Connie B. Dowell
The Body in the Bookmobile
First published by Book Echoes Media 2020
Copyright © 2020 by Connie B. Dowell
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
First edition
Cover art by Mariah Sinclair
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For Mom. Thanks for passing on your love of mysteries.
Contents
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
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About the Author
1
Chapter 1
The pigeon wouldn’t budge.
Millie waved her suitcase in front of the rickety, black, metal staircase. “Shoo!” she said. “Come on. Fly.”
The pigeon blinked at her.
Millie didn’t really want to hit the bird, so she sat the suitcase down on the sidewalk. She was tempted to set down her backpack too, but she wasn’t sure she’d have the energy to haul it up on her back again if she did. Everything she owned was stuffed in those two pieces of luggage and she’d hauled them ten blocks. She hadn’t realized Peter’s apartment was so far from the bus station.
Serves me right, said a dark little part of her personality. She shook it off. No time for negative thoughts. It was only up from here, both literally and figuratively. About this time of year Millie should have been going back for her second year of law school, but instead she’d sold almost all her belongings and spent the cash on a ticket to the one place other than her parents’ house where she could be sure of a soft landing. She lifted the suitcase with a grunt and inched past the pigeon, murmuring “Excuse me.”
Millie lugged her suitcase up the steps, silently counting them as she went. She wasn’t sure if she thought it was a bad omen or, perversely, a good one that her count went up to thirteen. Panting for breath, Millie rapped on the red and green striped door.
She heard footsteps from inside. The door swung open.
Peter bellowed, “Cuz! You’re here!” He enveloped her in a bear hug that squeezed out her remaining breath.
He released her and she squeaked, “Thanks.”
Peter stepped aside and motioned for her to come in. “Welcome fellow family disgrace,” he said with a grin. She flinched but stepped in.
Peter had also been one of the smart kids in the family. He was two years younger than her but had graduated high school in the same year as Millie. He’d been an accounting major who wore actual pocket protectors without a trace of irony until the fall of his senior year of college. Millie had never been exactly sure what happened at that juncture, but there was a long stretch where her side of the family didn’t hear from him or about him, and when she was sending out her college graduation announcements there was nothing from Peter. He only reached out to her earlier that summer, when he heard through the family grapevine that she was leaving school.
Peter lifted her suitcase. “What you got in here, Mil? Gold bricks?” The pocket protector and pressed khakis were certainly gone now. Peter’s jeans were so torn they were more hole than jean and his baggy t-shirt may have had a band logo at one time but had been washed so much that only a faint outline remained. He hauled the suitcase through the living room and into what Millie supposed would be her bedroom.
She sat on her backpack and flopped onto the dingy, gray couch, which sank beneath her weight. Every stick of furniture in the apartment looked like it had been scavenged from a dumpster. Not that it was dirty, but nothing was one hundred percent functional. Aside from the saggy couch, there was a TV on a TV stand that was really several milk crates, a coffee table that was just an overturned wooden box, a table that was missing one of its original legs, which had been replaced with what looked like a wooden broom handle, and finally there were two wobbly folding chairs. Millie’s phone dinged. A text from Flor, her new boss.
Millie had one thing to be proud of. At least she managed to land a job before getting here. She had only talked to Flor or anyone else from the library over Skype, but they all seemed really nice. And driving a bookmobile sounded almost relaxing. Checking out books to kids and little old ladies. After the disaster that was law school, this gig would be a breeze.
The text read: You got settled OK? Some library folks and I are heading to The Witch’s Brew in a few if you wanna come. Not far from your new place.
“My boss wants to meet at some Halloween witch brew place?” said Millie.
“The Witch’s Brew?” asked Peter. “It’s a brewpub. Best blonde ale you’ll ever try. Mind if I walk with you? It’s right next to my work.”
“Sure,” she said. She sent a quick text to Flor: Sure. See you soon.
Millie smoothed and tightened her ponytail and tossed her backpack in her new room. The room had clearly not been vacuumed in some months and contained nothing more than her two bags and a battered old futon left by the old roommate, she supposed.
“Ready to head out?” asked Peter, running a hand through his messy, blonde hair.
Millie nodded and followed him out the door and down the rickety steps.
“That pigeon’s still there.” She pointed.
“Oh, Todd?” Peter asked, nudging the pigeon away with his foot. “Yeah, Todd’s always around. Likes to get in the way, but you get used to him.”
Millie stepped onto the sidewalk. “By the way, I forgot to ask what you do for a living.”
Peter gave her a wink. “You’ll just have to wait a few blocks to see.”
