Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 05 - Just Ducky

by Jeanne Glidewell

  I knew I had to sound tough to have even a remote chance to get away with my little charade of being able to actually shoot the poor dumb bastard. I was pleasantly surprised when he believed I could, and would, and did exactly what I’d told him to do.

  I was also thankful he didn’t challenge me to prove my shooting proficiency, which is tough to do when the gun is not loaded and you have no clue how to even use the weapon you’ve owned for less than an hour. I’d actually be more dangerous with an undercooked chicken than I would be with my empty-chambered firearm.

  Little did Paul know the only ammunition I had for the gun was in a sack in the front seat of my car, and I wouldn’t know how to load the thing even if I had the box of birdshot shells with me.

  In fact, I was pretty certain the safety was on, or so the salesman had told me, but I didn’t know where it was, or how to release it. With the gun still trained on Paul, I fiddled around with it, without being obvious about it, until I figured out how to take the safety off, for whatever good that would do me with no bullets to fire.

  I’d seen actors cock their guns in movies, so I pulled back the cock thingy on my little Sig P238 right then for a little extra affect, and with hopes of raising the fear factor up a notch.

  “Don’t shoot me! I promise I won’t move! Please be careful and don’t accidentally pull the trigger!” Paul said.

  “It would be no accident, trust me!”

  “Please, put the gun down, or at least point it the other way. I promise I won’t move until the police get here to arrest me.” Paul was nearly begging me as his eyes were welling up. It looked to me like the big bad, iron-pumping, karate-chopping, cage fighter had turned sissy on me. He’d be lucky if he didn’t wet his pants before I could call the cops on him.

  Just for my own amusement, I pointed the empty gun just below his belt, and laughed out loud when he immediately fainted and slithered to the ground. This would certainly make keeping control over him much easier, while I called for help.

  Without setting the gun down, just in case Paul was faking it and trying to pull a fast one on me, I pulled my cell phone out of my pouch and called 9-1-1, which I had on speed dial. When the dispatcher answered and asked me what my emergency was, I explained briefly I was holding a man at gunpoint in the library who, along with his partner-in-crime, had just threatened to kill me, and had already killed Bertha Duckworthy. I asked them to tell the responding officers to watch for Tom Melvard to be walking up the street with a length of rope he and Paul Miller were planning to hang me with, as they had the librarian the previous week.

  As I ended my phone call, I noticed Paul was starting to stir already. I began praying the cops would arrive quickly. Tom would be back any minute, and one of the men might decide to take a chance on taking a bullet in an attempt to overpower me, and disarming me in the process. Of course, if either of them was going to take a bullet, he’d have to go out to my car and get one first. I could feel my palms begin to sweat, and my hold on the gun become shakier. Paul was waking up and becoming more alert with each second that passed.

  Fortunately, no more than thirty seconds later, Tom Melvard came through the front door of the library with Detective Travis following closely on his heels. I was never so glad to see a police officer in my life. On first impression, I hadn’t been overly fond of Clint Travis, but as of that very moment, he was my new best friend.

  Before long the library was as full of police officers, firemen, and other first responders, as it had been the morning I found Ducky strung up from the rafters. Even a reporter for the Rockdale Gazette had arrived on the scene, and was trying to pin me down for an interview.

  I was getting kind of tired of having my face and name plastered all over the front page of the local newspaper, but I could not have been any happier about being able to announce to the world that even though the Rockdale Police Department had paid no attention to my keen observations and suspicions, I’d been right all along. Ducky had not taken her own life. Instead, it had been taken from her! And now, justice would be served on her behalf.

  I’d feel completely safe now when I walked into the Rockdale Public Library tomorrow morning to begin my new job as interim head librarian. It still hurt to breathe, much less move, but I felt upbeat and excited about the next couple of months, even though I’d just lost my only other employee at the library, not to mention the custodian. I’d have to contact Colby Tucker as soon as I got home to give him the news and see what he wanted me to do about hiring new employees.

