Read on Arrival

by Nora Page

  Read on Arrival

  A BOOKMOBILE MYSTERY

  Nora Page

  To Gigi and a long and beautiful life, always with a book

  Acknowledgments

  I owe more than I can ever express to my family, especially my husband, parents, in-laws, aunts, and grandmother. Thank you so much for your support and encouragement. Many thanks to friends near and far and to the wonderful writers of Sisters in Crime. I’m grateful for my beta readers, who took the time to point me in better directions, and to Cynthia, the best and kindest critique partner. Eric, most of all, thank you for the love, laughs, travels, and listening to way too much talk of murder.

  To Christina Hogrebe, agent extraordinaire, much gratitude for your insights and support and for finding this series such a wonderful home at Crooked Lane Books. To my fabulous editor, Jenny Chen, thank you for pushing Cleo Watkins into high gear and for honing the manuscript into a book. Thanks to Jesse Reisch for the gorgeous cover illustration, Sarah Poppe and Ashley Di Dio for their publicity and marketing prowess, and Jill Pellarin for meticulous copyediting.

  Most of all, heartfelt thanks to library lovers and readers for joining Cleo on her bookmobile adventures.

  Chapter One

  Cleo Watkins considered herself quite unflappable. After all, she had seventy-five and three-quarters years of living behind her. Most importantly, she was a librarian, the longest serving biblio-professional in Catalpa Springs, Georgia. Librarians saw a lot. They read even more. Librarians were a hard bunch to shock.

  “Good gracious,” Cleo said. She gripped her peach-colored cardigan tight and steadied herself against the doorframe of the vintage Airstream camper. Music boomed from outdoor speakers, blaring across the park and vibrating through Cleo’s soles. Words written in morphing red, white, and pink light flashed across the tin-can ceiling.

  Cleo’s eyes caught a word: “READ!” Cleo was all for reading. That’s nice, she reassured herself. She chased down more: “INNOVATE! WORD! SPARK!”

  It was downright dizzying, as close as Cleo had ever come to a disco and near enough by far. Except this wasn’t a dance club. It was supposed to be a bookmobile. The vehicle’s name pulsated across the ceiling: “BOOK IT!” Cleo tore her eyes downward and resumed her search. The shiny interior included laptops, a TV screen, and gaming consoles Cleo recognized from her grandkids’ visits.

  Where were the books?

  Cleo drove a bookmobile, an entire school bus, fitted with shelves, named “Words on Wheels.” Here, she saw no spines, smelled no scents of paper and ink. Cleo released the doorframe and stepped farther inside. Ah, there was a book. A beleaguered copy of Gone with the Wind propped up a window. Cleo turned away.

  “Isn’t this delightful!” exclaimed the man beside her. Mercer Whitty clasped bony hands, sounding as giddy as the children running around outside. The kids had the excuse of sugar overload. BOOK IT! had arrived with accompaniments more suited for a carnival than a mobile library: a cotton candy machine, buckets of suds and giant bubble wands, and—most astounding—a miniature pony named Lilliput. As if on cue, the little horse neighed. Kids squealed, and words that made Cleo shudder sliced through the din: Lilliput, no! Don’t eat the book!

  “Delightful?” Cleo repeated.

  “Thrilling,” Mercer declared. He unlocked his thin fingers only to clap and clasp them once again. He beamed at the woman to his left.

  Fresh shock shook Cleo. Mercer Whitty, president of the Catalpa Springs Library Board, was not a man given to thrills. Although only in his early sixties, Mercer seemed ages older, as stiff and serious as an antique portrait. Small and slight, he wore his usual outfit of fastidious pinstripes and a polka-dot bow tie. Something scaled—snake, alligator, or armadillo—had perished to produce his shoes. Cleo eyed him, thinking he resembled an amphibian. A snapping turtle with a beak of a nose, a chin tucked tight to his chest, and a tongue twitching to lash out.

  “Simply stunning,” Mercer continued, head shaking in apparent awe. “Don’t you agree, Cleo?”

  The question challenged Cleo’s manners. She could hear her dear, departed mother, and generations of southern ladies before her, issuing that most trite but true adage: If you don’t have anything nice to say, shush your mouth.

  “Well …” Cleo patted her fluffy white hair, buying some time.

