“Just doing my job,” Marge said. “Do yourself a favor and think about what I said about traveling. You might find it to be a much better alternative than staying here.”
* * *
* * *
A little rattled by her interview with the court clerk, Kari decided to stop by the town library. Libraries had been one of her happy places since she had been a child. She had spent many an afternoon there when she hadn’t wanted to go home after school, immersing herself in the life of Laura Ingalls Wilder and taking imaginary journeys through A Wrinkle in Time. Even today, her idea of heaven was a cup of hot chocolate and a good book. (And a cat or two, of course.)
Lakeview was small enough that the library was only open four days a week. It was housed in an old Victorian that had been donated by a wealthy patron with no family and a love for books, and was painted a light gray with blue-gray shutters and accents. The first floor was taken up by the main room, which held the checkout and information desk, two computers for public use, magazines, and the new books shelves, as well as an adult fiction room and the children’s space, where story hour was held every Saturday morning at ten.
Upstairs, there were two smaller rooms of nonfiction, a meeting room used by the book club as well as other shared-interest groups, and a couple of offices, including Izzy’s. After checking the new books to make sure there wasn’t anything that she had to have right this very minute, Kari made her way to Izzy’s office and rapped on the doorframe.
“Hey,” Izzy said, looking up from her computer. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. Come on in. I have good news.” She gestured at Kari to shut the door behind her.
Kari could see the resemblance between aunt and niece in the shape of their faces and their matching high cheekbones. But Izzy’s skin was a darker hue and her hair was clipped into a short Afro that hugged her head instead of Bryn’s many tiny braids. The librarian tended to dress in brightly patterned skirts and tops, a look not everyone could have pulled off, but on her it just looked fun and cheerful. The children loved her and called her Miss Izzy.
Speaking of cheerful, Izzy’s attitude had improved a lot since the last time Kari had seen her.
“I could use some good news,” Kari said. “Come on, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“The police have cleared me of suspicion in Bill Myers’s murder,” her friend said gleefully. “And I owe it all to an elderly prostate.”
Kari blinked, slightly taken aback. “That’s great news. And what?”
Izzy chuckled. “I told the sheriff that I was up late reading in my living room on the night of the murder, but of course, with Bryn staying at a friend’s house, there was no one to corroborate my story. Astonishingly, they didn’t find the word of my three cockatoos to be at all helpful.”
“So what changed their minds?”
“My neighbor, Mr. Selkirk, is in his eighties. Apparently, he has to get up several times in the middle of the night to pee, and he happened to glance out his window around the time of the murder and notice me sitting in my chair. He told the cops he made a note of the time because he’d wondered if it was earlier than he’d thought, since I was still awake.” She grinned at Kari. “So it was a case of aging prostate for the win.”
Kari shook her head. “Not a phrase you expect to hear, but I’m glad you’re off the hook. I’m sure Bryn is very relieved. As am I, of course.”
“Any progress clearing your own name?” Izzy asked. “Or Daisy’s?”
“Nope,” Kari said, trying not to sound discouraged. “We’re still suspects number one and two, as far as I can tell. I talked to the sheriff about a couple of people who I’d found out had grudges against Myers, but he knew about them both already. I don’t think he was all that impressed with my poking my nose in.” She gave a halfhearted laugh. “He actually called me Miss Marple.”
Izzy snickered. “I love those books, although you’re not exactly what I envision when I think of her. Still, she always did figure out whodunit in the end.”
“I’m not sure I’m getting any closer to having answers,” Kari said. “It seems like everything I turn up just raises more questions. I should probably just leave the crime solving to the police . . . but I’m afraid that might end up with either me or Daisy in jail, or that by the time they realize we’re right about Myers being crooked, poor Buster will already have been put to sleep.”
“Myers was crooked?” Izzy said. “Are you sure? I know Bryn always said he had the morals of an alley cat, but I thought she was just talking about the way he treated her.” She looked surprisingly fierce for a moment, and Kari got a glimpse of why the police had suspected Izzy might have been capable of murder. Thank goodness that wasn’t an issue anymore.
