Chili Con Corpses (12 page)

“Fine,” he responded shortly without looking at her.

She took a minuscule sip of margarita. “So Parker’s boyfriend made an appearance, huh?” She stared at Colin over the rim of her glass. “Are you guys trying to get a read on him?”

James was stunned by her intuitiveness. “What makes you ask that?”

“Gillian’s been laying it on pretty thick.” She smiled. “I’ve seen her in action before, you know.”

Gillian was practically draped across Colin’s cooking space as she gestured theatrically and kept her gaze locked upon his face as she spoke. James was grateful that all the noise from the oven fans masked whatever she was saying. Watching her, he felt himself start to chuckle. Lucy broke into a grin and soon they were both giggling uncontrollably.

Lucy was the first to stop laughing. “I miss you guys,” she said sadly, her smile evaporating. “I know everyone probably thinks I’m a jerk. They’re probably one hundred percent on
your
side about our—”

“I haven’t told them anything about us breaking up,” James interrupted. “If they’re mad at you, it’s for dropping them like hot coals as soon as Sullie walked into town. That’s got nothing to do with you and me.”

Lucy fixed her blue eyes on the beautiful man and said, “He’s my friend, but he can’t replace the rest of you.”

James was tempted to say something nasty to Lucy, but he found that he didn’t want to hurt her after all. In fact, looking at the familiar curve of her smooth cheek, he found that he only wanted to assure her that everything would turn out all right. “Tell the others exactly what you just said,” he counseled. “Besides, we could use your help tonight, Lucy. We’re trying to find out if Colin fly-fishes or would recognize the fly from Mr. Sneed’s hat. I’ve got a catalogue in my coat pocket that has a picture of the exact red and black fly I saw the night Parker was killed.”

Lucy’s face became animated. “Sullie is into fishing big-time! Leave it to me, James! I’ll tell Sullie to bring up the subject and somehow we’ll find out if Colin knows one fly from another.”

“Thanks.”

She touched his arm, briefly and tenderly. “Thank you, too, James. Now I’m going to go over to the cooking spaces and kiss some major butt. Well, three of them, actually. I owe my friends a big apology.”

A timer sounded and James realized that it was time to roll out his balls of dough and place them into the griddle. When he returned to his cook station, Murphy was smacking her dough onto the floured circle in front of her as though it had committed some kind of terrible trespass against her. She glared at James and then slapped one of the discs of dough into the hot griddle. He decided to ignore her childish behavior and concentrate on the hot pan in front of him. It only took a few seconds to cook each tortilla, and he took great delight in flipping each circle and examining the speckled brown spots that appeared on the cooked side of the dough.

Milla directed the group to place the stockpots on their front burners and begin sautéing the small bowls of garlic and onion.

“Seems like we start with this step in every class,” James said to Milla. “Not that I’m complaining,” he added hastily. “I love garlic.”

“That’s all the slaves who built the great Egyptian pyramids ate,” Bennett stated. “Garlic, bread, and water. So we oughta be able to perform some high and mighty feats after graduating from your class, Milla.”

“What else do you know about garlic?” Colin asked Bennett.

Bennett shrugged modestly. “About ninety percent of it’s grown in good ole California. And if aphids are troublin’ your roses, spray those little bugs with some garlic water and watch ’em run!”

Colin’s eyes widened. “That’s really interesting! You know, I’m into trivia, too. Do you watch
Jeopardy!
at all?”

James could see that Bennett was going to have a difficult time viewing Colin as a murder suspect. He and Colin exchanged facts on onions as Lindy and Gillian listened with amusement. Lucy and Sullie took the opportunity to have a hushed exchange in the vicinity of the coatrack. James could tell that they were plotting out the details of their fly-fishing ambush. He felt assured that Lucy would handle the operation skillfully.

Turning to Murphy, he had to smile as she violently emptied a can of tomato puree into her chicken soup stock. Moving over to her side, he removed the can from her hands and scraped out the remains with a wooden spoon.

“Easy does it,” he whispered to her.

“What were you two cutting up about over there?” she demanded testily.

James explained and then they both fell silent as Sullie began to ask Bennett what he knew about fly-fishing.

