Murder by Page One Page 8

“Buddy was a really successful real estate agent.” Viv got a wistful look in her eyes. “They never sold the property, though. Instead, they got married.”

  Floyd grunted. “I would’ve sold the property. Less of a headache.”

  “What’s Bobby’s story?” My pen sped across my mini-notepad as I recorded their information.

  Adrian’s blue eyes gleamed with intrigue. “The scuttlebutt is Mr. Buddy left Bobby’s inheritance in a trust to be managed by Ms. Fiona until his twenty-fifth birthday.”

  My eyebrows rose. “How old is he now?”

  “He just turned twenty-three.” Spence spoke with confidence. It amazed me what he recalled about the people in his town. His town. It fit. But whereas Spence seemed to know only the good things, Floyd appeared to dig up all the dirt.

  “Fiona was supposed to oversee Bobby’s trust for two more years?” I remembered Betty mentioning Bobby worked at a repair shop/hardware store. Was that by choice? How big was his trust fund? “Does Bobby have a problem managing money?”

  Corrinne shook her head. Her blond hair swung above her shoulders. “I’ve never heard any talk of Bobby having trouble with money.”

  “This dinner is really eye-opening.” Spence sounded amused. “I never thought librarians would be in the center of the town’s rumor mill.”

  Corrinne laughed. “People think of us as quiet and circumspect. We tend to fade into the décor, and the people around us feel free to say anything.”

  Spence arched an eyebrow. “I’m going to have to be more careful of what I say around you.”

  “A very wise decision,” I said dryly. “I wonder how Bobby felt about Fiona being in charge of his inheritance.”

  Floyd crossed his arms and scowled. “Betty wasn’t shy about telling anyone with ears she wasn’t happy about the arrangement.”

  “She told me twice,” Corrinne said. “And she claimed Bobby was angry about it too.”

  Spence shook his head. “And she wanted me to report on it for the Crier.”

  Floyd tapped my mini-notebook. “Money’s a powerful motive for murder.”

  I added Bobby’s name and possible motive to the short list. “So far, it appears to me that Betty and Bobby have much stronger motives than the deputies have ascribed to Jo.”

  Floyd grunted. “I’d have to agree with you there. Jealousy and money both outweigh a temper tantrum.”

  “I went to school with Errol Cole.” Adrian sighed. “He’s good people, just new to the force. But Deputy Whatley…” He sighed again. “I’ve heard that once he’s made his mind up, he’s as stubborn as a mule.”

  I totally agreed with that Southernism as it applied to Jed. “We have Betty and Bobby. Can you think of anyone else?”

  “Zelda Taylor, president of the Coastal Fiction Writers.” Floyd offered the name without inflection.

  That caught my attention. “Tell me more.”

  “The tension between those two was thick enough to cut with a knife.”

  Viv folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. “More than once, Ms. Zelda would be in the library. If she saw Ms. Fiona come in, she’d leave. Same thing would happen in On A Roll. I saw it myself. Ms. Zelda would be waiting in line at On A Roll. If Ms. Fiona came into the shop, Ms. Zelda’d get out of the line and walk out of the café—before she even placed her order.”

  That seemed extreme. If I was already in line, I would’ve placed my order and asked for it to go. “What caused the tension between them?”

  Floyd jumped in. “No one knows for sure, but it was around the time Fiona’s firm, Lyle and Duggan CPA Group, was auditing the books for the bank where Zelda worked. Right after the audit, Zelda upped and started her own business.”

  “I thought that was odd as well.” Corrinne straightened on her chair. “Zelda had been very proud of her position with Malcovich Savings and Loan. She’d hinted she’d expected another promotion.”

  I looked from Corrinne to Floyd. “Do you think her leaving was connected to the audit?”

  Floyd shrugged. “It would explain why she suddenly soured on Fiona.”

  Spence spoke after sitting in silence through most of the discussion. “You all have been talking as though the murderer had been at the bookstore’s signing: Ms. Zelda, Ms. Betty, and Bobby.”