“Yeah, it’s starting to look as though he was inventing charges and fining people for things their dogs didn’t do, probably even letting some animals loose so he could claim he’d found them wandering and then give the owners tickets they didn’t deserve.”
“The rat fink!” Izzy said with feeling.
“Worse yet, we’ve found evidence that he was working with Deputy Carter, who would do the same thing,” Kari said. “Although we’re pretty sure Myers started it and then persuaded Carter to help him out.”
“I never liked that deputy,” Izzy said, frowning. “He bends down the corners of the pages in books.” She made a tutting sound. “I don’t trust anyone who mutilates books.”
Kari suppressed a smile. “Definitely an indication of criminal leanings,” she said.
“You know,” Izzy said in a thoughtful voice. “I don’t like to repeat gossip, but in this case I might have to make an exception. I heard a rumor that Deputy Carter was seen having a yelling match with Myers on the town square the day before he was killed. According to the patron who told me, no one was close enough to hear what they were arguing about, but it was apparently quite heated. Maybe you should mention it to the sheriff.”
Kari winced. “Uh, I don’t think so. For one thing, someone has probably told him already, the way news spreads in this town. For another, I don’t think he is all that eager to hear any more of my theories. But I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.”
Izzy got up from her chair and came around the desk to give Kari a hug. “Well, you keep digging, Miss Marple. I’m sure you’ll come up with something that will help solve the case.”
“Hopefully before I’m arrested for a crime I didn’t commit,” Kari said.
“That would probably be best,” Izzy agreed. “Too bad you don’t have a neighbor who can vouch for you.”
“I think Mr. Lee would be more likely to say he saw me standing over the dead body with an axe, a smoking gun, and garrote, especially if he thought that would get the shelter closed down,” Kari said with a laugh. “But thanks for the good thought.”
* * *
* * *
Kari was finishing cleaning the cat cages around five o’clock when the phone rang. She checked the caller ID and it said Last Stop. Her stomach clenched and acid rose into her throat. There was only one reason she could think of why anyone would be calling her from there, and it wasn’t to congratulate her on her lottery win or ask to adopt a cat.
“Serenity Sanctuary, Kari Stuart speaking,” she said when she picked up the phone. It wouldn’t hurt to sound professional just in case she was wrong.
“It’s Curtis Fry,” a gruff voice said. “I own the Last Stop. You know where it is?”
“Sure,” Kari said. Everyone in town knew where it was, either so they could go there or so they could avoid it. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Yes, there damned well is,” Fry said, speaking loudly over a combination of country music and yelling. “You can come get your brother, that’s what you can do. He’s been here all day, and he’s drunk as a skunk. Which I don’t mind none, except he’s causin’ trouble and I ain’t gonna be responsible
if somebody hits him over the head with a chair to shut him up.”
She took a deep breath. “Why don’t you just toss him out?” she said in as calm a tone as she could manage.
“Darned fool won’t leave,” Curtis said shortly.
“Well, why don’t you just call the cops, then?” She had enough on her plate without getting sucked back into her family drama. A night in jail might do him some good.
Curtis made a choking sound that Kari eventually realized was supposed to be laughter. “Call the cops?” He choked some more. “Are you kidding me? I don’t want cops out here. I’m sure as heck not going to call them myself. Jeez. Call the cops.” He laughed so hard he started wheezing. “Just come out here and get him, will ya?” There was a click on the other end and she was listening to dead air.
Darn it. Kari hung up the phone, popped the kittens back into their newly cleaned cage, and washed her hands.
Reluctantly, she shut the place down for the night, turning off the lights and turning the new alarm system on before she stepped out the door. Queenie leapt onto her shoulder and hitched a ride down to the house, probably picking up on Kari’s need for comforting.
