MY AIM IS TRUE (Melody The Librarian Mysteries Book 2) (8 page)

“Right,” she snarled, sarcastically. “Just him and me and a courtroom full of reporters and lawyers. You know, I wasn’t born yesterday, Melody. Thanks for stopping by.” She turned and walked back to the house.

I was tempted to make the effort at some damage control, but I’d had enough of Cat’s mood swings for one night. It was clear that she was only concerned about her own well-being and nobody else’s.

It was dark and I felt fatigued. It looked as if another day would pass without my doing any work on Mr. Van Dyke’s Accordion Extravaganza. How would I ever be prepared with less than two weeks remaining? A disturbing pattern was becoming apparent. I spent more time feeling guilty about not planning and practicing than I do practicing. Of course, if I’d practice, I wouldn’t feel guilty, but I didn’t have the time! Such a conundrum!

Well, at least this time I could justify the time spent not practicing. I was going to go home, forage – but not, alas, for Greek roasted chicken leftovers – and jot down some notes of my chat with Cat. And then I hoped that Mao would deign to snuggle with me and ease my fatigue with her soothing purr.

But as I neared the police station, I saw Jimmy’s vehicle and decided that it might present an opportunity to get an update on the investigation. Margaret had never called to alert me to Jimmy’s presence, so Michael must have kept him hopping. I expected the station door to be locked, but it wasn’t. I entered and, not seeing anyone, called out. “Hello? Anyone here?”

Jimmy appeared around a corner. He’d removed his uniform shirt but, thankfully, still wore his trousers. “Miss Reed!” he exclaimed, ducking back behind the corner to hide is upper torso. His sense of propriety was endearing, if slightly strange. “I guess I forgot to lock the door. I was just preparing my bunk. I’m so beat! Your brother wore me out today!”

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I thought you might be available to talk, but if this isn’t a good time….”

“No, it’s alright, really. Come on in. Just let me grab my shirt. Have a seat, please.”

I plopped down in the same chair where I’d last. I was thankful that the bloody arrow was no longer serving as a centerpiece on his desk. “We really have to stop meeting like this,” I sighed.

“What?” he said, buttoning down his shirt. “Oh, I get it!” he smiled. “Yeah, my wife will get jealous, huh? As it is, she wonders why I keep sleeping at the station, but it’s more than an hour’s drive out to where we live, and something tells me it’s gonna be an early day tomorrow.”

“So what’s the latest?” I asked. “Anything interesting?”

“Lots! Well, first, I met with the victims parents last night, and they confirmed that it was their daughter. That was hard. They had a lot of questions, of course, and I promised that I’d provide them with answers once the investigation was completed. And I got all the medical data, too, but it wasn’t all that helpful. Like Michael said, a crossbow is a crossbow, meaning we couldn’t test the ballistics on each of the bows to determine who shot that lady. And there were no fingerprints on the bolt, so they must have worn gloves.

“So after Michael reviewed all that information…Oh! The coroner did say that it looked like Amanda might have been a cocaine user. No needle marks, but something about her septum and capillaries, and he’d know more once he got some test results back. But that was something.

“Um, what else? Oh, and then we went to the crime scene and went through all of the cabins with a fine-toothed comb. Michael agreed with you that it was strange that we didn’t find a cell phone anywhere. We even checked all around outdoors, but there was no trace of it.

“And then we looked at the spot where Amanda was found. Michael said he was going to check with an expert to discuss the physics involved; you know, the trajectory, impact, angle of the shot, etc. But he figured the shooter was crouched down somewhere in front of the cabin, maybe by some bushes but still having a clear shot. The bolt entered just under her left breast, so the bolt was probably fired from a low angle. Miss Holt was only about 5 feet tall, so that sounded right. Or, the shooter was standing right in front of her, holding the crossbow low and aiming up, we’re not sure. That’s why he wants to talk with somebody in forensics.