“Not much,” Bennett answered, reading the situation perfectly. “I can drop my pole in the water, but that’s about it.” He turned to Colin. “You?”

Colin nodded. “I know a bit. It’s one of my hobbies, but I’m not too good at it, to tell the truth. What would you like to know?”

“My sister just gave me a set of flies for my birthday,” Sullie explained. “But I don’t know which flies to use with which fish. I have the catalogue in my coat. Can I show you what she got me?”

“Sure,” Colin replied pleasantly and then turned his attention to slicing an avocado.

Sullie hustled back, holding out the catalogue. “See this red and black one? She gave me that fly, but I have no idea what fish it’s supposed to catch.”

Colin’s expression was one of mild curiosity and it remained unchanged as he answered, “I’ve never seen that particular fly before. But there are specialty flies for every fish out there.” He held out his hand for the catalogue. “May I?”

“Ah, yeah.” Sullie handed it over.

Colin studied the fine print below the photo of the fly and then shrugged. “You’d better return that one, my friend.” He pointed at the description. “Unless you plan on learning to fly-fish on the West Coast.”

Sullie was clearly confused. “Huh?”

“This is a fly for salmon fishing.” Colin smiled. “As far as I know, we don’t have salmon in Virginia. If you’ve got a receipt, exchange yours for this bass fly here or this fly here. That one will attract catfish, and there’s nothing as tasty as fresh grilled catfish.”

“Except for my Mexican wedding cookies!” Milla argued playfully.

As they cleaned up the debris created from making the tortilla soup, Murphy whispered to James, “I don’t think he recognized that fly.”

“Me either,” James agreed. “You still going to ask him about his alibi?”

Murphy pulled a bowl of confectioners’ sugar in front of her and dipped her finger into the white powder. “I will, but not tonight. We’re probably going to have to go back to the drawing board, and that’s too depressing to think about right now.” She licked her finger. “I’d rather concentrate all of my efforts on dessert.”

Milla’s Mexican Wedding Cookies

1 cup powdered sugar (divided—you’ll need some for rolling cookies in afterward)

1 cup butter, softened

2 teaspoons almond extract

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 cups sifted all-purpose flour

1⁄4 teaspoon salt (except for James)

1⁄2 cup finely ground pecans

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. In a large bowl, beat 1⁄2 cup powdered sugar, butter, and extracts until fluffy. Stir in the flour, salt, and pecans. Mix until dough forms. Shape the dough into 1-inch balls. Place them on an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake at 325 degrees for 15–20 minutes until the cookies are set but not brown. Remove them from the cookie sheet, cool them slightly, and roll them in powdered sugar. If you prefer, allow the cookies to cool completely and then roll them for a second time in powdered sugar.

Once again, the
Fitzgerald twins were waiting for James as he pulled into the library parking lot Monday morning. Surprised, he checked his watch. He was ten minutes early. Francis, who was pacing back and forth liked a caged cheetah, couldn’t seem to wait for his boss to reach the set of steps leading up to the front door. Bounding down the cement stairs, the two ends of his brown scarf trailing out from his neck like a little girl’s pigtails, the twin gripped a small rectangle in his outstretched hand.

“It’s the lottery ticket!” Francis shouted breathlessly. “The one from the book box! And,” he sucked in a deep breath of crisp air, “it’s a winner!”

Scott couldn’t contain himself either. Within seconds, he had leapt down the steps as adroitly as a mountain lion and snatched the ticket from his brother’s fingertips. “It’s worth a ton of money, Professor!”

James stared at the green, orange, and white ticket in awe. “How much are we taking about?”

“Well.” Francis exhaled in relief as though being the keeper of such a significant fact was causing him physical pain. “No one won the week before, so the pot was held over until last Friday. It’s for $150,000!”

“And
this
lucky number,” Scott tapped the black numbers printed on the ticket, “was an
exact match
for the winning numbers announced on the news.” He looked over at his brother. “We were watching just in case.”

“Yeah!” Francis pushed on his drooping glasses. “We wrote the numbers down so we could check first thing this morning. But then we couldn’t wait. We came over here on Saturday just before closing and took the ticket out of the
Lost But Not Yet Found
box.”

