Fatal Fiction (A Book Barn Mystery)

by Kym Roberts

  We were behind the quilt shop when I finally heard sirens in the distance. Unfortunately, so did the guy I was chasing. His pace increased as he headed for the privacy fence at the end of the lot. If he made it over the top before I got to him, he’d be home free.

  He hit the fence with a leap almost as graceful as a deer in the moonlight. He only made it halfway over the fence, however, and struggled to hoist himself completely over.

  I poured every ounce of energy into my gait and was within an arm’s length of reaching my goal.

  I grabbed his shirt and pulled as he reached the top of the fence. The fence creaked and with a loud crack it came crashing down. So did my suspect.

  On top of me. For several minutes I saw stars. I gasped for breath that wasn’t there and felt a soft, squishy human being on top of me. He groaned.

  I could hear someone yelling my name. A light flashed before my eyes and was gone a moment later. I didn’t know if my assailant had a firearm or a knife, but his body was definitely smushing the life right out of me.

  I gasped like a fish but didn’t succeed in getting anything but a mouthful of hair. Soft, curly hair. Satiny smooth with a scent so rich it smelled like I was dying in a bed of flowers.

  Mike Thompson. I felt a sense of satisfaction that I’d figured it out but an even bigger feeling of failure that I was going to die with the secret locked inside me, unable to communicate with anyone.

  Mike groaned on top of me.

  I promptly bit down on his ear.

  He yelped and rolled off. I sucked in air like a dehydrated dog lapping imaginary water in a desert. It wasn’t pretty.

  A light shone in my eyes, causing me to blink.

  “She’s alive!” I heard Mateo say.

  “Thank God,” replied Mike. “I thought she was road pizza.”

  I pointed at the man who’d broken into my store and said, “Arrest him! He broke into The Barn.”

  The sheriff didn’t hesitate. “Mike, you’re under arrest for breaking and entering.”

  My head flopped back on the ground. As soon as I could breathe, I’d let the sheriff know it was murder, not burglary.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Mike Thompson had an alibi.

  Not for the breaking and entering but for Marlene’s murder. He’d been recording a country music album when Marlene was killed. Tonight, however, he’d been trying to steal one of the president books because he needed money to finish the record.

  When I asked him if he’d ever heard of YouTube, Mateo escorted me back to the bookstore, with Mike in tow, wearing steel bracelets.

  “Do you want to press charges?” he asked when we were seated back inside the store.

  I looked at my muddy tank top and filthy boxers. Then I looked at the broken window in my door.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said.

  “Take that as a hel—”

  “An emphatic yes,” Scarlet said as she walked in the door looking like a million bucks.

  Mateo couldn’t help staring at her and I didn’t blame him. It was either that or look down at my filthy PJ’s again. Which neither of us had any desire to do. I made my way to the counter and grabbed some hand sanitizer from under the register.

  “What are you doing up at this hour?” I asked Scarlet.

  “I heard the commotion and decided you need this more than I do,” she said and set a black and yellow Taser on the counter.

  “Put that away,” I said, pushing it back toward my friend.

  “You either take this or I bring my gun over for you to keep.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  She cocked her head and lifted her left eyebrow. “I would.”

  “We’re talking about a gun that’s registered, aren’t we?” Mateo asked.

  “Always, Sheriff. No vigilantes here,” Scarlet assured him.

  I looked at Mateo, who in turn was studiously studying his notepad, and shoved the Taser under the counter. Then I pursed my lips and growled at Scarlet, who just grinned at me in return. Obviously, I’d lost the argument before she’d crossed the street.

  “I’ll show you how to use it tomorrow. Just realize that it’s charged and fully capable of discharging if you release the safety and pull the trigger,” she said.

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “The amount of visitors you’ve had is scaring me.”

  I couldn’t argue with her there.

