Fatal Fiction (A Book Barn Mystery)

by Kym Roberts

  “It’ll be all right. Everything works out in the end.”

  We stood there for a moment. Reliving the past. The good years. No, the great years with my mom. The hard years without her. And the healing years with just the two of us. And then the empty years we’d wasted . . . over mistakes we couldn’t take back.

  “I love you, Daddy.” I wasn’t sure, because I was blinded by my own tears, but I thought he was crying as well.

  The crack in his voice told me I was right. “I love you more, Princess. I love you more.”

  Mateo put his hand on my dad’s shoulder and my father turned away and walked out the door. Princess squealed, a sad, pathetic sound.

  This time my daddy was the one who didn’t look back, and both of his princesses were left in the dust.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, knowing I’d given the crowd around me the show of a lifetime.

  The hand on my back caused me to jump. Sugar, the waitress from the bar who’d aimed the beer at my face, stood in front of me with tears in her eyes. Her hair wasn’t big. In fact, it had a cowboy hat covering it and her makeup wasn’t heavy. Her one crooked white tooth made her seem friendly. Her outfit looked similar to mine, except her T-shirt said O.Mg—a nerdy take on the chemical properties of oxygen and magnesium. I wanted to laugh, but I knew if I started, I might lose control and never stop.

  “Everything is going to work out, just like Bobby Ray said,” she assured me.

  I sniffed and took a tissue that magically appeared in front of me. I looked up into the eyes of Mary and her daughter Aubrey.

  “She’s right.” The hairdresser’s voice sounded like more gravel had been added to the mix since that morning at Scarlet’s beauty salon.

  I saw the big antique mailbox for my daddy’s defense fund was being passed through the crowd. Person after person dug in their pockets, wallets, and purses and added to the fund. My brow wrinkled and I knew I was on the verge of losing it again.

  They weren’t here to get the latest gossip or gawk and make fun. They’d been shocked into silence when Mateo put the cuffs on my daddy—and I’d yelled at them.

  “I’m sorry,” I croaked.

  Scarlet, appropriately enough, was the first one to comment. “Sawl-right.” I couldn’t help but smile. Everyone laughed.

  Cade made his way through the crowd. “I’ll go see what I can do for Bobby Ray,” he said.

  I hated to say it, but my dad needed an attorney, and there was only one in town. “Don’t you think we should get your daddy involved?” I asked.

  Cade grinned. “No need.”

  “But . . .”

  “I’m an attorney, Princess.”

  “You are?”

  “You don’t think the town would be stupid enough to vote for him if he wasn’t, do you?” This time it was Coach Purcell adding to the dialogue. I had no idea when he’d arrived, but I honestly didn’t care. These people were my dad’s friends—my friends.

  I hesitated, and another laugh rose through the crowd.

  I sniffed and smiled. “No, sir, I don’t. But I want to come with you,” I insisted.

  Cade shook his head. “Bobby Ray is on a seventy-two-hour hold. The only visitor he’s entitled to see is his attorney.”

  I swallowed down the lump threatening to strangle me. Cade rubbed my biceps, his smile barely tipping up the corners of his mouth. “He’s going to be okay. I’ll let you know what’s going on.”

  I nodded and he turned and went out the door.

  The rest of the day I rang sales behind the counter. Scarlet brought cookies from the bakery and Sugar stayed to serve and sell bottled drinks in the tearoom. I’ll admit, I watched her closely. The last thing I needed was a drink to be thrown on one of my customers, but to my relief, Sugar behaved.

  Somehow word spread throughout the day and it was like the entire county came out to support the store and my dad. Although most of them searched through the used books on the second floor like it was a treasure hunt, they still bought one or more books and deposited generous donations in my dad’s defense fund.

