Murder on the Hoof: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) (14 page)

She quietly closed the door and entered the brightly lit space. It was a modest place, with wooden tables and chairs, and shelves arranged in such a way as to maximize the light streaming brilliantly through the windows. The library was busy, as it always was in the summer months, with tourists seeking a good summer read while on vacation. All six of the public computers were occupied and a roomful of children listened as a volunteer read them a story. Colleen passed the book-sale room and noted yet more people perusing the shelves in search of a good deal on a romance, science fiction, or mystery novel for the beach.

She spotted Ruby behind the desk, scanning book bar codes and helping a customer check out a book.

“I think you’ll enjoy that one,” Ruby said to the young woman, and slid the book across the counter.

“Thanks,” the woman said, and left.

“Hello there,” Ruby said, spotting Colleen.

Colleen had always liked the straight-talking librarian and her no-nonsense approach to life. “Hey there, Ruby,” she said. “I see it’s busy.”

“It’s summer,” she said. “Can I help you find something?”

“Not today.”

“You sure? We’ve got some great books on our new-fiction shelf.”

“Maybe I’ll check them out later.” Colleen lowered her voice, not wanting the customers to overhear. “I actually came by because I wanted to talk to you about Rich Bailey.”

“First Edna, now Rich and Doris. I don’t mind saying, I’ve found this to be a difficult summer.”

Ruby was still a moment, briefly lost in a feeling of melancholy, and then she reached into the book-return bin to retrieve a stack of books.

“Were you and Rich close?”

“I suppose. We had a lot in common,” the librarian said, scanning a book and setting it on the
TO BE SHELVED
cart.

“Like the play?”

Ruby shook her head. “No, mostly books and languages. He and I used to practice our Spanish together. He had an amazing ear, knew I was from Philadelphia just by my accent.”

“I understand he liked to come to the library a lot,” Colleen said.

“He liked doing research—especially on true-crime stories. Personally, I always find those stories a little depressing. But he did most of that online from home. It was only in the last week or two that he started coming in.”

“Was he looking for anything in particular?” Colleen asked, wondering what the library had that he couldn’t find on the Internet.

“A book on ears.” Ruby noticed Colleen’s raised brows. “Strange, right? I figured it had to do with his work, or maybe a lecture he was going to give at the Funeral Directors of America’s meeting next month.”

“Do you know what the book was called?” she asked. Maybe the book itself would give her a clue.

“I can do you better than that,” the librarian said, and disappeared into an office. She emerged a moment later with a large brown envelope and handed it to Colleen. “I had to place an order for an interlibrary loan from the Charles Chesnutt Library at Fayetteville State.”

Colleen paused before opening the envelope and sliding the book out. The cover read
Ear Identification.
The author’s name was Alfred Victor Iannarelli.

Ruby read the title. “Told you it was a book on ears.”

Colleen had no idea what to make of her find. Perhaps the content of the book would shed some light on why Rich had requested it, but she didn’t have time to study it right now. “Would it be possible for me to check this out?” she asked.

“Sure. Just let me make the changes in the computer. You have your library card?”

Colleen fished her wallet from her back pocket, thumbed through several credit cards and receipts she had stuffed into the wallet, and found her card. “Here it is,” she said, and handed it to Ruby.

“Be right back,” the librarian said, and moved to the computer at the end of the checkout counter.

Colleen’s heart raced with anticipation. She couldn’t wait to get the book home and examine its contents. She didn’t know why, but somehow she felt like the book would lead her one step closer to discovering who had killed Rich, and possibly Doris.

“All set,” Ruby said, returning with the book. “You want to keep the envelope?”

“Please,” she said, took the book, and slid it back into the packaging.

“You should still check out those new-fiction titles,” the librarian said, nodding to the shelf before turning to help a waiting customer.

Colleen exited the library and, much to the disappointment of the children and her canine friend, retrieved Sparky. She hoped the book would hold some clues as to Rich’s recent activities and perhaps lead her to his killer before he or she struck again.