  “That’s true.” I glanced at my notes.

  “Remember what you said, Marvey.” Spence turned to me. “If one of the people who attended the signing is the killer, what had they done with the murder weapon, and their bloody clothes?”

  I shuddered to think of the alternative. “What if the killer hadn’t attended the signing?”

  Floyd grunted. “Then a whole lot more names would be added to your list. Don’t think the deputies would take kindly to that.”

  By the time Spence and I had wished the other librarians good night and cleaned up after the dinner party, it was after nine o’clock. Spence had declined my help preparing for the dinner, but he hadn’t hesitated to accept my help tidying up at the end of the evening. Perhaps that wasn’t so odd.

  Once the dining room and kitchen were returned to their original pristine condition, we called Jo.

  The sweet and savory aroma of the baked chicken and peaches entrée lingered over the dining room, bringing back fond memories of good food and interesting company. Spence took the chair at the head of the table. I returned to my seat on his right. He rested his cell phone on the table between us and pressed Jo’s pre-programmed number.

  She answered on the first ring. “How was dinner?”

  “I think it was very productive.” I looked to Spence for confirmation.

  He nodded. “I agree.”

  “What?” She sounded confused. “I’m talking about the food. How was it? What did people say?”

  I cupped my left hand over my eyes and shook my head. Unbelievable. “The food was wonderful. Spence is an amazing cook. But, Jo, we need you to focus right now.”

  “You’re right.” Jo’s sigh was long and deep. “I guess I’m still in denial that I’m a suspect in a murder.”

  My heart broke for my friend. “You’re not going through this alone.”

  “Marvey’s right.” Spence focused intently on his cell phone, as though Jo could see him. “The librarians agree with us that you’re innocent, and we’re doing everything we can to prove it.”

  “Thank you.” Jo’s voice wobbled in the middle, squeezing my heart a little more.

  I took a moment to gather my thoughts. “All right, then. We were right to ask Spence to host this dinner for the librarians. They shared a wealth of information.” With his assistance, I recapped our initial three suspects and the possible motives for each of them.

  “I’d never thought about it before, but I’ve seen Zelda abruptly leave the bookstore after spotting Fiona too.” Jo’s disembodied voice rose in amazement.

  “Do you have any idea why?” I glanced between Jo—or rather the phone—and Spence.

  “No, but now I wish I’d asked.” Her tone was heavy with regret. “Whatever it was, it must’ve been pretty bad.”

  I mulled over the observations Viv and Jo had shared, playing them like movie scenes in my mind. “In each scenario, Zelda was the one who left. She could’ve been exhibiting classic avoidance behavior, as though she was the one who’d done something wrong.”

  Spence cocked his head. “You sound like a psychologist.”

  “I’m a librarian. I know a little about a lot.” I switched my attention back to Jo on the phone. “I think we have solid leads to start with.”

  “I agree.” She sounded much more enthusiastic. “When do we confront them?”

  “Confront them?” I shifted my puzzled gaze to Spence. He looked baffled as well. “We can’t just walk up to them and ask if they killed Fiona.”

  “Why not?” Jo’s question was
sulky.

  I stared at the phone in amazement. “For one thing, even if one of them was the killer, they would deny it. Meanwhile, we would’ve tipped our hand, letting them know we were suspicious of them. If it turns out one of them is the killer, they’d destroy any evidence against them that they may have kept, like the bloody clothes and the murder weapon.”

  “If they haven’t destroyed those things already.” Spence spread his hands.

  “All right.” An edge of grumpiness entered Jo’s voice. I couldn’t blame her. “You have a point. So what’s our next step?”

  “We should share our notes with the deputies.” Spence had rolled his shirt sleeves up just past his elbows while he’d washed the pots and pans. Now he was unrolling them and buttoning the cuffs.

  “The deputies? That won’t do any good.” Jo’s response was near to tears of frustration. “You might as well ball up that list and pitch it into the trash.”

