“From the hiking club,” Abby filled in. “They never did seem to get along for some reason.”
Suddenly Millie put two and two together in her mind. “I’ve heard that name before. I’ve heard it right here.” She turned to Abby. “The night we met in person for the first time, the night I got in town. We all came here, and that chef was complaining about Frank to Graham at the bar.”
Abby raised her eyebrows. “You’re right. Adam was talking about Frank. Frank’s been bothering him for some reason.” Then she gave a little squeak. “It was about Martin! Frank had been bothering Adam about Martin.”
Millie felt her phone buzzing in her pocket, but this was too important. She ignored it.
Chloe twisted a strand of brown hair in her hand. “I don’t know anything about a chef, but I do know that whatever Frank and Martin’s problem with each other was, it seemed to be getting worse. A lot worse.”
Millie’s phone buzzed again. And buzzing came from the pocket of Abby’s hiking shorts too. They both ignored it.
“Do you know what it was about?” asked Millie.
Chloe sighed. “Frank was arguing pretty loudly about the cell tower issue—derailing the board meeting, getting them totally off topic. It’s a matter of public safety if you ask folks like me and Martin, but anyway… I know they were at odds about cell towers, but I feel like there was something else going on. Something deeper.”
Millie’s pocket buzzed again. She took a sip of her blonde ale. “Have you told the police all of this?”
Chloe ran her hands through her hair. “I did. I don’t think they were listening to me. Honestly, I’m not sure why I am telling you two, but you were there and, Abby, you knew him.”
Millie’s phone buzzed yet again. This was so not the moment. They sat in silence sipping their beers, just for a few seconds, each absorbed in their own thoughts.
Chloe stood. “Anyway, thanks for hearing me out.” She twisted her hair in her fingers again. “I—I gotta run.” And she did almost literally run for the door, her still half full glass left on the coffee table.
Abby let out a whistle. “That was weird.”
Millie nodded. She was in the mood to find more information. “Let’s go talk to that chef. Maybe he knows more about Martin and Frank.” Her phone buzzed again as she stood.
“Are you sure?” asked Abby, standing shakily beside her. “I mean, if Chloe is right, maybe we shouldn’t be poking around?”
“It’s only a question,” said Millie. She took her empty glass to the bar, Abby following her. She felt her phone buzz yet again. What was going on? Millie pulled out her phone. Three missed calls, a voicemail, and five texts from Peter. Millie skimmed through the text messages.
Millie, there’s some cop here to see you. What is going on?
The cop is still here. Is this something to do with the dead guy?
Millie, why aren’t you picking up your phone?
The cop just called you.
This is the weirdest day off I’ve had in a long time.
A chill ran down Millie’s body. She showed the messages to Abby.
“I guess Chloe wasn’t kidding.” Abby showed her own phone screen. “Look here! The police have been talking to Flor today, too.”
Millie noticed Graham look up from the other end of the bar where he was filling a glass. “We better talk outside. And I better get home soon.”
“I’ll walk with you,” said Abby.
They left The Witch’s Brew. The tinkling wind chimes of the door felt a little more ominous as Millie stepped out into the early evening. They hurried down the sidewalk.
“This is ridiculous,” said Abby. “You were in the café the whole time.”
“Yeah,” Millie replied. “We were. And we definitely heard the paramedics say it was a heart attack.”
“Besides,” said Abby, “Flor—you just met her, but you gotta understand—she’d never hurt a fly. And why would they focus on you? You didn’t even know the guy.”
Millie shivered against an unseasonable chill in the late August evening. “Never seen him before in my life.” She took a deep breath. “It will be okay. They probably just want to confirm what we saw.”
“Yeah,” Abby agreed, shivering as well, “probably.”
Millie pulled out her phone to call Peter and reassure him that she was only a couple blocks away. They hurried along, their footsteps on the pavement beating a tattoo, like a heartbeat, a pattern that couldn’t help but remind Millie of the heart that would be no more.
