The Great Catsby

by B K Baxter

  “I’ll get them on the new shelves this afternoon.”

  Walking to the back of the library to grab a cart, I couldn’t help but go over all I’d learned at lunch. Tabby Means was dead. I might not have known her hardly at all, but she was a member of my book club, and I already felt a little possessive over those members.

  Moving to New Orleans gave me the opportunity to make an impact on a community, and though it may be small, it still meant a lot to me. Already, that community was one person smaller, and I felt the loss—if not for Tabby herself, as I’d barely met her, then for the town as a whole. And for my fledgling book club as well.

  I grabbed a cart and wheeled it to the current Young Adult shelf, beginning to organize books for the move. Soon, I was pushing the cart to the new shelving unit, which could hold more books. Our budget was small, so I wasn’t sure how long it would take to fill these shelves, but it gave me a hint of hope for the future to counter the grief of earlier.

  Two days later, I was admiring my handiwork while I was re-shelving the returned books. The new shelves were neatly organized, no title out of place. I was going back for a second load of returns when the library doors opened and in walked Stanley.

  He had a stack of books in his hands, which he promptly dropped into the Returns slot that was built into the circulation desk. I waved to him, and he gave me a dopey smile and waved back, then wandered into the stacks.

  I continued working for another half hour until all the recent returns were in their rightful places. I was coming back with another cartload of books when I passed the horror section and saw Stanley perusing its selection. He pulled out a book featuring a creepy-looking tree on the front.

  I paused. “I read that one. It was good.”

  He glanced up at me and nodded.

  Abandoning the cart, I approached, pulling another book off the shelf. “This one is by the same author, and it plays off the book you have in your hand. I’d suggest grabbing them both in case we have any dark and stormy nights in our future.”

  This earned me a chuckle. I noticed he was wearing a different T-shirt than before, but it featured the same character, the one with the devil and his lolling grin. Stanley took the book from my hand and added it to a small stack he’d set on the floor beside him.

  He reminded me of myself, always tucking a book in my purse in case I had a few spare moments to read it. Or surrounding myself with stacks of unread books at home, eager to delve into new worlds and discover new favorite characters. “Is horror your favorite genre?”

  Stanley shook his head and then shrugged. He seemed to be debating something as a series of emotions paraded across his face. At last, he spoke. “I don’t know if I could say I have a favorite genre. To me, it’s more about the story than the category we assign it.”

  “Well said,” I replied, glad that I’d managed to make him open up again. Sally had given me the impression that silence was his natural state.

  I wasn’t about to waste the opportunity to chat with someone who did so little talking. Figuring that the shelves could wait, I dove into conversation with Stanley. It didn’t take long to realize that he was extremely well read. I was so engrossed in our discussion that I didn’t hear Luanne’s footsteps as they approached.

  I saw her as she turned the corner and prepared an excuse, but it turned out that she wasn’t alone. The head librarian was flanked by two men in uniform with guns on their belts.

  “Here he is,” Luanne said before turning on her heel and walking away.

  The men passed me by, making a beeline for Stanley. My jaw dropped as the shorter man pulled out a pair of handcuffs while the taller one began the Miranda recitation. “You have the right to remain silent.”

  How appropriate, I thought, slapping a hand over my mouth to keep from saying it out loud. I couldn’t believe that Stanley was being arrested right in front of me, and it was clear the situation was overloading my brain.

  “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

  I couldn’t hold back any longer. “What are you doing?”

  The taller one looked me over like I was missing some marbles. “Arresting him for the murder of Tabitha Means.”

  It took me a moment to process the words I’d heard. Murder? Char had made it seem like suicide. I could see the fear in Stanley’s eyes and it broke my heart. “You can’t arrest him without evidence. What proof do you have?”

  The taller one turned to his companion, his expression broadcasting that he wasn’t thrilled with the question. “Take Taz down to the station and start processing him.”

