Cookin' the Books

by Amy Patricia Meade

  ‘Why didn’t you?’ Tish posed.

  ‘Because of my kids, my grandkids – I’d never be able to hold them again and tell them I love them. Because I’d promised Cynthia that I’d always watch over Schuyler, even though he’s a grown man and has more sense than I do at times. And because, well, I’ll be quite frank, I don’t think Mr Rufus would be able even to find his socks without me.’ She emitted a soft chuckle as she wiped away a wayward tear from her cheek with the back of a hand bearing a rather prominent mother’s ring. ‘But, more than that, I actually am a Christian. I wasn’t about to take Lavinia away from her family. She may not have been the nicest woman, and perhaps not even the greatest of mothers, but Lavinia’s daughter loved her. To put Cordelia and her daughter through that … well, if I had done that, I’d have been no better than Lavinia.’

  Tish leaned back in her chair, relieved that her new dessert master had exonerated herself.

  ‘Then again, if I knew Binnie Broderick was about to do to another human being what she did to Cynthia,’ Celestine added, causing Tish’s uneasiness to return, ‘I’d have been sorely tempted to say to hell with Cordelia and drive that truck on through.’

  EIGHT

  Tish arrived at the Hobson Glen Public Library to find a familiar sign posted on the glass front door. Only this time, someone had drawn, in red ink, an arrow to the photo of the green bird and scribbled a note on its margins: This is a Parrot, NOT a Conure. If you mean to defile the name of Langhorne Kemper by categorizing him as a pet, at least use the appropriate photo!

  Pushing the door open with one hand and balancing a container of Finnegan’s Cakes with the other, she stepped out of the Virginia heat and sun and into the cool, fluorescent-lit space. Once her eyes had adjusted to the light, she was greeted by the same unnamed, dark-haired, equine-faced woman who had occupied Binnie Broderick’s table the night prior.

  ‘May I help you?’ the woman asked from behind the dark-paneled circulation desk.

  ‘Yes, I’m Tish Tarragon from Cookin’ the Books,’ she introduced herself. ‘I came by to deliver some cakes and offer my condolences to you and the staff.’

  ‘Cakes?’ The woman stared down her long, pointed nose. She made no mention of Tish’s offer of sympathy.

  Her tablemate from the fundraiser emerged from the back office carrying a stack of books. ‘She’s the caterer, Roberta,’ he announced as he gazed at Tish over the top of his half-framed glasses.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Since we didn’t get to the dessert course last night, I figured I’d stop by and see what the library wants to do with them. I brought about a dozen with me for you and the staff to enjoy, but there’s roughly two hundred and fifty’ – recalling that Jules and Mary Jo were still at the café ‘brainstorming,’ Tish adjusted her estimate – ‘er, um, two hundred cakes left in my refrigerator. I’d be happy to distribute them however you wish, since the library did pay for them.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ the woman named Roberta answered knowingly. ‘Mrs Broderick didn’t pay you, did she? Well, we don’t handle that here. If you haven’t already, you need to send an invoice to Augusta Wilson, the head of the library board.’

  ‘Um, thanks, but that’s not really why I’m here.’

  In the meantime, Roberta’s coworker had set his stack of books on the desk and relieved Tish of her Tupperware container. ‘Daryl Dufour,’ the diminutive, bespectacled man introduced himself with an almost elfin-like smile. ‘Unlike Roberta, I’m not one to look a gift cake in the mouth. Come, we’ll bring these to the break room.’

  Daryl called to a silver-haired female volunteer dressed in a resplendent aqua caftan with magenta-and-green floral embroidery. ‘Veronica, dear? Would you place those books back into circulation, please? Thank you.’

  As Veronica struggled to extricate herself from her chair at the inquiry desk, Tish followed Daryl to the break room. It was, as expected, a utilitarian space comprised of white-wash cinder block and fluorescent lighting, and furnished with a small table, two chairs, a microwave, miniature refrigerator and a sink.

  ‘Now then,’ Daryl declared as he opened the Tupperware container, grabbed a cake, peeled back the liner with his fingers, and sank his teeth into the delectable confection.