* * *
Back at the apartment, Millie shooed Todd away from the step with her foot, and he cooed indignantly in response. Abby climbed the metal steps with Millie, her face set. like she was a guard against being arrested for a murder one couldn’t possibly have committed. As they reached the door, they could hear voices from within.
“Are you sure you don’t want some more coffee?”
Oh no. He made the cop coffee.
Grimacing, Millie turned the doorknob and tentatively stepped inside, Abby on her heels.
A tall dark-haired woman, in an impeccable suit rose awkwardly from Peter’s semi-dilapidated couch. “You must be Millie. And…?”
Peter popped his head out of the little galley kitchen adjacent to the entry. “Oh, Abby, it’s you. It is Abby, right?” A little redness crept down from Peter’s blonde hairline and covered the tips of his ears.
Abby nodded. “That’s me.”
The officer cleared her throat. “I’m Detective Kendra Allen.” She flashed a small professional smile and spoke in a calm tone that made it seem like everything was perfectly fine. Maybe she did only need to double check things.
Detective Allen continued, “if you don’t mind, Millie, I’d like to talk to you in private.”
“Sh-sure.” She hesitated, thinking of the two of them sitting on her lumpy futon, but Peter broke the silence and solved the problem.
“Well, maybe Abby and I can go for a walk around the block or something.”
Abby gave a little squeak. Then, she reddened herself. “I mean, I’d like that.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Detective Allen.
Once Abby and Peter had left, Detective Allen resumed her seat on the couch. Millie entered the living room and took a seat on the large overturned crate that served as a coffee table.
Millie gave a nervous giggle. She gestured around her. “My cousin is not too big on home decor. He’d rather decorate skin.” Her face burned. Way to sound like a serial killer, Millie. “I-I-I mean he’s a tattoo artist. That came out wrong.”
Detective Allen’s placid smile never wavered. She took a notebook out of her blazer pocket. “I understand you’ve only recently moved here. Is that right?”
“Yeah,” said Millie, watching the detective’s fingers twitch as she moved the pen across the page. “I just got here Sunday afternoon.” Then an inspiration. “I think I’ve still got the bus ticket. I’ll take a look in my room if you want.”
Detective Allen shook her head. “There’s no need. I just want to confirm some of the details of what happened the day that Martin Day passed away.” They went over the same events she told the police about on the day in question: setting up the bookmobile, the few checkouts, the stop for coffee, and then what came after the stop for coffee. Millie’s heartbeat slowed. Her shoulders began to relax. See, she silently told herself. Just confirming everything. It helped that Detective Allen had such a calming voice. And sparkling brown eyes. Millie felt her cheeks redden again. No, she thought. Do not think about that. Detectives aren’t cute. They can arrest you.
“When you went to the restroom, while you waited for the coffee, how long do you think you were in there?” asked Detective Allen.
“I don’t know. Two minutes, maybe less. There wasn’t a line.” That sounded right, didn’t it? It was a normal amount of time for a person to go pee. Stay cool. You only noticed she had nice eyes. You didn’t do anything weird. There is no crime in
noticing nice eyes.
Detective Allen scribbled down the time then looked up from her notebook. “And while you were in the restroom, Flor didn’t go in as well?”
Millie shook her head. “No. She stayed chatting with Chloe, I think.”
“I see.” Detective Allen scribbled down something. “You’re sure you didn’t see her go in the restroom?”
A sense of alarm began to rise in Millie’s chest. “There were a bunch of stalls. I guess she could have come in and then left before I came out.” Had Chloe said that Flor had gone to the restroom as well?
Now Millie asked a question. “Have you talked to Chloe lately?”
Detective Allen raised her eyebrows. “We have spoken to Chloe. Has she spoken to you lately?”
Millie ran her hands through the back of her hair. “I— kind of.” Even Millie knew lying to a police officer would be a terrible idea. So the story came out, how Chloe had come to them in the library and their subsequent meeting at The Witch’s Brew. “But this all seems so far-fetched,” said Millie. “The paramedics said it was heart attack. We heard them. Maybe they were wrong. Was it something else?” She looked into Detective Allen’s sparkling eyes.
