“Give it a rest and I’ll buy you a burger. Libby, can you stay long enough for us to go have lunch?”
Libby was working a pushcart nearby, reshelving books. “As long as you’re back by two. My girl has a doctor’s appointment.”
“I would’ve thought it’d be easy to pick up Eula Wyckham’s trail by now,” Dot said. “I’m usually pretty good with puzzles. Maybe I should ask some teenager to lend a hand.”
“Ask about our password puzzle while you’re at it,” Elinor said. “There’s got to be a way to get our hands on that calendar. I’m calling on Lucy Childers this afternoon. Keeping her bereavement in mind, I’ll try to broach the subject of her husband’s password.”
“She won’t know it,” Dot predicted.
Overhearing this exchange, Libby came out of the stacks. “What password are you trying to crack?”
“Ann Berry said that Patrick Allen Childers used a calendar app on his phone,” Elinor told her. “It would be helpful to know if he was meeting a client that night. We tried a few good guesses and random sequences, with predictable results.”
“I wouldn’t try too many random sequences,” Libby advised. “Some cell phones lock up for good if you enter ten or more false tries.”
*****
“Why can’t we find anything?” Dot said, stirring sugar into her iced tea. She ticked off the missing items. “Eula Wyckham’s laptop. The relatives she was searching for. Patrick’s password. Oh, yeah, and who killed them.”
“DeWayne has taken statements from three people, Guy Pettibone, Rexie Roberts, and now Buck Weathers,” Elinor replied. “I think that whoever caught Patrick in that alley knew he would be there. If he had a late appointment, it’s reasonable to assume that was the person who killed him.”
“Well, Guy had an alibi—he was in jail. The other two essentially have no alibis. It’s not good enough to say they just ‘happened to be’ at the exact time and place of two vicious murders but they didn’t do it. At the library, we only saw Rexie and Buck near the circulation desk. It doesn’t mean they hadn’t been back in the stacks. We were too busy to notice individual movements.”
“Opportunity is meaningless without motive, Dot. Buck admits to wanting to purge the photo Patrick took, but that’s not a compelling reason to kill a man. And what would Buck Weathers gain from the death of Eula Wyckham? As for Rexie, she doesn’t care enough about material things to kill anyone for financial gain. If we could just find out what kind of research Eula Wyckham was conducting…”
“If that woman was a genealogy buff, I’m a brain surgeon!” Dot declared, looking around for the wait person who should have brought her hamburger by now.
Elinor had chosen the burger joint on the interstate, rather than The Magnolia or Leasure’s in town, to indulge Dot’s infantile palate. The Sooner Drive-In drew a younger crowd. In fact, she and Dot were probably the oldest people in the room. They had taught these kids’ parents, possibly their grandparents. Dot, too, had noticed their fellow diners, in particular, Jeffrey Calender in the booth behind Elinor, as evidenced by a lowered voice.
“We do know at least one person who had a motive for murder. Janie Calender is the sole beneficiary of the Wyckham estate. That’s a classic motive.”
Elinor dismissed the idea. “Only if you know you’re going to inherit. Kate says she didn’t. In any case, the Wyckham estate is hardly worth killing for. And why take the laptop? Assuming she had it with her that day.”
“Still, Janie’s another one who was in the library Saturday afternoon.”
“She was making copies for the church cookbook. She’ll be hawking those next.”
“I disappear when I see her coming.”
“I am well aware of your strategy for evading fundraisers, Dot. You leave it to me and Libby to support all the local good causes. Anyway, the copy machine is within sight of the circulation desk, which means there was no reason for her to go into the stacks. Ah, here comes our burgers. I can’t believe it smells so good to me. I’ve got to get to the grocery store!”
It was several minutes before either of them could speak again.
“I’ll tell you something if you won’t mention it to Kate,” Elinor said.
“I think I’ve proven my loyalty,” Dot said stoutly.
“It was dark in the house when I got home last night. I kept thinking about those people getting their throats slashed and I rather worked myself into a dither.”
