May Cooler Heads Prevail (10 page)

T
he Kenna Springs Public Library hadn’t changed much, except maybe there was a little more ivy covering the gray stone walls. The place had always looked more like a medieval castle than a library. And in this castle there lived a dragon.

Head Dragon Lady, Acantha Fry, stood behind the main desk with her chin jutting out, her deep-set eyes watching as I approached.

I told myself that I now have a career as a clinical psychologist. I’ve taught assertiveness training classes. I’ve come face-to-face with exactly two paranoid schizophrenics. I graduated at the head of my self-defense class—which I enrolled in right after meeting my second paranoid schizophrenic. Surely, I was much too experienced to be intimidated by Acantha Fry. Then I watched her lips stretching out over her huge teeth, slowly bending upward into what passes for a smile, and I thought, maybe not.

Looking me up and down, she smacked her lips. “Well, well, Dixie Tanner. Have you suddenly discovered an affinity
for libraries, or is there something else I can help you with?”

“Me? Uh, well, no, not an affinity really. Not that I don’t like libraries. I just haven’t been to the library lately. I mean, this library specifically, but I go to the one in Little Rock. I live there now, you know. Not in the library, but in Little Rock, in a townhouse…” I stammered, stuttered, rambled, and may have even drooled a little bit for all I know.

It was all I could do not to start rummaging through my wallet until I found my Little Rock library card to show her. I had to get hold of myself.

“Look,” I said with a little more confidence, “I’m here to do a little research on a…well…a project.” Then doing a little subtraction in my head, I told her, “I need to use the library computer to look at the Kenna Springs
Bugle
for 1965.”

“Computers!” She nearly spit the word out of her mouth. Then crossing both arms over her meager chest, she said, “They are in the back of the library. Not that microfilm wasn’t good enough. I’ll go back with you and help you get set up.”

She led the way and I followed. Over her shoulder she asked, “What month and date do you want in 1965?”

She had me there. I could figure out the year on my own, but I had forgotten to ask anyone about the date of the wedding. I quickly announced, “The whole year, of course,” figuring once I got settled at the computer, I could use my cell phone to call and get the date.

Miss Fry’s arched eyebrows went almost all the way up to her graying widow’s peak. “All right. I assume you are familiar with computers?”

I assured her that I was.

We reached the computers. I had my pick of any of the three terminals. Miss Fry pulled up the
Bugle
for the year I wanted, gave me a quick lesson on going from month to month, and left me alone.

I still needed to know the date of the wedding. I called the flower shop and got hold of Aunt Nissa. She couldn’t remember the exact date, but knew it was in June. Close enough.

In 1965 the
Bugle
was a bimonthly, so I only had two newspapers to look through in June. I read the first one from cover to cover—nothing. As I pulled up the second newspaper, a hand came down on my shoulder. I did what anyone with my nervous system would do. I squealed, loudly.

Before I got a chance to turn around and see who had come up behind me, I saw Dragon Lady barreling toward me with a fierce and fiery look on her face.

“It’s okay, Acantha, I just came up behind my niece and startled her,” I heard Uncle Rudd say.

Dragon Lady stopped in her tracks, gave us both a withering look, turned around, and headed back to her lair.

With my heart still rapidly thumping from the scare, I whispered to Uncle Rudd, “You almost got us kicked out of
the library. What are you doing here?”

“Sorry,” Uncle Rudd said and pulled up a chair to sit next to me. “I got your Jeep fixed, but came on over to Connie’s in Nissa’s car. After we helped Connie get opened up, Nissa went ahead and drove the Mustang home. She’ll drive your Jeep back. I came on down here to see if you found anything yet.”

“Not yet, but I’m just getting ready to start on the second newspaper.”

He got his glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on then leaned forward. “Okay, let’s divide up the reading and it will go quicker.”

“That’s not going to work,” I whispered back. “The screen’s too small. Go walk around, pick out a book. Just do something.”

“I am doing something. I’m helping you.”

I might as well have been asking a stack of books to amaze and entertain everybody by throwing themselves off the shelves and doing an Irish jig.

All of a sudden Uncle Rudd tapped his finger on the screen. “THAT’S IT!” he yelled. “WHAW HOO! I BET THAT’S IT, DIXIE-GAL!”

The Head Dragon Lady lost no time steamrolling her way toward us. Before I could even shush Uncle Rudd, she was right beside him.