  An hour later Mateo had carted Mike off to the station, Scarlet had gone home, and The Barn was locked up tight, with cardboard covering the window Mike had broken. I’d taken a shower and was back in bed. Princess was the only one who had decided to stay outdoors. I couldn’t blame her. There seemed to be fewer predators outside.

  I woke up early the next morning despite being up late. My dad’s preliminary hearing was set for nine a.m., still two hours away. Instead of pacing back and forth and watching the clock tick off minutes too slowly for my sanity, I went down to the bookstore. First on my agenda was to make a sign stating we would be closed for the day in honor of Marlene Duncan’s funeral. Once that was done, I boxed up all the encyclopedias and dictionaries I could find to drop off at the high school for Mrs. Phelps. Then I got started on my last task before leaving. I got the two-wheeler and as many boxes together as I could gather up. Aubrey and Darrin had agreed to load up the memorial items that were left for Marlene at the front door and take them to the cemetery immediately following the ceremony. Unfortunately, the funeral was set for ten-thirty, so my attendance depended on the length of the court proceedings.

  A knock on the door made me jump and grab my chest. Coach was on the other side of the glass, holding two eight-foot-tall pieces of lumber. One of these days I’d stop jumping at the littlest things.

  “Good morning, Princess,” he said when I opened the door.

  “Coach, I’m sorry, did we . . .” I started.

  “I need to work with my hands today,” he explained. “The sheriff told me you needed a new pane of glass and I thought I’d start building this table. It’ll help keep me busy.”

  “I can’t stay.” I hadn’t planned on the second table even being started for several months . . . at least not until after I returned to Denver.

  “Do you mind if I stay?” he asked. “I just can’t bring myself to go to the funeral.”

  What could I say? The man had done so much for me, my dad, and The Barn. If he needed to work through his sorrow and frustration, who was I to stop him? “As long as you don’t mind being here by yourself and locking up when you leave.”

  Coach smiled as if I’d just handed him the state championship. “Deal. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. Your door will be fixed in no time flat.”

  “Thank you.” I didn’t want to tell him I could fix it myself, because honestly, finding the time was becoming a real problem.

  He patted my arm. “You go about your business and I’ll have it fixed in a jiffy.”

  Guilt made me hesitate. “I have to leave to go to court, and I was planning on going to Marlene’s service right after that.”

  Coach nodded. “I’ll lock up when I’m done. Tell your daddy I’m thinking about him.”

  “Thank you.” I hugged the big bear of a man, who turned red as a pomegranate. “Go on, now.”

  I smiled and headed for the apartment to change, which took all of thirty minutes. Wearing my black dress and a pair of black flats I’d left behind at seventeen because they’d gone out of style ten years ago, I looked in the mirror. My curls had turned out perfectly, but I’d decided to go with a more unadventurous style and wear my hair up in a tight knot at the base of my skull with a crystal comb. I finished the outfit off by tying one of my mom’s scarves around my neck.

  I couldn’t do much more to play the part of loyal, upstanding citizen, daughter of the accused.

  When I arrived at the courthouse, the parking lot was full. I parked Dean’s Honda on the street and prayed I wouldn’t get a ticket. I en
tered the courthouse, went through the metal detector, and found myself surrounded by the people of Hazel Rock. Coach and Scarlet, who was touching up Marlene’s makeup and hair for her funeral, weren’t there, but Betty the quilt maker was, along with her always-present sidekick, Franz. Dean winked as he escorted Sugar into the courtroom. She was dressed in a long floral dress that went past her knees but didn’t hide her voluptuous shape.

  Aubrey and Darrin were holding hands, looking totally freaked out by the proceedings, and Joellen came up and hugged me hello. We made our way to the courtroom as a group. When the doors opened, Cade looked up from his place at the defense table on the left.

  I counted my lucky stars he wasn’t sitting on the right.

  Cade smiled and walked over to the railing that separated the crowd from the attorneys and the defendant. Dressed in a navy blue suit and tie, his white shirt was crisp and clean. It was the first time I’d seen him as a real lawyer.