“Oh, Elinor, I wish you’d called. I had a case of the heebie-jeebies myself. I must’ve put away a quart of jamoca almond fudge.”
“Each to her own, I guess. I tiptoed around peering under beds.”
“You’re not inviting Rexie Roberts to come back!”
“Maybe not her, but I was thinking that having a lodger, as it were, might convince Kate there’s no need for me to move into town.”
“Rexie was at both crime scenes.”
“If that’s all it takes to prove guilt, Dot, we’re halfway there ourselves. Rexie never goes into the stacks. I’ve seen her come into the library, time and again, and head straight over to the videos. I don’t think she’s much of a reader.”
“Doesn’t matter if she went into the stacks or not,” Dot said. “Whoever killed Eula Wyckham could’ve come and gone through the back door. If they were spotted in the parking lot, they could pretend they just got there and were coming into the library. Did you happen to notice if Rexie was carrying anything?”
“Her big black gym bag. If she had Eula Wyckham’s computer in it, she wouldn’t risk bringing it back into the very place she had just escaped. And that goes for the dozen or so others in the library that afternoon. Whether or not they were carrying a bag large enough to hold a laptop is immaterial. And, by the way, Rexie had that bag with her when I rescued her from the roadside. She says she always carries a change of clothes.”
Dot raised a skeptical eyebrow. “How convenient if you happen to be a throat slasher. No more over-nighters, okay? Not till we know for sure.”
“Very well. It’s an easy request to grant. I’m not likely to run across Rexie on my doorstep again. Although I do wonder if the car she’s driving is any more reliable than the yellow one.”
“Not your problem,” Dot said firmly. “What kept you so long over at DeWayne’s office this morning?”
“With Shelby running the city, DeWayne’s not so insistent I tend to my knitting. He actually wanted to know if I thought Betty Blanton capable of helping Buck Weathers kill Eula Wyckham.”
“Well, of course she’s capable. I’ve never known a more capable woman,” Dot said.
“He wanted a woman’s assessment, Dot.”
“Imagine DeWayne wanting a woman’s opinion about anything.”
“DeWayne’s native chauvinism is beginning to crack under the public clamor to solve this case. He can’t summarily run those two in as he did Guy Pettibone. Betty Blanton knows the law and she’s got a powerful ally in Buck Weathers.”
Dot mopped her chin and hands with a handful of paper napkins. “They could’ve done it, though. Betty parks her car not far from our back door.”
“I realize that Buck’s request for microfiche that afternoon could have been a diversionary tactic. And I haven’t lost sight of the fact that Patrick Allen Childers was in the library, either. He was in the stacks. As I recall, he checked out a volume of Lincoln’s speeches. Maybe he saw something—”
“Snapped a photo of it with his damn phone is more like it,” Dot said, picking up the menu card to consider dessert. “Think I’ll have soft-serve.”
“Oh, Dot, must you?”
“I tell you what’s surprising. Those two getting together—Buck and Betty. Wouldn’t have thought she was his type. For murder or romance.”
“Yet if you saw them together… ” Elinor, rummaging in the depths of her handbag was too distracted to finish her sentence.
“What are you fishing around for?”
“My wallet.” Finally, Elin
or resorted to unloading the contents onto the table.
“Two cell phones?” Dot said. “Why do you have two of the darn things?”
“This one belonged to Patrick Allen Childers.”
Dot’s jaw dropped. “You snitched it? Elinor, you’re going to get us in real trouble one of these days.”
“DeWayne wants me to look for the charger when I go see Lucy this afternoon. And try to get the password. I’m hoping Patrick’s memory was as faulty as mine and he’ll have his passwords written down somewhere. But first, we’re off to see a man about a car.”
“That’s why you suggested burgers today! Guy’s Garage is just across the highway. I guess you want me to distract him again.”
“I think the man’s had enough distraction, Dot. Let’s get him to focus on that phone conversation he had with Eula Wyckham.”
