Jerri Roper was not at her station, but Shelby could hear water running from behind the catalogue area. Soon the woman in question came through the open door with a cup of steaming coffee in hand. She was tall, nearly six foot in her red cowboy boots and skinny jeans. With a short bob of finger combed hair, a lean face and aquiline nose, she reminded Shelby of Jamie Lee Curtis. Her eyes sparked with directness and intelligence when she spoke, and her conservative smile didn’t waste time being something it wasn’t. She was a librarian, not the greeter at the door of a posh restaurant.
“Blake and Shelby Gunner.” She carefully set down her cup and held out a hand. “I was wondering when I would have the pleasure of your visit.”
Shelby smiled and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Roper.”
“Call me Jerri. Everyone in town does. At least those over the age of eighteen.”
“It must be nice working here. I just love the smell and feel of books.”
“I don’t believe you’re here to discuss literature.”
“Not completely true,” Blake said, stepping forward and pointing back toward the door. “Alice sent four boxes of books along. Donations from the B&B. They’re in the truck out there. Where would you like me to put them?”
She moved out from behind the desk and crooked a finger. “Follow me.”
Blake trailed her between rows of bookshelves to the back of the library, disappearing from sight for a moment.
Shelby leaned on the desk, practicing her upside down reading abilities on the stack of mail. One envelope was stamped from Oklahoma and didn’t have a return address. Another had the name, George Roper, printed neatly in the corner. It had been mailed from somewhere in Iowa. A squeaky floorboard alerted her to their return.
“Your husband was telling me how much you love the classics,” Jerri said.
“I do. My father was a literature professor, and books were sort of my built in babysitter when I was growing up.”
Blake trailed in and out with boxes as they talked.
The librarian waved her over to a reading table. “Would you like some coffee? It’s against library rules to eat or drink on the premises, but I’m the one who made up the rules so I feel obligated to break them once in a while. At least when there are no children around to call me on it.”
“That would be great.” Shelby sat in one of the straight-backed wooden chairs. It was sturdy, but not very comfortable. She shot Blake a grin as he walked by with another box of books in his arms. He crossed his eyes at her.
Jerri returned with two fresh cups of coffee, and sat across from her. She reached in the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a handful of little packets of sugar and cream, placing them in the center of the table for easy reach. “I heard you had some bad luck last night,” she said, stirring a bag of sweetener into her cup.
News certainly traveled fast and furious around here. This woman was supposed to be out of town all week, and she’d already been caught up to speed her first day back. “Which bad luck incident are you referring to?”
“The fire, of course. My son is one of the volunteer firemen. He still lives at home, so I heard all about it last night when he got in. Did something else happen?” She took a sip of coffee, watching Shelby over the rim with interest.
Blake had brought in the last box, and now pulled out a chair to join them at the table. She offered to get him a cup of coffee, but he shook his head. “All that back and forth made me hot. Who knew carrying books could be such a great workout.”
“Be sure and tell Alice thank you for me. She’s such a sweet girl, just like her mom.” She fiddled with a packet of sugar, tapping the edge lightly on the surface of the table. “When I heard that you were in town to find Clara’s killer, I expected you would come by eventually. Clara and I were very close. She was like a sister to me. I would do anything for her.”
“Did you?” Blake asked. His blue eyes were suddenly a lot colder, and Shelby assumed he was getting into the role of bad cop.
His tone didn’t intimidate Jerri Roper in the least. Her lips quirked up, and she actually laughed. It wasn’t a full out belly laugh, but she did sound amused. “You’ve been talking to Farley Jones, haven’t you?”
“Did you fake an official document so Clara could keep the beach property?”
“A judge declared Farley’s case to be fallacious, or at the very least lacking in evidence, and threw it out. What do you think?” She absently skimmed fingers over her hair, giving it that messy on purpose look.
“I think Farley’s letter was real.” Blake folded his hands on the table. “That once upon a time, that land did belong to his great, great grandfather. I also think Farley would do just about anything to get it back.”
“We don’t want to prove Farley’s ownership,” Shelby added. “What we’re looking for is a motive. A compelling enough reason for a man of his position to stoop to murder.”
“Murder? You think he killed Clara because of what I did?” She licked dry lips and sat straighter, shoulders squared. “No. I can’t believe that. He is a lot of things, but a murderer?”
“What about a blackmailer?”
She slanted a glance toward the door. An elderly woman came in, shuffling slowly in thick-soled black support shoes that made her feet look two sizes too big. Her hair was permed tight, white ringlets covering her scalp like a halo.
Jerri hurried to greet her, taking her arm and leading her to a table toward the back. “Good morning, Edith,” she said in an overly loud voice. “I didn’t know if you were going to show up today. I heard you were sick last week.”
“What?”
“You were sick.”
She bobbed her chin as they moved slowly across the floor. “Oh, that’s right. I had a bit of a cold.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re better now.”
“What?”
“You’re well now!”
“Oh, yes. I’m a tough old bird,” she said, her words defying her weak and wavering voice.