  By the time The Barn closed, I was exhausted and ready for bed. I still hadn’t heard from Cade and was more than a little on edge. I locked up the front door and balanced the register. We’d made almost four hundred dollars in sales and I’d emptied the defense fund jar twice throughout the day, stuffing the money in a grocery bag under the counter. I grabbed the bag of money I had yet to count and made my way to the back room. I planned to stash the money until I could deposit it in the bank in the morning. As I opened the curtain, something scurried in front of me and hit my feet. I yelped and tripped, falling into a stack of boxes. I was down on the floor before I could blink.

  Princess came over and twitched her nose in my face.

  “Fuzz buckets! You’re the biggest rat in the state of Texas, Princess.” She nudged my hand and walked over to scoot around the money I’d scattered all over the floor.

  But I had my mind on other things. Mostly that I was in the spot Marlene had died. And partly I was thinking about cooties—the dead body kind.

  I rolled away, knocking the teetering boxes over on top of me, trapping me on the spot even more. I struggled to stand up and, in doing so, moved the last box away from the shelving unit and found myself looking directly at the store’s safe. The one I’d been trying to locate for days.

  I pushed the last box aside and hopped to my feet. Brushing imaginary or real germs off my body, I pushed aside books, boxes, and money with my feet and cleared a path to the safe’s door.

  “Why in the world would Daddy put it in here?” I asked no one in particular.

  Princess scurried away, no doubt ready to go out for the night through her pet door in the back of The Barn.

  Turning my attention to the safe, I tried the combination I still remembered from my youth, mostly because it was my birthday and my mom’s combined. The safe opened on the first try. The contents, however, had me stumped.

  The safe was a sizable lockbox, three feet tall and three feet wide. It sat at least as deep and stuck out from the shelves. It would have taken forever to move, even if my dad used the three-wheeler. And yet, it appeared as if he’d wanted to hide it the way he’d had boxes upon boxes of books stacked around it to keep it hidden from view.

  All of that effort to hide even more books inside. It didn’t make sense.

  Until I got down on my knees and took a closer look. They weren’t just any books. Like the two Scott Duncan had taken, these books were old—and also authored by Teddy Roosevelt. Leather bound with rich gold lettering, the first book I removed took my breath away when I opened it. Although it was thin, The Strenuous Life was a collection of essays written by the President about how to have a successful political and personal life. And it was dedicated to the president’s son, Quentin Roosevelt, who’d died in France during the first World War. There, in clear but slightly faded ink below the dedication was the signature of the twenty-sixth president of the United States. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  I moved on to the next book and found a fourth book by Roosevelt, entitled Big Game Hunting in the Rockies. The topic didn’t interest me in the least, the photographs even less, but the inscription to a Mary Alice Bradshaw, offering her his kindest regards, was signed again with that signature I was beginning to recognize: Theodore Roosevelt.

  “How in the world did you get these books, Daddy?”

  Obviously, he didn’t answer. I finished pulling out several more books, all by presidents, all first or limited editions, and all signed. Just looking at them made my heart palpitate.

  The curtain swished open and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  “Geez Louise, Cade. You should know better than to scare me like that.”

  A smile turned up the corners of his mouth, but then they flatlined when he saw the books in my hands. “What are you doing with all the dead presidents?”

  “What?”
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  He wasn’t the least bit put out. Instead, he repeated his question. “I’m going to ask you again. What are you doing with my father’s dead presidents collection?”

  “They’re not all dead.”

  “They were before he added the one by Carter.”

  I looked at the books. Abraham Lincoln, John F. Kennedy, Richard Nixon, and Jimmy Carter were there with Theodore Roosevelt. “Anyone looking over my shoulder would know that,” I argued. Poorly.

  “A Strenuous Life is dedicated to Roosevelt’s son. Big Game Hunting is dedicated to Mary Alice Bradshaw. Abraham Lincoln’s is simply signed and John F. Kennedy’s and Jimmy Carter’s are signed ‘to my mother.’ Nixon’s is signed ‘to my father.’”

  “I get it. You’ve seen these before.” I put everything down carefully on the floor and stood up.

  “I haven’t just seen them. They’re part of my parents’ estate. So could you please explain to me why you have them?” Cade folded his arms across his chest.