They had to wait while Guy—or Gary, as Dot reminded Elinor—came up from the grease pit where he was changing the oil on a green Ford Focus. Dressed in a stained coverall that zipped up the front, he wiped his hands on an equally stained red shop towel and, with a toss of his head, repositioned a forelock of dark hair, which Elinor now knew owed its color to chemistry.
“I’m kinda backed up right now, ladies. Can you try me next week sometime?”
“I’m not here for an oil change,” Dot said. “Do you know my friend Elinor?”
“How do, ma’am.” He did not offer to shake hands. “Come on inside here where it’s cool.”
“Cool” was a relative term. The heat in the absurdly small waiting room assaulted them with an almost palpable heaviness.
“Sorry,” their host apologized. “The AC’s been off for a few days.” He didn’t explain that he had just been let out of jail that morning.
“Why don’t we step outdoors instead,” Elinor suggested. “I noticed a catalpa tree there at the back.” Nor did she explain how she knew there was a catalpa tree in his backyard.
And so they sought shelter from the broiling sun under a spindly tree that stood as the only natural object among an acre or so of ruined cars and farm trucks, collapsed threshing machines, rusted trailers, and red dirt.
“I suppose we should call you Gary?” Elinor said.
“Um. Yeah, I guess so.” His eyes darted from one to the other. “It seemed like a nice name, Guy.”
“And the initials fit.”
“I’ve been in the pen,” he said. “I served my time, though. I just thought it’d be nice to start fresh.”
“You might’ve thought of that before dating a high-schooler,” Dot retorted.
“Oh, listen, ma’am, I had no idea that girl was so young. She told me she was older… ”
“And you told her you were younger,” Elinor said. “Neither here nor there. I’m more interested in the conversation you had with Eula Wyckham the day she died.”
“I told the police everything I know about that, ma’am.”
Elinor ignored his implication that she had no business making him go over it again. “She called to say she was having car trouble,” she prompted.
“Yes’m. Said the ‘check engine’ light had come on.”
“Surely that wasn’t the entire conversation.”
“It’s noisy in the shop. It wasn’t what you’d call a conversation.”
“What time of day was it?”
Gary lit a cigarette and blew out a great cloud of blue smoke before answering. “I had just finished up a ring job, so it was around three, maybe four o’clock. I was snowed under, but I told her if she could drop off her car at six, a customer of mine was picking his up and I could drive her home.”
“You drive your customers home?” Dot said, surprised.
“I like to help out when I can.”
“What else did Miss Wyckham say?” Elinor asked, pulling his attention back to the subject at hand.
He shrugged. “Wanted to know if it would hurt anything if she was to drive it that far.”
“From Big Bear Mountain?”
“Well, I don’t know where she was calling from. I meant from town.”
“Did she say she was in town?”
“I think she mentioned something about running an errand, but with that big shop fan going, I couldn’t swear to it.”
“How long did you wait for her before you gave up?”
“I’ve got enough business I don’t have to stand around waiting for more. I figured she changed her mind. Poor lady. It’s a shame what happened to her. Anybody who’d think I’d do such a thing, don’t know me very well. I can’t stand the sight of blood. Makes me pass right out.”
Elinor and Dot were quiet driving back to town, each imagining the phone conversation between the mechanic and a woman with car trouble.
“That explains why she had time to go to the library,” Elinor finally said.
“She had time to kill,” Dot agreed. “I noticed when I went to the post office this morning that the last pick-up on Saturdays is six P.M. I bet she planned to drop off that vial of blood as soon as she left the library.”
“His statement doesn’t add much to our understanding, but it does answer the question of why she would drive a car that was giving her trouble to some place other than the garage. Do you have a volunteer coming in this afternoon or do I need to hurry back?”
“Don’t worry about the library, Elinor. I’d rather run the place single-handed than do what you’re about to do, talk to a grieving widow.”
“I thought I might get Claire Holmes to go with me.”
“Good idea. She’s probably used to dealing with crying women.”
“Surely no worse than dealing with a crying man.”
