Designed to Death (A Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery) (21 page)

I yanked the ticket from underneath and noticed the license plate number. Not mine. And the date was from two weeks ago. Pen scratches on the reverse side poked through the paper. I flipped it over.

Seven. Church. Movie night. Be there.

No one ever attended the movies Pastor Evans showed. The first time the young, hip and trendy pastoral couple had movie night at the church the whole town showed up...then left. We’d assumed it would be one of the usual church movie fares,
Fire Proof, Facing the Giants, Flywheel, Courageous,
instead it was movies Mrs. Evans made of her husband’s sermons.

I’d be there all right. If Belinda had a stalker, her cousin would know. Unless the person Belinda feared was Darlene herself. Steve wouldn’t tell me. And Mrs. Alwright had enough trouble closing in around her.

Before any meeting, I had to do some investigating. Before I involved myself further into the mess with Darlene, I needed to know if Darlene was innocent once and for all. There was no way I wanted to help a murderer.

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the store. “Hi Grandma. I’m going to be even later. I have a couple more errands.”

“Why don’t you just take the day off, honey,” Hope said. “You had such a rough night.”

I took the excuse offered and ran with it. “You’re right. I’m going pick up some new reading material. Not much in the mood for mysteries right now. I should also explain to Oliver about the damaged books.”

Hope clucked her tongue in sympathy. “I understand. If Oliver gives you a hard time, let me know. I’ll have a chat with his aunt. And sweetie, I have some samples for a new Christmas line I could drop off tonight.”

While tempting, I declined the offer. “I have to sort through all my supplies and reorganize. The person made a mess.”

“I just can’t believe it happened. To think I was home and didn’t hear or see anything.”

For which I was very thankful. “It probably happened earlier in the day. The person jumped the fence. It’s just things.”

“Sounds like vindictiveness to me. Deleting your photos. Don’t worry about those, sweetie. Between me, Cheryl and Steve, I’m sure we can replace those.”

“You’re right. I should have thought about that.”

Someone tapped on my window. I startled. A uniformed parking authority officer pointed at the meter then made a go-away gesture. “Have to go, Grandma.”

“You better not be driving and talking to me on your cell, young lady.”

“No. Never.” I ended the call. I eased away from the curb and headed for the library. This time, I’d use a public computer for researching. If the culprit got back into my house, they wouldn’t be able to figure out what I was up to this time.

TWENTY-ONE

Chipped paint from the large columns flanking the library doors decorated the sidewalk. I shuffled my feet on the mat outside the doors in case I picked up a few paint samples.

A huge sign was taped to the front window of the library. “Turn cell phones off before stepping through this door.”

One little phone call and the man went crazy about it. I complied with the request. Earning a library degree sure did make Oliver White one grumpy man. I tugged open the door and stepped inside.

Oliver pointed at me. “Cell phone.”

“I know how to read.”

He crossed his gangly arms over his thin chest and scowled. “Hear it all the time.”

“It’s off. If it rings, call my grandmothers.”

“Don’t think I won’t young lady.” He wagged his finger at me.

I stormed over to the counter. Oliver took a step back. I braced my hands on the gray surface.

“You are five years older than me. Five.” I held out my hand and displayed the number I meant with my fingers. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

“Well...umm...” He swallowed a few times. “I wasn’t. I talk to everyone like that.”

“And there’s your problem. Try treating adults like adults and they might not work so hard at annoying you, like keeping cell phones on and calling each other.”

Of course, adults setting up special obnoxious ring tones just for library use weren’t very adult like. I headed for one of the computers.

“Sign in.” Oliver held up a clipboard.

“There’s no one else using them.” The five computers donated by the Gates Foundation were on the starter screen.

“Rules are rules. Everyone must follow them.”

I stomped over and scribbled my name down and the time. “Happy?” I thrust the clipboard back at him.

Oliver smiled. “Yes. Thank you so very much. I hope you enjoyed the books I choose for you.”

The books. My shoulders slumped forward. “Yeah, about the books...”

“Let me guess, you dropped them in a puddle.” Oliver shook his head. “Why do people refuse to take care of other people’s items?”