“He did look around, though, and found a spot pretty close by the porch where someone could have hunkered down and gotten off a shot. But there weren’t any clear footprints or anything or signs to confirm that.”

I interrupted. “So, depending on whether the two were face-to-face or one of them was hiding in the bushes, it could have been either a crime of passion or anger, or something more calculated and premeditated.”

“Exactly!” Jimmy replied. “Oh! And it appeared that Amanda’s body had been dragged off into some bushes. There was a blood trail from where she hit the ground to where she was found. Again, no footprints anywhere, which Michael thought was strange.”

“And did you speak with all of the parties present the night Amanda was killed?”

“All except for Cat Spencer. She didn’t come in to work. But we spoke with Bob Christian. Did you know that he used to be a Green Beret? I don’t know; he’s not what I would picture when I think of those guys. I imagine someone more like Steven Seagal or John Wayne.”

“Right,” I replied. “Someone who never served in the military, for whom a uniform is a costume.”

“Uh, huh,” Jimmy agreed, missing the irony. “He served tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, and then he went back as some sort of private contractor. We got copies of his personnel file, along with everyone else’s, and some of his military record is in there.”

I casually reached over to the copies of the files and found Bob Christian’s. I leafed through it while Jimmy continued to gush about his new best friend.

“He was really helpful, Melody, and even took us to the office where they loaned out the hunting equipment. Michael examined each of the crossbows that they’d checked out, but he said all of them had been used before, so the “rail,” as they call it, was worn on all of them. I guess that didn’t tell him much. And all of the bolts had been returned except for the two that Bob had shot. It’s hard to find them once they’re fired.”

“Yeah, I heard that he bagged a bird,” I said. “I wonder what happened to the other bolt?”

“He said that he missed the first time.”

“I heard that he also did some practice shooting before he hunted.”

Jimmy stared quizzically, no doubt wondering where I’d gotten my information, but nodded his head. “He’d also checked out some ‘field point’ bolts. They use them for target practice, and they’re more easily retrievable than the broadheads.

“Hmmm. It says here in Bob’s file that Bob never completed college,” I noted. “Kind of unusual for an HR manager not to have at least an undergraduate degree. But, given his military record, I can see why an exception might have been made for him. Combat Infantryman Badge, Bronze Star, Purple Heart, Silver Star, and wow…the Distinguished Service Cross. Very impressive. The only thing missing is the Medal of Honor!”

“I know!” Jimmy enthused. “He said that when he came back to Michigan, he had trouble finding work, you know, without a degree like you said, and he applied for a job at the mill. But when Nathan Cooke found out about his military background, he moved him to the Crawford headquarters and put him in a management slot. Mr. Cooke gives hiring preference to veterans.”

“And to ex-cons as well, from the look of it,” I quipped, paging through Max Colopy’s file.

“Yup, Mr. Christian said that Mr. Cooke also hires ex-cons when he can. Tries to give them a second chance when they’re released. Y’know, your brother was familiar with Max Colopy, or at least with the Colopy Clan. He said he was aware of at least three generations of Colopys, and they all had – what did he call it – the ‘criminal gene.’”

“B&E, armed robbery, armed assault, kidnapping…jeez!” Why was this guy even out on the streets? Max’s record was as damning as Bob’s was exemplary.

“Michael said that he’d have to sacrifice a small forest to run copies of Max’ entire criminal record,” Jimmy giggled. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “I haven’t had time to go through those files yet, and I doubt that I will tonight.”

“I don’t want to keep you up, Jimmy, but was there anything else? Did you interview Max?”

“Oh! That was the best part! Once Michael knew who he was dealing with – and heard from Bob about how Max got into an argument with Amanda Holt – he got a warrant and we went up there, contacted the Houghton County Sheriff and took Colopy in for questioning. He’s being held in their jail till we return tomorrow. In the meantime, Michael got warrants to search Colopy’s car and home, but the clerk dated them for tomorrow, so we have to wait. The car was impounded, though.”

