The Librarian's Last Chapter (5 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

After a sleepless night dwelling on whether I was in
possession of a real treasure map or not, I rolled out of bed to prepare for
Mrs. Grimes’s memorial. I glanced at the map on my dresser. It certainly looked
old enough to be authentic, but who had treasure maps nowadays? Mom had
squealed like a little girl at Christmas, saying we’d found the motive for
murder.

Had we? Possibly. If the
map was real, or someone at least thought it was, treasure was a big
motivation. The first mystery I’d gotten involved in had been because of
money…the second a misguided attempt at revenge.

I grabbed a few M&Ms
from the bag next to the ancient page and shuffled to the bathroom, tossing one
of the candies to Cleo who lay with her beautiful head on her paws. She caught
the blue disc in midair.

I turned on the shower
and sat on the closed toilet lid. My mind wouldn’t turn from the fact Mrs.
Grimes had flapped her lips about a treasure and someone had killed her for it.
Hopefully, a suspect would present themselves at the memorial. At that moment,
I had too many suspects to list: the book club, the PTSO, the high school
staff, the students. My head ached.

Why did I find myself
dragged into these things? I tested the shower spray. Not hot enough. It wasn’t
like I enjoyed being shot at or taken hostage. It also wasn’t always just
myself in danger. A few days ago, Mom could have been killed.

My throat seized. What if
I turned the map over to Bruce? What if I did and the killer didn’t know I did?
It wasn’t as if I could put a notice in the paper. I’d visit the police station
at the first opportunity and present Bruce with a hypothetical situation.

Relieved I had a course
of action, I shed my nightclothes and stepped into the shower, letting the
water and soap suds wash away my indecision. Once I’d finished and dried off, I
padded to my closet. River Valley was small town Southern. No one showed up in
anything but a dark-colored dress. I didn’t have one.

I poked my head into the
hall knowing I would regret what I was being forced to do. “Mom?”

“Why aren’t you dressed?”
She marched toward me wearing a black long sleeved shirt over a black and white
skirt.

“I don’t have anything to
wear.”

“Nonsense.” She pushed
past me.

I gripped the slipping
towel tighter around me while she rummaged through my closet.

“Why are all your clothes
so festive? Every woman needs a black dress for funerals and a fancier black
dress for nice occasions.” She turned, planting her hands on her hips. “You’ll
have to wear my navy blue dress.”

“The sailor one?” Gag. If
a strong wind blew, the massive collar would serve as wings.

“Any other ideas?”

“Let me wear what you’re
wearing.”

“Nope. It’s the only
black I have that is in style. I’ll be right back.”

I plopped on the edge of
my bed and ran my bare foot across Cleo’s back. I could not wear the navy
dress. I leaped to my feet. I had a peasant skirt with black in it. Sure, it
had turquoise and yellow, too, but if I topped it with a black sweater… I
dressed as fast as possible, and then slipped my feet into black pumps when I
heard Mom thundering down the hall.

“You cannot wear that! We
are not going to see a Mariachi band.”

“It’s not a Mexican
skirt. It’s peasant.” I lifted my hair off my neck and secured it with a black
clip.

Mom tossed the sailor
dress on the bed. “It’s not my fault if people talk about you.” She whirled and
left.

I eyed the dress with
distaste. I’d rather be ridiculed by the women who called themselves River
Valley’s fashion police. They were all lucky I wasn’t wearing my overalls with
a black tee-shirt. Up until a few months ago, I lived in those things. Until I
bought new clothes and saw the appreciation in Duane’s eyes when he saw me
dressed as a woman instead of a teenage boy.

As I rushed to the
kitchen for toast and coffee, I passed Lindsey barreling down the hall. “You’re
late,” I called after her.

“I know!” She dashed out
and slammed the front door.

My
fault, most likely.
For the life of me I couldn’t get that girl to take
responsibility for her own alarm clock. Who set the time for a memorial at
eight o’clock in the morning anyway?

Mom and Leroy were
sitting at the table, coffee mugs in hand. Mom slid a third one across the
table in my direction, then a plate with two slices of toast. “I still think
you’re dressed wrong.”

