Book Read Free

The Broken Spine

Page 29

by Dorothy St. James


  “I’d come back to the library after I received a troubling text from Tori,” Charlie said. “It was filled with threats. Next thing I knew, I was being called on to be a hero. I got the key from Mrs. Farnsworth and sneaked in through the basement back door.”

  “Mrs. Farnsworth entrusted you with the key?” First she gave it to Jace and now she’d handed it over to Charlie?

  “What can I say?” Charlie smiled. “I’m a charming guy. Women trust me.”

  The mayor had been spouting threats all this time. But suddenly his tone changed. “Ah. There you are. Arrest these miscreants. They’ve conspired against me, Miss Becket threatened me with a knife, and they killed the town manager.”

  Detective Ellerbe looked at me and then at Charlie. His gaze finally stopped at Jace. “Read me into the situation, Detective.”

  Jace gave a brief summary of the events. “In short, Mayor Goodvale killed the town manager. As I came down the stairs, I heard him as he confessed to the crime to Ms. Becket.”

  “And I recorded it,” Charlie interjected. He held up his phone.

  And that was that.

  It was over.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  She’s in shock,” Flossie said.

  “She needs coffee. Strong coffee,” Tori said.

  “For once, I agree with you,” Flossie replied.

  I heard them talking. I felt their comforting hands petting my back. I wasn’t in shock. At least I didn’t think I was. The police had escorted Mayor Goodvale to the station. I’d given a statement to Detective Ellerbe. He was the one who’d suggested I go upstairs and get something from the café. He was the one who’d told me to find my friends.

  Jace had pried Dewey from my arms moments before I’d climbed the stairs. He promised to take good care of my “hero kitty.” That was kind of him.

  “It wasn’t my fault.” I whispered the one thought that kept circling and circling in my mind. It wasn’t my fault.

  “Of course it isn’t. What happened after we left?” Tori pulled me into the circle of her arms. “Charlie marched right past me. He said he’d call. But he didn’t kiss me or smile or anything. He’s either upset, or I’m losing my allure. Tell me I’m not losing my touch when it comes to men.”

  “Stop making this about you,” Flossie fussed. “This is about Tru.”

  “Charlie was heading to the police station, I think,” I said, my face buried in Tori’s peasant blouse. “He recorded the mayor’s confession on his phone.”

  “Let go of her, Tori, so I can hug her. You’re always such a hog.”

  “Says the woman who doesn’t let anyone touch her computer,” Tori shot back.

  I hugged Tori tightly and then bent down and wrapped my arms around Flossie. “The two of you are gems. I love you both more than anything in the world. And I’m fine. I simply felt overwhelmed for a moment. It’s over. And Duggar’s death wasn’t my fault.” I drew a steadying breath. “The two of you are right about one thing. I can use that coffee.”

  The library café not only served coffee but also sold a selection of freshly baked pastries. I ordered my coffee black and a bear claw so sweet and gooey that Mama would lecture me for a solid week if she saw me eating it.

  But it was over. And the secret bookroom was safe.

  That was the part I still had a hard time believing.

  * * *

  • • •

  “That was a stupid, brave thing you did at the library,” Jace said when I answered my door that evening. Dewey was at the screen door in a flash, meowing for me to open it for his new best buddy.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “It wasn’t a compliment. You should have run away. You should have shouted for help. You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  I tilted my head. “Is that why you’re here? You came to scold me?”

  “I came here to—” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Are you going to let me in before your cat rips a hole in the door?”

  I pushed open the door and stepped out of the way so he could come in because he was right. Dewey was about to rip a cat-sized hole in my screen door.

  “I was never in danger,” I told him. “I was about to shout for help when you barged in.”

  “Tru, Tru, Tru, you took too big of a risk. He had a knife.” Jace shook his head. “This isn’t how police investigations work. It’s not about the big confession at the end. We gather evidence, we build cases, and yes, it often ends up muddy. But in the end, if we’re lucky, justice is served.”

  “I’d run out of time. I couldn’t wait for the police to handle things.” Not with Charlie about to run to the police and expose us all.

  “What do you mean, you’d run out of time?”

  “Nothing. Just a slip of the tongue. Next time, I’ll try to trust the system.”