“Wow. That
is
an interesting development,” I agreed. Colopy was obviously the prime suspect, and I had no problem with that. Just to be thorough, I asked, “And what about Justin?”

“Yeah, we talked to him, too, but like Michael said, he’s just a punk. He said he was with Cat and Molly the whole time, and as soon as we track her down, we’ll see if she confirms that.”

“Looks like you boys might wrap this up quickly,” I said in a cheery tone. “Good job! By the way, did Mr. Christian have anything to say about Amanda Holt?”

“Just that she was real sharp, a good worker, and kept to herself, which was pretty much what everyone we spoke to at the office had to say.” Jimmy yawned again.

“So they allowed you to speak with other employees?”

“Oh, sure. Melody, I’ll tell you, if all murder investigations are like this one, then I hope people start dropping like flies!” Realizing what he’d just said, Jimmy decided to rephrase. “Um, what I mean is, this has been so easy. Everyone has been super cooperative, information is just handed to you on a platter, and it’s pretty obvious who’s to blame here. Like you said, I think we’ll be wrapping this one up pronto!”

Jimmy stood and stretched. I knew that I should go, but I couldn’t resist asking for a favor.

“Jimmy, would it be okay if I just took a quick look at all of these files. I know that it’s confidential information, but it’s mainly the victim’s file I want to read, and she won’t mind. Please? I’ll only be a half hour, tops.”

Jimmy didn’t hesitate. “I don’t have a problem with that, Melody. After all, it’s almost like you’ve been deputized by blood, so to speak. Take your time. I’ll set the door code so that all you have to do is close it behind you and it’ll lock. I’ll go do that right now before I forget.”

I was mainly interested in the files on Cat and Amanda. Bob, it was already evident, was a saint, and Max was the devil incarnate, but I was curious what was contained in the files of our leading ladies. I wished Jimmy a good night as he shuffled back to his cell. He flipped off the overhead lights, leaving me with a desk lamp, which was more than sufficient for burning a little midnight oil.

The next afternoon at work, I was trying to keep from bumping my head on my monitor as I kept dozing. I’d stayed awake far too late, mulling over all the conversations and information I’d read last night. There were no bombshells or revelations in either Cat’s or Amanda’s files; in fact, they were pretty boring. The only surprise in Amanda’s file was that she only worked part-time in the accounting department. How could a part-timer afford a coke habit? How indeed…?

I’d left a message in the morning for Michael to call me, but still hadn’t heard back from him. He was probably up in Houghton, conducting the searches and sweating the suspect. (Love that pulp fiction jargon!) I pictured Michael and Jimmy playing good cop/bad cop during the interrogation. I had no doubt as to who would be cast for which part!

When the telephone rang at 4:00, I thought for sure it would be Michael, even though, in retrospect, he always called my cell. It was Gary Van Dyke, of all people!

“Hey, Melody, I wanted to ask if you’d like to join me for dinner after work. I’ve got some great news to discuss with you.”

“Really? Hunting tales? Man versus bird?”

Gary laughed. He had a nice laugh, hearty and sincere.

“That would be a brief conversation! Nah, I didn’t have any luck, but my partner bagged one. It’s a wonder I didn’t scare off all the turkeys. I don’t think I’ve got the natural aptitude for hunting.”

I couldn’t keep from teasing Gary. “But your partner…
he
did get lucky, eh?”

“Yeah. Like I said, there’s nothing to tell. Just a day wasted, but it was a nice day and I got some fresh air. So…are you up for some company? I was thinking maybe we’d drive to Crawford; there’s a little more selection out there.”

“But, Gary, we should check out Donovan’s. They just reopened yesterday.”

There was a pause. “Well, sure, I like Donovan’s, but….”

“And I’m already starved. By the time we get to Crawford, I’d probably faint! And you don’t want to drive up to the restaurant with an unconscious librarian in your car, do you? Think of the scandal!”