“Sorry, sweetie,” Kari said, putting out food for the cats and Fred as quickly as she could before grabbing her purse from the table by the door. “You are definitely too young and innocent to go with me to this place.” She scooped the kitten up and kissed her on the nose. “I’ll see you when I get home.”
Luckily the bar wasn’t far from the shelter. In fact, you had to pass it on the way out of town to get to Goose Hollow Road. The Last Stop was located right past the boundary that separated the town’s domain from the county’s.
It definitely looked better at night, when the lights were low and the neon sign of a devil descending into the flames of hell distracted from the sagging roofline and peeling white paint. In the daytime, it looked seedy and run-down, and it was easy to see the weeds growing up through the cracked asphalt in the parking lot. She avoided one pothole that looked big enough to swallow up a VW Bug, swerving so wildly that she probably looked as drunk as most of the patrons.
Even this early in the evening, the place was doing a booming business. A line of Harleys edged the right side of the unevenly shaped lot, grouped together like a herd of metal horses in front of an old hitching post that dated back to the days when the original building had been a roadside tavern. On the opposite end, separated by an invisible and entirely informal division of society, a ragged row of pickup trucks represented the antisocial farmer contingent, the kind who despised the “hoity-toity” bars in town that catered to the tourists and dared to serve drinks with fancy names.
A few random Toyotas and Hondas probably indicated the presence of students from Perryville looking for a walk on the wild side, although they might have been pulled in by the large sign in the smudged window that said Fifty-Cent Wings.
Curtis’s grandfather had been famous for having a still hidden somewhere in the woods outside of town, and the booze at the Last Stop was so bad, the locals joked that Fry was still using it. Kari had driven by the place plenty of times, but she had never been inside. She would have been perfectly happy to keep it that way.
It was easy to spot her brother once she got through the door. He was sitting on the last barstool closest to the door, slumped over the scuffed and graffiti-scarred surface of the wooden bar, arguing with a stocky, middle-aged bald man wearing a half apron covered with red stains. Kari hoped they were wing sauce and not blood.
The odor of stale beer and desperation hung in the air like ghosts of patrons past, and the faint scent of cigarettes seemed to linger, even though smoking in bars had been outlawed in New York State many years before.
“Kari, my favorite sister!” Mickey said when he spotted her, almost sliding off his stool. “You’re just in time. This guy is refusing to pour me another drink. I told him my sister was rich and I could afford it, but he still refuses to serve me. Tell him who you are.”
Kari rolled her eyes. “I’m a woman who was up to her elbows in cat litter ten minutes ago and still has to go back to the shelter and walk three more dogs. That’s who I am. Whose wife or girlfriend did you hit on?”
She turned to the bald man, who was glowering at them both so hard she was worried his bushy eyebrows might fall off. “Sorry about this. Next time just don’t serve him at all. It’ll save us both a lot of trouble.”
Curtis snarled at her. “I’m a businessman. How am I supposed to make money if I don’t sell people booze?” He held out one meaty hand. “Unless maybe you’d rather pay me not to let him drink, if you’re as rich as your brother says.”
“Forget it,” Kari said. “But don’t expect me to come get him again. This is definitely a one-off.” She half led, half dragged her brother toward the door, her feet sticking unpleasantly to the floor, which clearly hadn’t been cleaned any time in the recent past. The whole place—and its owner—kind of gave her the creeps. No wonder he had such a bad reputation around town. Kari would be happy if she never met up with him again.
As she was trying to get Mickey into her car, she wondered if—no matter what she’d said to Suz—it might be worth it to give Mickey a chunk of money, just to get rid of him. The problem with that, of course, was he’d just be back for more as soon as whatever she gave him ran out. It was a no-win situation.
“I thought you quit drinking,” she said.
“I did,” her brother replied. “But I had to celebrate your good fortune, didn’t I?”
A muddy dark green SUV pulled into the parking lot and drove up next to her. Jack Falco peered out the driver’s-side window. “Hello,” he said. “Do you need a hand?”