  ‘Pretty good, huh?’ Tish asked with proud grin.

  ‘Good? Magnificent. Miss Celestine has certainly outdone herself this time.’ He licked dollops of the unctuous Irish cream frosting from his fingers with a lip-smacking fervor typically displayed only by young children and the starving. ‘I’m glad she’s found a new home for her baking at your café. She was in a terrible state after Cynthia Thompson died. Simply terrible.’

  ‘Yes, Celestine told me that she and Cynthia were quite close.’

  ‘Like sisters. When Cynthia passed, Celestine completely lost her spark. She gave up baking altogether. Schuyler offered to keep the bakery running with Celestine in charge, but she just couldn’t bring herself to accept the offer. She didn’t go out much, started to put on weight – I’m not telling you that as a criticism, by the way, just an illustration of how distraught poor Celestine was at the time. God knows, we could all afford to lose a few.’ Daryl Dufour patted his slightly rounded belly. ‘Only recently did Celestine start re-offering her specialty cakes for local functions. That’s why it’s a good thing you came along when you did. Now we can all enjoy Celestine’s baked goods again, and Celestine can try to pick up where she left off.’

  The portrait of Celestine Rufus drawn by Daryl Dufour was at odds with the hearty, good-natured image Celestine herself projected. Which version of Celestine was the ‘real’ one? And how, and from whom, did Dufour gain his information?

  ‘You and Celestine must be good friends,’ Tish ventured.

  Daryl Dufour swallowed a bite of cake and frowned. ‘Um, yes, well, not anymore. We go way back, though. Grew up together. Attended the same school. We drifted apart after I graduated from high school. I went off to college; she married Lloyd Rufus and started a family. But we still talk from time to time. She brings her grandchildren to the children’s functions here at the library. She’s a fine lady. Extremely fine.’

  ‘Yes, I haven’t known her very long, but I already hold Celestine in high regard. I’m very happy to have her on board at the café. I just hope my business survives the fallout of Binnie Broderick’s death long enough to help her get her baking career back on track.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Your business will be fine,’ Dufour assured. ‘Not only do these situations draw the curiosity seekers out in droves, but, in my estimation, whoever fed Binnie that arsenic should receive a medal and a letter of commendation from the Governor of Virginia. Hell, for all we know, the governor might have killed her himself just to guarantee re-election.’

  ‘I know Mrs Broderick wasn’t liked by some folks, but was she really as unpopular as that?’ Tish gasped.

  ‘You haven’t been in town very long, have you, Miss Tarragon?’ Dufour observed before popping the last morsel of cake into his mouth and tossing the cake liner in a nearby trash can.

  ‘A little less than a month.’

  ‘Hmph,’ Dufour grunted. ‘Then you have no idea the ordeal Binnie Broderick has put this library – nay, this entire town – through these past several months.’

  ‘I did hear something about a book-purging controversy,’ Tish acknowledged. ‘However, given the turnout at last night’s event, I assumed that overall Mrs Broderick was quite well revered.’

  ‘Revered? More like feared. Binnie Broderick was born a Darlington – one of Virginia’s oldest and wealthiest families. They fought in the Revolution in favor of independence and again in the War Between the States in favor of slavery. When Binnie married Ashton Broderick, her financial assets nearly tripled. She had wealth, power, and influence and wielded them over everyone in order to get what she wanted.’

  ‘If she had all that, then why become a library director?’ Tish challenged. ‘What could Mrs Broderick possibly have gained from su
ch a position, other than the satisfaction of performing a vital public service to the community?’

  ‘Public service? Ha,’ Dufour scoffed. ‘I assure you, whether it was to exert more influence over the community, to censor the reading habits of her neighbors, or just to swan about at the annual library fundraiser, Binnie Broderick took the directorial position for less than benevolent reasons. Why, her very first act as director was to roll back Roberta’s and my responsibilities. Binnie took over acquisitions, circulations, and children’s programming, which she cut down to the bone, even eliminating our extremely popular summer story hour.’

  ‘Didn’t the board object?’

  Dufour shook his head. ‘Knowing her board members were focused on the bottom line as much as she was, Binnie described her actions as austerity measures.’