Chapter 11

As the sun set
over the sound outside Colleen’s kitchen window, she sat at her dining room table, hunched over the words of Alfred Victor Iannarelli, the man who, she had only an hour ago discovered, was the author of the Iannarelli System of Ear Identification and a pioneer in the field of earology. She combed the pages of his book, searching for insights into what had been on Rich’s mind the days before his death. One thing she had discovered by reading the text was that the human ear was as unique as fingerprints and because of its distinctive features could be used for identification purposes. She was now convinced that Rich’s fascination with ears had little to do with a fetish and more to do with trying to ID someone. Whom Rich was trying to identify and why were still very much a mystery.

Smokey sprawled on the table, stretched her paws under the book’s pages, blinked several blue-eyed kisses, and purred. Colleen had been so engrossed in her reading that she hadn’t paid attention to when the Siamese had jumped on the table. The cat knew that this was normally a forbidden behavior and seemed to be relishing this rare occasion when it was being allowed. “Let me see your ears,” Colleen said, rubbing the cat’s soft, pointy gray-tipped ears. Smokey chirped and rolled her head upside down. Colleen had never thought much about ears before, but now couldn’t seem to keep from looking at them, even if they were feline.

The sound of a car engine outside drew Sparky away from where he had been lying at her feet and into the foyer. He gave a low growl and stared intently at the front door. She rose and felt the foot she had been sitting on tingle as blood rushed into it. She hobbled to the window next to the door and peeked through the curtains. Bill climbed the stairs and waved. She released the curtain. What was he doing here? She collected herself and opened the front door. Sparky rushed forward, happy to see Bill.

“Hey there, Sparks,” Bill said, using his special nickname for the Border collie and rubbing the dog on the head.

Sparky raised his nose toward a bag that Bill was carrying. He lifted the bag out of the dog’s reach. “I brought you dinner,” he said. “Unless you’ve already eaten.”

The smell of the food drifted past her nostrils and some of her recent unhappiness with him faded. “Thanks,” she said, and her stomach growled.

“Looks like I got here in the nick of time,” he said.

Her cheeks flushed pink. “Sorry,” she said, and closed the door behind him as he stepped into the foyer. “Is that Chinese food?” she asked, catching another whiff of the bag’s contents as she moved past him into the kitchen.

“Your comfort food, right?”

Whenever she felt out of sorts or under the weather from a cold, Chinese food had always soothed her. She took the bag from him and crossed to the counter, Sparky on her heels.

“Please ignore the poorly behaved cat on the table,” she said.

Smokey meowed from atop the open book, which was now her bed.

“I’ll take care of Smokey while you take care of the food,” he said, and gently lifted the cat from the table. The cat purred until she realized he was putting her on the floor, and then she let out a yowl of protest, as only a Siamese could.

He grabbed paper towels from the counter to wipe down the table. He lifted the book, noticed the subject matter, and looked at her with surprise. “Something I should know about?”

“I have a theory,” she said, bringing plates and silverware to the table. “But first, food.”

He put the book aside and she set the food down. She filled two glasses with water and joined him. Sparky hovered nearby, hoping to catch a scrap if it fell to the floor. Her mouth watered as she lifted cashew chicken, egg rolls, and brown rice onto her plate. She glanced at the microwave’s clock and was surprised to discover how late it was. She ate in silence for several minutes. Food had never tasted so good. She swallowed a big gulp of water before finally speaking.

“I guess I was a little hungry.”

“I can never get over how much you can eat.”

It was true. She had inherited her father’s high metabolism and had always been able to eat as much as she wanted without gaining weight. Still, it was probably not something a man should say to a woman.

“Care to tell me about your interest in”—he glanced at the book—“ear identification and how you came by this?”

“Rich requested the book from the library before he died. Ruby let me check it out,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I suppose I don’t need to ask if that means you’ve been investigating his death.” He had been down this path before with her. There was no use trying to talk her out of sleuthing.