  It was kind of scary to be so grown-up.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “I spoke to your father—”

  “How is he? Is he okay?” I interrupted, too scared to wait for him to get to the point.

  “He’s fine.” Cade let his voice carry so the entire courtroom could hear. “Bobby Ray wanted you to know there’s nothing wrong with the water at The Book Barn Princess. The inspection came out better than the city water. And there are no pest issues to worry about either.”

  I smiled, appreciating his subtle way of spreading the word through town. “Thank you,” I said.

  “And I owe you an apology. It seems my dad gave the president books to your father after all.”

  “He gave them to him?”

  “Apparently, my father is getting soft in his old age. He felt bad for running Bobby Ray’s only child out of town. He thought the presidents would make it up to him.”

  “I’m surprised my dad took them,” I said.

  “He told J. C. he was only taking them to invest in your future. I wish you could have seen the George Washington signature.”

  “Wait—what? J. C. even gave him his George Washington?”

  Cade nodded. “It seems so. Guilt can be a mighty powerful emotion. That’s what your dad wanted to take care of before he spoke with Mateo. He sold it yesterday morning.”

  I was pretty sure it hurt Cade to say that. I couldn’t imagine having a real autograph of George Washington’s and selling it.

  But my daddy had and it gave me hope for making his bond.

  The door at the side of the courtroom opened and my dad was brought out in an orange jumpsuit.

  “I’ve got to get to work.” Cade squeezed my arm and then left to talk to my daddy. I watched him lean over and whisper something in my dad’s ear, he nodded, and Cade patted him on the shoulder before sitting down.

  I finally caught my dad’s eye and he smiled, genuinely happy to see me.

  I may have blubbered a bit; seeing him in that position was pretty overwhelming. Cade looked over his shoulder and winced. Betty was beside me with a quilted hankie in no time flat.

  “All rise!” the bailiff shouted.

  Betty pulled me out of the aisle to stand in the second row with Franz. Everyone rose to their feet as the judge was announced. “The Forty-second District Court of Texas is now in session. Honorable Judge Jacob Sperry presiding. There will be no talking in the courtroom. You may be seated.”

  Everyone started to sit. I stood staring at the white-haired man in the black robe who had more wrinkles than a skinny Shar-Pei.

  “Holy crap, I thought you were dead,” I blurted out.

  The crowd gasped.

  Out of my peripheral vision I saw Cade drop his head into the palm of his hand, but I couldn’t look away from the bench.

  The bailiff took a step in my direction, ready to throw me out of the courtroom.

  No one had prepared me for this. I’d really thought the man was dead.

  But he wasn’t. The judge looked over the top of dark-framed glasses and stared me down.

  “I should have known you would return to Texas. Have a seat, Ms. Warren. You’re in my courtroom now.”

  I waited for the scripture, but it never came.

  Betty grabbed my arm and pulled me down into my seat. The Honorable Jacob Sperry, former sheriff of Coleman County, had my daddy’s life in his hands.

  He was screwed—thanks to me.

  Chapter Thirty

  I made it out of court and found the sheriff waiting for me at my car. He was leaning against the driver’s door, his arms folded and his legs crossed. He was the epitome of all that was good and lawful, wrapped up in one sexy uniform.

  I expected him to give me a ticket for parking illegally, but he told me he’d let it slide.

  “Then why are you here?” I asked.

  Mateo stood up straight and rubbed the back of his neck; dark circles marred his beautiful eyes. “I wanted you to know that yesterday was the hardest day of my life. I didn’t want to arrest Bobby Ray.”

  “But you did.”

  He nodded. “I did.”

  “I understand,” I said. Because I did. I’d disciplined numerous five-year-olds who I absolutely adored, in the same manner I treated the little monsters whose behavior made teaching a daily challenge. My personal feelings didn’t matter. I did what was right and fair.