  ‘What about you and Roberta? Did you file a grievance with the board?’

  ‘We did. But, of course, our complaints were put down to sour grapes since we had both been relegated, by Binnie, to the position of clerks. However, the president of the board, Augusta May Wilson, listened to our case and sided with us. She was uneasy about Binnie having so much control over library resources and warned the board about the dangers of allowing a director to rule unchecked. When the whole “Bookgate” scandal broke, Augusta May essentially went to the press and said, “I told them this would happen.”’

  ‘What did the board do?’

  ‘Ah, that’s the nice thing about being a member of not one but two influential Virginia families. The majority of the library board members owed their livelihoods or reputations to either the Darlingtons or the Brodericks, or both. None of them were going to compromise decades of prosperity and goodwill over a few missing books, even if those few missing books totaled in the hundreds. They’d simply cut a bigger check at this year’s benefit and hope that all would soon be forgotten.’

  ‘Seeing as Mrs Broderick is now dead – murdered – I think it’s safe to assume that the board members were overly optimistic,’ Tish noted. ‘This isn’t about to fade away. At least not any time soon.’

  ‘Well, I know Augusta May wasn’t willing to forget or forgive. She wanted Binnie gone from the library and charges brought against her. But I honestly don’t see Augusta murdering anyone. She’s far too principled for that sort of thing. The mayor, however, is an interesting character. I saw him having a very heated discussion with Binnie just before dinner was served.’

  ‘And you?’ Tish stared blankly at Daryl Dufour. ‘How about you? Were you more forgiving than Augusta? Or did you, perhaps like the mayor and other people in town, hold a grudge against Mrs Broderick?’

  ‘Forgive a woman who destroyed a library? Never. Do you know she even got rid of works by our local authors? Marjorie Morningstar, the romance writer – have you ever heard of her?’

  ‘I think so. They’ve made some of her books into movies for that women’s channel, haven’t they?’

  ‘That’s the lady,’ Dufour confirmed. ‘Ms Morningstar was raised here in Hobson Glen. Owns a little cottage just outside town. Well, Binnie Broderick purged each and every Marjorie Morningstar book from our shelves. You can just imagine the outcry. Our readers were horrified and Ms Morningstar was none too pleased, either. Her agent called immediately and threatened our library with a lawsuit if we didn’t make those books available again. Oh, the embarrassment! Oh, the shame!’

  ‘What reason did Mrs Broderick give for removing Ms Morningstar’s books in the first place?’ Tish asked.

  ‘That they were far too salacious to be considered culturally relevant to the town.’ Dufour clicked his tongue. ‘As if she had any credentials whatsoever to judge creative content. Oh, how I despised that woman.’ Dufour must have realized how his comment might sound to Tish, for he immediately qualified the statement. ‘Not that I disliked Binnie enough to kill her, of course.’

  ‘The thought never occurred to me.’ Tish feigned nonchalance. ‘Although you were seated at Mrs Broderick’s table. It would have been easy for you to lean across the table to make conversation and secretly add the arsenic to her food.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dufour chuckled, ‘that would have been clever. But I assure you it didn’t happen. No, no, no … whoever poisoned Binnie Broderick was sly, cunning, and calculating. Someone with a true axe to grind. Someone like Roberta Dutton.’

  ‘Roberta? You mean the woman out there at the front desk?’

  Dufour nodded. ‘Don’t let her icy demeanor fool you. As my mother used to say, still waters run deep. Roberta used underhand tactics to become the senior librarian on staff here. She was in the running for the director’s position until Binnie Broderick snatched the job. Roberta hated Binnie, a non-librarian, for taking over the directorship and then proceeding to treat us like office staff. Also, and you didn’t hear it from me’ – Dufour’s voice lowered – ‘I saw John Ballantyne, Binnie’s son-in-law, slip something into Roberta’s hand the night of the fundraiser. A love note, maybe? A hotel room key? An arsenic tablet to put in Binnie’s drink? Oh! What if, by killing Binnie Broderick, Roberta not only got the director’s job, but ensured her boyfriend gained a sizeable inheritance? Wouldn’t that be deliciously convenient?’