Leroy eyed me. “She looks
fine to me.”

“What do you know? You’re
a man.” Mom shook her head.

I took my seat and
listened to their good natured bickering. Not being a morning person, I doubted
Duane and I would joke first thing in the morning. Poor man. He had no idea
what he was getting himself into.

“Time to go.” Mom dumped
my unfinished coffee.

I held the last piece of
toast to my chest unless she got the bright idea of tossing that too, and
followed her outside. She slid behind the wheel of the Caddy and glared at me
as if daring me to say she couldn’t drive. I sighed and climbed in the
passenger side. I knew a losing battle when I saw one.

Mrs. Grimes’s memorial
was held across town at
Rivery
Valley Funeral Home.
From the lack of cars in the parking lot, attendance would be slim. How sad.
When I died, I wanted the place standing room only.

The closing of the
Cadillac doors echoed across the parking lot. Soft strains of a hymn carried
through hidden speakers. Mom and I remained silent as we entered the building
and signed the guest book. Five names above ours. Only five people who cared
enough about a crotchety old lady to come and say goodbye.

Our feet sank in a carpet
plush enough to erase all sound of footsteps. Two flower arrangements stood on
each end of the casket.
One large, one small.
“This is
so sad. There’s nobody here,” I said as we sat in the second row. “We should
have brought flowers.”

“People are at work. When
you have a memorial service in the middle of the day, folks can’t take off.
You’re right. This room should be smelling of too many roses and
lillies
.”

I disagreed. If you
cared, you made the time. I settled against the padded back of the pew and
watched as the few mourners passed the coffin. Norma Rae and Ingrid Jennings,
Cheryl, Estelle Willis, and Mr. Dean. I sniffed and dug for a Kleenex in my
purse. I vowed then and there I would find out who killed Mrs. Grimes and why.
At least justice could be served for a lonely old woman.

A flashbulb went off and
I turned to see Stacy and her ever-present photographer. Why in the world would
they be taking pictures? I shoved to my feet. “What are you doing?”

“This is news.” Stacy
shrugged and leaned closer. “They say the killer always attends the funeral.”

“Really? Hard to hide
with this many people.” I waved my arm. “Have some respect.” I’d heard the
saying, too, but didn’t think it applied to this case.

Bruce entered and stood
with arms crossed right inside the door. Obviously, he followed the same
theory. I approached him. “Any suspects?”

“Everyone’s a suspect.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re a suspect.”

“Me?” Seriously?

“You were the last one to
see her alive.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “But, I seriously doubt
you’re the killer. You have a hard enough time staying alive. No time left to
off someone.”

“Very funny,
Barnie
Fife.”

“I told you not to call me
that.”

I rolled my eyes. Police
officer or not, I’d known the little weasel too long to take him seriously.
Especially after the way he tormented me all through school. “Where’s your
sidekick?”

“Officer Bradford stayed
at the station. There’s no need for both of us to be here.”

“Did Mrs. Grimes have any
family?”

“Nope. She has a cat.” He
raised his eyebrows. “Want it?”

“No.” Lindsey’s monster
cat Samson would not like a friend. He barely tolerated my German
Shepherd
, Cleopatra.

“The pound it is. A
neighbor has been caring for the mangy thing for the last week and says she
detests all the hair.”

That was it. I needed to
get into Mrs. Grimes’s house. There was bound to be a clue. I didn’t know where
the librarian had lived, but it should be easy enough to find out.

The funeral director took
his position behind a simple oak podium, and I hurried back to my seat. He
mumbled something about the mark everyone leaves during their time on earth,
said a quick prayer, and announced the service was over. There would be no
graveside service. Mrs. Grimes would be cremated. I had no idea what they would
do with her ashes, only that I definitely didn’t want them or her cat.

“Well, that’s that.” Mom
slung her purse over her shoulder. “Time to open the store.”

I could work on assigning
book fair tasks while waiting the counter. I’d been relieved from the moment
the book fair turned from only a haunted house theme to a family affair. With
Halloween our least celebrated day of the year, I was most likely the least
qualified for that type of attraction. Thank goodness I had enough help, but
still, if I didn’t learn to multi-task, and fast, I’d be drowning real quick.