“I didn’t drop them. Someone broke into my house and destroyed them.”

Oliver tapped on the keyboard. “Of course. Some criminal forced their way into your house to destroy library books. Must say at least you have an original excuse.”

The printer hummed. Oliver leaned over and snagged the page from the printer. “Here you go. The cost to replace those books is one hundred and sixty dollars.”

Was he serious? He expected me to pay for those books? I had a good wage and since my grandmothers didn’t charge me rent, I held my own financially, but not enough to feel an almost two hundred dollar unexpected expense. 

“I was a victim of a crime.”

“Bring me a copy of the police report and I’ll see what the board members say.” Oliver leaned against the counter, like every ounce of energy drained out of him. “The fact of the matter is those books need to be replaced. Someone will have to pay for them. Our funding has gone down.”

“Maybe they don’t all have to be replaced.”

I’m sure Ted would rather the library didn’t have a book encouraging citizens to become private detectives.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed.

I shouldn’t have said that. Now Oliver thought I was making up a story to keep the books. If I wasn’t careful, he’d call the police on me for stealing the library’s property.

“It might be a couple of months.”

“That’ll be fine. The books are due back in three weeks. Then there’s a month’s grace period before your account will be placed on hold until the bill is paid.”

I walked over to the computers. I’d just have to curtail my scrapbook spending for a few months. I’d rather pay than have the police report passed around the members of the library board.

I picked the computer furthest from the door and Oliver’s eyes. I glanced over my shoulder. Oliver inspected books he plucked out from the return book bin.

I was either getting paranoid or a little narcissistic. Everyone in town wasn’t interested in what I was doing or even cared. I typed Leslie Amtower and
Making Legacies
into the search engine. The first item was the link to the magazine. No dirt I needed there. The next few listings were places selling the magazine.

Using the mouse, I hit the arrow on the bottom and went to the second page of results. I scrolled down the list. Look at that, a complaint thread about another Life Artist Diva on a scrapbooking message board. Now I was getting somewhere. I clicked.

Ms. Amtower didn’t do a very good job at picking her divas this year. There was a controversy surrounding another one of the choices for this year’s life artist panel. The rules had stated the photographs used in the projects had to have been taken by the life artist and it seems the new reigning queen had a little help. Unless she had the arm span of Elastigirl. Two of the queen’s layouts showed her getting a mammogram, and another straddling a live alligator.

I doubted, along with a large numbers of members of this message board community, she took those pictures herself. I found a lot of smoke, so I went on the hunt for the fire.

An hour later, I had enough flames to create a backfire and stop the plans Leslie Amtower had to destroy Scrap This. I pulled out my cell phone. There were two places in town where Leslie Amtower could be staying. It’s time I arranged a meeting with the woman and found out for certain what she was up to.

Oliver cleared his throat. The man had a sixth sense when it came to phones. I dumped the history on the computer. Better safe than sorry. I had enough sorry in my life right now, and some of it was running loose around town.

The old Victorian house converted into a bed-and-breakfast was located at the tip of Eden. A few more feet and you’d be in the next county and state. The house had been spruced up by the owners with an interesting color palette. Unfortunately we didn’t have a thriving historical society and so the vintage house now sported yellow and blue paint, Mountaineer colors.

I understood supporting the “local” college team but not by defacing a house. It was easy for travelers to find and did bring in some tourists. Fans loved staying in the house filled to the rafters with WVU memorabilia.

I had to park on the street as the driveway was full. Four cars crowded the tiny space. I hated walking into the temporary territory of the enemy. When one wanted to interrogate a suspect, and wasn’t a police officer, they had to accept the meeting place the might-be guilty insisted on.

Leslie sat on the bright yellow porch swing. She stood when my foot hit the first step. She clutched the ends of a cream shawl and shrugged it back onto her shoulders. Tendrils of her blonde hair escaped from its high ponytail. “The game room is free to use.”

“Why don’t we go up to your room?”

“So you can leave something incriminating behind and have one of your boyfriends come look for it? Just because I’m not a resident, don’t think I haven’t heard about your affairs with the homicide detective and the assistant prosecutor.”

