The Librarian's Last Chapter (A River Valley Mystery, Book 3)

by Cynthia Hickey

  Excitement over the event finally welled in me. “Since you’re at the school every day, why don’t you set up a committee and I’ll get my stepfather busy on building?”

  “Wonderful. I’ll type this up right away.” She leaped from her chair and dashed out of the lounge, leaving me feeling overwhelmed and relieved at the same time.

  I no longer felt as if I were taking on the task alone.

  “What are you doing here?” Lynn entered the lounge and stuck two quarters in the vending machine. A diet soda rattled out.

  “Planning the book fair with Cheryl. We’ve come up with something to appeal to all ages.” I stood and grabbed my purse. “With the book club, PTSO, and student council, I should have plenty of help.”

  “If you do too good of a job, they may ask you to take over again in the spring.” Lynn laughed and popped the soda top.

  I shuddered. “Absolutely not. I have way too much on my plate as it is. Not only do I own a business, but I have a wedding to plan. Not sure how I’m supposed to get all that done with this fair.”

  “All you need is your dress.” Lynn narrowed her eyes. “Right?”

  “Yes, I’ve booked the hall by the lake. Mom is taking care of the food.” Thank goodness I wanted a small intimate ceremony with only Lindsey and Lynn standing up for me. Leroy would give me away. “Let’s go look for dresses on Saturday, okay?”

  “It’s a date.” She toasted me with her can and left.

  Finally, I could head to the library. I glanced at my watch. Mom was expecting me back at the shop in thirty minutes. I’d have to work fast.

  I stepped out of the lounge as the bell rang. Immediately the hall clogged with hundreds of students who didn’t care that an adult in a hurry needed to get by. I sighed and waited for the stampede to end. Lindsey strolled by with her arm through the arm of a boy. Interesting. “Hey, Lindsey.”

  “Mom?” Her cheeks turned pink. “Can’t talk now. Got to get to class.” She slipped her arm free and fled.

  I grinned. Oh, I had a million questions. Relieved she was interested in someone other than the Bobby she had dated last year, I navigated my way to the library and entered the double doors. A few students milled around.

  A girl in glasses turned. “Can we check out books?”

  “I don’t see why not.” I didn’t have access to the computer, but I was capable of writing her name and the title of the book down. I eyed the locked drawer. I definitely needed to get it open before they hired a new librarian.

  It taunted me in oak laminated finery. I jiggled it for good measure, then headed to the back room. Mrs. Grimes had to have hid the key somewhere in that room. I froze. What if she’d slipped it into her pocket? It would be forever out of my reach.

  I could use a little guidance, Lord. I spotted a pair of scissors. There was nothing else to do. I’d have to break the lock. Unless…I picked up the phone. “Cheryl, there’s a locked drawer in the library that has something I need and since I don’t have keys of my own, do you have extra ones?” I should have done this days ago.

  “Of course we do. I’ll send a student down with it.”

  I was such a dunce. The next few minutes were busy checking out books as I watched the clock tick. Mom was going to be upset if I was too late. She’d told me that morning that she had plans to have lunch with Leroy.

  “Here’s the key.” A sour-faced young man dropped a small gold key on the desk.

  “Thank you.” I opened the drawer, grabbed the papers inside, and dashed back to the front office to sign out. I’d just make it to work on time.

  When I arrived at Country Gifts from Heaven, Mom waited by the door, purse in hand. “Talk about cutting it close,” she said. “I’ll be back in an hour. There’s a list of phone numbers by the phone, along with samples, of folks interested in the consignment.”

  “Thanks.” After stashing my purse under the counter, I dug through the samples. There were a few of a good enough quality to add to our shelves. How did I let the other eager crafters down? Maybe, as long as we had the shelf space, I could put out even the bubblegum pink pot holders with missing stitches. If they didn’t sell, the crafter might get the idea and give up. It wasn’t my place to discourage anyone.

