like some comic book superhero?”
I frowned at my cell phone. I wasn’t doing any such thing. Was I? “Please, Dre. There’s no need to worry them. I promise to be careful.”
He grunted his displeasure. Did he know how much he sounded like Dad when he did that? “I won’t tell them. Yet. Listen, I’ve got to go. Class is starting. Stay out of trouble.”
“I will.” …do the very best I can.
A weight settled on my shoulders as we ended our call. It was from more than missing my family and more than my worry over Phoenix. It also was from the worry I was causing my brother and the secret I’d just sworn him to.
Cecelia Jean Holt surprised me with a visit late Friday morning. Rule of thumb: it wasn’t a good sign when a member of the library’s Board of Directors bypassed your boss and found her way into your office. Even though I was Spence’s friend, something told me Cecelia wasn’t here to invite me to a surprise birthday party for her son.
Adrian had escorted the board member to my office. From his wide-eyed look, he didn’t believe there was a birthday party invitation in my future, either. His retreat was understandably hasty.
I circled my desk and offered her my hand. “Good morning, Ms. Holt. Please have a seat.” A whiff of her perfume reminded me of magnolias. The soft fragrance followed her to one of the guest chairs in front of my desk.
“Thank you, Marvey. I apologize for interrupting your morning.” In her slim, pale peach skirt suit, Cecelia brought to mind a young Diahann Carroll in appearance as well as style. She was several inches—perhaps half a foot—taller than my five-foot-three-inch height and fashion-model slim.
“Not at all. It’s nice to see you again.” I settled onto my chair, rolling it with me under my desk. I was so glad it no longer squeaked. That wouldn’t have made a good impression on the board member. “How may I help you?”
“My son warned me you had that New York style of getting right to the point.” Cecelia’s smile was warm and disarming, so like her son’s, revealing perfect, white teeth. There was a twinkle in her midnight eyes.
During my more than four months in Peach Coast, I’d learned to be cautious around those charming Southern smiles. “Please excuse me. Poor Spence has told me—on more than one occasion—people in Peach Coast like to ease into a conversation.”
“Conversation is an art.” Her voice was modest, almost apologetic. She placed her black purse on the empty armchair beside her. “How are you getting on, settling into Peach Coast?”
As my new neighbors would say, I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. Cecelia Holt hadn’t come to my office for small talk. Whether in New York or Peach Coast, board members didn’t have time for that. I coaxed myself to relax and wait, but the New Yorker in me kept my guard up. “I’m settling in very well. Thank you, Ms. Holt. I was just telling my brother how charming the town is, and how friendly and welcoming everyone has been.” With the possible exception of Delores Polly.
Cecelia looked pleased. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve heard a lot of wonderful things about you too.”
“That’s nice to know.” I struggled to come up with something else to say. I was from Brooklyn; small talk wasn’t my forté. I needn’t have worried.
In her slow, Southern style, Cecelia asked about my favorite places so far, where I’ve been and where I might want to visit next, regional foods I’ve tried, and restaurants she’d recommend. She finished off with endorsements for upcoming events I wouldn’t want to miss.
“I understand you and Spence are running the Cobbler Crawl next Saturday.”
Even the thought of eating a pie while racing made me queasy. “Yes, I’m looking forward to it.”
“I’m sure you are.” Cecelia sounded amused. Had Spence told her about my digestive concerns? She took a visual tour of my office. What did my belongings reveal to my astute guest?
The narrow, three-shelf faux oak bookcase beside the conversation table to my right held marketing and fundraising reference books, and project binders. The bookends cast as Patience and Fortitude, the marble lions that flanked the entrance to the New York Public Library, had been a going-away gift from my former coworkers.
On my desk within easy reach, in addition to my nearly empty inbox, were a dictionary, thesaurus, and The Chicago Manual of Style. Several photos of my family lined the shelf above my computer monitor.
Cecelia’s attention returned to me. “What a lovely pendant. I’ve heard about them.”
“Thank you.” I touched the pendant, reminding myself that today’s image was The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan. Like most books, the classic novel had a different cover for each reprint. I’d chosen the one with the illustration of a young woman and an older woman, standing with their backs to the reader, their arms around each other’s waist. “Spence suggested I teach people how to make these pendants. I think that workshop would be a nice fundraiser for the library.”
Cecelia folded her hands on her lap and squared her shoulders. “The library is very important to me.”
Those words warmed my heart, especially coming from a board member. “To me as well.”
She flashed a quick smile. “My position on the board allows me to ensure we have diverse stories written by diverse authors, featuring diverse characters. I can make sure the library shows its value to all the demographics in our community—young, old, men, women, well-off, and struggling.”
“Those things are important to me as well.”
Cecelia gave me a level look. “Then you’ll understand when I ask that, for the good of the library, stick to promoting it and its services. Let the deputies investigate poor Fiona Lyle-Hayes’s murder.”
I probably should’ve seen that coming. But despite my own words of caution, Cecelia had caught me off guard. How should I respond to the board member? Then I remembered what Corrinne had said when I’d asked why she’d defended me to the mayor. Her words gave me the encouragement I need
ed to oppose the board member.
“Ms. Holt, I’m not working against the deputies.” I stacked my hands before me on the cool surface of my desk. “In fact, the deputies and I are working toward the same thing: serving the community. I’m also helping a friend in need.”
“Don’t you think your investigation is sending the community the wrong message?” Cecelia swept her right arm as though encompassing the library. “I think it’s distracting from the library’s mission to support literacy and literature.”
Her question made me smile. “The library’s a place that promotes intellectual curiosity. Books inspire people to learn, to seek the truth, to verify information instead of simply accepting what we’re told. I want to be an example of that.”
I remained still, giving Cecelia time to digest my words. It seemed she started to argue the point before settling back to consider it.
The silence stretched for a slow minute, and then understanding brightened her dark eyes. “All right, Marvey. You raise a good point.” The other woman nodded as her gaze once again swept my office. “I hadn’t thought of the library in quite that way.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Another challenge won. I hoped to clear Jo’s name before other board members decided to pay me a visit.
Chapter 26
To Be Read was hopping. The bookstore had always seemed busy, especially Friday afternoons. It wasn’t quite that busy this Friday afternoon, but it was close. During the six days since Fiona’s murder, it was understandable customer traffic would’ve dropped drastically. But people were slowly coming back. Slowly.
Following the aroma of flavored coffee and fresh pastries, I turned toward the little café to the left of the store’s entrance. The café was usually standing-room only for lunch in the modest seating area. Today, there were only a few readers/diners and plenty of empty chairs.
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