  In the meantime, I was going to sit back and relax, and enjoy one hot cup of coffee after another on the back porch of the Alexandria Inn, while wallowing in the satisfaction of knowing I’d once again been instrumental in bringing down a killer.

  Chapter 19

  “Congratulations Lexie!” Detective Johnston said to me in greeting, as he walked into the kitchen early Monday morning. We’d long ago given him a spare key to the inn so he could let himself in and out as he pleased. We thought of Wyatt as family now, and he was one of our dearest friends. And who better to give a key to than a police officer who had pulled my feet out of the fire more than once.

  “Sit down and join Stone and me for a cup of coffee and some chocolate long johns, and tell me why I’m being congratulated,” I said. After an evening of soaking in our whirlpool bath, and nearly overdosing on pain pills, I didn’t feel half as sore as I had on Sunday. I could cross the entire kitchen without groaning continuously now, so it was a step in the right direction.

  After my long bath Sunday night, I had called and introduced myself to Tina Traylor. After discussing the situation with her, I arranged for her to contact Quentin so she could offer to purchase the books in Ducky’s collection she was interested in, and in exchange, help Quentin and Barbara sell the rest of them for a small handler’s fee. Tina had a great deal of knowledge and experience in marketing first-edition copies of old classics, and was happy to help them sell the valuable books. She was also excited to get first crack at purchasing a few first-edition books not already in her vast collection.

  I’d fallen asleep with a deep feeling of contentment and had awoken at six, well rested, and ready to report to the library at nine o’clock to begin my temporary stint at our local library. I’d dressed in a manner Ducky would have approved of—not quite Goodwill castoffs, but certainly not Rodeo Drive, either. I didn’t have to leave for work for at least an hour, and I had questions I wanted answered by the lead detective in the Bertha Duckworthy murder case.

  “I’m dying to know something, Wyatt,” I said. “I didn’t think to ask Paul when I had him gloating over his well-planned scheme, and happily telling me everything I wanted to know. So, how did they lock Stone and me in the basement if Paul didn’t have a key to the library, and Tom was the one who called the police when he noticed the flashing porch lights?”

  “I’d been curious about that myself,” the detective acknowledged. “At first, both men refused to talk, but after we let the two numbskulls listen to the recording you’d taken of your encounter with them, they started chattering like magpies, knowing it would serve no point to lie with their confessions already on tape. At first they turned on each other, as often happens, and tried to pin the entire crime spree on their partner. Both were ‘coerced’ by the other one, of course. But when they figured out no one was buying their lies, we started getting the entire true story out of them.”

  “Morons,” I muttered, as Wyatt went on talking.

  “It seems Tom had made a copy of his library key to give to Paul, so Paul could go in and use his weight-lifting equipment any time he wanted. With the library closed for a number of days following Ducky’s death, Paul didn’t want to lose any muscle tone with the cage fighting tournament dates rapidly approaching. And especially now that he’d been able to steal enough money from the burglaries to pay the entry fee.”

  “Guess he’ll be withdrawing from that tournament he’s trained so hard for, huh? I’ve always hea
rd it was the quiet ones you need to watch out for,” I said. I refilled Stone’s and my coffee cups as Wyatt continued with his recounting.

  “Paul went to the library that night to work out and saw your car in the parking lot. When he went inside, he heard your voices in the basement. He knew you’d been snooping around, as he put it, and thought it might be a good opportunity to shut you up for good. So he locked the door to the basement, grabbed your jacket, Lexie, and took it outside to stuff in the exhaust pipe. Then he hightailed it out of there before anyone noticed his truck in the Subway parking lot, where he thought it would be more inconspicuous. Using the copy of the key Tom had made for him, Paul locked the library door behind him, presumably to slow down any rescue attempt, which explains why we later had to use Tom’s key to get in.”

  “Go on,” I prompted, when Wyatt paused momentarily.