“You’re such a drama queen, Mel,” Gary sighed. “Okay, Donovan’s it is. Shall I pick you up at work?”

“Six o’clock and I’ll be running out the door. See you then.”

Now I felt perkier. Did the prospect of an Italian dinner, followed by tiramisu for dessert…oh, I hoped that their menu hadn’t changed too much. Yes, that was all exciting, but I wondered what was afoot. What was the ‘great news’ Gary wanted to share? Had he dumped Chrissie or, more likely, had she dumped him, and he was now swearing his allegiance to me, renouncing forever his infatuation with lean, energetic women of an impractically young age? Not that I was yearning for Gary’s affection, but that scenario would sure do wonders for my self-esteem.

Then, as suddenly as my breast had swelled, brimming with hope, it sagged again, like a deflated beach ball. What if he was announcing his engagement to Chrissie? This possibility seemed to resonate more acutely. Sure, he’d field-test the announcement to see how an old acquaintance might receive the news before springing it on Chrissie’s parents.

How should I react? “Gary, are you
mad
? Are you so ensnared in the depths of your mid-life crisis that it’s blinded you to any recognition of reality? Would you selfishly ruin this poor girl’s life, chaining her destiny to your soon-to-be-doddering, decrepit old form, like a dove tethered to a rusty, old anchor, solely for your own narcissistic, carnal desires?”

Or something like that. Perhaps I’d better practice that to get a more natural
flow
.

But more likely, I would merely act mildly surprised, wearing an inscrutable expression and responding like a jaded diplomat. “How very
nice
for you both. I never would have imagined. Well, I wish you both the very best, of course.”

Because they’d need it!

‘Stop it!” I told myself, thankful that the library was empty. “Stop being your mother!” No, I would be gracious, supportive, and everything a true friend should be. I was probably wrong, anyway, but I was glad that I’d prepared mentally for that scenario. It was like practicing scales at a feverish tempo before a performance. Once you’ve worked through a difficult regimen, the actual performance feels easier.

Which reminded me:  I hoped he wouldn’t ask how the Accordion Extravaganza was progressing.

***

“So…how’s the Accordion Extravaganza project coming along?” Gary asked.

“Oh! Like you wouldn’t believe! So many ideas…so little time!” My smile disappeared behind my wine glass.

Gary nodded. “So how far behind are you, Mel?” That’s the bad thing about having old friends:  they can read you too well.

“Way, way,
way
behind,” I confessed. “I’ve just been so caught up in other things. But I’m not going to let your dad down! Absolutely not. I will find the time and inclination to deliver on the commitment I made to him.”

“Well, maybe I can help,” Gary smiled. “In fact, I wanted to talk to you about the project….”

“
Hi, guys
!” a chipper little voice interrupted. Oh, my god! It was Chrissie! And, judging by the little nametag she wore, she was our waitress! And – no, I haven’t yet finished with the exclamation points! – Chrissie’s hand snaked along the table until she grasped Gary’s! She smiled at me between glances about the room to make sure that her surreptitious display of affection had gone undetected.

“Hello, Chrissie. Will you be our server tonight?” I hated to steal her introduction, but I didn’t know what else to say.”

“Hey, Melody. Yeah, I’ll be taking care of both of you tonight.” She looked at Gary and giggled, and Gary blushed. “What are you in the mood for tonight?”

I tried staying composed, as if seeing the two of them flirting like school kids was perfectly yawn-worthy. “I was in the mood for Italian, Chrissie. What would you recommend?”

She leaned over to look at my menu. “We’re still not up to full-speed yet. Gawd, it’s a good thing you didn’t come last night. It was our first night open again and it was a circus. Anyway, we have these two dishes,” she said, pointing. What would you like:  Number One or Two?”

I couldn’t help but smile at Gary. She was so sweet and clueless.

“Why, I think I’ll have a Number One. How about you, Gary?” Chrissie bounced back to Gary’s side of the table and leaned over far enough for him to whisper his order in her ear. At least, that’s what I
think
he was doing. Chrissie giggled and then stood upright.

