Murder by Page One

by Olivia Matthews

  “Really?” Her question was thick with skepticism.

  An overexcited male voice carried from one of the tables behind me. “The story in the Crier said Fiona had been stabbed. Wonder whose buttons she pushed this time?”

  I turned in the direction of Dabney McCoy’s voice. I estimated the tall, slender retiree to be in his late seventies. His companion, Etta Child, appeared close to his age. She also looked queasy as she set down a forkful of her peach cobbler.

  Sending the grandmotherly woman an apologetic look, I responded to Dabney. “Who do you think could’ve killed her?”

  Anna May added the espresso to the hot cocoa syrup, then poured the milk. “Not many people got along with Fiona. God rest her soul.”

  I remembered Zelda’s disposition had cooled when Jo had mentioned Fiona on Saturday. Had that been a common reaction around Peach Coast to the now-deceased woman? If so, my list of alternative suspects for the deputies was going to be really long.

  Dabney barked a sarcastic laugh. The creases fanning from his blue eyes and bracketing his thin lips deepened. “Stop tap dancing. People couldn’t stand the woman.”

  Etta gasped and bowed her head as though in prayer. Her lips moved quickly and silently before she raised her chin and pierced Dabney with a glare. “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.” Her dark blue gaze scanned the café as though she expected Fiona’s spirit to manifest and dump Dabney’s hot coffee over his bald pate.

  He snorted. “What’s the difference? People spoke ill of her while she was alive.” He picked up his spoon and jabbed it in the air above their table. “Obviously, the killer didn’t think much of her, either.”

  Etta lowered her spoon and shoved her peach cobbler aside.

  Dabney’s sharp gaze bounced between Etta, her dessert, and back. “You goin’ to eat that?”

  Etta’s narrowed gaze promised retribution. “No. It’s all yours.”

  It wasn’t the first time in my memory that Etta had given up her dessert to Dabney. Sometimes it was hard to remember the couple wasn’t married.

  I accepted my mocha from Anna May, lowering my voice to keep the conversation limited to our small group. “Why didn’t people like Fiona?”

  Dabney grunted and spoke around a mouthful of pastry. “She was a stuck-up—”

  Etta interrupted, speaking in a stage whisper. “It’s not proper to speak ill of the dead, but since you asked, Fiona had broken up a happy family. Everybody knew she was only interested in marrying Buddy Hayes for his money. Fiona Lyle-Hayes was a home-wrecking gold digger.”

  I blinked at Etta’s vehemence. “Well, I did ask.”

  Anna May put my warm peach cobbler in a small cardboard box. “Rumor is the deputies suspect Jo Gomez may have killed her.” Her eyes scanned my face as though searching for a tell.

  That stirred my protective instincts. “No, that’s not possible. Jo was with her employees preparing for the book signing when Fiona was killed. Spence and I both saw her.”

  “That’s what she wants us to believe.” Dabney finished off Etta’s pastry.

  I started to respond to Dabney’s comment, but Etta spoke first.

  “Imagine, a murderer running around loose in Peach Coast.” Her nervous gaze inspected the other coffee shop patrons. “It’s very upsetting.”

  “Only if the killer’s going to kill again.” Dabney’s tone was trivializing. “Chances are he was only after Fiona.”

  “What makes you think that?” I asked.

  “This isn’t the big city.” Dabney waved a hand as though to encompass the town beyond the shop. “People don’t go around willy-nilly killing each other. The killer must’ve targeted Fiona for a reason.”

  His reasoning seemed to further clear Jo. I lowered my voice again. “Who do you think would have the strongest motive?”

  Dabney grunted, adding a shrug for good measure. “Who wouldn’t?” he whispered back.

  Chapter 7

  As I walked to work the next morning, the wide red brick sidewalk was sprinkled with other pedestrians. Cozy businesses and quaint shops were preparing for the day in their own Peach Coast style. I was growing to love the little town with its towering sweetgum trees and easy approach to time.

  A cheeky feminine voice hailed me from the other side of Peach Blossom Boulevard. “Happy Monday, Marvey!”