  The corner of the sheriff’s mouth turned up. “It’s true,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You are a princess.” Mateo walked away, and I couldn’t help but admire his swagger.

  Everyone made it from the courthouse to the funeral home in time for Marlene’s service. It was pretty weird. The same people who had stood by me and supported my father in court were at the funeral mourning the loss of the woman he was accused of killing.

  The crowd at the funeral was a little larger, though. Scarlet, who’d understandably missed court, was waiting for me when I arrived. I didn’t envy her job in the least.

  Mr. Duncan had been released when my father declined to press charges. He sat in the front row, tears streaming down his face, and that funky cactus with the forgiveness sign attached to it taking up the chair next to him. I couldn’t help but think I was missing some private joke.

  I knew Mr. Duncan had planned on keeping the funds he made off the Roosevelt books for himself. But my dad had let it slide, so I was willing to as well, for the man who had nothing.

  I also felt horrible for my daddy. Even though we hadn’t had the opportunity to talk, I knew he’d want to be at the funeral something bad, but unlike Mr. Duncan, his bond was set at four hundred thousand, and that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Our defense fund wasn’t close to reaching forty thousand dollars. Cade had said my dad refused to use the money he’d received for George Washington’s autographed book and offered to buy the other president books back now that we knew they actually belonged to my family and not his. I told him I wanted to speak to my dad first, which I wouldn’t be able to do until later that afternoon.

  The service was nice and respectfully done. Marlene didn’t have any family, but tears were spilled and a few stories about her were told by the people of Hazel Rock.

  No one mentioned her extracurricular activities with Mr. Duncan, Dean, or Mike Thompson. Of the three, Mike was the only one who wasn’t present, and I found it ironic that Dean, the least respectable of the bunch, was the only one who hadn’t tried to rob me blind.

  After the service was over, when most people went to the diner, I decided to go for a drive. Not that I had anywhere to go, just that I wanted time to think without being interrupted or pressured. The town had had a little growth since I’d left, but for the most part it looked like home. The high school and the water tower brought back memories that made me smile. The tough ones were beginning to fade behind all the warmth the town had shown me since I returned and I realized sometimes the memories you have from childhood can be tainted by an imm
ature brain. At seventeen I probably couldn’t see the whole picture clearly.

  I headed back to the bookstore with plans to work through some of the things that were bothering me about Marlene’s death—kind of like what Coach was doing in the loft. When I arrived at The Book Barn Princess, all the flowers, balloons, stuffed animals, and crosses left in Marlene’s memory were gone from the front door. It looked rather vacant and I decided a permanent plaque in her memory was warranted.

  I entered through the side door because that was the only key I had and heard Coach hammering away on the second table for our book art classes. The man had been a godsend since I’d decided to revamp the store into a profitable business.

  I dropped my purse on the counter and walked up to the loft to see how his mourning was progressing. He was bent over as he attached the last brace for the legs.

  “Wow. That’s gonna be awesome, Coach.”

  He stood up and beamed with pride. “Woodworking has gotten me through some rough years.”

  I immediately felt bad for the vacation hours he was taking to fix the store. “I promise you, when this is over, I’ll pay you for every hour you’ve put in.”

  He waved me off and laughed. “This is what we do in Hazel Rock.”

  “But you missed the service for Marlene . . .”

  His eyes grew sad and he turned away. “I could do more good here. No one needed me there.”

  I understood. Funerals weren’t for everyone, yet I still felt bad that he had worked through the morning. “You’ve gotta be getting tired. What with practice and games, teaching in the afternoon and working here in the morning and on the weekends, how are you still going?”

  Coach got that philosophical look on his face, the one teachers wear when they’re going to impart a serious life lesson. It was a look I had yet to master, but I never had the attention of my five-year-old students long enough for it to be effective anyway.

  “I was raised to give my all. So I do,” he said as he slid his hammer into his tool belt. “Grab the other end, will you?”