  Spence gave his phone a fond look I was certain he’d meant for Jo. “We need to show them Ms. Zelda is worth questioning, and Ms. Betty and Bobby have stronger motives to kill Fiona in comparison to your disagreement with her.”

  Jo groused. “My very minor disagreement with her.”

  “Spence might be onto something.” I studied him. “He has quite a bit of clout in this town. The deputies might listen to him.”

  “I don’t know.” Her stubbornness lingered. “No offense to Spence.”

  “None taken.” His lips curved with wry humor.

  “Suppose they try to stop us?” Jo asked. “Didn’t you tell me they’d warned you off the investigation when they came to your office this morning?”

  Had it only been this morning? It already felt as though that exchange had happened days ago. But Fiona’s murder had happened two days ago, and the deputies had questioned Jo at her home on Sunday.

  “Exactly.” I folded my arms on the table and pictured Jo. “They warned me off the case, but Spence could approach them in his role as editor of the town’s paper, checking on the status of the case.”

  He nodded. “It’s something I or one of the reporters would do anyway, regardless of whether we were trying to clear your name.”

  Jo was doubtful. “I just don’t want the deputies barring us from looking into Fiona’s murder on our own.”

  I shared her concerns. “We’ll address that if and when it happens. In the meantime, I think this tactic is worth the effort.”

  “So do I.” Spence stared at his phone as we waited for Jo’s verdict.

  “All right.” She sighed. “I really appreciate everything you’re doing. You’re both the best friends that someone law enforcement suspects of murder could have.”

  Before ending our call, the three of us arranged to meet the next day—Tuesday—for lunch. Spence assured us that would give him enough time to speak with the deputies in person before joining us with an update on the case. I slid my notes from our dinner/criminal investigation to him.

  I followed him to his coat closet to collect my purse. “Thanks again so much for all of your trouble. Tonight was a lot of fun. You’re an amazing chef and an even better host.”

  “Thank you.” Was Spence blushing? The idea made me smile.

  I accepted my purse from him, then turned toward the door. “Good night.”

  “Marvey.” He paused as I turned back to him. “Have you considered what we’ll do if the deputies don’t pursue these other suspects?”

  “I’d rather leave crime fighting to the professionals, but if the deputies don’t pursue these leads, we’ll have to. Or at least I will. I’d understand if you’d rather not.”

  He swept his hand aside. “I wouldn’t leave you to do it on your own, but Marvey, we’d be investigating a murder.”

  I frowned my confusion. “We’re not trying to solve the murder. We’re only trying to convince the deputies there are other far better suspects with much more concerning motives than Jo’s.”

  “I know, but will the killer understand the difference?”

  Chapter 12

  Something was wrong. I got a strange vibe as I strode into On A Roll Tuesday morning, the fourth day of May. Fiona’s murder had occurred three days earlier. The atmosphere in the little neighborhood café was…tense. The early morning customers kept sending furtive looks toward the front of the dining area. They may have thought they were being subtle, but they weren’t.

  Following the path of their gazes, mine landed on the apparent source of their interest: Willy Pelt, Fiona’s friend from Beaufort. He sat alone at a corner table for two.

  “Your usual, Marvey?” Anna May’s customary—albeit delayed—greeting distracted me from my discovery.

  The scents of warm rolls, sweet pastries, and hot coffee carried me up to the counter. Along the way, responses to my greetings to the other regulars were either delayed or distracted. People seemed more interested in Willy Pelt’s next breath. I made a mental note to pay my respects to him on my way out.

  “Good morning, Anna May. Yes, please.” I stopped at the cash register and dug into my purse for the exact change. “And some of your delicious peach cobbler as well.”

  “Of course.” She drew her attention from Willy to give me her seal of approval: cherubic smile and twinkling eyes.

  “Anna May.” I leaned forward, lowering my voice as she gave me her attention. “Why is everyone staring at Willy Pelt?”

  Her eyes sharpened with interest. “What do you know about him?”