Scott pointed toward the sky. “We felt like we were in some other dimension or something. We just stared at the ticket, thinking that someone from our town has just become rich and doesn’t even know it yet!” He raked his hands through his bushy hair. “It was a total Ray Bradbury moment.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” James wondered, though he wasn’t angry in the least.

Francis looked sheepish. “You seem to have a lot on your plate lately, Professor, so we thought we’d try to solve this mystery by ourselves.”

James glanced at his watch again. “Let’s finish this conversation inside. It’s a bit brisk out here.”

Scott and Francis, who didn’t have a spare inch of body fat between them, were too animated to notice the chill. Once inside the library, they followed him like frisky puppies as he hung up his coat, put his lunch in the fridge, and began to brew a pot of coffee.

Rinsing out his
Will Catalogue for Food
mug that the twins had given him for Christmas last year, James said, “So who are our possible winners?”

Francis pulled out a notebook from his coat pocket and eagerly turned the pages. “The books in our outside box had been returned by the following patrons,” he began in a secretarial tone. “Stuart Matthews returned a James Patterson and a Vince Flynn, Wendy Carver returned two Nora Roberts paperbacks, Danny Leary brought back an audio tape biography of JFK, and Ruby Pennington returned a book called
Get Rich Cleaning Out Your Attic: An Introduction to Internet Auctions
.”

James listened thoughtfully. He knew all of those patrons. Stuart was a military man and had recently been deployed to Iraq, so it was likely that his wife returned his books. Wendy worked in the cafeteria at the elementary school, Danny owned the town’s only liquor store, and Ruby was the organist at James’s church.

“Were you able to rule anyone out?” he asked, pouring himself a large mug of coffee. He stirred in some fat-free half-and-half, a package of Sweet’N Low, and a sprinkle of cinnamon and took a grateful sip.

Scott shrugged. “Only the Matthews family. Mrs. Matthews told us that they don’t have money to waste buying lottery tickets.” His eyes turned sad as he looked at his brother. “We felt bad that they weren’t the winners. Seems like they could use the money.”

James pointed at the names on the list. “With the exception of Danny, who seems to do pretty well for himself, I’d say all these people could use the money.”

“We made the phone calls on Sunday,” Francis explained. “On Saturday, we kind of had to calm down and think straight, and before we knew it, we had watched four back-to-back episodes of
Star Trek: Voyager
. Then, it was too late to call anyone.”

“Mr. Leary never answered, so we asked him to call the library on Monday. Ms. Carver can’t remember if she bought a lottery ticket or not. Sometimes she does and sometimes she doesn’t.”

James took another sip of coffee. “Does she always pick the same numbers?”

“We asked her that, too!” Scott answered, pleased that they were all on the same wavelength. As he rummaged around in his backpack, he added, “She said she picks her birthday every time and unfortunately, her birthday hasn’t been too lucky. Wasn’t this time, either.”

“And Ruby?” James stared at his coffee and longed for a glazed donut from Krispy Kreme to dunk into the warm liquid. As if by magic, Scott pulled a small, white bag from his pack and shook out a half a dozen mini crullers onto a paper plate. James stared at his employee and wondered if the young man was clairvoyant in addition to being wise and generous.

Francis helped himself to a donut as he shook his head. “We never reached her and she doesn’t have a machine.” He popped the pastry in his mouth, chewed enthusiastically, and reached for another.

“So you’ve got some work to do this morning,” James stated, giving in to temptation and taking a cruller. “Danny won’t open until ten, so you may as well call the church and try to get a hold of Ruby. I know she does administrative work there, like the deposits and weekly bulletins and such. She may already be at work.” He dunked the donut into his coffee and then bit into the soft, sweet dough, moistened with milky sweet coffee. The combination was heavenly.

Scott practically ran for the phone as a disappointed Francis volunteered to empty the book bin and, afterwards, boot up all the computers. James finished off his coffee and then moved around the library, turning on lights and walking through the stacks, his fingers lovingly brushing the multicolored spines of orderly books. He replaced a few strays from the reshelving cart and then straightened the slightly disheveled fiction section in the recently improved audiobook area. As he watched Francis switch on the computers and printers in the newly expanded Technology Corner, James felt a surge of pride flow through him.

