Death In The Stacks: An Elinor & Dot library mystery

by Linda S. Bingham

  Dominating one wall of the study was an array of black boxes, tangled cords, and winking lights. A slight hum indicated that something was running. Lucy leaned forward and touched the mouse. The screen came to life. A window opened and the cursor blinked. It wanted a password. Of course Patrick would protect his precious database!

  She left the room, hoping the computer would return to its slumber before her husband found out she had been snooping. She stood in the kitchen, staring into the abyss of the sink macerator, pondering. What to do? She had to be relieved of this uncertainty. After a few moments, she knew what to do. Opening a drawer, she took out her longest, most fearsome kitchen knife. She wrapped a dishtowel around the blade to avoid cutting herself, grabbed her purse, and headed to the carport.

  *****

  In a scene reminiscent of Judith Weathers’ arrival at Betty Blanton’s office earlier that day, Rexie Roberts’ yellow Suburu seemed to materialize abruptly in the storefront windows of Patrick Allen Childers’ office. He was alone there, idly thumbing through a series of images on his cell phone. He had already sent his secretary home for the day, but was staying late himself for an appointment. Noticing the purpose in Rexie’s stride, Patrick experienced a frisson of misgiving.

  “Rexie?”

  “You little pipsqueak!” she said, surging through the reception area into his office.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “I am so ticked at you, Patrick! You used that information I gave you to have Guy arrested for murder. You know good and well he didn’t murder that lady.”

  “I don’t know that. The police don’t know that. What makes you so sure you know?”

  “Do you think I would date a man who was capable of stabbing a woman to death? Guy is a pure and innocent being. I would’ve stayed with him if it weren’t for the toxic chemicals. Don’t touch that thing!” Rexie snatched the phone out of his hand before he could stop her.

  “Give that back, Rexie. You can’t just go grabbing people’s things.”

  “Don’t lecture me, Patrick. You need to start paying attention when people talk to you. What’s on this thing anyway?”

  “Give it back!”

  Patrick Allen Childers leaped for the phone, but Rexie, with her superior height, extended her arm above her head and kept it beyond his reach. Whether she intended to or not, the phone came to life, displaying the image he had been looking at. Rexie squinted at the screen.

  “Is that Buck Weathers? Did he know you took his picture?”

  “Give it to me!”

  “That’s how you knew Judith Weathers was watching my place of business—you were spying on her. Patrick, are you a blackmailer?”

  “Good grief! How could you think such a thing? It’s not what you think.”

  “Explain it to me.” Rexie stuck his phone down the front of her form-fitting exercise top, where, lodged between her breasts, he dare not try for it. She sat down in the client chair as if she had all night.

  Patrick sighed and sat down also. “It’s just a thing I do, my little database. I started keeping it that first campaign. Maybe it has gotten a little out of hand.”

  “It makes you feel tall,” Rexie said with a flash of insight.

  “Not that I’m aware.”

  “Yeah. That’s what it is. You have that short man thing going.”

  “I believe you mean a Napoleonic complex,” he said stiffly.

  “Whatever. I recognize that woman with Buck Weathers. It’s the lawyer whose office is across from the library. When did you take that picture?”

  “If you owned a cell phone, you’d know it records the exact…”

  “Well I don’t, so just tell me.”

  “One o’clock or so. I had an appointment halfway to Arkansas this morning, and on my way back, I stopped at this little barbecue joint up in the mountains to pick up some ribs so Lucy wouldn’t have to cook tonight. I was headed to the men’s room when I spotted those two in a back booth. They never saw me. That’s Judith Weathers’ divorce lawyer, in case you don’t know. At the very least, the lady’s loyalties are conflicted.”

  “I thought she was a lesbian.”

  “I thought she was, too.”

  “Well, it’s none of my business. And none of yours either, Patrick. I’m going to do you a favor and take this phone away for twenty-four hours. Consider it a first step in breaking your addiction.”

  “Rexie, please don’t. I beg you!”