  The broad asphalt street was a major thoroughfare in the small town. Five vehicles comprised this morning’s rush hour. I waited for them to roll past before responding to June Bishop. “Happy Monday, June. Your display windows are gorgeous.”

  The owner of Petals Palooza, the local flower shop, glowed in response to my praise. The vibrant rose and whimsical flower arrangements posing in the front windows were striking. I sensed they had a story to tell.

  “Thank you!” June’s laughter bubbled up, shortening the distance between us. Her thick blond braid swept her shoulder blades as she split her attention between me and the windows. Her floral-patterned dress floated around her. She hooked her hands on her hips. “And thanks again for the book recommendation. I had no idea I’d enjoy romantic comedies.”

  Ah, but I had. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” With a final wave, I continued on to the library.

  “Marvey, good morning!” Lonnie Norman popped out from behind the signage he was arranging in front of his pet store, Paw Babies & More. He ran a hand over his thinning dark brown hair. “How’re you today?”

  “Lonnie.” I lifted a hand in greeting. “I’m so glad I ran into you. Could you recommend another vet for me?”

  Lonnie adjusted the waistband of his baggy beige pants over his stocky hips. His pale round features tightened, and his light brown eyes behind his rimless glasses widened with concern. “Is Phoenix still feeling poorly?”

  “He’s just not himself. The first vet you referred us to has already examined him twice. He insists Phoenix is fine. But something still seems…wrong.”

  Lonnie crossed his arms over his matching beige shirt with its Paw Babies & More logo on its upper right pocket. After a moment, he pulled his wallet from his front pants pocket, dug out a business card, and offered it to me. “Doctor Dahlia Sensor has a popular practice. She’s not taking new patients, but tell her we’re friends. I’ll give her a call too. She may be able to fit Phoenix in for an examination.”

  Relief and hope eased the pressure from my shoulders. I tucked the card into my purse for safekeeping. “Thank you so much, Lonnie.”

  After promising to keep him apprised of Phoenix’s condition, I continued on to the library. Strolling to work along the spacious Peach Blossom Boulevard sure beat commuting on the packed-in number five train.

  The renovated building that housed the Peach Coast Library had once been a bus depot, arranging for residents as well as tourists to travel around town and along the coast. This seemed absolutely perfect, since books themselves had the power to transport readers to other locations, real and imaginary, past, present, and future.

  As I entered the library Monday morning, the low heels of my black pumps tapped across the marbled gray linoleum. I took in the modest space with affection. The head librarian and my immediate supervisor, Corrinne Carpenter, had explained that very little restructuring had been needed to transform the decades-old depot into the five-year-old library. There was charm in the aged woodwork that molded the doorways and windows. The smell of freshly printed pages spun around the room, playing with the scent of lemon wood polish that lingered from the building’s past.

  The large picture windows allowed plenty of natural light. They framed the library’s landscaping like living pictures. The spacious waiting area now featured a reference librarian’s desk, displays of new materials, and modern silver metal shelves full of books, magazines, compact discs, and digital video discs.

  It tickled me to know the intricate weathered oak circulation desk had
once served as the counter where customers had purchased their travel tickets. Offices for the library’s managers and the little staff breakroom were secreted in the area beyond the desk.

  I’d just left a message with Dr. Sensor’s office about an appointment for Phoenix when Vivian Lui, our circulation librarian, and Adrian Hobbs, our librarian assistant, rushed into my office.

  “Oh, my goodness, Marvey. We read about Fiona Lyle-Hayes’s murder.” Viv’s ebony eyes were wide with shock. She stood with Adrian behind my matching gray cloth visitors’ chairs.

  Adrian seemed to vibrate with excitement. A flush warmed his pale complexion. “The newspaper said you were one of the people who found the body.”

  Viv’s curtain of raven hair swung above her shoulders as her head swiveled from Adrian to me. “That must’ve been horrible. Do you have any idea what happened?”

