50% Off Murder (Good Buy Girls) (4 page)

“Wait! I saw something in here,” Joanne said as she thumbed through her stack of fliers and pulled out one for a store in the Dumontville Shopping Mall. “Yes, here it is. Two-for-one Nikes at the sporting goods store.”

Ginger took the flier and scanned the ad to make sure there were no loopholes. No, it was a straight up two-fer.

She pumped her fist. “Excellent. Thanks, Joanne. Now I just need to get my hands on another one of these.”

They all scanned their circulars until they found another coupon for the sporting goods store.

On went their strategy session until they had matched everyone’s needs with the sales that were happening and figured out their schedules to hit all of the stores at optimum supply-and-demand times.

When they finished Ralph’s cake with a second serving for all of them and washed it down with the last of the iced tea, they were ready to call it a day.

Maggie walked them to the door, each clutching their burgeoning coupon books. They would meet at the same time next week to finalize their plans.

Claire was the last to go, and Maggie put her hand on her arm before she slipped out the door. “Call me if you need me, okay?”

Claire gave her an uncertain look. “Okay.”

“Anytime,” Maggie insisted.

Claire nodded and hurried down the walk, as if trying to put some distance between them. Maggie couldn’t help but wonder why. She watched curiously as Claire climbed into her car and drove away.

Maggie had known Claire since she came to St. Stanley five years ago. They had met at the library’s annual book sale, one of Maggie’s favorite events of the year, where they had both been eyeing a vintage Betty Crocker cookbook.

Maggie had let Claire take it, since she already had one, but they had struck up a conversation and found they had a mutual love of books and bargains. Maggie had invited Claire to join their group, but she had demurred.

Over the next few months, Maggie noticed that Claire was a bit of a loner who liked to keep to herself. Given that she was only in her mid-thirties, this seemed like a waste to Maggie, so she and Ginger decided they needed to have an intervention.

They began having their Good Buy Girl meetings in a study room at the library. Claire took to dropping by the meetings with her own coupon book and, before she realized it, they had recruited her for membership into the GBGs. Once she’d caught on, Claire laughed loud and long. It was the first time Maggie had heard her laugh, and she thought it a shame that she didn’t do it more often.

As they got to know her, they discovered that Claire had a dry sense of humor, she never dated and her biggest extravagance was gourmet pet food for her cat, Mr. Tumnus.

Maggie went back to her kitchen and glanced at her calendar. She was watching Josh tomorrow for Sandy, and it just happened to be a story-time morning at the library. Perfect. That would give her a chance to check on Claire without her becoming too suspicious. Not that she was a busybody, Maggie told herself as she folded up the card table and stored it in the closet off the porch. It was just that she cared about her friends, and she had learned in her forty-one years of living that it was better to ask questions and annoy someone than to not ask and watch them suffer.

Maggie strapped Josh into his covered bicycle trailer, which was attached to her mountain bike. Both she and Sandy used it to cart him around, as it was cheaper and healthier than driving.

“Go, Auntie Maggie!” Josh ordered and held up the green Percy train clutched in his chubby fist like it was a drum major’s baton.

Maggie clicked the chinstrap on her helmet and pushed off toward the center of town. Her small house on Society Road was nestled in the historic district of St. Stanley, just a half mile from the town center.

She stayed in the bike lane, waving when a friend or neighbor honked as they passed her. She turned onto Main Street and headed for the town green. The library and town hall sat on one end of the green. A narrow road between the two historic red brick buildings led to the large parking lot
that they shared. Because Maggie was on her bike, she pedaled up the walk and stopped at the bike rack in front of the library.

She unzipped the cover over Josh and unbuckled him. She stored her helmet in the back and grabbed her bag of books to return. Josh, knowing it was story day, shot ahead of her, and Maggie was forced to jog to keep up with him.

“Josh,” she said as she caught his hand in hers. “What are our two library rules?”

“No yelling and no running,” he said in his little-boy lisp.

“Good. Let’s go see who is telling stories today.”

They made their way into the children’s room. The entrance was designed to look like a castle, with a real wooden drawbridge over blue carpet and big gray stacked blocks painted to look like castle walls. At each end of the castle walls were small, round rooms, decorated to look like turrets that the kids could climb into to read.

As always, Josh was very emphatic that Maggie must walk on the wooden bridge and not the blue carpet, otherwise the alligators in the moat might eat her.

Maggie pretended to almost fall onto the blue carpet, leaving Josh shaking his finger at her and telling her she had to be more careful. Maggie ruffled his head as she chuckled. She did love this little man so.

Once in the story-time room, Josh toddled over to his best pal, Freddy, who was there with his mom.

“Hi, Maggie.” Freddy’s mom, a pretty woman named Linda who was expecting her second baby any day, greeted her.

“Hi, Linda, how are you?” Maggie knelt beside the young woman.

“More than ready, that’s how I am,” she said with a tired smile as she rubbed her extended belly. “Is Sandy at class today?”

“Yes, she’s got microbiology.” They both shuddered.

“Will you tell her I said hi?” Linda asked.

“Absolutely,” Maggie said. “Would you mind keeping an eye on Josh for me? I just want to run and say hello to Claire.”

“Oh sure,” Linda said. “You know he and Freddy are as thick as thieves. Hmm, maybe that’s not such a good choice of words.”

They both laughed, and Maggie said, “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time.”