So, my dating two men, which I wasn’t doing, had been upgraded by someone to actual affairs. I hoped this piece of gossip slipped right pass my grandmothers’ ears and the members of our church. Maybe I should offer to put together the next newsletter to make sure I’m not in the “pray for” section.

The door closed behind Leslie with a resounding bang. I guess I knew how she felt about this meeting. I opened the door and headed for the game room.

Two pair of eyes peeked from around the corner. Jill and Ed hid behind the wall separating the foyer from the main part of the house. Their eyes widened. Whispers exchanged fast and furious between them. I clasped my hands together and sent them a beseeching look. Please, please don’t tell my grandmothers.

They zipped their lips. It would cost me, but whatever price I’d gladly pay. I strolled into the game room. My breath hitched in my throat. Sweat coated my hands. What was she doing here?

Karen smiled and gestured at a seat across from her and Leslie. The plan had switched. I was becoming the subject of interrogation. Not for long.

I took my place, then made a production of arranging notes and a pen in front of me. “Interesting friends you’ve made, Leslie.”

“Same could be said for you,” Karen said. “You and Darlene sure are chummy.”

I shrugged. “You know the saying. Keep your friends close and enemies closer. What’s your excuse?”

“I don’t need an excuse, Faith.” Karen smiled, a sly I-got-you smile that crept along my skin and burrowed into my nerves. “My job in this town is reporting news. The woman who found the body of Belinda Watson and is now demanding a meeting with the editor of
Making Legacies
, is news.”

It looked like I should’ve worried about more than the church news. Most people folded it into a fan or a tool to swat misbehaving children. The town newspaper was read from cover to cover. It took every ounce of will power not to squirm on the wooden dining chair.

Leslie tipped her chin up and raised her brows, “I got you” the look said. Well, I wasn’t the only one caught.

“Considering she’s trying to slander Scrap This, my grandmothers, and me, I have every reason to want the air cleared between us.”

“I don’t have anything against your grandmothers.”

Interesting. She omitted my name.

Karen jotted down the comment.

“What do you have against me?” I asked.

“Slandering my name all over message boards. Conspiring with Belinda and running this ruse on my magazine. You’re out to destroy
Making Legacies
.”

“I didn’t post anything about the incident at Scrap This. Why would I? It would hurt our store as much as your magazine.”

Karen tapped the end of her pen against her plum colored lips. “Faith has a point, Leslie. Why would she want people thinking she not only scammed you but her customers? If she knew Belinda was a fraud and had her teaching, it would destroy a portion of their business.”

“Maybe it’s because she’s thinking about starting her own scrapbook magazine.” Leslie shot a triumphant look.

Karen’s pen paused above her paper.

“And why would you think that?” Had she been in the library when I asked Oliver? Or had he told her? It would’ve been more proof she broke into my house but none of the books I checked out were about magazine publishing.

“So, you’re not going to deny it.” Leslie settled back in her chair. “Hazel knew you put Belinda up to it.”

“I have no intentions of starting a magazine.” I crossed my arms. “It just seems strange you’d jump to that conclusion. Doesn’t it seem like an odd thought to pop into someone’s head?”

Karen shrugged.

Thanks for the help.

Leslie squirmed. “It doesn’t matter where or whom I heard it from.”

“Of course it does.” I slapped my palms on the table. “You’re accusing me of being involved in Belinda’s death.”

“The police are going to agree with Faith.” Karen finally went to bat for me. “Why would you think she set out to destroy your magazine because she wants to run one herself? And how would she do it without capital?”

“Some people’s decisions make no sense,” Leslie said, her cheeks turning bright pink.

I think the woman realized she listened to the wrong person. I went in for the slam dunk, or home run, whatever it was called. “Like thinking scrapbookers wouldn’t figure out a woman couldn’t take a picture of herself getting a mammogram or riding an alligator?”

“Are you kidding me?” Karen’s pen slipped from her fingers.

Leslie sputtered and turned at least four hues of red, the last one the most unbecoming with her blue eyes and blonde hair.

“Nope.” I slid a print out of the rules of the Diva contest and the thread I discovered toward Karen.

Leslie snatched them up and tore them into confetti.

“I can print them out again,” I said.

“How dare you!”