  “Just that he’s known Fiona’s family for years.” I struggled not to glance over my shoulder to look at him again. “I had the impression he and Fiona were friends. He was at her signing.”

  Anna May lifted her chin as though I’d confirmed her previous intel. “Folks didn’t know much about Fiona. When word spread that one of her friends was in town, people’s natural curiosity came out.”

  “Has anyone spoken with him?”

  “Why would someone do that?” She cocked her head as if I’d just asked the most unexpected question.

  I blinked. “To offer condolences or just to say hi.” Anything seemed better than treating him like a book display.

  “Hmm. That’s something to consider.” Anna May turned away. Her period of consideration was very brief.

  Soon the music of her grinder and the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans wrapped me in a morning embrace. I inhaled deeply and tried to keep my attention from straying back to Willy.

  The usual array of customers congregated within the café—business professionals, college students, and retirees. Many seemed oblivious to everything but Willy. Did he realize he was the center of attention? How could he not?

  A male voice called behind me. “How’s Jo holding up?”

  I turned to see Dabney McCoy sitting with Etta Cole at their customary table closest to the counter with their bowls of peach cobbler.

  A weight settled on my shoulders as I remembered how stressed and desperate Jo had sounded when Spence and I had spoken with her last night. “She’s concerned the deputies seem to be focusing on her.”

  Dabney took the final bite of his cobbler and nudged aside the empty dish. “Nobody ’round here thinks Jo Gomez killed Fiona Lyle-Hayes.”

  “The deputies do.” I stepped closer to the older couple to hear them over the sound of the espresso machine.

  “I can’t speak about Errol. He’s a young man and still new to the department.” Etta shrugged her thin shoulders. “But I taught Jedidiah Whatley high school English, and I can tell you he didn’t become a sheriff’s deputy to solve murders.”

  I’d known Etta had been a high school teacher, but it hadn’t occurred to me that she’d been Jed’s teacher. Could she help explain why he wasn’t interested in the library? “Why did he go into law enforcement?”

  Etta switched her attention from Willy to me. �
�Well, sweetie, I suppose he thought that was the best way he could help people.”

  Dabney snorted. “The best way he could be a town nuisance, you mean.”

  Etta scooped up more peach cobbler. “If you didn’t speed—”

  Dabney ignored Etta’s interruption. “All he ever does—”

  “—or park illegally—”

  “—is hand out tickets.”

  “—then you wouldn’t get traffic tickets.”

  Dabney snorted again. “Maybe if Jed Whatley spent less time handing out tickets and more time protecting residents, we wouldn’t have had such a gruesome murder in our town.”

  Etta dropped her spoon into her dessert bowl. Her face drained of blood at the reference to Fiona’s crime scene.

  Dabney’s gaze dropped to her half-eaten cobbler. “Are you done with that?” Without waiting for her response, he tugged the bowl to him and shoveled his spoon into the pastry.

  I didn’t agree with Dabney’s depiction of Jed’s responsibility for Fiona’s murder, but I was amazed he’d yet again managed to claim Etta’s dessert. “Neither of you believes Jo’s guilty. Have you given any more thought to who would have such animosity against Fiona?”

  “Nope, not a one.” Dabney spoke around a mouthful of cobber.

  Etta glared at him before shifting her attention to me. “I wouldn’t have a clue. But you might want to ask Jo who’d want to frame her for murder.”

  That was a very good question.

  After collecting my café mocha and peach cobbler from Anna May, I went in search of Willy, mentally practicing my speech as I strode through the café. I hoped he hadn’t left while I’d been engaged with Etta and Dabney.

  To my relief, he was still alone at his table for two. “Excuse me, Mr. Pelt.”

  Willy rose from his chair, his brown eyes cautious as he looked down at me. He was nearly as tall as Spence. “I met you Saturday over at the bookstore, didn’t I?” His Southern roots were exposed in his voice. “Marvey Harris, isn’t that right? Please call me Willy.”

  “Thank you.” I swept my arm to encompass our surroundings. “You’ve found the most popular place in town.”