The librarian went behind the desk and retrieved a pile of books she’d apparently set aside for the woman. She placed them on the table next to her, and patted her shoulder. Leaning close to her ear she said, “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thank you, sweetie!”
Jerri came back to their table and sat down with a heavy sigh. “Farley Jones has tried to blackmail nearly everyone in this town at one time or another,” she said, getting right back to business. “The only person he’s afraid to cross is his mother.”
“What does he have on you?” Blake asked.
“You mean what did he have on me.” She glanced toward the old lady at the far table, but she was paying them absolutely no attention. Her nose was so deep in a book it was a wonder she could breathe. “My son was running around with a rough bunch after high school. Met them when he worked on a barge for the summer. He was all of seventeen, and thought he had the world figured out. He started a side business with one of those twenty-something deadbeats. Without my knowledge, he started selling crack out of an abandoned cabin a couple miles from here. Farley sent me a picture in the mail. I recognized his handwriting immediately. He used to send Clara love letters in high school, before his mamma told him he couldn’t date her anymore.”
“I’m assuming he asked you for something.” Shelby was barely able to contain her excitement. They’d found someone who had been blackmailed by Farley, and wasn’t afraid to talk about it.
“Not at first. He waited a couple months before contacting me again. Let me sweat it out a bit, I guess.” She finished off her coffee and stared into the empty mug as though reading tealeaves. “By the time he sent another picture, I had already put my son into a drug rehab program. But I knew he could still make trouble for us, so I did what he asked. At first. I happen to be a board member of the local council. He wanted me to vote a certain way at the meetings. It was minor things at first. Then I realized he’d blackmailed others on the council as well.
It was obvious by the way everyone was voting. The next thing I know he’d gotten us all to endorse him for mayor.”
“I knew it!” Shelby put up her palm for a high-five, but Blake gave her a reprimanding scowl. Sometimes he was such a stickler for protocol. She slowly lowered her arm, slightly mortified.
Jerri looked relieved by the silliness. “If I hadn’t been so focused on keeping my son out of jail, I would have told him to stick his photographs where the sun don’t shine. Farley has never been one of my favorite people, but this…” She breathed deeply through her nostrils as though trying to calm the anger burning inside.
Blake drummed his fingers on the table, staring up at the flickering florescent bulb above the front desk. “How did you get out from under his thumb? I would imagine he tried to keep you from helping Clara.”
She laughed as though it were a very funny joke. “You bet he tried. He came here personally. Didn’t even bother to cower behind his invisible cloak of anonymity. Just strode in here, and demanded that I destroy that deed and tell Clara I lied. That it was a fake. What he didn’t realize was that the statute of limitations had run out on my son’s alleged crime, and there was nothing he could do to hurt me further.” She looked up, her eyes bright. “But you think he killed Clara. So, I was wrong.”
Jerri went back into her office, and brought out the land deed. It was sealed in a protective plastic cover so that the oils from their fingers wouldn’t soil the paper. Or so she said. She laid it in front of Blake and leaned beside him with one arm braced on the table. “This is a real document from that time. I just changed a few things. I was an archeology student in college, and excelled in the art of Diplomatics.”
Shelby looked up. “And that is?”
“Simply put? The study of ancient or historical documents.” She lifted her hands, ticking off points, “To decipher, to ascertain their authenticity, dates, signatures, etcetera. It’s a science really; to study the tradition, form, and issuance of documents.”
“And you just happened to pick up a little forgery expertise on the side?”
She shrugged, her face giving nothing away.
“Have you examined the original letter Farley presented in court?” Blake asked.
Jerri moved back to her side of the table, adjusting the belt of her cardigan. A slow smile curved her lips. “I have. In fact, he brought it here to have me authenticate it. How else would I know Clara would come looking for a deed to her land? It worked out perfectly. I switched the letter. Gave Farley the seal of approval to go forward with his land grab. Doctored this baby, and waited for Clara to stop by. The judge had an expert examine both documents. I recognized the little twerp right away. He was actually a fellow student from my university days. Now he’s a know-it-all professor using his lack of knowledge to decide the outcome of court cases based on nothing more than a book he read somewhere along the way. Your basic C student.”
Shelby stared open-mouthed. There was a lot more to Jerri Roper than met the eye. If she didn’t dislike Farley Jones so much herself, she might feel sorry for him. “And the original letter?”
She blew the word out like a magical proclamation. “Poof!”
“Disappeared?”
“Would you like more coffee?” she asked, changing the subject.
<<>>
While Jerri went to help Edith put on her coat and shuffle her out the door, Blake and Shelby put their heads together, and whispered. After all, it was a library.
“What do you think?” Shelby asked, keeping her eye on the librarian. The woman seemed up and up, even though she was a professed forger. She had been Clara’s best friend, and according to all town sources that woman had been a paragon of virtue.
“I think Farley bit off more than he could chew when he tried to take on the librarian of Port Scuttlebutt,” he said, in the voice he used when he was trying to sound like Clint Eastwood.
She choked down a giggle. “What are we going to do, knowing the truth?”