I glanced at the coffin.
“Wait.” I dragged my feet as I approached the maple box. Mrs. Grimes looked
almost pleasant with her makeup. Someone had chosen a peacock blue ruffled
blouse for her to wear.
Her neighbor, maybe?

Around her neck lay a
locket. After a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, I opened
the locket. Inside
was
a younger prettier Mrs. Grimes
and a handsome young man. Who was he? He looked familiar. A long lost love?
Someone who would mourn her passing? I waved Mom over.

“What?”

“Do you know this man?”

“Are you stealing a dead
woman’s jewelry?”

I frowned. “Of course
not. I’m snooping.”

“That’s Mr. Dean when he
was a young man. They used to date, I think.”

I glanced back at the
stony look of the high school principal. He didn’t look like a grief stricken
lover to me. “Should we give him this?”

“He’s seen it. If he
wanted it, he would have taken it.” Mom grabbed my arm. “Let’s go before we’re
kicked out.”

I closed the locket and
followed Mom, staring at Mr. Dean as I passed. “Check out the locket Mrs.
Grimes is wearing,” I whispered to Bruce as I passed.

Mr. Dean had just moved
to the top of my suspect list.

I stared out the window
as Mom drove us to work. I’d call Lynn as soon as possible and leave a message
on her phone to call me. Maybe the romance between school principal and
librarian hadn’t faded over time. Maybe there were rumors floating around the
school and Mr. Dean killed the woman who jilted him. It was possible. He could
have killed Mrs. Grimes the moment he hired his new Barbie doll of an assistant
principal.

My mind whirled with the
list of possible motives. Of course, I couldn’t discount the treasure map. What
if Mrs. Grimes had shared her find during a moment of pillow talk? I shuddered
at the mental image.

Of course, I could be
wrong and Mr. Dean completely innocent of murder. Only more time spent
investigating would tell.

I glanced up to see Bruce
watching us from the funeral home door. I’d have to be careful. He would slap
handcuffs on me at the slightest provocation.

CHAPTER NINE

With an onrush of customers wanting
Autumn
themed crafts, I couldn’t find time to visit Bruce until Thursday. Now, I sat
in my rental car and stared at the front door of the police station. I was
going to talk hypothetically, but he’d see right through my ruse. Oh, well.
Better to just get it over with.

I exited the Mustang and
marched through the double glass doors. I stopped at the receptionist desk,
surprised to see Ingrid Jennings. I’d assumed she worked at her mother’s tea
shop.

The plain woman peered at
me over her glasses. “May I help you?”

“Hello, Ingrid. I need to
see Bruce.”

“Do you have an
appointment?” She glared at me as if we hadn’t met.

“I don’t usually need
one.” Ingrid’s unpainted lips thinned. “I’ll check to see if he’s available,
but next time you’ll need an appointment. No exceptions.” She punched a number
into her desk phone and stated that I was here to see him.

Yes, Miss Congeniality. I
tapped my foot while I waited.

She hung up the phone.
“Go on back.”

“Thank you.” Golly gee
whiz, she was a regular chatty Kathy. I gave her a huge grin and pushed through
the waist-high saloon doors to head to Bruce’s office. He really needed an
office that wasn’t behind the receptionist desk. I hated walking through the
bull pen. Officer Bradford may not know me well, but Oscar Wilson did.

“In trouble again,
Marsha?” He cackled like an old hen.

“Not yet, Oscar.”

“Thanks for what you do.
The trouble you created the last few months got me stationed back in my
hometown. For that, I am eternally grateful.”

I sighed and knocked on
Bruce’s door, then walked in without waiting for him to issue an invitation. “I
have a question for you.”

“Good morning to you,
too.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his bony chest.

“Sorry, but I need to get
to work.” I settled into a brown vinyl chair across from him. “If you were to
find a treasure map, would you think it was the real thing? Maybe enough of a
motive to kill someone?”

“What are you talking
about?” He leaned his arms on his desk. “Did you find a treasure map?”

“This is hypothetical.”