  I held up some baby items. These would sell well. Mom and I had discussed carrying baby clothes but neither of us had the time to crochet or sew them. The satin christening gown was especially beautiful with its lace cuffs and shiny ribbon. I smiled, remembering the frilly white gown Lindsey had worn at her baby dedication. Maybe I was a little more open to giving Duane a child of his own than I’d thought.

  A dark-colored car pulled in front of the shop. Was it the one idling on the street last night? I narrowed my eyes. I wasn’t much for make and model, but I was getting the feeling someone was stalking me. When I moved to open the front door, the car backed up and drove away, but not before I caught a glimpse of baby blue paint on the bumper. With heavily tinted windows, I couldn’t make out who drove.

  Goose pimples danced up and down my arms. I’d almost come face-to-face with the person responsible for driving Mom and I off the road. It was time to get my pink gun off the closet shelf.

  My nerves has settled by the time I called all the numbers on the list Mom had left, letting each of the crafters know to come into the store and sign an agreement giving Country Gifts twenty percent of the proceeds. I spent the next hour clearing a corner of one of the shelves so we could display the products. I’d have Lindsey make up a cute sign when she got out of school. The girl was a whiz at Photoshop.

  While I worked, my mind wandered to the papers I’d grabbed from Mrs. Grimes’s locked drawer. I itched to take them out and see what was so important, but knew Mom would throw a fit if I didn’t wait for her. I watched the clock. She was already ten minutes late. Didn’t she know the torture I was going through?

  Her white monster of a Caddy pulled into the front parking space. Since she didn’t park in the alley, she must not plan on working all day. I met her at the door. “What took you so long? I have some papers for us to look over. Hopefully, they’ll give us a clue as to who killed Mrs. Grimes.”

  “Why didn’t you say so earlier? I wouldn’t have had pie.” She bustled past me.

  “I also spotted the car that I think ran us off the road. It parked in the very spot you’re in now.”

  Mom sighed. “All the exciting things happen when you’re alone.”

  Not really, especially considering she was with me when we crashed into the tree. I grabbed my purse and pulled out the papers. The first was an invoice for text books. I’d have to return that to the school. Another one listed what I thought was Mrs. Grimes’s antique books. The last sheet, yellowed and tattered around the edges took my breath away.

  In my hand I held a treasure map.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  After a sleepless night dwelling on whether I was in possession of a real treasure map or not, I rolled out of bed to prepare for Mrs. Grimes’s memorial. I glanced at the map on my dresser. It certainly looked old enough to be authentic, but who had treasure maps nowadays? Mom had squealed like a little girl at Christmas, saying we’d found the motive for murder.

  Had we? Possibly. If the map was real, or someone at least thought it was, treasure was a big motivation. The first mystery I’d gotten involved in had been because of money…the second a misguided attempt at revenge.

  I grabbed a few M&Ms from the bag next to the ancient page and shuffled to the bathroom, tossing one of the candies to Cleo who lay with her beautiful head on her paws. She caught the blue disc in midair.

  I turned on the shower and sat on the closed toilet lid. My mind wouldn’t turn from the fact Mrs. Grimes had flapped her lips about a treasure and someone had killed her for it. Hopefully, a suspect would present themselves at the memorial. At that moment, I had too many suspects to list: the book club, the PTSO, the high school staff, the students. My head ached.

  Why did I find myself dragged into these
things? I tested the shower spray. Not hot enough. It wasn’t like I enjoyed being shot at or taken hostage. It also wasn’t always just myself in danger. A few days ago, Mom could have been killed.

  My throat seized. What if I turned the map over to Bruce? What if I did and the killer didn’t know I did? It wasn’t as if I could put a notice in the paper. I’d visit the police station at the first opportunity and present Bruce with a hypothetical situation.

  Relieved I had a course of action, I shed my nightclothes and stepped into the shower, letting the water and soap suds wash away my indecision. Once I’d finished and dried off, I padded to my closet. River Valley was small town Southern. No one showed up in anything but a dark-colored dress. I didn’t have one.

  I poked my head into the hall knowing I would regret what I was being forced to do. “Mom?”

  “Why aren’t you dressed?” She marched toward me wearing a black long sleeved shirt over a black and white skirt.