“And Doris’s,” she said, daring him to order her to halt her inquiry.

“Doris? I thought you suspected heat exhaustion or a heart attack.”

“I’m not so sure anymore.”

“You have any proof?”

“No,” she said, helping herself to more food. “But you should call the ME. And let’s hope the new guy is faster than the old one.”

The previous medical examiner had been swiftly replaced a few weeks ago, after he had taken too long to identify Edna Daisey’s body earlier this summer and failed to request backup help.

“Already called him.”

“Wow,” she said with surprise, her fork in midair. “I didn’t know.”

“I haven’t had a chance to fill you in. So you talked to Ruby. How’d you know she’d be helpful?”

“Myrtle.”

Bill sat back in his chair. “Maybe you should start from the top.”

How could she recap everything she had discovered? It would take all night. Then she thought of what Myrtle had said about her telling stories as a child and how she could go on and on. Better focus and give him the highlights, she decided.

“Fawn told Chip there’s been a lot of drama in the theater group lately, particularly between Myrtle and Lane.”

“So I gathered,” he said. “From what I could tell from the interviews, the only person who didn’t have a problem with anyone was Rich.”

“And yet he’s dead,” she said. “So someone had a problem with him.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Anything else?”

“Sam told me Marvin is accusing everyone, and I mean
everyone,
of having an affair with Doris, and Myrtle threatened to kill Lane for casting Nellie.”

“Myrtle make a specific threat?” he asked, leaning forward.

She knew what he was thinking, but there was no way Myrtle was a killer. “Trust me. The only thing Myrtle is guilty of is cutting Lane’s lines, which, by the way, she has recruited Doc Wales to do.”

“Wales has been sucked into their intrigue?” he asked with amazement.

She nodded.

“And the book?”

“Rich requested it before he was killed. I asked Ruby if I could check it out, and, voilà, there it is.”

She was proud of herself. She had given him the highlights and managed to leave out any mention of Hayley. He was silent for a long moment. “What is it?” she asked, concerned.

He paused and then said, “I’m fairly certain Rich was trying to identify someone using Iannarelli’s earology. I thought it the moment I saw the photos in his house. I had training on the system several years back.”

Her brows furrowed. “But you said Rich had an ear fetish. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t want you in danger.”

“Now wait a minute—” she began.

“And,” he said, interrupting her, “I didn’t get the impression you wanted to talk to me.”

An awkward silence filled the room. She spotted the fortune cookies on the table, next to the condiments. “Fortune cookie?” she asked, changing the subject.

He took one of the cookies. “You first.”

She tore open the clear wrapper and cracked open the cookie. You’ve got to be kidding me, she thought. Printed on the tiny slip of paper above her “lucky numbers” was:
It takes courage to admit fault.

“What does it say?”

Maybe the cookie was a sign, or maybe it was the guilt she had been feeling about her recent behavior, but she knew she needed to speak with Bill about his ex if there was any hope of feeling comfortable around him and moving forward with their relationship and the investigation.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said. “I took Hayley over the rough part of Carova this morning because, well…” Why had she done that? Out of jealousy? Anger at him? How could she put into words something she wasn’t entirely sure of herself?

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shifting his weight in his chair.

“But it does. I’ve always hated women who treat other women badly. She didn’t do anything to deserve it.” She held up her fortune. “‘It takes courage to admit fault.’”

He smiled kindly at her and his eyes crinkled in that way that always made her heart soar. It felt good to get that off her chest. She felt more like herself again. Her worry returned, however, when his smile faded.

“I should have told you,” he said quietly.

He didn’t need to say
what
he should have told her. She knew he was referring to his past engagement. She wanted to ask him why he had kept it a secret, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the answer.

“What about you?” he asked.

She raised her brows, confused. “What about me?”

“And Salvatore.”

Despite the awkwardness of the conversation, she had to smile. The thought of her and Pinky being romantically involved was preposterous. “We were just meeting about the house he donated to the station.”