Murder by Page One

by Olivia Matthews

  I monitored Jo as she wandered past me again. “The deputies will get on the right track in a day or two. I’m sure of it.”

  She stopped beside the table. Her knuckles showed white as she gripped the back of the chair. “I can’t sit around and wait to be railroaded. I need to do something. Now. I need someone on my side.” Her gaze locked onto me. “Marvey, you’re on my side.”

  “Of course. I know you didn’t do this.”

  “Help me prove it.”

  My mind went blank. “How?”

  Jo pulled out the chair and sat. “By helping me find proof that clears me. All I’m asking for is reasonable doubt.”

  “You have reasonable doubt.” I leaned into the table, anxious to convince her. “Your team, Zelda, Spence, and I all saw you outside the storage room after Fiona had arrived. If you’d killed her, you would’ve been covered in blood.”

  Jo was shaking her head. “I need something more to get the deputies to stop focusing on me.”

  “Jo, I’m a librarian, not a crime fighter.”

  “Please, Marvey. There’s no one else I can turn to.”

  Urgh. I squeezed my eyes shut to escape the plea in Jo’s wide dark stare. What did I know about investigating murders, coming up with motives, suspects, timelines, and evidence?

  But…Barbara Gordon/Batgirl was a librarian. And so was I. At its core, an investigation was research, learning about people, tracking down clues, and putting together the results of your inquiries. I could do that.

  Couldn’t I?

  “All right.” I exhaled the words before I could change my mind.

  Jo popped off her chair and wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you, Marvey! Thank you so much!” She straightened and stood back. Her relief was palpable, making me glad I’d agreed to help—even as I had no idea what I was doing.

  “I can’t make promises.”

  “Of course not.” Jo waved her hands. “I understand.”

  I rose to my feet, collecting my empty coffee mug for another refill. “First, I’ll need some supplies.”

  “Like what?” Jo followed me into my kitchen.

  “Laptop, paper, pencils, and my emergency bag of chocolate-covered peanuts.” I couldn’t handle stress without it.

  “Are you going to share?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay. And then what?”

  “We start with one of the many things librarians do best.”

  “What’s that?”

  I pulled the bag of chocolates from my hideaway bin. “Research.”

  “We’ve been going in circles for almost two hours.” Disgusted, I dropped my pencil on the writing tablet. The top sheet was almost filled with notes. “What do we have?” Feeling the onset of a sugar high, I nudged away the bag of chocolates. Jo and I had started on our second pot of tea.

  “We don’t have much.” Jo sounded as frustrated as I felt. The foot of her right leg, crossed over her left, tapped a frantic though silent beat. “Fiona talked a lot while we were planning the signing. I hadn’t realized until now that she hadn’t really said anything substantive.”

  “Her social media’s a void. There aren’t photos of family or friends.” I once again clicked through her Facebook photo albums. It was a desperate move. I wasn’t going to see anything I hadn’t seen before.

  We’d been able to navigate her Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram pages because Jo had connected To Be Read’s social media accounts with Fiona’s while they’d planned the signing. Fiona had posted photos of herself at author conferences and workshops, as well as book fairs. There were pictures of her with other published authors and images of her book cover.

  “Maybe none of her friends or family had wanted their pictures on the internet.” Jo scanned the notes we’d taken.

  Through scrupulous digging online, we’d learned Fiona had been born in South Carolina forty-one years earlier. Most of her past remained a mystery. Where had she gone to school? Why had she relocated to Georgia? Did she have living relatives?

  “Why was Betty at the signing?” I asked. Jo was Southern. If it was a regional thing, I figured she could explain it to me.

  She made a humming noise. “I’d wondered about that too. Maybe she came because of her son.”

  It still didn’t make sense. “Fiona married Buddy Hayes only six months after moving to Peach Coast.”

  “Talk about your whirlwind romance.” Her tone was dry. “She blew into town and broke up a marriage.”

  Not wanting to judge Fiona, I brought the conversation back to the signing. “Imagine you’re Betty. Would you attend Fiona’s signing?”

  Jo shrugged her slender shoulders. “Maybe Betty’s moved on.”

  I couldn’t imagine moving that far on. It would be like changing time zones. I clicked through more photos. “Fiona had posted a lot of images of her book cover. She must’ve been excited.”

  “She was, and I was happy for her. But she was obnoxious about it all.”

  “I can understand why.” I pointed to Fiona’s posts on the computer screen. “She was getting fantastic advance reviews for her book from reputable sites: Publishers Calendar, Suspense/Mystery/Thriller Magazine, Librarians Periodical.” I was especially impressed by that last one.

  “That’s one of the reasons I was happy for her. But it didn’t give her license to be a witch to me and my team. She pushed back the event so we could include her book.”

  “I can understand that too. If she’s going to act as a liaison between her group and your store, she should get something out of it for her time and trouble.”

  “I agree. That was the least objectionable thing she did. I’m working my way up.” Jo shifted on her seat to face me. “She made demands on the store as though I worked for her.”

  “I’d have a problem with that too.”

  “She wanted to approve all of our publicity materials. She said her book had to appear first on the listing because it was being released by a big publisher. Her words, not mine.”