  “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Nonsense.” She pushed past me.

  I gripped the slipping towel tighter around me while she rummaged through my closet.

  “Why are all your clothes so festive? Every woman needs a black dress for funerals and a fancier black dress for nice occasions.” She turned, planting her hands on her hips. “You’ll have to wear my navy blue dress.”

  “The sailor one?” Gag. If a strong wind blew, the massive collar would serve as wings.

  “Any other ideas?”

  “Let me wear what you’re wearing.”

  “Nope. It’s the only black I have that is in style. I’ll be right back.”

  I plopped on the edge of my bed and ran my bare foot across Cleo’s back. I could not wear the navy dress. I leaped to my feet. I had a peasant skirt with black in it. Sure, it had turquoise and yellow, too, but if I topped it with a black sweater… I dressed as fast as possible, and then slipped my feet into black pumps when I heard Mom thundering down the hall.

  “You cannot wear that! We are not going to see a Mariachi band.”

  “It’s not a Mexican skirt. It’s peasant.” I lifted my hair off my neck and secured it with a black clip.

  Mom tossed the sailor dress on the bed. “It’s not my fault if people talk about you.” She whirled and left.

  I eyed the dress with distaste. I’d rather be ridiculed by the women who called themselves River Valley’s fashion police. They were all lucky I wasn’t wearing my overalls with a black tee-shirt. Up until a few months ago, I lived in those things. Until I bought new clothes and saw the appreciation in Duane’s eyes when he saw me dressed as a woman instead of a teenage boy.

  As I rushed to the kitchen for toast and coffee, I passed Lindsey barreling down the hall. “You’re late,” I called after her.

  “I know!” She dashed out and slammed the front door.

  My fault, most likely. For the life of me I couldn’t get that girl to take responsibility for her own alarm clock. Who set the time for a memorial at eight o’clock in the morning anyway?

  Mom and Leroy were sitting at the table, coffee mugs in hand. Mom slid a third one across the table in my direction, then a plate with two slices of toast. “I still think you’re dressed wrong.”

  Leroy eyed me. “She looks fine to me.”

  “What do you know? You’re a man.” Mom shook her head.

  I took my seat and listened to their good natured bickering. Not being a morning person, I doubted Duane and I would joke first thing in the morning. Poor man. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

  “Time to go.” Mom dumped my unfinished coffee.

  I held the last piece of toast to my chest unless she got the bright idea of tossing that too, and followed her outside. She slid behind the wheel of the Caddy and glared at me as if daring me to say she couldn’t drive. I sighed and climbed in the passenger side. I knew a losing battle when I saw one.

  Mrs. Grimes’s memorial was held across town at Rivery Valley Funeral Home. From the lack of cars in the parking lot, attendance would be slim. How sad. When I died, I wanted the place standing room only.

  The closing of the Cadillac doors echoed across the parking lot. Soft strains of a hymn carried through hidden speakers. Mom and I remained silent as we entered the building and signed the guest book. Five names above ours. Only five people who cared enough about a crotchety old lady to come and say goodbye.

  Our feet sank in a carpet plush enough to erase all sound of footsteps. Two flower arrangements stood on each end of the casket. One large, one small. “This is so sad. There’s nobody here,” I said as we sat in the second row. “We should have brought flowers.”

  “People are at work. When you have a memorial service in the middle of the day, folks can’t take off. You’re right. This room should be smelling of too many roses and lillies.”

  I disagreed. If you cared, you made the time. I settled against the padded back of the pew and watched as the few mourners passed the coffin. Norma Rae and Ingrid Jennings, Cheryl, Estelle Willis, and Mr. Dean. I sniffed and dug for a Kleenex in my purse. I vowed then and there I would find out who killed Mrs. Grimes and why. At least justice could be served for a lonely old woman.

  A flashbulb went off and I turned to see Stacy and her ever-present photographer. Why in the world would they be taking pictures? I shoved to my feet. “What are you doing?”

  “This is news.” Stacy shrugged and leaned closer. “They say the killer always attends the funeral.”