  Before I could protest further, he turned back to me, blocking my view of Stanley and his escort.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met yet.” His voice was like thick smoke. “I’m Sheriff Rains.” His hands were on his belt, which meant there was no opportunity to shake one.

  So this was the brother Char had mentioned. I could see the resemblance. He was taller than his sister and more muscular, but their eyes were the same, and his hair was a dark russet, not too far off from Char’s auburn shade.

  “Nice to meet you, Sheriff,” I replied when it became clear he wasn’t going to say anything else. “I’m Jade Hastings, the new assistant librarian, and I know this might get us started off on the wrong foot, but I think you have the wrong man.”

  He stared down at me, expressionless. “No offense, Miss Hastings, but you’re new around here. There are plenty of things you don’t yet understand about our little town.”

  “I might be new, but I’ve probably talked to that young man more than almost anybody in this town, so I’ll say it again. You’ve got the wrong man. What is your evidence against Stanley?”

  “I wasn’t aware that you moonlighted as a defense attorney,” he said. “But if you must know, Taz was the last one to see the deceased alive.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much proof to hang a murder on,” I countered. “Not to mention that I’d heard it was suicide, not murder.”

  The sheriff’s eyes widened at the mention of suicide. I watched as he shook his head and muttered something about his sister running her mouth under his breath. “It might have looked like a suicide, but new evidence has come to light, evidence that indicates foul play. Someone murdered Tabby Means, and since Taz was the last one seen with her and because he’s generally considered to be the town weirdo, I’m pretty confident that we got the right guy.”

  Sheriff Rains turned to go, but I followed, not willing to let this go. “The town weirdo? That’s your evidence? From what I’ve seen, Stanley is gentle, well read, and well spoken. He’s just quiet and awkward, but that doesn’t make him a killer.”

  The sheriff showed no interest as he crossed the library in a determined stride that had me jogging to keep up. I wasn’t willing to let the matter go, though. I hadn’t known Stanley for very long, but it was clear to me that he couldn’t have committed a crime like the one he’d been arrested for.

  “Tabby gave him a lift home after our book club meeting,” I said. “That’s why they were together that night, not for some nefarious purpose.”

  Rains stopped suddenly, causing me to bounce into his back and nearly lose my footing. His expression was one of annoyance. “That might be true, but it doesn’t explain why Pops Parker saw them together. If Tabby was just dropping Taz off at home, they wouldn’t have been speeding past Pop’s gas station, which is well past the turnoff to Taz’s house. So I’m afraid your explanation doesn’t hold water, Miss Hastings.”

  He started off again, and I followed, my stomach knotting. I was used to the well-ordered world of the library where everything made sense. Suddenly, nothing made sense. “Sheriff, he wouldn’t do this. My gut is telling me that you have the wrong man.”

  The sheriff had reached the doors, but he paused, looking back at me. “This wouldn’t be the first time someone’s gut has been wrong.” He nodded to Luanne, who was watching the sc
ene unfold from behind the circulation desk. “Thanks for your help, Miss Luanne.”

  “Anytime,” she replied with a perfunctory nod.

  The sheriff gave me one last look and departed without another word.

  I barely restrained myself from throwing up my hands in frustration and letting out a choice string of curses. I watched the sheriff as he walked away, thinking that the friendliness gene must have skipped one of the Rains children.

  “The book club is canceled,” Luanne said, making me turn around and face her with a look of confusion on my face.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’m not having that group meeting in my library, after hours no less. It seems the only thing that club attracts is degenerates.” She went back to scanning the returned books into the computer system, the law having been laid down.

  I took a moment to catch my breath, then headed back to the book cart I’d abandoned to talk to Stanley.

  My book club had lasted exactly one week. I’d set out hoping to contribute to the community, but all I’d created was an apparent preamble for a murder.

  “No,” I mumbled to myself. I wasn’t willing to give up so easily. Not on the book club and not on clearing Stanley’s name. Char had said this town had buried secrets.