  I decided it was time to come clean. He was after all my father’s attorney. “They were in my dad’s safe.”

  Cade nodded. “The Roosevelts, Nixon, and Carter.”

  “And both Bushes and Obama,” I added, pointing to the other three books on the floor.

  “Nothing from Harrison or Washington?”

  “George Washington?” I said incredulously.

  Cade’s voice was steady. “The one and only.”

  I shook my head, wondering what I would have done if I’d seen George Washington’s signature.

  Cade looked troubled. “At least he didn’t take the most expensive ones.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”

  “Look, I’ve known your dad for many years. I know he’s not capable of murder. But I know my dad just as well—even better when it comes to finances. And I can tell you, J. C. Calloway Senior is not capable of giving up anything worth that amount of money. Not to someone he likes, let alone a man he barely speaks to.”

  It was my turn to cross my arms and tighten my jaw. “What exactly are you saying, Cade Calloway?”

  He stopped pacing and looked me straight in the eye. “I’m saying that you’re in possession of stolen property.”

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “My father would have told me if he’d sold his collection. And I seriously doubt he’d use The Book Barn Princess as a broker to sell them. Let me take them back to my father and it will stay between the two of us.”

  “Wait . . .” I held my hands out to stop him from coming closer. Cade listened while I tried to figure out things that just weren’t adding up.

  “What if Marlene took these?” I asked.

  “How?”

  Frustrated, I raised my voice an octave. “I don’t know. The same way you think my daddy did?”

  “Okay, what if?” Cade waited for me to come up with an answer.

  I snapped my fingers and smiled. “Scott Duncan was caught taking books out of The Barn last night. What if he was working with Marlene and the two of them stole them from your parents? Then, after Marlene died, Mr. Duncan was trying to get all the books back?”

  Cade hesitated, thinking about what I’d said. “What books did Scott take?”

  “The African Game Trails by Theodore Roosevelt, volumes one and two. Marlene was also cheating on my dad with Mr. Duncan,” I added.

  Apparently, that was something Cade hadn’t heard before. “What makes you say that?”

  “Scarlet heard talk at the beauty shop.”

  “We know firsthand how false gossip can spread in this town.”

  “Except I verified some of it with Dean McAlister.”

  “Dean?”

  “Yeah. The gossip was that Marlene was cheating on my daddy with Dean, Mr. Duncan, and Mike Thompson.”

  Cade was surprised by my revelation but had trouble with one name in particular. The same name I couldn’t wrap my head around.

  “Mike Thompson? Come on . . .” he said.

  “He has the best hair in town and, according to Joe, he sings like a dream.”

  “I suppose.” Cade still looked skeptical.

  “Anyway, Dean said Marlene was like him: unable to commit to one person. So what if Mr. Duncan stole the books and Marlene was hiding them here at the store? But then my daddy found out about the two of them conducting more than business and made Marlene return the books. That would tick Mr. Duncan off enough that he just might kill Marlene and take the books for himself.”

  Cade was shaking his head before I finished.

  “What?”

  “You’re reaching mighty far, Charli. There’s no evidence—”

  “There’s no evidence against my daddy either,” I argued. I stopped when I saw the expression on his face. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “There is evidence against Bobby Ray.”

  “What? The fact that he was the last one to see her alive? That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “There are four sets of DNA on the belt that was wrapped around Marlene’s neck. Hers, yours, your daddy’s, and a fourth belonging to an unidentified person.”

  “But that’s it! It’s Mr. Duncan’s.”

  Cade shook his head. “I suspect it’s my DNA.”

  “How could your DNA . . .” I remembered the night in his car, when he’d wrapped up my hands. It obviously showed on my face.

  He smiled sadly. “Yeah, I liked to play with your belt.”

  “You liked to take my belt off,” I argued. “But that was over ten years ago.”

  “A simple swab will tell.”

  “But you’re representing my father. You didn’t volunteer to give a DNA sample, did you?”