  “You’re going to thank me for this, Patrick. If I weren’t your friend, I wouldn’t bother, okay? Now you agree to this intervention or I’m going to have to tell your wife what you’ve been up to.”

  “Don’t involve Lucy. Please don’t, Rexie! Lucy is… fragile.”

  “Your wife is in my organic exercise class. I guess I would know if she was fragile.”

  “She’s emotionally fragile.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Rexie tapped her chest where the phone was lodged. “Twenty-four hours unplugged, and see how much better you feel.” Her nose wrinkled. “Those ribs really stink. You should consider vegan alternatives, Patrick.”

  “One addiction at a time,” he muttered.

  He watched her get in her car, carrying away his lifeline to the world. He didn’t even have a clock on him now. He looked up and down High Street for any sign of the client he was waiting for. There wasn’t a car in sight. In fact, downtown seemed utterly deserted. Everybody was at the Little Rays of Sunshine banquet. Too bad they didn’t let candidates speak. He had waited as long as he could. Returning to his office for the sack of barbecue, he noticed that Rexie was right about the porky funk in the room. He hoped it hadn’t gone bad in this heat. Maybe he should’ve put them in the office refrigerator.

  Turning out lights as he went, Patrick Allen Childers exited the building into the alleyway where his car was parked. The sun had set and shadows were deep between the old red brick buildings of downtown. He started the engine and flipped the AC blower to high to quickly cool down the interior. Suddenly a figure appeared at the window beside him. He rolled down the glass.

  “I know what you’re up to,” Patrick said. “You won’t get away with it.”

  A blade gleamed, twisted, and Patrick Allen Childers hugged his steering wheel.

  *****

  Elinor was almost home when she spotted a small yellow car broken down beside the highway. It was Rexie Roberts. Thinking of the ills that can befall a woman with car trouble, Elinor pulled in behind and got out to offer her help. Rexie was poking at a cell phone.

  “Oh, hi, Mrs. Woodward. Do you know how these things work?”

  “Are you trying to make a call?”

  Rexie handed the phone to Elinor. “Poor old Daffodil finally bit the wienie. I think I threw a rod.”

  “It’s not your phone?”

  “I don’t have a cell phone. I took that one away from Patrick. I just remembered I had it, but I can’t make it work.”

  “Password protected,” Elinor said, handing it back to her.

  “Then, what good is it!?” Rexie seemed on the verge of tears. “I don’t even know who I would call. Guy used to keep this heap running for me.”

  “Come to my house, Rexie dear. I’ll make you a cup of tea and we’ll figure out what to do about your car.”

  “I could use a restorative. Thank you so much, Mrs. Woodward.”

  “Bring your things. You shouldn’t leave anything in the car.”

  “It’s all right here.” Rexie fetched her gym bag from the backseat. “It’s so nice of you to stop. Honestly, I was feeling pretty rotten about the whole human race just now.”

  A moment later Elinor turned into her own driveway, for the first time since Rusty departed, not expecting the big German Shepherd mix to meet her.

  “You’ve got a really nice place here, Mrs. Woodward,” Rexie said, entering the kitchen behind her. “Are you all by yourself?”

  “Ever since my dog passed on. My niece Kate showed me a house in t
own. She wants me to move closer in, but I hate to think of leaving this place.”

  “I wouldn’t care to have a house this big, myself. I’m building my own nine hundred-square foot straw bale house.”

  “Sounds like quite a project.” Elinor put the kettle on and offered a ceramic basket of assorted teas. Rexie smelled of several packets before choosing chamomile.

  “I want to get a goat, make my own cheese,” Rexie said. “Getting my car fixed will set me back, though. No telling how much it’ll cost. I don’t even know how I’ll get up to the spa tomorrow.” She answered the question in Elinor’s eyes. “I work up at Kiamichi Lodge three afternoons a week giving massage.”

  “I paid my first visit there recently. I didn’t realize the place was so popular. Where are you building this straw bale house?”

  “On Thunderbird Ranch. Mr. Weathers sold me a lot. I only have twenty-three more payments to go. I really hate having to call my father for the money to fix my car, but I just paid the rent on my studio space.”