“Rudd Tanner! You old coot,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “You do that again and I’ll grab one of your earlobes and
escort you right out of this library!”

“Old coot! Who’re you callin’ an old coot, Acantha Fry?” Uncle Rudd stood up and faced the Dragon Lady. “I would like to remind you that we are the same age. I remember when you were just a stick of a kid. And I’ll be hanged if I let you drag me out of here by my earlobe!”

Miss Fry crossed her arms and stood her ground. “I warn you, Rudd Tanner. I’ve thrown bigger and younger men than you out of my library.”

They stood there, face-to-face, glaring at each other. I kept shifting my gaze from one to the other, waiting.

Uncle Rudd was the first to make a move. It started as just a flicker around his mouth. Then there was a low sort of gurgle, then a sputter, and when he could no longer contain it, he laughed. He laughed…very long and very loud.

My gaze shifted to the Dragon Lady. Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped, and she stood perfectly still and stared.

Uncle Rudd took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his eyes. “Acantha, I haven’t laughed this much in a good while. I must admit, I didn’t know you had that kind of stuff in you. I guess if you’re that set on throwing me out, I’ll leave on my own.”

“Maybe Uncle Rudd could wait for me by the front door. I need to run off a copy of this article, then we’ll be through here, anyway.” I looked at the Dragon Lady. “If that’s okay with you?”

Keeping her eyes focused on Uncle Rudd, she gave a
curt nod. “All right, Dixie, but make it fast. And no more outbursts from you, Rudd Tanner, you hear me? This is a library, not a zoo.”

It was Uncle Rudd’s turn to nod, and we both watched Dragon Lady amble off.

My uncle looked at me and grinned. “Imagine getting thrown out of a library at my age. I’d appreciate, though, if you didn’t mention this little incident to Nissa. You know how she is. She’ll complain she won’t be able to hold her head up in town.” He walked off toward the entrance.

I ran off the copy. I didn’t take time to read it—just grabbed it out of the printer, folded it, and paid Miss Fry for the copy. I met Uncle Rudd at the front of the library.

As soon as we were outside, I unfolded the article with the headline,
WOMAN MISSING,
and started to read it. But before I could read more than a sentence, Uncle Rudd snatched it out of my hands. “What are you doing waving that around in public? The killer could be watching us right now.”

“Don’t you think that’s just a little paranoid?”

“No, I don’t,” he grumped. “I don’t even think we should be talking about it right now.” He handed back the article. “Here, put it in your purse. You can read it later.”

I resigned myself to wait. “Did you walk down here, or drive?”

“I walked. I may be an old coot, but I can still make it quite a ways on my own steam, thank you.”

“If you can’t, I know someone back at the library who
would be more than willing to toss you every bit as far as she could throw you, and by your earlobe, no less.” We both laughed.

For the next few minutes we strolled down the sidewalk and talked about normal stuff, like the new bull, the price of cattle, and whether or not Aunt Nissa would actually use a dishwasher if they had one put in. I loved it.

As we walked past Patsy’s Cafe, Uncle Rudd changed the subject. “Uh, Dixie-gal, you notice that the weather today is warming up pretty good for October?”

“Yeah, I guess it is warmer than usual for fall.” I smiled back, because I still thought we were talking about normal stuff.

“Uh, well, we need to talk about that…the uh, weather, I mean.”

“But we just did. What else is there to say?”

Uncle Rudd looked down at his shoes and started pulling at his lower lip. Clearing his throat, he pitched his voice low and spoke fast, “The weatherman on the radio said we could expect above-normal temperatures for the next few days. Supposed to get near seventy degrees today.”

Looking at what must have been a blank on my face, Uncle Rudd leaned even closer and spoke out the side of his mouth, “Dixie-gal, don’t make me spell it out. I know you ain’t dumb. Connect the dots. Heat, melting ice, cave, Connie’s cooler…”

In my defense, I hadn’t connected the dots right away
because I’m not in the habit of referring to dead bodies in the course of normal conversations. In fact, I try very hard not to refer to them at all.

“Oh…yeah…I get it,” I muttered.

Both of us picked up our walking pace. Under the circumstances, the quicker we got back to the flower shop, the better.

“Let’s go through the front rather than around to the alleyway. It’ll be quicker.” Uncle Rudd motioned to the door a few feet away. I put my hand in my purse and got hold of the copy of the newspaper article, planning to read it as soon as we entered the shop. I was burning with curiosity to find out just who the missing woman was and whether she could possibly have had anything to do with the murder of Aaron Scott.