“Do you have evidence in
the murder of Mrs. Grimes? Because if you do –”

“I know
,
I’d have to turn it in. Can you answer the question?” The man was like a little
terrier clinging to my pants leg.

“If treasure maps were
real, some fool would probably kill for it, yeah.”

“What about a stack of
antique books?”

“My God in Heaven you’re
trying to solve Mrs. Grimes’s murder.” He shoved back his chair. It slammed
into the wall behind him. “Lord, save us all from Marsha Steele. I can’t keep
saving you. One of these days, I’ll be too late.”

Puh-leeze
.
“Save me? Excuse me, but I’ve managed to get out of every scrape myself.”
Mostly. He did come running with Duane when a mad woman and her son held me at
gunpoint, but by then, I had the two crazy people yelling at each other instead
of aiming the gun at me. The first crime I’d solved, I
tazed
the woman and got away.
By myself.
All Bruce did was
lock them up after I was done with them.

“If you get in the way of
my investigation,” Bruce said. “I will arrest you. Give me this so-called
treasure map.”

Sure, right after I make
a photocopy. “Don’t worry. I won’t get in your way.” I stood.

“Famous last words. I
have a holding cell with your name on it.”

“I hope it’s decorated
nicely.” Tossing him my best smile, I turned and left his office. Next on my
agenda, find out where Mrs. Grimes lived. Mom would know.

Back at the store, I
waited while Mom rang up a customer buying several quilt books and yards of
fabric. Next to her sat a pile from our scrap bin. I wished Mom wouldn’t give
those away. We could package and sell them. When had I gotten so money hungry?
When I’d become a single mother with a wedding to pay for.

Once the customer left, I
grabbed a soda from the fridge and a granola bar to carry in my purse for
later. “Mom, where did Mrs. Grimes live?”

“On Elm Street.” She
wiped loose threads from the counter into her hand. “The mailbox looks like a
stack of books. Why?”

I’d seen that house
before. “I’m going snooping.”

Mom whirled, dropping the
threads onto the floor. “I want to go.”

“Who is going to keep the
shop open?”

“Why should you have all
the fun? We’ll go on our lunch hour.”

We never took a lunch
hour, staggering our lunches instead to keep the store open. “We’ll be
trespassing. Bruce has already threatened to arrest me.”

“He wouldn’t dare. Not while
I’m with you. Why, I knew his mother.” Her face lit with expectation. “Let me
grab my camera, and we’ll leave right away.”

I sighed and jotted a
quick note on a sheet of paper that we’d be back at eleven. An early lunch, I
guess. “I’m driving this time. My rental is less conspicuous.” I really needed
to start shopping for a new car.

“It’s red.” Mom shook her
head and dashed out the backdoor toward her white beast.

She could sit out there
until doomsday. I was driving this time. I headed out the front door and waited
behind the wheel of my car.

Two minutes later, Mom
parked the Caddy right behind me, blocking me in. She honked.

“I said I’m driving,” I
yelled out my window.

She honked again. “Try
getting around me.”

“Fine.” I started the
ignition,
then
pulled forward a couple of inches, then
back, then forward, turning my wheel.

“Don’t you hit my car,”
she called out.

“Then move!” I kept
maneuvering until I found myself diagonal and thoroughly wedged between our
shop and the dentist next door. “You win. Move so I can straighten out, then
I’ll join you.” As if. The moment she moved her boat of a car, I sped down Main
Street toward Elm, leaving Mom to follow. We were about as inconspicuous as two
purple elephants blowing trumpets.

I parked around the
corner from Mrs. Grimes’s house. Mom pulled in behind me. “That was dirty
pool,” she said marching past me.

“You asked for it.” I
jogged beside her. “We need to have a story to tell if someone asks why we’re
here.”

“We’ll think of
something.” Mom set her chin, clearly put off by my shenanigans. She marched up
to the front door and knocked.

Mrs. Grimes’s house was
painted a cheery yellow with a bright red front door. White lace curtains hung
at the spotless windows. Flower boxes, full of autumn mums, hung under both
front windows. The house resembled a storybook cottage.

“Nobody’s home,” Mom
said.