  I straightened from securing my heavy purse and tote bag in my bottom desk drawer. “I don’t know anything more than what the Crier reported.” It was a little white lie, but I wasn’t going to help the deputies damage Jo’s reputation.

  “I reckon there was blood everywhere.” Adrian’s blue-eyed stare locked onto me as though waiting for details—the gorier, the better. Horror was his fiction genre of choice.

  The memory of Fiona’s lifeless body still haunted me. I gripped the back of my black cloth executive chair. “Yes, Adrian. There was a lot of blood.”

  “But you’re probably used to seeing that, I reckon, bein’ from New York and all.” The recent college graduate’s smile faded at my expression.

  I circled my desk, growing desperate in my need to put space between me and the news story stalking me. How was Jo handling this attention? “Contrary to the impression popular media gives of New York, there aren’t dead bodies on every street corner.”

  “Aw, come on now.” Adrian waved his right hand nervously. “I was just pickin’.”

  I turned to Viv. The native Georgian was kind enough to serve as my Southern language interpreter.

  Viv gave me an empathetic look. “He was teasing you.”

  I retrieved my cell phone from the right front pocket of my slacks and launched my Note app to add this latest phrase to my Peach Coast to New York dictionary. I inserted it alphabetically after both “aight now,” which translated to either “hello,” “goodbye,” or “I’m going to beat your behind”; and “nem,” which referred to a group of people.

  Viv and Adrian accompanied me on my rescue mission to the employee breakroom. In this case, I was rescuing my coworkers by getting a second cup of coffee. Was it wrong to pour another cup while the memory of my café mocha was still so fresh?

  “Good morning, Floyd.” I greeted our reference librarian as I strode past his workstation in the library’s main area. He’d been away from his desk when I’d delivered his peach cobbler.

  “Morning.” The older man grunted his response as he joined us.

  With his buzz-cut salt-and-pepper hair, winter-blue eyes, and querulous demeanor, Floyd was like a Bad Attitude Santa Claus. At first, I thought he was curt with me because I was new. Then I realized Floyd was curt with everyone. Period. His decision to work in a public library fascinated me, considering how much of our time was spent interacting with people.

  At the coffee station in the breakroom, I fixed my second cup of java. To my right, Floyd shuffled his feet. I could feel his impatience. To my left, Viv and Adrian plied me for details I didn’t have about Fiona’s murder. I stepped aside, giving Floyd plenty of room to pour his cup o’ joe. The reference librarian drank his black.

  The tap of sensible pumps across the linoleum announced our boss’s arrival. In her powder-pink skirt suit, accessorized with understated pearl earrings, and matching necklace, Corrinne Carpenter, the head librarian, looked like she was hosting a summer tea party. Not one strand of her chin-length, honey-blond hair was out of place.

  Corrinne’s attention dipped to my pendant. Her green eyes shone with appreciation of the cover of Walter Mosley’s 1990 mystery Devil in a Blue Dress. It was the original image depicting a woman in a blue dress, not the reprint version, which capitalized on Denzel Washington’s starring role in the story’s film adaptation. I didn’t think my artistic skills could do justice to Denzel’s perfection.

  “Marvey, how are you?” Corrinne’s forehead creased with concern. “I didn’t expect you’d make it in today after the horrible tragedy at To Be Read on Saturday.”

  I liked Corrinne. She seemed genuine, but I’d only been working with her for four months. We were still in the honeymoon phase of our workplace relationship. “Yes, it was terrible, but I’m fine. Thank you. In fact, I’m looking forward to Spence’s dinner party tonight.”

  Viv’s face lit up. “So am I. His dinner parties are one of the biggest social events in town.”

  “So I’ve heard.” I wrapped my hands around my warm black porcelain mug. Printed in bold, white block letters was the statement Keep Calm & Read a Good Book.

  Floyd gestured to the group with his mug. Coffee leaked from a hairline fracture in its plain white surface. “Kind of short notice, isn’t it? He’s hosted at least two of these things for us, one right before we opened and one when Viv came on board. He usually sends the invite at least a week in advance.”