  “Where are you living while your house is under construction?”

  “I rent the Thompson’s mother-in-law cottage.”

  “I had heard that Floyd’s mother died.”

  “It’s only two rooms, but it’s big enough for me. They let me do light cooking. And it’s handy to my construction site.”

  “Does your father live in the area?”

  Rexie shook her head. “Back East. I couldn’t stand the pollution. I’m very sensitive to toxins. I chose Johns Valley because of the purity of the air and water.”

  “Our little town seems to have agreed with you.”

  “You used to be a school teacher, didn’t you?”

  “Indeed. And before that, a student myself at Johns Valley High. My father was the Presbyterian minister.”

  “I have a huge respect for ministers and teachers, even though I’m non-religious myself. I’m very spiritual though.”

  “Yes, I can see that. Tell me, how do you happen to have Patrick Allen Childers’ cell phone?”

  “I staged an intervention on him. He’s addicted to his electronic devices.”

  “How very brave of you.”

  “I was giving him a good chewing out when he started fiddling with that darn phone. I grabbed it away and he’s too short to do anything about it.” Rexie laughed. “You should’ve seen him jumping up and down trying.”

  “I’ve had the urge to snatch it out of his hand myself.”

  “Do you know his wife Lucy?”

  “Only from church. Very smartly put together. I imagine she spends a lot on shoes. Is she the reason you were angry with Patrick?”

  “He said… but I don’t want to gossip. She takes my organic exercise class. That kind of thing can ruin a person’s business.”

  “As a librarian, I operate under a similar imperative. I thought possibly Patrick was the one who figured out that Guy Pettibone was using an alias.”

  “I told you you’d make a good detective! That’s the reason I was so mad at him. Of course, I was mad at myself, too, for telling him that Guy dyes his hair and is older than he claims. DeWayne went in with the swat team! I can’t believe they think Guy would slash a woman’s throat.”

  “I doubt they’ll be able to prove it, Rexie. But Guy, Gary, or whatever his real name is, will have to answer for the under-aged girl he was with.”

  “Patrick had no business getting Guy in trouble like that. I said, ‘Patrick, you’re getting a time-out!’ and stuck his phone down the front of my top. He didn’t have the nerve to go after it. No telling what kind of damage he’s doing to his brain, not to mention how many people he’s ticked off who were trying to have a conversation with him.”

  Elinor laughed. “I have no love for the devices myself, Rexie, but they do come in handy when your car breaks down. I like your style. Would you allow me to lend you the money to get your car fixed?”

  Rather than go out again, it was simpler to put Rexie up in her guest room for the night.

  *****

  Elinor rose at her usual early hour, put on her walking shoes, and headed out for some exercise before the heat got too bad. Again, she missed her dog. She had always relied on Rusty to scout out ahead and warn her of dangers. Today, a rather large snake slithered across the road, helping her decide it was time to turn back. Through the trees, she could see lights burning in her house, which meant her guest was up. Rexie met her at the kitchen door.

  “Your telephone rang and rang,” she said. “I thought I better answer it. It was your friend Dot. She sounded a little upset.”

  “Oh, dear. She lives alone, too.”

  Dot answered on the first ring. “Kate couldn’t reach you. I was about to jump in the car and come see about you.”

  “Why? What’s happened? Are the children okay?”

  “They’re fine. It’s Patrick Allen Childers. Someone stabbed him in the throat last night. His secretary found him in his car this morning with the engine still running.”

  Elinor’s eyes flew to Rexie. “I’ll call you back,” she said, cradling the phone.

  “Did she say something about Patrick?” Rexie asked.

  “He’s dead. Someone cut his throat. He never got home from the office last night.”

  Eyes wide, Rexie connected the dots. “Then it couldn’t have been Guy who killed the old lady in the library.”

  Was the girl disingenuous or merely naive? Elinor was actually wondering if the mayor was alive when Rexie took his phone away from him.