“Nothing we can do. A judge made a ruling, and we have to stick by it. It’s the law.” The hint of a smile tugged at his lips when he said, “Besides, there’s no poof.”
Jerri gathered up the books Edith had been looking through, and returned them to her cart by the desk. “Edith is our local celebrity,” she said, grabbing a pen and paper before she came back to the table. “She writes romance novels. With her personal history around here, I suspect she may be writing them about herself.”
“How many has she published?” Shelby asked.
“Forty-nine, but she’s working on a new one.”
“Romance or novel?” Blake grinned.
“Both I think. She’s a wild one.” She leaned over the table, writing. “I assume you want the names of the council members Farley was blackmailing. Of course, you’ll have to ask them yourself. I don’t know how they’ll react. Especially if they still feel threatened.”
“Would you be willing to testify if we find sufficient proof to bring charges against Farley Jones?” Blake scooted his chair back and stood up. “Without a solid motive it will be hard to pin him down.”
“You sound like a detective. Have you thought about working for law enforcement in this neck of the woods?”
“Actually, we’re thinking about opening a private detective service,” Shelby said. She moved beside Blake and slipped her hand into his. “I figure with two Gunners involved, we could call it Double Barrel Investigations. What do you think?”
“I think that sounds perfect for Port Scuttlebutt.” She reached out to touch Blake’s arm, tucking her smile behind a guise of sympathy, “I know it’s been a while, but I wanted to share my condolences on the death of your father. What a really strange coincidence,” she said, shaking her head.
“Coincidence?”
Shelby felt a thickening of the air around them as though time stood still. Blake’s grip on her hand tightened almost imperceptibly, enough that she knew he was far from relaxed. He didn’t believe in coincidence. He said it stood for something’s not right.
Jerri said simply, “You know… that Bobby died the same day Clara was killed. I went to high school with both of them. Our graduating class was supposed to have a reunion this summer. Clara and I were working on it together. Now…” She sighed.
Chapter Nineteen
“Blake, how did your father die?” Shelby asked, staring straight ahead through the bug smeared windshield.
They’d climbed into the old truck, but Blake didn’t bother to start it up. He took out his smartphone and went online, typed in a search engine and waited. She knew he was still digesting the news from the librarian – that his father died the same day Clara Booth was run over and killed. Regardless of what he thought about the term coincidence, they now had to deal with that fickle finger of fate.
His voice was soft as he perused the page. “I don’t know.”
“I thought you…”
“Luanne sent me a sympathy card when she heard, so I looked up his obituary online, but it was mighty short. Here it is.” He handed her the phone.
It was a total of three sentences and told them the day he was born, the town he was currently residing in at the time, and the date of his death. He obviously didn’t have anyone who cared enough to write a personal bio. The writer hadn’t even bothered to mention the fact that he was once married and had a son.
“He lived. He died. And nobody gave him a second thought. I know I didn’t.” Blake’s clenched fists contradicted his words.
Shelby leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder, handing back the phone. He scrolled through more pages until he found Clara Booth’s obituary. She read it over his shoulder. The woman left behind a loving husband, daughter, and stepmother.
“Mother? I don’t remember Alice mentioning a living grandmother. Didn’t she say her grandparents were dead?”
“Maybe she was like Cinderella’s stepmother and she and Clara didn’t get along, so she was dead to her.” He slid his phone
back into his jacket and turned the key in the ignition. The pickup backfired and shook, then settled into a somewhat normal rhythm. “What do you say we take a little drive this afternoon?”
“In this thing?”
His laugh put an end to her worry. “The Bronco should be ready by now. We’ll pick it up and take this back to the B&B. That will give you a chance to ask Alice where her grandmother lives.”
“Is that where we’re going? Maybe Alice would like to tag along.” Shelby nervously held on to the armrest as Blake turned the corner. The truck bobbed and weaved, bouncing around like a boat at sea. The shocks weren’t bad; they were completely gone.
The gas station had plugged the damaged tire on the Bronco, vacuumed out the shattered glass, and filled the tank. Blake went inside to pay for their services. Even though the taped up side windows made the truck look worse for wear, Blake was smiling when he came out. He handed her the key to his pride and joy. “You drive,” he said generously and opened the door to let her out of the old pickup. “I wouldn’t make my worst enemy drive this thing. Certainly not the love of my life.”
“You’re cute.” She kissed his cheek and grabbed the key out of his hand. “Beat you up the hill!”
<<>>
Alice looked at them strangely when they asked about her step-grandmother. While her father slept in his recliner in the sitting room, she was busy cleaning out the refrigerator, and had placed the entire contents on the kitchen counters. Shelby took advantage of the easy access and filled a glass with orange juice. She’d been having a tickle in her throat all morning, and felt like a cold was coming on.
“I thought you said your grandparents died and left this house to your mom, so how is this woman your step-grandmother?”
“She was my grandfather’s first wife. They met at a dance, and were married two days before he was shipped out to Germany during World War Two. He thought she was eighteen, but really she was only fifteen.”
Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1) Page 21