  Two pairs of eyes watched her. Mercer’s narrowed toward his beak. The other set sparkled with pearly eye shadow and belonged to Mercer’s invited guest, Belle Beauchamp, driver and self-proclaimed innovator of the book-lacking BOOK IT! Belle and the Airstream hailed from Claymore, a neighboring town to the west. Their reputations preceded them through the local librarian grapevine.

  Belle had recently retired from corporate branding—at the young age of fifty-something—and moved back down from Atlanta to be near her aging parents. Retirement hadn’t suited her, so she’d rebranded herself, creating the title of “outreach innovator” and convincing the Claymore library to hire her. Her first big act was starting up a bookmobile.

  Cleo fully understood Belle’s issues with retirement. Cleo had tried retirement too. Twice. It hadn’t suited her either. She also understood the joy of bookmobiles. Cleo planned to keep driving Words on Wheels for as long as her eyesight and the DMV allowed. She adored the open road and the wind in her hair. Most of all, she loved delivering books to all those who depended on the mobile library.

  Belle leaned in expectantly. Her platinum hair shimmered in a sleek, asymmetrical bob. Her perfume smelled of musky lilacs. “Well, what do you think? Isn’t BOOK IT! the cutest?”

  “It’s very … uh … very bright,” Cleo said. “Bright and uncluttered.” There. She’d said something nice and hadn’t fibbed.

  “Aren’t you a doll!” Belle slapped Cleo’s shoulder. “That’s exactly what I’m going for! Streamlined. Fresh. Like you say, I didn’t want to clutter it all up with too many books.”

  “I didn’t say—” Cleo protested.

  Mercer cut her off. “Yes, take note, Cleo. New. Fresh. Exciting! We in Catalpa Springs could learn a thing or two from this marvelous bookmobile. You’re an amazing woman, Ms. Beauchamp.”

  Belle rewarded him with an affectionate arm squeeze and deemed him a honey doll.

  Cleo awaited his snap. Mercer loved to mock phrases lacking literal sense. He preyed on common, benign idioms and endearments. Honey doll would surely make a sweet target. Cleo waited. Mercer wasn’t snapping. “GLOW!” in pink light flashed across his gaunt cheeks. Underneath, Cleo could swear that Mercer Whitty really was glowing. The man was blushing!

  “Oh, no, no,” Mercer stammered. “I’m honored. We’re honored. Honored you accepted my invitation to join us today, Ms. Beauchamp, and bring such verve to our dull little bookmobile event.”

  The music covered Cleo’s huff. Mercer wouldn’t have noticed anyway. Cleo marveled. Could it be? Could cold-blooded Mercer Whitty be smitten? He was laughing—giggling—at something Belle said.

  Cleo had seen enough. “This is lovely, but I shouldn’t keep you. I need to get back to Words on Wheels.”

  “Why?” Mercer’s grin twisted into a mean smirk. “You don’t seem to have many patrons. All the more reason to stay and learn. Look at the crowd Ms. Beauchamp has attracted.”

  Cleo bit her tongue.

  Belle waved a flirty hand. “Y’all are so sweet!” she said. “I’m blushing!”

  It was Mercer who was aflame. “You know, Ms. Beauchamp,” he said, fingers twining. “The Catalpa Springs Library has a job opening. We’re looking for a woman with just your exciting skills.”

  Cleo had been backing toward the exit. She stopped. “Just a part-time position, nothing exciting,” Cleo said quickly, although she considered all library work a thrill. �
�We need someone to fill in hours. Our library is reopening soon. I’ll still be head librarian, but I’ll be on the road a lot with Words on Wheels. We have another part-time librarian returning, and we recently promoted my assistant, Leanna. She’ll become full time when she graduates from college in a few years. She’s studying library sciences and technology, and taking extra classes to get done early.”

  Cleo could gush on. She was proud enough to burst, picturing young Leanna taking over the library helm, the perfect protégé to carry on Cleo’s legacy. Leanna had overcome a tough childhood. She’d bounced about in foster care, with only one place she’d always called home: the Catalpa Springs Public Library. In the disco din, Cleo smiled, remembering Leanna as a shy kindergartener, craning her chin up to the circulation desk to request more books. Or the many times she discovered little Leanna rehoming misshelved volumes or stepping in to help patrons. Leanna was a natural librarian, the best kind: she cared about people and books.