  Chapter 8

  Friday, July 14

  Dot Hardwick opened the library that morning without her usual helpers. Libby was busy in her flower shop, and Elinor was being strangely oblique about her activities. Dot watched official cars come and go from the reserved spaces in front of the building. Men’s voices carried through the cinder-block wall they shared with the police station. She could only make out that they were angry, excited. It was nearly noon before Elinor’s car pulled in across the street.

  “Dot, I can’t stay. DeWayne’s waiting for me. I need you to do me a favor and scare up another volunteer to hold down the fort.”

  “Gracious sakes, Elinor. What’s going on? Why is Rexie Roberts answering your telephone?”

  “I’ll explain later. If you can’t get a volunteer, just put the sign out and lock the door. Call Kate and get her to show you Eula Wyckham’s house again. Tell her… oh, tell her you’re interested in it as an investment, a rent house.”

  “She won’t believe me…”

  “Of course she will. Kate’s rather sweetly gullible that way, and you’re very persuasive. Get into that house and get the white Bible we saw on a living room shelf. Look through it and see if there are any family birthdays, christenings, that sort of thing. Better yet, carry a big purse and slip the whole thing out. I have to go now.”

  *****

  “Congratulations,” DeWayne said. “Your nephew just got promoted to the top job.”

  “You know that’s nothing to celebrate.”

  “You said this was important, couldn’t wait.”

  Elinor laid Patrick Allen Childers’ cell phone on the blotter in front of DeWayne. “Don’t bother about fingerprints. We had no idea he would be found dead today.”

  “Childers’ phone?” DeWayne looked at the instrument as if she had laid some monstrosity in front of him. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Rexie Roberts was my houseguest last night. Her car broke down and I stopped to help. She was trying to make a call on this phone, but, of course, couldn’t because it’s password protected.”

  “Back the truck up, Mrs. W. Why would Childers give his phone to Rexie? We figured the killer took it. I’ve never seen Childers without that phone—or Rexie with one. She’s nutty about stuff like that.”

  He sounded like he knew Rexie better than Elinor had supposed, which meant that her advice to come in and volunteer a statement was sound.

  “That’s what makes her story plau
sible,” Elinor said. “Rexie took the phone away from Patrick while he was alive. You can get the details from her. I just drove her out to the salvage yard to arrange to have her car towed in. I’m hoping she can rent or borrow something to drive until she gets hers repaired.”

  “She can talk to Guy about that. I turned him loose this morning. He faces charges for messing around with a juvenile, but unless his real name’s Houdini, he couldn’t have murdered Patrick Allen Childers. Even I’m not stupid enough to think we’ve got two slashers on the loose.”

  Elinor was glad she didn’t have to point out the obvious. Their police chief looked dejected and defeated. “I take it you did not find Eula Wyckham’s laptop among the wrecked cars.”

  “Nope. We’re back to square one on the Wyckham murder, and now we’ve got another one just like it.” DeWayne opened the cell phone and tapped the screen, vainly trying to awaken the instrument. “Even if he’d had this, he wouldn’t have had a chance to call for help.”

  “A blade again?”

  “Ann Berry found him behind the wheel of his car this morning, engine running. The funny thing is, nobody reported him missing.”

  “Lucy Childers didn’t call the police when her husband failed to come home last night? That is odd.”

  “She probably called him,” DeWayne said, gesturing at the phone on his blotter.

  “We didn’t hear it ring.” Elinor thought for a moment. “For a man who was constantly seen with a phone in his hand, he seems to get few calls.”

  Just as she said this, the phone vibrated on the blotter. DeWayne grabbed it, but of course couldn’t answer.

  “Dammit!” he said. “It was muted. Lucy went to pieces when I told her. I had to call Claire Holmes to come do something with her.”

  “Lucy’s Catholic,” Elinor remarked, an aside that was lost on DeWayne, who was considering the phone again.

  “He had a sack of barbecue in his car, so we know he intended to go home. Any idea what he might’ve used for a password? Ann said he kept his calendar on here. Whoever killed him apparently knew where to find him.”