Detective Allen flashed her placid smile. “I can’t tell you that.”
Well, that said quite enough. Millie’s interior alarm bells were ringing full force now.
Detective Allen stood. “Thank you for your time,” she said.
Millie stood from her crate. “Are you sure you don’t want to see my bus ticket?”
Detective Allen laughed. “No, no. You’re fine. I just wanted to confirm the events.”
“Flor is really a great boss you know,” Millie offered.
“You know this after only four days?” asked Detective Allen, not unkindly.
Millie rubbed the back of her neck. She didn’t have a response for that.
“It was nice to meet you, Millie,” said Detective Allen. “Here’s my card if you need to get in touch.” She handed Millie her business card with a smile. Then she left the apartment, the sound of her heels clicking on the way down the metal staircase.
Millie flopped onto Peter’s pathetic couch, the structure squeaking and groaning under her weight. Coming to this town and taking the library job was supposed to be a fresh start, a nice slow-paced life. But here she was, not a week into the new position, and now there was a murder and she might have accidentally sent that cop after her boss.
7
Chapter 7
Poison. It had to be poison, that’s what Millie figured anyway. She hadn’t seen any signs of wounding at the scene, and the assumption from the paramedics was a heart attack. What looks like that but is really murder? Only some kind of poison. Millie reflected on this while staring out the window of the bookmobile, back on the road at last. It turned out some of the delay in getting back to service had been because the police were going over the thing with a fine tooth comb, and—much to Millie’s disappointment—they had removed the book Martin had held in his hand as he took his last breath. She silently cursed herself for not getting a better look at what page he’d been reading. There were plenty of copies in the library system. She’d be checking it out as soon as she got back to the main library. If only she knew what page she was looking for.
Flor drove in silence. She’d been out of sorts since Martin’s passing, but especially this morning, not only because she had to get back in the bookmobile again—they had a long day ahead of them to make up for the missed stops that should have occurred on Monday afternoon and on Wednesday—but because the cops had been following up with her about Monday’s events as well. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it, so Millie did not press the issue. She couldn’t believe Flor would have done anything wrong, but if she disappeared for a few moments and she wasn’t in the restroom, where was she?
The van pulled into the parking lot of Winding Creek Assisted Living. Flor parked in the bus unloading area. Millie leapt up, opened the back door, and let down the metal ramp, wincing as she crossed the spot where Martin had once lain.
“Hello, there!” a voice called out.
Millie looked up from her work straightening the OPEN sign to see a man in his late thirties approaching from the building. He wore a Winding Creek Assisted Living polo shirt and khakis.
“I’m Ricky Donnelly,” he said. “You must be Millie, our new driver.” He held out his hand and Millie shook it.
“Yes, I am.”
“Terrible what happened to Martin, isn’t it?” said Ricky. “I knew him from the hiking club. I saw him just before it happened at the board meeting.” Ricky stopped that line of conversation as Flor emerged from the van. “Hi, Flor. Let me help you with those boxes.”
“Thank you,” said Flor, her voice quieter and flatter than usual. While Flor’s skirt and top were characteristically bright colors (spring green and butter yellow), her violin-shaped earrings were missing and she hadn’t filled Millie in on a historical fact all morning. Together, Millie, Ricky, and Flor stacked box after box of books on a hand truck waiting outside the entrance to the assisted living facility.
“These are hold books for some of the patrons who find it difficult to get down here to visit the bookmobile,” Flor explained.
Ricky wheeled the books inside just as those residents who were prepared to visit the bookmobile in person began emerging from the sliding doors.