  Mercer made a pah sound. Cleo had heard the same noise emitted from vultures. “She’s inexperienced, a girl,” Mercer said.

  “She might only be twenty-two, but she has loads of library experience and passion, and she’s acing all her classes,” Cleo countered. She held in further protests, knowing Mercer fed off getting under people’s skin. “I’m sure Belle wouldn’t be interested in our job,” Cleo said. She prayed this was true. She didn’t need a librarian who considered books clutter.

  Belle, however, did look interested. “I am in the market for new opportunities. A place I can stretch my leadership and innovation skills.”

  “You’ve come to the right place,” Mercer said.

  No, you haven’t, Cleo thought. Then, however, she reconsidered. If Belle wanted to butter someone up, she’d definitely come to the right man. As board president, Mercer had sway over the other members and the library’s budget. He also had buckets of old money and a family foundation through which he dribbled small grants to causes that appealed to him and people he liked. He definitely liked Belle.

  “We already have new directions at the library,” Cleo said, both to remind Mercer and to dissuade Belle. Cleo embraced new technology and trends. But she also held certain traditions sacred. The reading room was quiet. Books filled the shelves and were handled with respect. “Our plans are well on their way. We’ll be brand new and freshly reopened soon.”

  Cleo’s stomach fluttered, thinking of all there was to do. Last spring, a toppled tree had shuttered the library. A shifty mayor had then almost shelved the institution permanently. However, thanks to a new mayor, an unexpected inheritance, and loads of work, the main library was about to be back in business. The grand reopening was just over three weeks away. Cleo and Leanna planned to throw a big party. The whole town was invited, and Cleo wanted everything just so, from the restored shelves to the technology station Leanna had designed. Cleo took a deep breath. They had it all arranged, a fine, sensible plan.

  Cleo continued on. “Our part-time position entails shelving, checking books in and out, and helping patrons. I’ll still be in charge of the day-to-day operations of the library and the bookmobile. Leanna will be managing some library-science interns from the college.”

  Mercer snorted. “How dull.”

  Belle shrugged slender shoulders covered by a red suede jacket. “That’s a pity. I always say, going with the flow doesn’t break the mold. I like to break the mold.” She winked at Mercer and added, “But then I can be a little naughty.”

  If Mercer were a puppy, he’d be a puddle of wags and wiggles. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said breathlessly. “Cleo, with you out of the way driving that bus, it’s a perfect time to break the mold. We can change up the old ways in the main building. Yes, yes …”

  Old ways? Out of the way! Cleo had heard enough. In tight yet sugary tones, she thanked Belle for the tour and bolted.

  * * *

  The bouncy dance tune grated on Cleo’s ears but made her feet tap. She stood on the top metal step of BOOK IT! The chilly breeze helped clear her head. The familiar view grounded her. Fontaine Park, the leafy heart of her hometown, looked lovely. Early camellias bloomed in ruby and cream petals around pollen-gold prongs. The air smelled of wood smoke and the cinnamon scents of autumn. It was the first week of November, Cleo’s favorite time of year, a season to stock up on cookbooks for holiday meals and novels for chilly nights.

  Feeling braced by the fresh air and view, Cleo made her way down the steps. BOOK IT! stood on the park’s lawn, ruts marking its track and that of the cherry-red pickup that pulled it. Mercer was right about one thing. Belle’s bookmobile had attracted a crowd. Kids ran in giddy circles. Adults clustered in chatty groups. The little horse wore a velvet cape and hooved a periodical.

  Among the throngs, Cleo saw a familiar figure. Leanna. She spotted another welcome sight too. Books! A side panel of the camper was rolled up, accordion style, revealing two bookshelves.

  “What do you think?” Cleo asked when she reached her young protégé. She valued Leanna’s take. Leanna was up on the current library tech and trends, if not fashion, which she preferred retro. Today Leanna wore head-to-toe cable knit, from thick mustard tights to a pumpkin sweater dress. A knit band decorated with a crocheted cat face held back her honey-colored hair.