  “Yes, that did seem unusual, but even if I’d had plans for tonight, I would’ve canceled just to attend.” Corrinne shrugged elegantly as she approached the coffeepot.

  I caught a whiff of her perfume, a light powdery scent. Smell was the sense most closely linked to memory and emotion. The right fragrance could get people to remember you favorably. In that context, Corrinne’s perfume was the perfect scent for someone in a leadership position for a nonprofit organization. It would be a very pleasant memory.

  “What’re these things like?” Adrian’s shaggy brown hair fell across his eyes as his gaze darted from one library team member to another. He exuded excitement and anticipation.

  Floyd grunted. “Bring your appetite.” In terms of Floyd-speak, that was an effusive compliment.

  Corrinne stirred French vanilla creamer and four packets of sugar substitute into her oversized coffee mug. The head librarian’s sweet tooth was even stronger than mine. “Spence cooks the meals himself, and they’re fabulous. There are usually multiple courses. His home is lovely, and he’s a gracious and generous host.”

  I braced my hip against the counter. “What’s the dress code? Is it formal?” I should’ve asked him yesterday.

  Viv waved a negligent hand. “Oh, no. It’s nothing like that. Spence Holt is very laid-back. Business casual is perfectly fine.” She cocked her head, scrutinizing my sapphire blouse and black slacks. “What you’re wearing now would be fine.”

  That was a relief. I had a few dressier outfits in my closet, but I wouldn’t have time to change before getting to his home to help with the dinner preparations.

  Corrinne took a sip of her coffee. “I can’t emphasize enough how important it is that Spence is hosting another dinner party for us. The support of high-profile influencers like him will be incredibly helpful in getting the budget we need to continue to provide our community services—and hire a computer support specialist.”

  That’s the reason Corrinne had hired me for the newly created position of director of community engagement. My role was to raise the library’s profile in the community, increase financial donations, and build a solid argument for growing our annual budget. In short, this was my dream job and the reason I leaped out of bed every morning.

  Viv nodded in agreement with Corrinne. “It’ll also help distract us from Fiona Lyle-Hayes’s murder.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if anything could do that.” Adrian’s eyes gleamed with morbid fascination. Note to self: introduce Adrian to other fiction genres beside horror. “I heard the deputies are looking hard at Jo Gomez.”

  “
It’s not just the deputies.” Viv sounded concerned. “I heard some customers at On A Roll talking about the murder. They were speculating about Jo too.”

  My shoulders tensed. If Jo was being tried in the court of public opinion, then the situation had already run away from us. “Why would people think Jo murdered Fiona? What’s her motive?”

  “It’s not about motive.” Floyd slurped his coffee. “People want quick-and-easy answers. Fiona was killed in the bookstore. Jo owns the bookstore. What’s easier than that?”

  I was struck by his answer. The person who didn’t seem to like people sounded like a student of human nature. “I don’t know much about Fiona. What kind of person was she?”

  There was a tangible pause. I’d expected it. As the newcomer, the locals were still taking my measure, wondering if they could trust me. This was the reason I needed Spence’s endorsement if I was going to help clear Jo’s name.

  Corrinne lowered herself onto a silver cushioned chair with the grace of a dancer. Her tone was cautious as though she weighed every word. “Fiona didn’t come into the library much.”

  Adrian made a face. “She was so stuck up, she’d’ve drowned in a rainstorm.”

  Corrinne gave him a scolding look. “It’s not kind to speak ill of the dead, Adrian.”

  He endeavored to look chastened. “Beg pardon, ma’am.”

  “Fiona was a very private person.” Viv cupped her coffee mug in both palms. Her fingernails gleamed with a black polish that complemented her trim pantsuit. “You could tell from the way she carried herself. She was very aloof. Even though she’d been married to Buddy Hayes, who’d been a prominent resident, she never made an effort to get to know people or to let people get to know her.”

  Floyd grunted. “Not until she got that big contract with that fancy New York publisher. Then she was running all over town, telling people she knew and people she’d never said a word to, to buy her book when it came out.”