Maggie closed the story room door behind her, knowing Josh was in excellent hands. She just wanted to pop in and make sure Claire was all right.

She found Claire in her office sorting through two boxes of books. She looked more put together today; at least her jacket buttons were lined up.

“Knock knock,” Maggie said in the open doorway.

Claire looked up, and a smile lit her features.

“Where’s your barnacle?” Claire asked.

“He’s in story time,” Maggie said. She took it as a good sign that Claire was back to being her teasing self. Everyone called Josh Maggie’s barnacle because he liked to be wherever she was.

“Well, don’t leave without letting me see him,” Claire said. “I barely got to give him a squeeze yesterday since he was headed out when I came in.”

“I promise. What have you got here?”

“Donations,” Claire said with a sigh. “You know I love
books more than anyone, but when they smell like the bottom of someone’s compost heap and start growing mushrooms, really, it’s time to throw them out.”

“Mrs. Shoemaker?” Maggie guessed. She was an elderly lady who lived down the street from Maggie, who was known for being loath to part with anything, and in fact had some hoarding tendencies that were alarming.

“Yeah, I have to put these in the basement so that Preston, our handyman, can sneak them to the dump on his next run. Then I can tell her that they’re in storage.”

“Well, it is storage of a sort,” Maggie said.

Claire grinned at her, obviously pleased that Maggie understood her dilemma.

“You seem better today,” Maggie said.

“Hmm, yesterday was…well, it was a bit of a rough day,” Claire said. She looked like she wanted to say more, but then she shook her head. Her blonde bob brushed against her cheeks, and she pushed her glasses up on her nose.

“Here, let me help you carry these down to the basement,” Maggie said. She hefted up a box before Claire could protest.

“Thanks,” Claire said. She picked up the other one and led the way out of her office and into the narrow hallway.

Maggie wrinkled her nose at the moldy smell of the box in her arms. Good grief, it smelled like damp, dirty socks that had been dragged through a cow pasture. Bleck!

Claire rested her box on her hip as she unlocked the door that led to the basement. She hefted it up again as she stepped on the creaky stairs that led below.

The library’s basement was dark and almost as dank as the boxes they carried. It wasn’t accessible to the public and
was used mainly for housing broken furniture or other items that needed to be hauled to Claire’s special storage.

A lone light bulb was the only defense against the gloom. It had a hanging chain for an on switch, which could only be reached from the basement floor.

Maggie inched her way down the steps behind Claire, relieved when they were on the floor and Claire was able to reach the light. With a click, the light flared on, illuminating the area.

Maggie blinked to adjust her eyes, but nothing prepared her for the sound of Claire’s scream, which rent the quiet of the basement like the sharp edge of a knife.

“Claire, what is it?” Maggie cried. “Did you see a rat?”

She stood on tiptoe, as if this would help, and scanned the area around her feet, dreading the thought of some beady-eyed critter staring back up at her.

“B…b…body,” Claire said. The box of books she clutched in her arms slid from her grasp and she began to wilt. Maggie dropped her box of books and grabbed Claire just before she slammed her head into the stairs.

“Claire!” she called her friend’s name. “Claire!”

There was no response. Claire’s limp body was too heavy for her to hold, and Maggie was forced to prop her against the steps before she dropped her. She studied Claire’s face. Even in the dim light it looked gray. What was wrong? Had she fainted?

Maggie gently patted Claire’s cheek. “Claire, wake up!”

There was no response. The sound of footsteps pounding
down the hall brought Maggie’s attention up to the door above.

“Down here!” she yelled. “We’re down here.”

Preston Turner, the town handyman, came running down the stairs. His work boots thumped on the steps, jarring Claire’s body. As soon as he saw her, he slowed his pace.

“What happened?” he asked as he stopped beside Maggie. “I heard a scream.”

“I’m not sure, but Claire fainted,” she said. “Can you help me get her out of here?”

Preston crouched down beside Claire. He ran a hand through his short brown hair, which was just beginning to sprout some gray. “She didn’t bang her head, did she?”

“No, I caught her,” Maggie said.

“What made her scream like that?” he asked. “It sounded like someone was being tortured.”

“I don’t know,” Maggie said.

She glanced over her shoulder and leaned forward a bit so that she was closer to where Claire had been standing when she screamed. That’s when she saw a pair of men’s shoes, toes pointing up at the ceiling, poking out from behind an old file cabinet.

“Oh no,” she said. Curiosity propelled her forward even as a nervous flutter in her gut told her to run.

She moved farther into the circle of light cast by the lone bulb. The body of a man lay on the floor in a pool of his own blood. A large knife stuck out of his chest, and a book lay on the floor next to his hand.

“What is it, Maggie?” Preston asked as he carried Claire toward her.

“A body,” Maggie said. She went over to check the man
for a pulse. His skin was cold, colder than the cement floor he lay on. His eyes were open and staring up at the ceiling. There was no pulse in his wrist or his neck. “He’s dead.”

Preston’s eyes went wide, and he said, “Come on, up you go. Let’s get Miss Claire upstairs and call Sheriff Collins.”

Maggie studied the dead man. He was tall. He wore an impeccable charcoal suit—Armani, Maggie guessed, judging by the cut and the cloth. His shoes were soft leather loafers, the kind one wore in a carpeted boardroom, not in a musty old library basement. His features, pale and slack with death, were still strong and handsome. This was a man who was comfortable with power, or at least, he had been. His thick silver hair put his age somewhere in his fifties.