  Leanna turned to Cleo, eyes wide behind sparkly cat-eye glasses, her tone set to scandalized. “Do you see this? These books—they’re arranged by color! Spine color! And look! Look at this cover! Oh, I can’t even …”

  Cleo selected a book and quickly grasped what Leanna wasn’t able to utter. “Someone put on new covers.” Inside, the title page revealed a recent bestseller. The teal canvas reminded Cleo of a craft project she’d undertaken with her granddaughter. They’d decorated a kitchen stool with decoupage, using magazine images and pretty bits of cloth. She’d never dismember a perfectly good book.

  Leanna tapped her shoe, a shiny Mary Jane with a silver buckle. “This novel is brand new. So are the others. It’s like someone tore off the original covers and glued on canvas, for no good reason. Is this legal? Ethical? I bet not. I should ask my professor. And look at the organization. There is none! Mystery, romance, fiction, nonfiction—they’re all jumbled together. Not a Dewey decimal in sight! It’s not right!”

  “The person who designed this bookmobile is new to libraries,” Cleo said charitably. “Belle Beauchamp. She’s innovating, she says.”

  Leanna huffed. “Innovating. More like endangering. Did you see the giant bubbles the kids are making? All that sticky cotton candy? And the little horse … He’s as cute as a speckled puppy, isn’t he? But he’s eating a magazine! We don’t even allow gum onboard our bookmobile.”

  They both glanced toward Words on Wheels. The refurbished school bus stood up on the street, quiet and legally parked. Lonely, Cleo thought.

  Cleo patted Leanna’s arm. “We should get back to work,” she said. “Let’s make sure our displays are in order.”

  Leanna’s shoe tapping ended in a stomp. “That’s the worst of it. Why’s everyone over here? We have our new fall reading list and actual books. Shelf after shelf of books! Plus, our bookmobile is just as pretty. Prettier!”

  “Absolutely,” Cleo said. She thought Words on Wheels was the most beautiful bookmobile in the South, if not beyond, but then she was admittedly biased. A grandson and some of his Boy Scout pals had repurposed the decommissioned school bus. The clever boys had replaced most of the bench seats with handmade bookshelves. They’d lined the floors with squishy, colorful tiles and designed a backseat reading nook and kids’ section. The exterior was just as fun, with “READ!” painted across the brow, flanked in airbrushed flames. Along each side, cursive script in opalescent emerald paint spelled out “Words on Wheels.”

  “Our mascot is better too,” Leanna said.

  Cleo agreed with that as well. Her pretty Persian cat, Rhett Butler, lounged on the bookmobile’s hood, his fluffy orange belly aimed at the November sun.

&nbs
p; “You know how folks are,” Cleo soothed. “They’re attracted to the bright, new, and flashy. Books will always endure.”

  Leanna exhaled heavily. “You’re right, Miss Cleo. I wasn’t just fussing about the shelving and covers. It was ugly jealousy, plain and simple. Like my kindergarten teacher used to say, blowing out another’s candles will not make yours burn any brighter.”

  “Swamping another’s boat won’t help yours float,” Cleo said.

  Leanna grinned. “Be nice if it kills you!”

  A shiver shook Cleo. “Let’s not go that far.”

  Last spring had seen more than the library wounded. A patron had been murdered, and Cleo and Leanna had almost joined him in the grave beyond.

  When they reached Words on Wheels, Leanna leaned over the hood, tapping her fingernails. Rhett yawned, stretched, and deigned to saunter over for a chin scratch.

  “Who would hire a librarian with no experience?” Leanna muttered to Rhett, who purred in response.

  “Not us,” Cleo said. She wouldn’t upset Leanna by revealing Mercer’s smitten enthusiasm for Belle. There was no need. Cleo and the full board ultimately made the hiring decisions, and they’d already agreed on the skills they wanted for the extra part-time position.

  Leanna rubbed Rhett’s ears and gave him a quick kiss on his furry noggin. “Can you two hold down our patron rush?” she joked. “I have a computer delivery coming at the main library soon. Then the painter’s stopping by to test more paint colors. It’s going to be gorgeous! I can’t wait!” She glanced toward the party atmosphere. “I just hope people will come.”

  “They will,” Cleo said firmly. “Our patrons are loyal. They’re readers and library lovers. We have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

  A horn blared over her final words, rumbling low and long, like a foghorn across a watery deep. Rhett’s fur bristled. Cleo’s scalp prickled. She didn’t have to look. She knew the vehicle. She knew who’d be driving it too.