  I blinked. “That’s the kind of information we need, not this sanitized social media stuff.” I waved my hand at my laptop. “If we’re going to find the motive for her murder, we need to learn who Fiona really was.”

  “How do we do that?” Jo looked hopeless.

  “By talking with people who knew her and knew about her: associates, friends, family. But they may not want to speak with us. You and I are outsiders—”

  “A New Yorker and a Gator.”

  I ignored her college football reference. “We need someone on the inside who can give us validation with the locals.”

  Jo and I had our epiphany at the same time. “Spence.”

  Chapter 6

  “We should let the deputies do their job.” Spence’s baritone voice came through my cell phone Sunday afternoon. Jo and I had him on speaker. “The deputies can’t build a case against you, Jo. There isn’t any evidence linking you to Fiona’s murder.”

  “The deputies are using the fact that she was killed in my store to link me to her murder.” Jo blinked rapidly as though struggling against tears.

  Her fear was a tangible presence between us. My heart was breaking for her. What would she tell her team on Tuesday? How would she answer the inevitable questions from well-meaning—and in some cases, purely nosy—neighbors? I could imagine her stress and anxiety. Putting myself in her place, I was even more committed to doing everything I could to help, including persuading Spence to help us.

  “Fiona’s murder occurring in your store isn’t enough to bring a case against you to court.” Beneath Spence’s easy Southern speech, I heard the pinging of metal on porcelain. It sounded like he was stirring a spoon inside a mug. The hushed voices in the background must be from the portable radio that stood on his kitchen counter. I recalled the room from the few times Jo and I had visite
d Spence’s home. The spotless black, white, and silver space was a culinary artist’s dream.

  “It shouldn’t be enough to get Jo on the suspects list, but that didn’t stop the deputies from putting her there.” My fingers itched to dive back into my bag of chocolate-covered peanuts. “I’m not confident they’re experienced enough to handle this case. The town’s last homicide occurred less than two years ago. Do you remember it? A tourist was strangled in his hotel room. The murder’s never been solved.”

  “I do remember that case.” He probably recalled details from his newspaper’s coverage. “How do you know about it?”

  “We researched murders in Peach Coast.” I dismissed Spence’s question. We needed to stay on topic. “The point is the sheriff’s office won’t want to rack up another cold case. To save face, they’re going to have to close this one and quickly, which is the reason they’re rushing to identify suspects. They put Jo on that list despite their inability to link a motive or an opportunity to her. They don’t even have the murder weapon. Does that seem reasonable to you?”

  “I agree it’s not a promising start to their investigation.” Spence was beginning to sound concerned. The hushed voices in the background abruptly went silent.

  I shrugged a shoulder. “Based on the true crime novels I’ve read, it seems like they’re being irrational.”

  “But what can we do?” Spence asked. “The deputies may not have much experience with murder investigations, but we don’t have any.”

  “You’re right.” I gripped my pendant as I searched for the words to change Spence’s mind. “But this is a big story for Peach Coast. Wouldn’t you like to dig into it?”

  “I’d rather give the deputies room to do their job.” Spence’s words floated up from my cell phone on the dining table. “They have resources we don’t have access to. We also risk aggravating them, and they might take their frustration out on Jo.”

  Jo’s eyes widened with additional fear. “I didn’t think about that.”

  I bulldozed over both objections. “This is a small town. Everyone will know the deputies are investigating Jo. The negative attention will do serious damage to her, personally and professionally.”

  Jo appeared to be persuaded back to our original course of action. “I need your help, Spence.”

  “All right. What can I do?”

  I exhaled a breath of relief. “We need to identify a motive someone would have for killing Fiona. Jo and I spent a couple of hours this morning searching the internet for information about Fiona. There’s little to nothing to go on.”

  Jo chimed in. “It barely gives her name, birthplace, and residence. She’s either really private or really boring.”

  “A third possibility is she was too smart to put personal details on the internet.” Spence’s tone was wry. “More people should follow her example.”

  He had a point. Fiona had been cautious about what she’d shared on her social media pages. Was it possible some of the information on her profile wasn’t even accurate? Swallowing a sigh, I set that fear aside to deal with later, if necessary. “We need to talk with people who could give us personal information on Fiona. The librarians seem to know a lot of the residents.”

  “They’re well-liked in town.” Spence was contemplative.

  Jo’s eyes brightened. “We’re hoping they’ll have information that could help us.”

  “But why do you need me?” Spence asked. “They’ll speak with you.”

  Jo chuckled without humor and her hand returned to hover near her mouth. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  I lowered her arm to keep her from biting her nails. “Although I work with them, I think they still see me as an outsider. I don’t think they’re ready to share any insider information with me yet. That’s where you come in.”

  “I didn’t know Fiona well.” Spence’s response was hesitant. “And what I do know is sketchy at best.”

  “I get that.” I nodded although he couldn’t see me. “But if we add your sketchy information with information from the librarians, we may be able to better identify where to start our investigation.”

  “So you want to set up some kind of emergency meeting?” Spence still sounded puzzled.