They strolled past storefronts as they made their winding way through the downtown area. They hurried past fancy boutiques and a battered, old newsstand, past a quaint used bookstore with a wooden carving of an owl on the door and a topsy-turvy secondhand shop, its windows bursting with displays of Slinkys on one side and old barbershop poles on the other. Millie tried to take it all in amid the fading evening light. One day soon enough all the strange places and many of these strange people would be familiar. Home. At least she hoped they would. And one day this winding walk that seemed to take so long with Peter leading her through this unfamiliar territory would just be the ordinary way home. At last, Peter stopped outside a storefront.
“Well, this is it,” he said. “My daily grind.” He glanced at his watch. Maybe old habits do diehard. He still wore a watch in the twenty-first century. “You have a few minutes. Want to have a look around before you meet your new coworkers?”
Millie wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. The two of them stood before a brick storefront, much like many of the other brick storefronts except for the many ornate pictures of tattoo flas
h in the window on one side and on the other side a window that allowed passersby to look in on what seemed like dozens of cats. Bright, furry cats of all colors, climbing scratching posts, batting at toy mice, and stretching in the sun. Above the door hung a sign in purple and yellow, CATS ‘N TATS.
Millie took a moment to compose herself. “Wow.” She said. “So which one are you?”
“Which one?” asked Peter. “What do you mean?”
Millie shrugged. “Do you do cats or tats?” she asked with a giggle
Peter grinned. “Tats. I’m just an apprentice now. But I’m learning.” He reached down and lifted his pant leg, exposing his calf. “My first one. See.” A small and simple daisy, well done, was inked on his right calf. Daisy was his mother’s name. Millie wondered if Aunt Daisy knew she had been honored in this way. Probably not. She could picture the pinched expression Aunt Daisy would make if she ever found out.
“Looking good,” said Millie. “I’d love to peek inside.” Peter held the door open for her.
Inside the shop, the radio played softly in the background amid the meowing. The cats dominated one side of the space, which was cordoned off with a glass wall and door. While the glass was kept mostly clear, for optimal cat viewing, a few signs were taped up listing the details of each cat available for adoption. On the other side of the space was the front desk and several coffee tables with seats in the waiting area. The tattooists’ stations lay beyond. Tattoo flash covered most of the wall on this side. A younger woman, her arms covered in elaborate tattoo sleeves, stood at the front desk. She smiled and waved upon seeing Peter.
“Who’s your friend?” she asked.
“This is my cousin Millie,” said Peter. “The one I told you about. Millie, this is Jody Blackwood. She runs the place. And she’s my teacher.”
Jody beamed with pride and placed her hands on her hands. “Run it, own it, founded it. Cat ‘N Tats is my dream come true.” She held out a hand and they shook.
“It’s…” Millie trailed off and spun around, “amazing.” She let out a little giggle then stopped herself. “I just love the name.”
“Everybody does,” said Peter proudly. “They laugh all the way through their tattoos.”
“Which is a problem sometimes,” said Jody with a wink. “The linework gets all shaky.”
“Well, I love yours,” said Millie pointing. Jody’s arms were covered in cat-themed tattoos. From the fluffy Persian tail wrapping itself around her forearm to the paw prints creeping up her shoulder. So many tiny feline details.
“I understand you’re new to town,” said Jody.
Millie nodded. “That’s right.”
“If you’re ever looking for something to do, we are always looking for volunteers in the cat sanctuary.” Jody said.
Millie looked over her shoulder at a particularly frisky orange tabby climbing a tall cat tree with mischief in its eyes. She did wish that her and Peter’s apartment allowed pets. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Peter elbowed her in the arm. “You should probably get going next-door,” he said.
“Oh, yes.” Millie had almost forgotten why she went out this evening. “It was nice to meet you, Jody.”
“Nice to meet you too. Have a great evening. You’re gonna like The Witch’s Brew.”
Millie waved goodbye and stepped out into the gathering evening. It was only a few steps to the brewpub. If she had thought Cats ‘N Tats was visually interesting, this next place blew her away.
The first thing that struck Millie was the ornate stained-glass window in the front door. It depicted the outline of a witch riding a broomstick against the backdrop of the full moon. She held aloft a large stein of foamy beer. Millie opened the door and stepped inside, not to the sound of the usual jingle bells that businesses often attach to a front door, but to a tinkle that sounded like wind chimes. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of bright hops and sweet malt. No surprise; shiny brewing vats glistened on display in the back. The room burst with happy chatter. Everything was witch-themed, from the Gothic chandeliers overhead, to the barstools with iron legs shaped like arching black cats, to the witches hats that lay simply everywhere, to the large glass coffee table sitting on a base in the shape of a cauldron. Surrounding that coffee table in the corner were several squishy, comfy-looking armchairs upholstered in a pattern depicting tiny magic wands and sparkling stars. Two of the four armchairs were occupied by smiling faces she recognized from her Skype interview.
Flor waved. “Millie, you found the place all right.”
Millie hurried over. “This place,” she took a breath and looked around, “is fantastic!”