Millie and Flor had a busy hour. There was a great deal of reader’s advisory involved, especially for folks with walkers or canes who found it difficult to navigate the inside of the bookmobile and browse the books themselves. They’d say things like “I want another mystery with a grumpy detective” or “I want another book like the one I read last week, but a different author; I’ve read all this one’s stuff.” Flor would flit among the shelves, always with a suggestion for everyone. There was some organization that would help Millie along—books were arranged by genre—but Flor seem to have internalized so much of reader’s advisory. Millie wondered if she’d ever catch up. Flor hadn’t even been on the bookmobile regularly for several years, not since Andrea—whom Millie was replacing—took over.
Once things start down a little, Ricky reappeared. “I bet you two could use a coffee.”
Flor checked the time on her phone. “I’m afraid we can’t stay much longer,” she said.
“Don’t worry,” said Ricky. “We’ve got to-go cups. I’ll bring it out to you. Cream or sugar?”
“Just black for me,” said Flor.
“And you, Millie?” asked Ricky.
Millie seized her chance. “I’ll come with you.” She followed him into the building, hoping that it didn’t look too weird to either Ricky or Flor. She had questions and didn’t know when she’d get another opportunity. Ricky had been at the meeting, so Millie mentally added him to her suspect list, along with Chloe. She tried to picture Abby’s face when she told her she had a suspect list.
They strode through the entryway, Ricky smiling and nodding to residents as he passed. The dining area lay just beyond, a room with many round tables draped in white tablecloths on a carpet of a beige gold color. The dining area looked like it could hold several hundred people at once, but at the moment it was mostly empty. Just a few residents enjoying a leisurely coffee and employees straightening some of the tables at the far end room. Ricky crossed to a long table in the back and began filling a to-go cup with Flor’s black coffee from an insulated dispenser.
Millie selected a to-go cup for herself. “How long have you been a member of the hiking club?” she asked.
“Seven years,” said Ricky. “Ever since I took this job and moved out here.” He finished with the dispenser and scooted aside to let Millie fill her coffee cup.
“Besides you, Martin, and Martin’s grandson, who else was at the board meeting?” Millie asked.
Ricky snapped the lid on Flor’s cup and looked up at Millie with a knowing grin. Or maybe a grimace. “You think something’s up, too, don’t y
ou?”
“It is weird,” Millie admitted.
“Well, besides us, there was Pauline and Frank. Even Sadie Northrup popped in. She’s a teacher, and I didn’t think she’d make the meeting. Then there was Chloe refilling the coffee. Oh, and Jack, too. He’s the manager of the hotel. And my boyfriend, in the interest of full disclosure.” Ricky dropped his voice to a whisper, “I suppose any one of us could have poisoned him.”
Millie’s blood seemed to freeze. “I—I never said poison,” she muttered.
Ricky leaned in and whispered quietly. “It has to be poison, though, doesn’t it? There was no injury. If something’s fishy…” He didn’t have to finish. Lines of worry crossed his face. Rather than responding, Millie simply snapped a lid on her own cup.
Ricky wasn’t done. “There was a moment when all our mugs were together,” he whispered. “That’s when it must have happened. That’s what I’ve told the police. It was just before Martin ambled off, I think. I didn’t really notice him go.”
Millie nodded and, taking the coffee, they went back to the bookmobile in silence. So there was her suspect list. One of those six people—seven if she included Flor—must have done it. Millie’s mind buzzed. What kind of poison was it? How long until he felt the effects? Surely not more than a moment or two—a couple minutes at the most. They stepped out the sliding doors. Millie pictured the hotel and the bookmobile across the street in her mind. If he began to feel the effects as soon as he got inside, that would mean that he may have realized that he might be dying when he reached for Pauline’s book.
8
Chapter 8
Frank opened the gates and stomped down the winding path. Not that it was much of a path anymore. Pauline wasn’t big on man-made structure. What had once been round concrete steppingstones forming a line from the road to the front door had—over the course of decades—deteriorated to a crumbling connection of cement and pebbles crept over by moss and wildflowers. Nature taking things back, just the way Pauline thought it should.
The Body in the Bookmobile Page 4