  “Really? Hard to hide with this many people.” I waved my arm. “Have some respect.” I’d heard the saying, too, but didn’t think it applied to this case.

  Bruce entered and stood with arms crossed right inside the door. Obviously, he followed the same theory. I approached him. “Any suspects?”

  “Everyone’s a suspect.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re a suspect.”

  “Me?” Seriously?

  “You were the last one to see her alive.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “But, I seriously doubt you’re the killer. You have a hard enough time staying alive. No time left to off someone.”

  “Very funny, Barnie Fife.”

  “I told you not to call me that.”

  I rolled my eyes. Police officer or not, I’d known the little weasel too long to take him seriously. Especially after the way he tormented me all through school. “Where’s your sidekick?”

  “Officer Bradford stayed at the station. There’s no need for both of us to be here.”

  “Did Mrs. Grimes have any family?”

  “Nope. She has a cat.” He raised his eyebrows. “Want it?”

  “No.” Lindsey’s monster cat Samson would not like a friend. He barely tolerated my German Shepherd, Cleopatra.

  “The pound it is. A neighbor has been caring for the mangy thing for the last week and says she detests all the hair.”

  That was it. I needed to get into Mrs. Grimes’s house. There was bound to be a clue. I didn’t know where the librarian had lived, but it should be easy enough to find out.

  The funeral director took his position behind a simple oak podium, and I hurried back to my seat. He mumbled something about the mark everyone leaves during their time on earth, said a quick prayer, and announced the service was over. There would be no graveside service. Mrs. Grimes would be cremated. I had no idea what they would do with her ashes, only that I definitely didn’t want them or her cat.

  “Well, that’s that.” Mom slung her purse over her shoulder. “Time to open the store.”

  I could work on assigning book fair tasks while waiting the counter. I’d been relieved from the moment the book fair turned from only a haunted house theme to a family affair. With Halloween our least celebrated day of the year, I was most likely the least qualified for that type of attraction. Thank goodness I had enough help, but still, if I didn’t learn to multi-task, and fast, I’d be drowning real quick.

  I glanced at the coffin. “Wait.” I dragged my feet as I approached
the maple box. Mrs. Grimes looked almost pleasant with her makeup. Someone had chosen a peacock blue ruffled blouse for her to wear. Her neighbor, maybe?

  Around her neck lay a locket. After a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, I opened the locket. Inside was a younger prettier Mrs. Grimes and a handsome young man. Who was he? He looked familiar. A long lost love? Someone who would mourn her passing? I waved Mom over.

  “What?”

  “Do you know this man?”

  “Are you stealing a dead woman’s jewelry?”

  I frowned. “Of course not. I’m snooping.”

  “That’s Mr. Dean when he was a young man. They used to date, I think.”

  I glanced back at the stony look of the high school principal. He didn’t look like a grief stricken lover to me. “Should we give him this?”

  “He’s seen it. If he wanted it, he would have taken it.” Mom grabbed my arm. “Let’s go before we’re kicked out.”

  I closed the locket and followed Mom, staring at Mr. Dean as I passed. “Check out the locket Mrs. Grimes is wearing,” I whispered to Bruce as I passed.

  Mr. Dean had just moved to the top of my suspect list.

  I stared out the window as Mom drove us to work. I’d call Lynn as soon as possible and leave a message on her phone to call me. Maybe the romance between school principal and librarian hadn’t faded over time. Maybe there were rumors floating around the school and Mr. Dean killed the woman who jilted him. It was possible. He could have killed Mrs. Grimes the moment he hired his new Barbie doll of an assistant principal.

  My mind whirled with the list of possible motives. Of course, I couldn’t discount the treasure map. What if Mrs. Grimes had shared her find during a moment of pillow talk? I shuddered at the mental image.

  Of course, I could be wrong and Mr. Dean completely innocent of murder. Only more time spent investigating would tell.

  I glanced up to see Bruce watching us from the funeral home door. I’d have to be careful. He would slap handcuffs on me at the slightest provocation.