  “Well, having worked around books for so many years, and probably knowing about Ducky’s collection, Paul also took the Truman Capote book off the top of the box, where you’d left it when you went downstairs to show the basement to Stone. He didn’t know how much it was worth, but he knew it was valuable.”

  “In retrospect, sweetheart, agreeing to let you show me the basement was an ill-advised decision,” Stone said. “Particularly when I was only pretending to be interested in seeing the dank, dark underbelly of the library, to begin with.”

  “I was well aware you only agreed to go downstairs with me to score some brownie points. Given the choice, you’d have probably been more enthralled watching me paint my nails,” I said.

  “Wrong! Checking out the basement would have been an easy choice to make. A short span of moderate boredom, checking out a Nautilus, boxes of old books, and cleaning supplies, is better any day than a long, drawn out period of mind-numbing boredom in your powder room.”

  Stone winked at Wyatt as he teased me. Then he turned to the detective, and asked, “So why did Tom call the cops when he saw the front porch lights flashing?”

  “He was waxing the floor at the pharmacy across the street from the library, which was his first stop on his cleaning schedule that evening. He had no idea Paul had locked you two in the basement when he saw the lights flashing, so he called the cops. He thought it was probably just a short in the wiring, until he recognized the S.O.S. signal. Still he didn’t know what was going on, so without giving it much thought, he made the 9-1-1 call,” Wyatt explained. “I bet Paul was ticked off when he heard it was his partner who alerted the police, and ultimately saved your lives. Together, Paul and Tom are like the Two Stooges.”

  “Serves them right, though,” I said. “Ready for a refill, Wyatt?”

  “Sure,” he replied. “You know, Lexie, I’ve always wondered if the massive amount of coffee you consume on a daily basis would have any ill effect on your health. Who would have ever believed that one day a cup of coffee would play an instrumental role in saving your life?”

  I smiled, as Stone grimaced, and said, “Oh, thanks for bringing that to her attention, pal. Now I’ll never get her to cut back on her caffeine consumption.”

  “Cheer up, honey.” I patted Stone’s hand in mock consolation. “You would have never gotten me to cut back anyway, even without Wyatt’s keen observation. So, Wyatt, what were you congratulating me about earlier? The fact that, against all odds and trying my damnedest, I’ve somehow managed to not get killed this week?”

  “Well, there is that!” Wyatt agreed. “But that wasn’t what I was referring to.”

  As we all sat around enjoying our coffee, Wyatt explained to me that the Chief of Police had decided to present me with a Certificate Of Appreciation for my part in solving two of the most sensationalized crimes in Rockdale’s history. I was pleased with Chief Smith’s desire to recognize me for my efforts, although the award did come with a reprimand about getting involved in a police matter, and a warning to never do anything like it again.

  Wyatt went on to say I’d also be receiving the five thousand dollar reward for being the individual responsible for bringing about the arrest of the burglary suspects. The townsfolk, who had been on edge throughout the crime spree, had set up the fund as a means of helping the police department catch the thieves.

  “Will the burglary victims get their merchandise and money back?” I asked.

  “Yes, one way or the other. Miller and Melvard will have to pay them all back, and besides, the businesses all carry insurance in the event reimbursement’s an issue,” Wyatt said.

  Stone nodded, and then took the words right out of my mouth when he asked, “Has Bo Reliford been released? I feel a bit bad for him to have been wrongly accused of murder.”

  “Yes, he was released an hour ago, but it didn’t hurt him any to spend a couple nights in the drunk tank at the county jail. It’s kind of his home away from home, anyway. Plus, it gave him a chance to sober up before he goes on his next bender, which has probably already commenced. Reliford’s just another 9-1-1 call waiting to happen.”

  “But still, it seems wrong to tarnish his reputation for no reason,” I said, in Bo’s defense.