There was an awkward silence as Chrissie transcribed our order. Or perhaps she was composing a love sonnet on her receipt sheet to smuggle to Gary. Thankfully, Gary felt obliged to fill the gap.

“Anyway, Mel, this is probably a good time to tell you that good news I’d mentioned on the phone.”

So that
was
it! They were engaged! Chrissie looked up, her notations now evidently finalized, and again reached down to squeeze Gary’s hand.

Graciousness
, I silently chanted.
Poise. This moment will pass.

In the distance, a tiny bell chimed, and Chrissie’s body snapped to attention.

“That’s me! Gotta go!” And away she went, disappearing through a swinging kitchen door.

Had I been saved by the bell? Or, like some punch-drunk boxer, did the bell merely signal a brief postponement of the inevitable drubbing I was about to undergo when next it tolled?

“Mel? Are you still with me?” Gary smiled, but there was also a hint of concern in his expression.

“Yes,” I replied. “Still here. You were saying?” The pressure had lessened now that Chrissie was gone. Perhaps it would be better this way – old friend to old friend.

“Like I was saying:  great news! I spoke with my boss, the principal at Crawford High, and was telling him about your presentation at the store, and he thought it would be a wonderful idea to perform the Accordion Extravaganza at the school assembly!”

“The assembly?” I repeated, not comprehending.

“Exactly! They always have a student talent show, and the spring season play, but this would be special. Think of it:  a captive audience of 600 students and faculty, although we might open it up to the parents as well. Think of how many young ears you could turn on to the charm and scope of the accordion!”

I was mortified. “Gary, there
is
no Accordion Extravaganza! Didn’t you hear me? I have nothing, hardly anything prepared! And now you want to add a matinee?”

“Don’t worry; it’ll be pretty much a clone of what you’ll be doing at the store. And I’ll help. Instead of you carrying all the weight, I’ll set you up with accompaniment. Heck, we could even get the string section or our band to support you.”

“Gary, that’s insane!” I cried, exasperated. “Your students may be the most proficient musicians in the state, but they’d need sheet music, rehearsals. How can you accomplish all that when we don’t even know what the songs will be?” I wasn’t sure how I could make my desperate situation any clearer.

“Too ambitious, huh?” he replied. I sensed that he was beginning to get my drift. “Well, maybe next year for that. But I’ve got a friend who’s available during the daytime – that’s always the tricky part – and he can play anything with strings:  six-and-12-string guitars, mandolin, balalaika, bouzouki…with a little tuning, we could get a
bajo sexto
effect with the guitar for some Tex-Mex. And I’m no slouch, either.”

I just groaned, and lowered my head into my hands. I wanted to cry.

“Now, don’t worry, Mel. I’ll take care of everything. We’ll start rehearsals at my place this weekend. It’ll be just like old times, down in the basement.”

“Yeah,” I moaned. “Pass the pot!”

“Mel…look at me. I’ve been so enthused ever since Dad told me about this idea, that I’ve been ransacking recordings, sheet music, downloads…you name it! I have a trove of material available and ready to go. All we need to do is pick and choose. And practice, of course.”

His words whizzed around in my brain. Was he right? Was it possible?

“What’s the name of this wizard of the strings?” I asked, slurping at my wine.

“Tommy Blaine. Great guy. Loves music! Lives for music! Eats, drinks and….”

“I get the picture,” I interrupted. “And he’s a fast learner?”

“Best sight reader I’ve ever encountered,” Gary said, without hesitation. “You just bring your best game with him around.”

“I do have one song in mind,” I offered. “It might work for a finale.”

“Great!” Gary smiled. “Come on, Mel. A toast. To music!”

Our glasses chimed together, not unlike that little dingy bell from the kitchen.

After I swallowed, I had to ask him. “So what’s up with you and Chrissie?”

“Oh, that.” He grinned, shaking his head. “That’s just physical.”