He’d obviously been out doing his job, since there was a cute but very dirty midsized dog in a cage in the back seat, its tongue lolling as it gave a few halfhearted barks. “Hush you,” Falco said. “You’ve caused enough trouble for one day.” Then he looked back at Kari. “Seems like maybe you know the feeling.”
She could feel her face flush. “Yeah. My darling brother is back in town for a brief visit. Getting briefer by the minute. Sorry.” She was so embarrassed. This was definitely not the impression she wanted to make on a man who was going to be dealing with her in a professional capacity for what could be years. Her brother gave a perky grin.
“Hi there!” he said. “I’m her brother.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” Falco said, getting out of his car and walking over to her. He lifted Mickey up effortlessly and then slid him into the passenger seat after Kari opened the door. “I had an uncle growing up who had a drinking problem, so I get it. You’re not responsible for someone else’s bad choices. Even if they’re related to you.” He gave her a quick smile that was even more startling compared to his usual stern expression.
“Are you going to need help getting him out of the car when you get him home?” Falco asked. He tilted his head toward the dog. “Corky there isn’t going to mind another few minutes before he gets taken back to his owners. He apparently gets loose around once a month. Personally, I think he just likes being driven around in a crate. I might suggest to his people that they buy one for their own car.”
Kari almost liked it better when he wasn’t being nice to her. She didn’t quite know how to cope with this. “I’ll be fine. He can sleep it off while I go back to the shelter. But thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem,” Falco said, and drove off, Corky panting happily in the back.
* * *
* * *
After walking the couple of dogs she hadn’t gotten to before the call from Curtis Fry, Kari reset the alarm and walked back down to her house. She was getting quite fond of the place, even if none of the walls were straight and the floors slanted so much that all the cat toys ended up rolling into the same corner. Old farmhouses had character, even if they weren’t perfect.
Kind of like her brother, who had made himself at home and was sitting at her kitchen table, eating the leftovers she’d been planning to have for her own dinner. He seemed to have sobered up remarkably fast.
“Hey, sis,” Mickey said cheerfully. He had a lipstick smudge on one corner of his jaw and his curly hair looked like someone had been running their fingers through it. “Sorry about the fuss. I promise, it won’t happen again.”
Kari sighed. She loved her younger brother, who had actually stood between her and their father as soon as he’d gotten old enough and big enough to do so. She often thought his charming nature was a defense mechanism he’d developed as a way of getting around their father’s perpetual anger. But she didn’t have any delusions about Mickey’s somewhat flexible morals or inability to take on responsibility. She kept hoping he would grow up, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath waiting for it to happen.
“Just so you know, I’m still not giving you any money. You’d just blow it anyway,” she said, grabbing a fork and spearing a piece of chicken salad off the plate in front of him. “Everything is going toward the shelter.”
Mickey shrugged, as unconcerned about the practicalities of life as usual. “Whatever,” he said. “Maybe I’ll stick around anyway. That Bryn is quite the looker.”
Kari pointed her fork at him. “Don’t even think about it,” she said. “That girl is way out of your league.”
Her brother laughed. “You may be right. And I’m already tired of cleaning the dog yard. I mean, I like dogs as much as the next guy, but man, they generate a lot of poop.”
Kari snickered, remembering Bryn’s warning about that on the first day Kari had walked through the door. There really was an incredible amount of poop involved in running a shelter.
She and Mickey finished off the food and retired to the living room to watch something mindless on TV. Kari was exhausted from both work and dealing with the drama, and she was happy to sip at a glass of iced tea and pet Queenie, who had crawled into her lap as soon as Kari made one. She never could stay mad at Mickey, and he was surprisingly good company when he wasn’t getting into trouble she had to get him out of. She knew he’d be on his way again soon enough, so she was content to just enjoy this quiet moment of sibling camaraderie while she had the chance.
Furbidden Fatality Page 15