  ‘It would, but once again, why? From what I hear, Augusta May Wilson got the mayor involved in the book-purging situation, meaning that Binnie was probably on her way out of the director’s chair and Roberta might have been on the way in. Why would Roberta do anything to jeopardize that?’

  ‘Apparently, you didn’t hear,’ Dufour surmised.

  ‘Hear what?’

  ‘It was all over the news yesterday.’

  ‘I was at the lodge cooking all day yesterday so I didn’t see the news. What did I miss? Tell me,’ Tish urged.

  ‘Well, it appears that Mayor Whitley did get involved in our little book controversy. He initiated a so-called fact-finding commission to investigate the case.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, that’s the hot topic of conversation, isn’t it? After receiving the commission’s report, our illustrious mayor absolved Binnie Broderick of any and all wrongdoing.’ Dufour sneered. ‘So it would seem that our dear Roberta’s motive just got stronger, didn’t it?’

  NINE

  Her conversation with Daryl Dufour having produced more questions than answers, Tish bid the librarian adieu and prepared to leave the library and drive to Augusta May Wilson’s home under the pretense of delivering more Finnegan’s Cakes.

  No sooner had the break-room door shut behind her than she ran headlong into Roberta Dutton.

  ‘On your way out, Miss Tarragon? I presume Mr Dufour was helpful to you,’ Roberta inquired.

  ‘Yes, quite helpful. He put the cakes in the refrigerator for you and the staff to enjoy and I’m going to stop by Mrs Wilson’s to see what she wants to do with the remainder.’

  Roberta Dutton was, quite clearly, not at all concerned about the longevity of Celestine’s cakes. ‘I’m sure Mr Dufour also gave you an earful of lies.’

  The comment caught Tish completely off guard. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Lies. About the relationship between me and, now that she’s been murdered, Binnie Broderick.’

  ‘No, I don’t recall him mentioning you at all,’ Tish feigned ignorance.

  Roberta’s brown eyes seared a hole through Tish. ‘I find that hard to believe, knowing—’ She glanced over her shoulder and, seeing Veronica, the caftan-wearing volunteer, watching, pushed Tish back into the break room and shut the door behind them.

  ‘Knowing how much Daryl Dufour despises me,’ Roberta completed the thought.

  ‘I don’t understand. Why should Mr Dufour despise you?’

  ‘Because I don’t play along with his games. Daryl thinks himself quite the charmer. You heard him out there with Veronica. Always with the “dear” and “honey.” That never flew with me and I let him know it.’

  Tish shrugged. ‘So, you let him know you were uncomfortable with that sort of talk.
That’s no cause to hate someone.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t exactly tell him. I had only just started working here and wasn’t sure how he would react, so I went to our previous library director and complained to him. Daryl was officially reprimanded. Though, as you can see, it didn’t do much good.’

  Tish recalled Daryl having described Roberta as sly, cold, and calculating. Was this why? ‘Pardon me for asking, but if you started working here after Daryl Dufour did, how did you wind up being senior librarian?’

  ‘Experience. I worked in the Charlottesville library system for twenty years before moving to Hobson Glen. Daryl Dufour may have ten years on me, but he hasn’t put in the miles I have. The Charlottesville library collection is far more extensive and its audience more broad and diverse than Hobson Glen’s, thereby providing me with a far greater depth and breadth of experience than Daryl could ever have achieved during his lengthy tenure here. Of course, if you ask Daryl, he’ll say my sexual harassment complaint harmed his chances of advancement.’

  ‘Did it?’ Tish asked. ‘I mean, it’s not something the library director or the board should, or could, casually dismiss.’

  ‘How should I know? You’d have to ask Augusta Wilson. All I know is that I was, and still am, eminently more qualified for the position of senior librarian than Daryl Dufour.’ She smirked and meandered to the refrigerator. ‘Now, where are those cakes? I shouldn’t indulge, really, but I’ll do some extra cardio this evening to compensate.’

  Tish wondered if Roberta’s additional cardio routine included John Ballantyne, but she decided to stick to the topic at hand. ‘What about Binnie Broderick? Were you more qualified for her position as well?’

  ‘Did you take any English literature classes during college?’