  “Tarnish his reputation?” Wyatt asked, laughing at the very idea. “His reputation could not be any worse now than it already was before he was thrown in jail, and having been falsely accused will probably actually help his reputation, and maybe even garner him a little sympathy among the older ladies in town. I’m sure he’ll be wallowing in the sympathy bestowed on him. Besides, there were a lot of times Bo should have been arrested and wasn’t, so this just evens the playing field a little.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” I said. “I was just trying to decide who I should donate my reward money to, because there’s no way I could accept payment for just doing what I thought was the right thing to do. Do you think I should I give the reward money to her family, Quentin Duckworthy and Barbara Wells?”

  Stone shook his head, and said, “They’ll both be financially sound after they sell Ducky’s book collection. Didn’t you tell me it bothered you that the couch and chairs around the fireplace in the library were worn, and the coffee table between them was water-stained? I believe you mentioned they all needed to be replaced. The library was Ducky’s passion, so why not spend the reward money to update the furniture you told me made the library so warm and inviting?”

  “Great idea,” Wyatt said. “That’s how Ducky would have wanted you to spend the reward money.”

  “Yes, that’s a wonderful idea!” I said, enthusiastically. I was really intrigued with Stone’s suggestion, and ideas began zipping through my head. “I’ll get rustic and hardy stuff that anyone can feel free to put their feet up on in order to find a comfortable reading position. I want people to feel at ease and enjoy their time in the library, and maybe even want to visit it more often. And, also, changing the look of the cozy nook completely will help me not visualize the scene I walked in on last Wednesday morning every time I enter the room. Seeing Ducky’s lifeless body hanging from the rafters is already a hard enough thing to get out of my head. Thanks for the suggestion, honey.”

  “My pleasure,” he replied. “I can see your mind working a zillion miles an hour already.”

  “Quentin’s favorite hobby is woodworking. I saw a couple of the toys he makes, and he’s very talented. I wonder if I could get him to make a sign that reads ‘Ducky’s Den’, or something of that nature. We could mount it over the fireplace mantel, and dedicate the area in Ducky’s honor. I think she’d have been really pleased at the gesture.”

  “For sure, and I’ve no doubt you could convince Quentin to make a sign to honor his late wife,” Stone said. “You could talk an eighty-year-old nun into entering a wet tee shirt contest if you wanted to.”

  We all laughed when Wyatt said, “Hey, I went to Catholic School, and now I’m seeing a vision of my task-master teacher, Sister Catherine, in a white tank top glued to her wrinkly old skin with cold water. Like Lexie visualizing Ducky’s dead body, that’s not a picture I want in my head all day,
either. Eww…”

  Wyatt’s mention of a picture, reminded me of a photo I’d seen hanging on the wall in the Duckworthy’s living room, the day I’d gone in to the house with Quentin to drink a glass of lemonade and have my rear end fondled. When I’d commented on the photo, Quentin told me it was taken during a presentation while she was receiving her thirty-year pin from the county library department, which was, ironically, presented to her by Colby Tucker.

  “I know what I’m going to do now!” I told Stone and Wyatt. “I’ll purchase the new furniture at Nebraska Furniture Mart at the Legends shopping area next weekend. And, there’s the perfect photo of Ducky in the Duckworthy home that I’m sure Quentin will let me have enlarged and framed. I’ll hang it over the fireplace at the library, with a handcrafted wooden sign above it that simply says, ‘Just Ducky’.”

  The End

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  COZY CAMPING

  A Lexie Starr Mystery

  Book Six

  Excerpt from

  Cozy Camping

  A Lexie Starr Mystery

  Book Six

  by

  Jeanne Glidewell

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Not at all, Lexie. The clean air and beautiful scenery in Wyoming is incredible. And camping will be a lot of fun. You know how much you enjoy new adventures,” Stone Van Patten, my husband of one year, replied.

  “Adventures, yes! Sleeping on the ground with spiders, and other creepy crawlers, is definitely not my idea of a fun adventure. And I just cringe at the idea of a snake slithering in next to me to curl up in the bottom of my sleeping bag! Sitting next to poison ivy while eating gritty hotdogs, turned into burnt leather over a blazing fire, does not sound all that appealing to me either.”