The first sound we heard after we walked through the front door was the nasal twang of Truman Spencer. Disappointed, I took my hand off the article and left it in my purse.

Uncle Rudd frowned at him. “Truman,” he bellowed, “if I find out you’ve been harassing my baby sister, I’ll squeeze your stumpy little neck until it’s no thicker than a string bean.”

“Now, you listen here, Rudd,” Aunt Connie groused, shaking her finger at him. “I don’t need you to be pullin’ any of that big brother stuff for me. If Truman gets out of hand, I’ll be the one to squeeze his stumpy little neck.”

Truman held a protective hand up to his throat. “You
Tanners have always been an assertive lot, but this is quite over the top, isn’t it?”

“SHUT UP, TRUMAN!” Aunt Connie and Uncle Rudd yelled at the same time, still glaring at each other.

I plopped my purse down on the workbench. “Okay, that’s enough out of you two!” I pitched my voice a little louder than my relatives. “No one will be squeezing anyone’s neck around here.”

I had the satisfaction of watching both my aunt’s and my uncle’s mouths drop open. Pressing what little advantage I had, I walked over and stood next to Truman. As gently as I could, I said, “Look, Truman, this probably isn’t the best time for you to hang around. Do you think you have enough information for the paper?”

“Yes…yes, of course,” Truman stammered, keeping an eye on Aunt Connie and Uncle Rudd. “That’s all I was trying to do, you know, just gather the information I need for the paper. It’s my job.” Holding his hands up in the air like he was surrendering, Truman started moving sideways past Uncle Rudd. “I’m through here. I’ll just go on back to the office now.”

Once past Uncle Rudd, Truman turned around and caught his elbow on my purse, knocking it off the workbench. He was too startled to catch the purse, and no one else was close enough. We stood there watching as it hit the ground, spilled open, and splattered its contents all over the linoleum floor.

Mumbling he was sorry, Truman bent down to retrieve all the odds and ends now littering the floor.

Uncle Rudd and I lunged toward the one thing we didn’t want him to see, the newspaper article. But Truman got to it first.

“What’s this?” Truman asked.

Snatching it out of his hand, I quickly answered, “Just some research I’m doing. I’ll get the rest of it picked up, Truman. I’m sure you’re in a hurry to leave.” I rolled my eyes toward Uncle Rudd for emphasis.

Following the direction of my eyes, Truman nodded. “Uh, yes, I guess I’d better go. Sorry about your purse, Dixie.” He gave me an odd look and left the flower shop.

Uncle Rudd watched him leave then turned to me. “Do you think he got a look at that article?”

“Maybe the headline,” I said.

Uncle Rudd shook his head. “Well, couldn’t be helped. No real harm done, I guess.” Then he turned and asked Aunt Connie, “What’d he want?”

“Wanted information about the break-in.” Aunt Connie shrugged. “He was here earlier this morning asking about it, but Otis ran him off. I told him to come back later. He came back later.”

It was at that moment I remembered what Truman said earlier, and I asked Aunt Connie, “Did Truman ask you anything about Aaron?”

“Just said he’d heard Aaron was back in town and asked
me if I’d seen him. He didn’t make a big deal out of it.”

Uncle Rudd looked alarmed. “What’d you tell him?”

Placing both hands on her hips, she let us have it. “I want you two to know that I’m still a sight smarter than that potted plant Dyson talks to all day. I told Mr. Nosy Spencer that it was none of his business. So, just what do you two worry warts think of that!”

“I think you did just fine.” Uncle Rudd chuckled.

“I think you did just fine,” I echoed. “Because the less Truman Spencer knows the better off we’ll be. It’s bad enough if he saw that headline. After all, he’s a prime suspect.”

“Dixie-gal, I’d be the first one to tell you that I don’t have much use for the man, mainly because Truman’s got it into his head that he’s a cut above the rest of us. But, murder! Why would you think Truman’s our killer?”

Aunt Connie nodded in agreement with my uncle. “Truman’s stuck on himself, but that don’t make him a killer.”

“I didn’t say that I thought he did it for sure,” I said. “I just think he’s a prime suspect. Look, just hear me out. For one thing, he was at the bachelor party. That automatically puts him on the list. Then this morning, he told Otis that he just happened to be on his way to the newspaper office when he saw the police car parked in the alley, and in the so-called interest of journalism, he stops to see what’s going on.”