  “Not a meeting.” Jo leaned closer to the cell phone. “We want you to host one of your dinner parties and invite us, Corrinne, Viv, Floyd, and Adrian.”

  “I can do that. When?”

  “Monday,” I said.

  There was a pause. “As in tomorrow?”

  I looked to Jo. “Yes, tomorrow evening.”

  A longer pause. “I can’t do that.”

  “Spence, we’ve got to do this tomorrow. Time is of the essence. The killer could be destroying evidence as we speak, if they haven’t already.” The deadline clock was ticking in my head.

  “This isn’t New York, Marvey.” Spence’s tone struck a balance between amusement and incredulity. “I can’t pull together a dinner party in a day.”

  I frowned. “Why not?”

  His sigh whispered down the phone line. “For one thing, I don’t have supplies.”

  Jo gave me a pleading look.

  I squared my shoulders and mentally rolled up my sleeves. “If we start now, we’ll have more than twenty-four hours to prepare. Not counting the hours we’ll be at work tomorrow. And I’ll help.”

  “I’ll help too.” Jo sounded determined.

  I shook my head. “Jo, it would be best if you skipped the dinner party. People will speak more freely if you’re not there.”

  “I have to miss Spence’s dinner party?” Jo looked crestfallen. “But they’re one of the biggest social events in this town.”

  Did I look as disbelieving as I felt? “Are you serious right now? You’re serious. Jo, I really need you to focus. This won’t be a social event. It’s an investigation to clear you as a suspect in a murder. I promise to update you right after the dinner.”

  Spence sounded amused. “Jo, once your name is cleared, I’ll host a special dinner party in your honor.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” She practically sang her response. Waves of excitement rolled off her. I couldn’t believe it.

  Was I the only one still focused on the murder part of this murder investigation? “If we’re done here, Spence, when can I pick you up?”

  He sighed again. “Marvey, we don’t have enough time to plan a dinner party for tomorrow evening.”

  I thought fast. “If you do this for us, I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “How?” He sounded dubious.

  I closed my eyes and reminded myself that my sacrifice was for the greater good. “I’ll be your partner for the Cobbler Crawl.”

  Another pause. “I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”

  “Your usual, Marvey?” The greeting came from Anna May Weekley, the owner and operator of On A Roll. The neighborhood café and bakery served as the unofficial Peach Coast community hub. Time seemed to slow here.

  “Yes, please, Anna May.” I returned her smile as the scents of warm rolls, sweet pastries, and hot coffee led me across the brown-and-gold tiled flooring to her counter. Along the way, I stopped to exchange greetings with the other regulars, which was pretty much everyone in the crowded café. Most of the circular tables were occupied.

  I’d known as soon as I’d seen the little gathering spot that it would be the best place to get to know the residents—and to let them get to know me. Making the café part of my morning routine on my way to work had sped up my acclimation to the town. It also was a great place to help raise the Peach Coast Library’s profile in the community. I hoisted my American Library Association tote bag a little higher on my shoulder. Its tan canvas material prominently featured the slogan Read, Renew, Return.

  When I arrived at the cash register, I handed Anna May the exact amount for my order. “And some of
your delicious peach cobbler to go.”

  Anna May’s T-shirt this Monday morning read Coffee: The Right Answer to Any Question. Her cherubic peaches-and-cream features glowed and her periwinkle eyes twinkled with what I considered the Anna May Weekley Seal of Approval.

  Experience had taught me not to reject Anna May’s cobbler. The first time I’d strode into the café to order what had become my usual—a small café mocha with fat-free milk and extra espresso—the café owner had tried to press the dessert onto me. I’d declined. In my defense, I’d still been full from breakfast. Suddenly, the air had filled with the smell of condemnation, overpowering the little shop’s other far more pleasing aromas. I’d quickly learned my lesson. Now every weekday morning on my way to the library, I stopped in for my doctored mocha and the pastry. I gave the pastry to Floyd Petty, the reference librarian. The gesture had earned me the status of Floyd’s Favorite Coworker. I also suspected it had delayed the lovable curmudgeon’s retirement.

  I exchanged greetings with a few familiar customers as they left the shop and nodded to others as they joined the line behind me.

  “So, Marvey.” Anna May spoke over the music of the coffee bean grinder. It had taken her three weeks to stop giving me the side-eye for requesting fat-free milk. “News is you found Fiona Lyle-Hayes’s body. May her soul rest in peace.”

  Silence covered the little café like a pie crust. I sensed the other patrons holding their breath in anticipation of my response. Those customers who also were on their way to work appeared to linger for my reply.

  It felt like performing in front of a live studio audience. I pretended to ignore them. “Spence Holt and I were with Jo Gomez when she found Ms. Lyle-Hayes’s body.”

  Anna May shook her head as she stirred the hot cocoa syrup. Overhead lights played on the reddish-blond curls escaping the white cap that covered her hair. “It’s a terrible business, something like that. Murders just don’t happen in Peach Coast, although being from New York, you must be used to it.”

  My eyebrows knitted at the misperceptions in Anna May’s statement, starting with murders not happening in Peach Coast. Fiona Lyle-Hayes’s spirit would disagree. “I’ve never seen a homicide before.”