A chuckle came from the young woman she recognized as Abby Seabrook. She worked mainly in the children’s section. “You should see it on Halloween,” Abby said. “Go get yourself a drink. I’d make a recommendation, but it’s all excellent.”
Millie nodded. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” She made her way to the bar. The bartender wasn’t long in spotting her. He was a broad-shouldered, shorter man, maybe mid-twenties. He wore a purple gingham shirt and a bright red sweater, even though it was August. His head was shaved, but from the stubble that was growing back, Millie could tell that it wasn’t a style choice, rather a concession to the inevitable, premature balding. The bartender studied her with blue eyes that reminded her of ice, but not in an unfriendly way. Rather, they sparkled with interest. “You must be the new bookmobile driver.”
“I am.” She held out her hand. “I’m Millie.”
He shook. “Graham. Welcome to Sorrelville. What’ll you have?”
Millie shrugged. “Surprise me. Whatever you recommend.”
Graham stroked the stubble on his chin and then the stubble on the top of his head. His eyes lit up as he decided. He turned wordlessly to retrieve a pint glass painted with the same witch design as the glass on the front door. He filled the glass with a straw-colored liquid and brought it back to set before Millie on the bar.
“Hexed Hefeweizen,” Graham said. “My personal favorite.”
Millie laid some cash on the bar to pay. “Cheers,” she said as Graham made her change. She took a sip. It really was excellent, light and fruity. She suppressed a giggle as she thought, Hope it’s not really hexed as well. Millie dropped money in the tip jar. She gave Graham a wave.
“See you around, Millie,” Graham said as she returned to her new colleagues.
Millie settled into a comfy armchair, hefeweizen in hand.
“How are you finding your new place?” Flor asked.
“It’s lovely,” Millie lied. Well, it was only sort of a lie. It was very nice to see Peter again, no matter how humble the apartment was.
“I heard you were in law school for a little while,” said Abby. “This is probably going to be pretty different.”
“I guess so.” Millie shrugged. She could feel the redness creeping into her face. She really hoped they didn’t have to talk about law school, nor the sucker punch that ended her potential law career. Nobody likes a career-ending punch, but in Millie’s case it was literal.
Millie tried to reroute the conversation. “What’s it like working at the library?”
Her two new coworkers giggled and both answered at once. “Anything can happen,” came from Abby, a young woman around Millie’s age, who was dressed like she was going on a hike. Laced-up boots, sturdy cargo shorts, a T-shirt that read I love trees, and to cap it all off a farmer’s tan that told Millie that when she wasn’t at work at the library Abby rarely spent time indoors.
And from Flor, a woman in her thirties with curly hair, in a bright pink dress wearing tiny violin earrings: “Wonderful.” She flashed the smile of someone who had landed her dream job.
Millie felt somehow both encouraged and daunted. They both loved what they did. Maybe that meant she would love it too. But if she didn’t? Well that was two more people that she would disappoint. And she was awfully tired of disappointing people.
Flor reached over and
patted her shoulder. “Hey. Relax. Enjoy your beer and don’t worry. You’ll learn a lot on the job and I’m sure you will come to love it as much as we do.”
Flor continued, “You certainly won’t be alone on the road all the time.” She looked to Abby. “When the bookmobile visits schools, Abby frequently comes along to do storytime. And Ty from IT often comes along for visits to senior centers to act as mobile tech support, answering questions folks have about using their devices or downloading e-books and audiobooks. And, of course, I’ll be going along with you on your first run tomorrow. Even when you’re on your own, it won’t be for the whole day, or every day. There are plenty of opportunities for you to work back at the main branch library and help out in a lot of different departments. It’ll be good for you if this is something you decide to pursue as a career.”
Abby cracked a sly smile. “Are you ready for tomorrow’s run? You’re going up to Winding Creek, right?”
“That’s right,” replied Flor.
Abby whistled. “I hear it’s all drama up there these days. Better watch your back,” she added with a giggle.
Flor laughed. “Oh, yeah. Winding Creek, Virginia, a dangerous spot. Population: two hundred.”
She pointed suddenly over Millie’s shoulder. “Speaking of Winding Creek, look who’s come in?”
Millie looked over her shoulder to see a tall, handsome black man with a long nose and sharp, perceptive eyes, wearing the sort of long white coat that chefs wear. He spotted them in their corner and waved.
“Hi, Abby. Lovely seeing you here,” he said with a cheery smile but slight note of annoyance under his voice. The moment Abby returned the wave, he spun on his heel and made a beeline for the bar.
Abby leaned toward Millie and whispered “Adam. He owns a fancy restaurant down here downtown as well as a smaller place up in Winding Creek. I see him around a lot. My hiking club is based out of Winding Creek.”
It would have been terribly rude for Millie to look over her shoulder and watch what happened next, but she and the rest of the pub couldn’t help but overhear the loud conversation that followed.
The Body in the Bookmobile Page 1