He had always thought that resigning his professorship at William and Mary would spell the end of any chance for career fulfillment. Now, however, as he surveyed his kingdom of books and computers and saw the first patrons of the day step into the warmth of the vestibule, he knew that he was more at home in this library than he had ever been in a lecture hall. His fiefdom was small, but he could see the changes that had been enacted since he came onboard as head librarian, and the positive proof of his hard work and devotion was a richer reward than a title or a higher salary could offer.

“Good morning, Professor,” an elderly woman greeted him as she settled herself at one of the computer terminals. “My daughter said she posted pictures of the grandkids at the pumpkin patch on this web site.” She dug out a grocery store receipt from her crocheted handbag. “The name’s written on the back. Can you help me figure out how to look at the pictures? I miss all of them so much. They’re growin’ like weeds and this is the only way I can keep up.”

“Of course, Mrs. Woodman. It would be my pleasure.”

As James helped his patron view her photos, he peered over the computer screen and noticed Scott holding a conference with Francis behind the circulation desk. After helping Mrs. Woodman print out several color copies of the photos, James headed over to join the twins.

“We’re in a bind, Professor,” Scott whispered. “Ms. Pennington says she bought a lottery ticket but doesn’t want anyone to know. She says it’s her secret vice.”

“That’s not the only problem.” Francis looked forlorn. “Mr. Leary called here. Seems he bought a ticket, too. Neither he nor Ms. Pennington remembers what they did with theirs. What are we going to do?”

“Let me think about it for a moment.” James busied himself with some paperwork while his thoughts flitted from one subject to another like a hummingbird zipping from bloom to bloom. He saw his father’s downtrodden face as he sat outside in the shed and then envisioned Murphy’s eyes filled with tears as she spoke about Parker. Added to these unpleasant thoughts was the image of how two townspeople would react when informed that they needed to prove that a lottery ticket worth a ton of money was rightfully theirs.

Pushing the paperwork aside, James dialed Danny’s number at the ABC store.

“Howdy,” Danny answered.

James identified himself and then said, “How are those anagrams going these days?”

“You must’ve known I was downright stuck,” Danny replied as James listened to the sound of the liquor store proprietor rifling through the newspaper.

“This week’s theme is state birds,” Danny explained. “I’ve been doin’ good, but I just can’t get this one.”

“Let me have it.” James poised a mechanical pencil above the memo pad next to his phone. As Danny recited the letters, James copied down the following:
adalcrni
. “Okay, give me a chance to stare at it a bit while we talk.”

“What’s on your mind, Professor?” Danny inquired pleasantly. “You callin’ about the lottery ticket, too?”

James took a deep breath. He knew what he was about to do was a big gamble, but he had known Danny Leary for years and felt confident that he was an honorable gentleman through and through. “Yes sir, I am. I’m calling to tell you that the lottery ticket in question was found in the book return box outside. It either belongs to you or to another fine citizen of Quincy’s Gap. We’ve ruled out all the other possibilities.”

“Yeah?” Danny seemed intrigued. “Who’s the other person?”

“I can’t mention that individual’s name, but I’m going to be completely honest with you, Danny. The ticket is a winner. A big winner.”

There was a pause and then Danny asked softly, “How much are we talking about here, Professor?”

“One hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” James answered flatly.

“Wow.” Danny whistled. “That would buy a lot of things.” He whistled again. “A whole lot of things.”

“That money rightfully belongs to one of you, and I’m asking you to think about whether you might have dropped your lottery ticket into our book box along with the audiobook you returned.” His voice firm, James pressed on. “I’m asking you to think real hard, Danny. If neither of you two can remember your actions clearly, then I’m going to suggest you split the money.”

Danny sighed on the other end of the phone but said nothing. James listened to the silence and stared at the word jumble in front of him.

“God’s truth, Professor. I can’t think straight right now.”

James nodded even though he knew Danny couldn’t see him. “That’s understandable, my friend. Why don’t you try to recall what you did the day you returned those tapes? Look at the calendar. Think about your whole day. Call me back when you think you know.”

“I will do my very best,” Danny promised him.

“I know it. And Danny?”

“Yes?”

“The answer to your jumble is
cardinal
. It’s our own state bird.”