  Maybe it was time to start digging them up.

  Chapter 5

  Nerves were turning my stomach upside down, but I did my best to ignore them as I uncorked a bottle of wine and straightened up the fruit plate I’d set out. A black and white ball of fur hopped onto the coffee table and I hurried to shoo him away from the cheese and cracker plate.

  “Go on, Chonks. You’re fat enough as it is.”

  His tail swished around in disagreement, but he jumped down, only to circle around twice and collapse on the rug, lifting his leg to lick his privates.

  “Chonks! We’re about to have company!”

  I gave up on trying to teach my cat manners when the doorbell rang. Mentally crossing my fingers, I made my way down the hall to the wide front door and opened it. Char stood on the porch, a copy of a book under her arm.

  “Hey, girl,” she said, giving me a hug. I was getting used to hugging as a form of greeting since the move. As she entered, Char looked around and let out a long whistle. “This place is massive.”

  I shrugged. “Uncle Mike loved history. I think that’s why he moved down here.”

  “He must have been ‘rich Uncle Mike.’ This much history doesn’t come cheap.”

  I chuckled at her observation. “I really didn’t know him that well. He wrote a letter and included it with his will, saying that I was the only member of the family that would appreciate the library he’d built, so he was giving it to me, along with the building that held it. Which just happened to be this old plantation house.”

  We headed down the hall, and I led her through the open double doors into the library. To me and Uncle Mike, it was the crowning glory of the house. Others might crow about the grand staircase, the colonnaded walkway wrapped in vines in the garden, or even the intricate molding, but for a librarian like me, nothing could beat the library for not only its design but also its contents.

  There were more than a couple first editions under glass in the cases beneath the windows, and the busts on the mantle above the big stone fireplace were of famous authors like Dante, Shakespeare, and Milton. The rest of the walls held floor-to-ceiling shelves, each full to the brim with books.

  A wrought-iron spiral staircase led to a second-floor balcony that ran the length and width of the room, and shelves lined those walls as well. It was like something out of a magazine with the title Luxurious Libraries of the Filthy Rich. The furniture was made of brown leather, and there were more than enough seats for the club members.

  “God Lord Baby Jesus,” Char breathed, her hand on her chest. “Don’t ever bring Miss Luanne here. She might keel over dead in front of the fireplace from envy.”

  “I don’t think we need to worry about Luanne coming anywhere near here. I think she’d rather chew nails.”

  “Nah, she does that for fun,” Char replied. We both laughed, but the pitch of Char’s laugh suddenly rose. “And who do we have here?”

  Chonks was weaving between her legs, rubbing himself against her and purring in greeting.

  “That’s Sir Chonksworth the Bold, or Chonks for short.”

  “Well, isn’t that a mouthful?” Char said, squatting down to pet his head. “But you look regal enough to deserve that moniker.” She gave him another few strokes, then sneezed twice. “Well, I may be a little allergic.”

  The doorball rang again, and I left Char with Chonks, asking her to keep an eye on the cheese. It was Sally, who greeted me with another hug. I led her into the library, where Chonks sniffed at her before butting his head into her shin.

  I thought this was a good opportunity to talk about what had happened at the public library. “Have you talked to Stanley since his arrest?”

  Sally frowned. “I visited him at the jail, but he wouldn’t say anything to me. He just sat there, head down, eyes staring at his hands.”

  “Poor boy,” Char said. “I can’t believe my brother thinks he did this.”

  “He was the last person seen with Tabby that night,” I said. “Apparently, someone named Pops saw them drive past his establishment.”

  “I don’t know why that would be,” Sally said. “Stanley lives almost a mile before the gas station. Why would he still be in the car when Tabby drove past Pop’s place?” She scowled. “Pop has to be a hundred years old by now. Maybe he couldn’t see properly.”

