by Josie Belle
“Wait, stop!” Joanne ordered.
Claire hovered over the cake and looked at her with wide eyes. “What?”
“Shouldn’t we sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Ralph?” Joanne asked, and then her lips parted in a teasing grin.
“Oh, you.” Ginger tossed a napkin at Joanne and they dissolved into giggles.
Claire gave them a small smile and started to serve up the cake. It was a chocolate cake with a raspberry mousse filling and vanilla buttercream frosting.
“Hmm-mm,” Ginger said. “Ralph has good taste.”
Once they finished their cake, Maggie cleared the box away, and they straightened the table and settled down to business.
“Now, who needs housewares?” Maggie asked. She held up a flier for the local appliance store.
“I need a new range,” Joanne said. “But I’m waiting until Spencer’s has the one I want in an already opened box.”
“Smart,” Ginger said. “Roger picked up a digital camera that was in an opened box, and they took off twenty-five percent.”
“I do love the open-box policy. Too bad more people don’t return their stuff,” Maggie said. “Okay, moving on. Who is going clothes shopping over the Labor Day weekend?”
All of the ladies nodded, but Ginger looked pained. “All four boys need back-to-school sneakers.”
The group groaned in sympathy. Ginger’s boys were not small, and their shoe requirements would cost more than the entire group’s clothing bills put together.
“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.
Chapter 4
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 jack
et 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.
Chapter 5
“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.
Maggie studied his face. She didn’t know him. She’d lived in St. Stanley all her life and knew most everyone by reputation if not personally, and she found it disturbing that this strange man had been stabbed and bled to death in her town library, and she had no idea who he was.
“Come on, Maggie, there’s nothing you can do for him.”
“Should we just leave him here?”
“Well, I don’t suppose he’s going anywhere,” Preston said.
Maggie shook her head. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
She paused, her attention caught by the book lying beside the man. She noticed the cover of the book was well worn with age and use, but the title was printed in large letters and read, The House of Mirth. Yeah, not so much.
She led the way back up the stairs to Claire’s office. She called the sheriff’s office, proud that her fingers only shook a little and her voice only quavered on the word body. When the deputy was done taking the information, she hung up, feeling a little sick to her stomach.
“Miss Claire, are you all right?” Preston asked. He had placed her on the old brown couch that ran the length of her office wall.
She made a whimpering noise, and he turned a helpless gaze toward Maggie. Preston was a whiz at fixing all things mechanical, but give him a person hurt or in tears and he was rendered helpless.
“Claire, can you hear me?” Maggie moved to stand beside the couch. “Claire.”
She gently patted Claire’s cheek, and her eyelids fluttered open. Behind her glasses her hazel eyes looked unfocused but, as Maggie watched, Claire slowly took in her surroundings and remembered what she’d seen.
“What happened…wait, is he dead?” she asked. Her voice sounded hoarse, as if her scream had done some damage on its way out of her mouth. She sat up, looking pale and shaky but determined.
Preston handed her the metal water b
ottle she kept on her desk, and Claire twisted off the top and took a small sip. She swallowed carefully as if afraid it might hurt or refuse to go down.
“Yes, he’s dead,” Maggie said.
Claire looked as if she might faint again, so Maggie gripped her hand and squeezed it hard. Claire squeezed back, whether in gratitude or to make her stop, Maggie wasn’t sure, so she eased her grip.
“We called it in to the sheriff’s office,” Maggie said. “They should be here any minute. Preston, would you mind blocking the hall so that no one gets through until the sheriff gets here?”
“Sure,” he said. He gave Claire a concerned look, but left without questioning her.
Claire got up on unsteady feet and began to pace the room. She looked as if she was trying to stay in motion so she could outrun the bad images that were dogging her in her mind.
Maggie watched her friend with concern. She didn’t know what she could say that could make the grisly scene in the basement any better. A man was dead, obviously stabbed here in the library. This sort of thing just didn’t happen in St. Stanley.
But when Claire passed by her for the fifteenth time, Maggie thought she ought to at least try to talk her down.
“It’s all right, Claire, really. The sheriff will be here any second, and he’ll take care of this. I know that Carlton is on vacation, and as acting library director, this is something you’re going to have to sort out, but really it’s the sheriff’s problem not yours. Everything will be all right. You’ll see.”
“It’s not all right,” Claire moaned as she sat down. “It’s never going to be all right.”
“Oh, honey, I know this was a bit of a shock…” Maggie began, but Claire interrupted her.
“No, you don’t understand. The man, the dead man, I know him. I used to date him.”
Chapter 6
“You used to—” Maggie began, but Claire hushed her as Sheriff Sam Collins strode into the room.
Maggie felt the air catch on her inhale in a hiccupy gasp that was impossible to turn into a fake cough or even a sneeze. Sam Collins stopped halfway across the room, looking as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