  “No, but it’s only a matter of time before Mateo asks for it. And once he does, I won’t be able to represent Bobby Ray anymore.”

  “So you’re telling me if I tell Mateo about these books . . .”

  “It’s potentially further motive for your dad to kill Marlene.”

  It was exactly what I didn’t want to hear. “Aren’t you obligated to tell Mateo about it?” I asked.

  “Eventually, I’ll have to.”

  And there it was. The truth was standing between us like a minefield ready to explode, but the only thing that would be damaged was my heart and the life of a man who wasn’t even there.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  I awoke to Princess in my face. For a moment I thought I was in the swamps of south Texas with an alligator ready to swallow me whole. I almost knocked her off the bed.

  “Fuzz buckets, Princess. You nearly scared the living daylights out of me.”

  I squinted, noticing the sun hadn’t come up. The only light in the room was from the moon and the alarm clock. Princess twitched her nose and tossed her head, as if she was telling me to follow her, then moseyed down to the end of the bed where I couldn’t see her and dropped to the floor with a thud.

  There was a second thud that made my eyes nearly pop out of my skull. It’d come from inside the store. I jumped up and grabbed my daddy’s baseball bat, which I’d hidden underneath the bed. I looked down, expecting Princess to take the lead as she’d done the last time someone was sneaking around, but this time she seemed to be waiting for me.

  “Thanks for nothing,” I muttered.

  She chattered back and I got the distinct impression she was telling me to be thankful she’d woken me at all.

  I had to give her that. “I do appreciate you waking me. I just wish you’d done it before whoever that is arrived.”

  I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911 as we walked through the kitchen.

  “911, what’s your emergency?” asked a deadpan voice on the other line.

  “There’s a burglar inside The Book Barn Princess at 127 Main Street, Hazel Rock.”

  “Are you calling from inside the store?”

  “No, I’m calling from the adjoining apartment,” I whispered. Princess and I were approaching the bookcase in
my dad’s bedroom when a thud on the other side made her jump straight up in the air.

  Irritated, I swung my hand at her, wishing she’d knock it off. She squeaked and toddled off in the opposite direction.

  So much for backup.

  “Do you have deputies close?” I asked.

  “They’re at least ten minutes away, at an accident scene on Highway 287.”

  Another bump in the night made my heart skip. I knew the officers wouldn’t get there in time. Whoever was in the store sounded like they were moving toward the stairs at a fast rate.

  “They need to get here now, ’cause whoever it is, is leaving.”

  “Ma’am, do not—”

  I clicked off the phone. There was no way that scumbucket was going to get away again. Not in my lifetime.

  I slipped the phone down the front of my tank top and cringed as it dropped to the floor. I froze and listened to the silence on the other side of the bookcase. I could picture my burglar standing at the top of the steps, waiting for me to walk away.

  “Not a chance, scumbag!” I yelled.

  I pushed the bookcase door open. It stopped abruptly and I ran into the wall, smashing my nose with the bat. “Son of a schoolmarm!”

  I heard footsteps on the stairs in the bookstore and then someone stumbling and rolling down to the bottom with a splat. I pushed on the bookshelf again, ready to do whatever it took to bring the killer to justice and save my dad. The shelf gave an inch. Not even enough for me to get my fingers through to flip the light switch and see enough to identify the burglar.

  I pushed again but got nowhere. Then the bell on the side door of The Barn began to jingle. I turned around and ran through the bedroom and out to the living room. Once I finally got the door open and stepped outside, I heard the gate slam and saw a shadow run in the direction of the river. I flew down the steps. Literally hanging on to the railing with one hand, I was on the ground in three hops. I rounded the railing and ran toward the backyard, my bat ready to whack the SOB straight to detention.

  I finally got a glimpse of his shadow and was surprised by his size. He was shorter and rounder than me but was moving like a track star. I picked up my pace but felt as if I’d already run a marathon. Inhaling huge, deep breaths for all I was worth, I swore at that elliptical back in my apartment in Denver that had made me believe I was cut out for this type of activity.