  “That can’t be the only piece of evidence,” Char said. “My brother might be a pain in my behind, but he’s not stupid, and he would know Pop’s ID wouldn’t be enough to hang a conviction on.”

  “What other evidence could there be?” I asked.

  Char’s shoulders lifted. “I don’t know. He’s being tight lipped since he found out I told you about Tabby before he wanted it to get out.”

  “Since all this went down after the last book club meeting, maybe tonight we’ll be able to turn up some clue of who could have really done this heinous act. I don’t believe Stanley could have.”

  Sally nodded her agreement. “Stanley might have some problems, but he’s a sweet boy who has never done an unkind thing in his life. I don’t care if they have video of him at the scene holding a sign that says, ‘I did it.’ I still wouldn’t believe it.”

  I patted her on the shoulder and headed back to the front door when the doorbell rang again. The rest of the group trickled in over the next few minutes, and soon, we were all seated in the library. Chonks made sure to grab as much attention as he could. Although he turned up his nose at a couple group members, he climbed all over others.

  I could only shrug and apologize for my cat’s rudeness. “He thinks he’s in charge.”

  Chonks looked at me with an expression that said, “And you don’t?”

  I picked him up, holding him in my lap as I called the meeting to order. I’d put some thought into how to start things off this week, but as I looked around at the women’s faces, the words stuck in my throat. Nothing seemed appropriate, neither mentioning what had happened or ignoring it. So I stuck to what I knew: books.

  “The Great Gatsby was written at a time of upheaval in an America that was facing a crisis of identity. Its struggles with morality, with excess and deprivation, are the backdrop against which our story unfolds.”

  “It sounds like New Orleans today,” Alma said in what sounded like an attempted whisper to Dinah, who was seated next to her, but was loud enough to be heard by the whole group.

  “Doesn’t it just?” Dottie asked.

  And just like that, I lost control of the conversation.

  “It’s just awful what happened to Tabby Means, isn’t it?” the elderly gossip said, her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap.

  There were a few murmured words of agreement, and at the same time, I heard Mercy grum
ble that “awful” wasn’t the word she’d use to describe it.

  I tried to regain some semblance of order, but the women were talking over one another and paying me no attention. Chonks hopped down from my lap and padded across the floor, his fluffy tail like a flag announcing his departure.

  “What I want to know is, were Taz and Tabby having an affair?” The question from Mercy caused everyone to quiet down.

  “Everyone knows there’s something wrong with that boy,” Alma said with a sniff.

  Sally was quick to defend her employee. “That’s not true! Stanley is a good boy. He’s always on time to work, always helpful, never rude or angry.”

  “It’s always the quiet ones,” Dottie said softly.

  “They found her in Scar’s garage, right?” Mercy unconsciously tugged at the gaudy necklace around her neck, undoubtedly one of her own designs. “Why would Taz take her there?”

  “If it wasn’t Taz, someone else could have lured her there,” Char said.

  “Tabby used to be hot and heavy with the boy who works there, Jimmy Beal. His father had a heart attack in that hooker’s bed, remember?”

  Alma shook her head at Dottie’s tidbit, holding a lace handkerchief up to her nose. “No reason to be crass, Miss Dottie.”

  “She’s right, though,” Sally said. “Jimmy and Tabby used to date. Maybe this was his way of getting back at her for breaking up with him.”

  Jimmy Beal sounded like a solid lead. He worked at the garage and he had a history with Tabby. So why didn’t Sheriff Rains arrest Jimmy? Why was he pinning this on Stanley?

  I reached for the wine bottle, but it was as empty as my glass, so I stood and headed for the kitchen to retrieve another. I pulled it out of the cupboard, glad that I could at least serve alcohol this week since we were no longer at the library.

  I turned with the bottle in my hand and almost dropped it in surprise when I saw Dinah standing in the kitchen, inspecting the molding that decorated the ceiling. I hadn’t heard her approach, despite how squeaky the floors in the hallway were.