  “And me.” He took a step closer and put his hands on my hips. “I want you to know that you can trust me, Tru. If you ever find yourself in trouble like this again, come to me. Let me help you.”

  My cat was tracing figure eights around both Jace’s and my legs, as if trying to join the two of us together in some kind of secret cat ceremony. Plus, Jace had believed in me; at least he had in the end. And he had taken excellent care of Dewey, sneaking him out through the basement door without Mrs. Farnsworth learning I’d brought him to the library and personally bringing him home.

  Despite all that, I had to be honest. Trusting Jace was going to take some work.

  He seemed to understand my hesitation. His hands slipped from my hips. “I’m glad you’re okay, Tru. I came by to also let you know that the state police picked up Grandle about an hour ago. Luke is now willing to testify that Grandle attacked him. That moneylender isn’t getting out of jail anytime soon.”

  “That’s good to know. Maybe he and the mayor can bunk together.”

  “The facts are piling up against the mayor. Much of the evidence we had thought we’d traced to Luke traces to his father just as easily. And with his confession, the district attorney won’t have any trouble building a case against him. But there is one thing that’s troubling us, Tru. The mayor keeps trying to implicate you. He’s saying you stole library books. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

  I bit my lower lip. “I would never steal from the library.”

  “That’s what I told them. Now, get some rest. You deserve it.” He started toward the door but stopped abruptly and turned back to me. “And Tru, I know you still have a secret. I’m okay with that. We all have secrets we feel like we need to keep.”

  I closed the door and leaned against it. A bubbly feeling of happiness brought a smile to my lips. Oh, boy, he doesn’t know the half of it.

  Secrets seemed to be as popular as sweet tea here under the shade of our ancient bald cypresses. Thankfully, the residents of our tranquil town had no reason to fret. A small but dedicated team had devoted their lives to protect them.

  Librarians were adventurers. Librarians were warriors. Librarians were superheroes dressed in plain clothes. Beware, villains. You don’t stand a chance against one of us.

  Acknowledgments

  Oh boy, launching a new series is terrifying. It’s like jumping off a cliff and hoping that by some miracle you know how to fly. Luckily, I have an awesome support system (including you) that serves as my wings. This library series has been in my heart in some form or other ever since my high school days. I’m grateful to my amazing editor at Berkley, Michelle Vega, and my super awesome agent, Jill Marsal, for encouraging me to write The Broken Spine.

  To my writing buddies—especially and not exclusively: Dru Ann Love, Paula Benson, Nicole Seitz, Amanda Berry, Ann Chaney, Nina Bruhns, Catherine Bruns, and Shari Randall—thank you for being there, for the cheers, the plotting advice, the scene ideas, and the fact-checking. I love you all and mis
s you.

  A special round of thanks goes to a couple of library friends (warriors) who helped with the research of this book. Leslie Koller, a digital/emerging technologies librarian, listened as I talked through the plot with her, answered all my silly questions, and gave all kinds of guidance on topics from new technologies to rare and collectible books. Frankie Lea Hannan, assistant branch manager at my local library, provided some wonderful insights after the tai chi classes she’d teach in the library’s meeting room. I bet you never knew I was quietly plotting murders during those classes!

  Heartfelt thanks go to my super supportive family, especially to Jim, who gave me time to write even when time seemed scarce (plus let me buy a puppy), and Avery, who is and will always be my joy. I love you all dearly.

  Finally, to my readers, especially those who have stuck with me, who attend my book signings, who write me emails, who send encouraging messages on Facebook, and who leave reviews. I hope my words inspire, keep you guessing, and make you smile. You are the best readers a writer could ever hope for. Thank you.

  About the Author

  A lover of puzzles and perhaps a bit too nosy about other people’s lives, author Dorothy St. James is a former Folly Beach beach bum. She now lives in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina, with her husband, precocious daughter, slightly (OK, terribly) needy dogs, and the friendliest cat you’ll ever meet. Author of a dozen novels, Dorothy enjoys writing both cozy mysteries and romance. Her works have been nominated for many awards including: the Southern Independent Bookseller’s Alliance Southern Book Prize, the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award, the National Reader’s Choice Award, and the Romance Reviews Today Perfect 10 Award.

  What’s next on

  your reading list?

  Discover your next

  great read!

  Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.

  Sign up now.

 

 

 


‹ Prev