“Yes, but when do they ever cry?”
“My Bill couldn’t shed tears. I used to think it might be a relief to him if he could, but he’d just clench his great jaw and maintain a stoic silence.”
“They learn it young. When I used to have to paddle one of the big football boys in algebra class, he’d just turn around and grin at me when I was done.”
“The paddle, like us, has been retired, Dot. Assaulting a child with a big wooden board will get a teacher hauled into court these days.”
“It didn’t do any good anyway.”
Elinor pulled in next to the lone cruiser sitting at the curb in front of the police station. “I’ll come back if you need me, Dot.”
“No, you won’t! When you’re done with Lucy Childers, go buy groceries so you can feed me properly next time. Then go home and get some rest. Call me tonight if you get the blue willies.”
“You’re a good friend, Dot. Thanks.”
“You know, I think I feel a change in the weather.”
“Probably just your corn acting up.”
*****
Elinor made a U-turn and headed up High Street. Passing Kate’s house, she noticed Shelby’s truck backed in next to the house. At the top of High Street, before the road dropped sharply away on the backside of the ridge, she turned onto Water Street, drove past the water tower, the high school complex, and arrived at New Community Church. On Sundays, worshipers filled the empty school parking lot below, climbing a steep set of stairs to reach the sanctuary. Claire Holmes’ car sat in the space reserved for “Pastor.” Even on a Friday afternoon, hers was not the only car. True to its name, the church made its meeting rooms available to community groups.
Elinor walked through the sanctuary to a hallway at the back that connected a series of low-slung buildings housing classrooms, the nursery, administrative offices, and the fellowship hall. The pastor’s door was shut and she could hear voices inside. Opposite, Janie Calender’s door stood wide. Janie herself looked up and beamed.
“Mrs. Woodward! It’s so good to see you. To what do we owe the pleasure?” She set aside a ledger sheet she was working on as if welcoming the interruption.
“I thought you were supposed to be taking some time off,” Elinor chided.
“What would I do with myself at home all day? Would you like s
omething cold to drink? This heat is so oppressive! If only it would rain.”
“No, thanks. I just had lunch. I was hoping to catch a few minutes with Claire to go over some ideas for a little program we’re doing at the library.” Discretion dictated she not mention her real reason for seeking out the pastor. Janie Calender had her finger in every corner of community affairs. It would be only too easy to set tongues wagging.
“She’s doing pastoral counseling at the moment, but you can wait for her if you like. Here, take a flyer for our All Hallow’s Eve Festival. Yes, I’m already planning our fall schedule! I can hardly wait to shake out the sweaters and jackets. Mathew loves heading to the mountains to get a deer for the freezer.”
Elinor accepted a flyer and braced herself to be hit up for a contribution. “Thank you, my dear. I haven’t had a chance to say how sorry I am for your loss.”
“My loss?”
“Eula Wyckham. I understand you weren’t close, but she must have remembered you fondly.”
Janie’s expression cleared. “Oh, that’s right! You’re Kate Jacks’ aunt. Kate must’ve told you we listed Miss Wyckham’s house with her. Or rather, Betty Blanton did.”
“Kate wasn’t giving away a confidence. She wants me to move closer to her. She showed me several houses, including Ms. Wyckham’s.”
“I wonder you can stand the thought of giving up your beautiful place. They call that the Old Cooper Farm, don’t they?”
“That’s right. I’m probably the only person alive today who remembers the Cooper twins, girls who never married. Lived their whole lives in that one spot. Some California people modernized the house. Kate’s probably right, though. I should think about downsizing and getting a place in town.”
“There are some gorgeous old trees on the lot, but the house is probably a tear-down.”
“I’ll have to do some good hard thinking on the subject. I’m sorry I didn’t have you as a student, Janie. I had moved to Houston by the time your people came to town.”
“They were still talking about the fabulous Miss Perry.”
“Chief Ratliff forgets and calls me that sometimes.”
Death In The Stacks: An Elinor & Dot library mystery Page 16