“Of course not, she’s
deceased.” I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered in the window beside the
door. “We’ll have to get in another way.”

“Let’s try the back.” Mom
led the way to a small door off the kitchen. It was locked. “Maybe we can pick
the lock. This is an old house.” She pulled a packet of sharp objects from her
purse. “I bought these lock picks off eBay and watched a YouTube video on how
to use them. I thought they might come in handy with crime solving.”

We were going to be
arrested for sure. “Who are you and what have you done with my mother?”

“Oh, hush. I’m trying to
concentrate.” She bent over and got to work while I kept a sharp eye out for
any curious onlookers.

A loud click and she
swung the door open. “Voila.” She grinned over her shoulder. “Am I amazing or
what?”

“Hurry and get inside
before someone sees us.” I shoved against her back.

We stepped into a cheery
yellow kitchen with painted metal cabinets and modern appliances. “Look for
anything that might tell us why she was killed.”

“Put these on.” Mom
handed me a pair of rubber gloves.

“You scare me.” I donned
the gloves and headed for the back of the house, leaving Mom to do the front.

Off the hall, I found two
bedrooms and a bathroom. Only one bedroom looked as if anyone lived in it, so I
chose to check that one. The other room looked like a guestroom slash office.

I opened the closet. A
line of dresses hung from the rod. Shoe boxes lined the shelf. Labels signified
what was in each of them. Some were shoes, one was receipts, and one said
important papers. I stretched my short frame to pull it down. Something rubbed
against my ankles. I screamed and fell backward, banging my hip on the dresser.
At my feet sat a beautiful silver Persian cat with yellow eyes. “Well, hello,
gorgeous. I thought the neighbor was keeping you?”

Had the poor thing been
alone all this time? He must be starving.

“What’s wrong? What did
you find?” Mom burst into the room. “Oh, isn’t he lovely?”

“Bruce asked me if I
wanted Mrs. Grimes’s cat, but when I said no, he told me the neighbor would
take it to the pound. I guess that isn’t true. I hope he hasn’t been locked up
in here alone all week.”

“You’ll have to take him,
Marsha. You can’t let this beautiful animal be euthanized.”

“You take him. Samson
won’t be happy.” I reached again for the box. Getting a hold of it, I set it on
the bed.

“I am so good at this.
Really, I’ve missed my calling.” Mom pulled a rose-colored book from the
nightstand. “Here is Harriet’s journal.”

The doorbell rang. Mom
shoved the journal under her shirt. I shoved the box of papers back in the
closet and pulled off my gloves. “The gloves,” I hissed. Scooping the cat into
my arms, I headed for the front door. A peek outside sent my heart plummeting
to my toes.

Bruce peered through the
keyhole.

I took a deep breath and
opened the door. “Hello, Bruce, what brings you here?”

“A neighbor called about
suspicious characters in a dead woman’s house. Why are you here?”

I held up the cat. “You
did tell me to take him, did you not?”

“You said no.”

“I had second thoughts.”

“How did you know he
would still be here?” He stepped past me into the house. “Mrs.
Bohan
, I’m surprised to see you.”

Mom crossed her arms.
“Don’t start with me young man. I knew your mother.”

He opened and closed his
mouth a few times, then shook his head. “How did you get in?”

“The back door was open,”
I said. Well, it was by the time I entered. “We’ll take this sweetie and go
now, shall we?” I motioned my head toward the front door.

“I’ll just get my purse
off the counter.” Mom skedaddled to the kitchen, tossed her little leather pack
into her purse, while holding a hand to her side to keep the journal in place,
then
dashed back to me.

“Why are you holding your
side?” Bruce asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing,
really.” Mom widened her eyes. Instead of the innocent look she was most likely
trying for, she looked deranged. “The cat startled me, and I bumped into the
counter. See you later.” She grabbed my arm with an iron grip and dragged me
from the house.

“We need to get to the
cars,” she said. “Before Bruce wonders why we didn’t park in the driveway like
normal people.”

We were far from normal.
I glanced back.

Bruce stood on the porch
and watched us scurry away like the guilty people we were.