Overdue for Murder (Pecan Bayou) (9 page)

"That is not true." My voice pitched into a squeal, probably not the best tone to use when claiming one's own innocence.

"Yeah, well do the police know you told her off in front of God and everybody in the mall and wrongly accused her of trying to ruin Pattie in the Creative Cooks contest?"

My father looked at me. Of course he knew. George Beckman's eyebrows raised a bit as he learned of my mall incident.

"The part about her trying to knock over Pattie's cupcake tower is true, and yes, I told her so," I said. "The part about me pounding her in the head with a candelabra is not true. I came into this section to find a world record book for the boys, and that's when I discovered Vanessa Markham."

My father took out a small pad and pencil from his pocket and faced the increasingly hysterical librarian. He scratched his head as he started trying to put the framework of the crime scene together. "And how do you know Vanessa?"

Martha Hoffman sobbed into a tissue. "This was Vanessa Scarlett, author of
Girl Meets Fifth Avenue
. She was the hottest author in Pecan Bayou."

My father wrote that down. "And she was most probably hit in the head with that little candlestick thing?"

Martha continued being the official voice of crime information. "It is the candelabra from
The Mouse Who Played Piano
. You obviously don't know your children's literature."

My dad grinned. "I obviously don't. I thought her name was Vanessa Markham."

Martha looked at my dad as if he were a rough-hewn barbarian. She spoke slowly to him, as she would to a small child. "This is Vanessa Markham, who writes under the pen name Vanessa Scarlett."

"I see." My dad went back through his list. "So let me get this straight, Miss Hoffman. You are saying you think Betsy here was responsible for killin' Miss Scarlett in the library with the candlestick?"

I stifled a giggle. It was highly inappropriate to laugh when a human life had just been taken. I heard another giggle behind me and saw Pattie trying to hide it in a cough. Whispers went up behind her as Ruby's crowd, who had snuck in behind Pattie, repeated the joke and then more muffled laughter.

Martha Hoffman's face turned a deep burgundy as the unintended joke registered in her brain. She walked over to Peter Markham and extended her hand. "Peter, I am so sorry for your loss and for you having to be around people like this. We will get justice for Vanessa."

Peter stepped slightly back from her and then answered in a whisper, "Um ... Thank you."

*****

After the two-man Pecan Bayou police department did its best to get the names and addresses of all of the people present in the library that evening, my dad and George sat down with me. Art Rivera, the county coroner, came in with a stretcher to remove Vanessa Markham's body. As he was wheeling the black body bag away, he stopped for a moment to ponder. "Miss Betsy, weren't you at the last murder in Pecan Bayou?"

He patted my father on the shoulder. "Seems to me, Judd, you and Betsy are a little overboard on that take-your-daughter-to-work thing."

"What can I say? She just keeps findin' 'em." As the coroner left, my father turned to me and spoke in earnest."Betsy, if you weren't my daughter I'd be taking you in. You have to look at the facts. You had an argument with the victim that was observed by others. Hell, you had an ongoing feud that was witnessed by half the town."

"That wasn't my fault, Dad."

"Sure," he said. "Then there's the sticky little matter of you holding the candlestick when Miss Hoffman the librarian came in."

"I was moving it so I could see if Vanessa was alive. I was not hitting her with it."

"You don't think I know that?"

"Miss Betsy," George said, "did you see anyone, anyone at all, leaving the children's section of the library?"

"No. Everyone was going upstairs for cupcakes. I was trying to get away from Martha Hoffman, who was accusing me of being the reason that Vanessa didn't make it to the author's night."

My dad checked his notes. "According to Miss Hoffman, this section had been closed off today because of renovations. She says the painters left at around four-thirty this afternoon."

"So how did Vanessa Markham and her murderer get in here?" I said.

George rose from the tiny chair he had been trying to sit in and walked over to the plastic divider. "Lieutenant Kelsey, do you think someone could have walked into the library and snuck into this room? All they had to do was unlock this latch."

My dad stood up and walked into the main part of the library. "What about the people who were out in this part of the library checking out books? It would have been pretty tough to sneak in here." He turned back toward me, scratching his head."I know you were having difficulties with the woman, but do you know if she had any other enemies?"

"I saw her fighting with her husband at the Pecan Bayou Gazette."

He reopened his notepad. "What were they fighting about?"

"Sounded like she caught him cheating on her."

"Did they drop a name?"

"Nope."

"Okay, that gives us a start," he said.

"Oh, and I saw her getting pretty cozy with Damien Perez in the mall," I added.

"Why does that name sound familiar?"

"
Camazotz Chronicles
," George said, his voice in awe. "Those are some pretty powerful books. Bella and Edward may be hot in this country, but the Mexican Camazotz are really scary."

"Huh?"

"Damien Perez writes vampire books," said George.

"Oh, that hooey." My father gestured as if sweeping George and his Mexican vampires out of the air. I continued.

"Well, maybe they were just real good friends, but he seemed pretty hot under his pointy black collar."

"We'll check that out as well. Art will be calling me in the next couple of days, but we're pretty sure it's going to be blunt-force trauma. It’s unfortunate you were found standing over the body. We might need to be thinkin’ of a lawyer…just in case. I guess I don't have to tell you to stay in town."

"I'm not much of a flight risk, Officer Judd."

After being dismissed by the police, I went back to the meeting room to retrieve my things. Pattie offered to stay until I was finished with my interview and then drive me home. She sat there looking at the copy of my book. Martha had straightened out the meeting room and returned the table to the center. I hoped Martha Hoffman had given up on the idea of an author's night.

"Are they all done grilling you?" Pattie asked.

"Funny, coming from the cookbook writer," I told her. We gathered our things and started walking toward the door. I waved at my dad and George as they were bent over their work at Pecan Bayou's newest crime scene. Once we were out the door, Pattie looked back and whispered.

"I thought I was going to die when your dad started in on the Miss Scarlett-in-the-library thing."

"I know what you mean. Why is it sometimes when a person is at an intensely somber moment, something just tickles them and they have an irresistible urge to laugh?"

"I don't know why we laugh at times like that. Maybe we've just held it all in for so long, we can't stand it and something triggers our goofy side. It's an awful thing, but I always feel better afterward."

"I felt really bad, snickering in front of Peter Markham," I said.

"Me too, but when I looked his way he seemed ... distracted."

"Yeah, I noticed that too."

We stepped up into Pattie's pink-and-white striped delivery van. As I settled myself in the seat, I could smell the lingering aroma of fresh baked goods. My cell phone rang inside my purse. It was Fitzpatrick.

"I've been trying to call you, Betsy. I was thinking about our weekend."

"Sorry, I left my purse in another room," I said. I debated at this point whether or not I should tell him I had discovered yet another body.

"Are you at home?"

"No, sorry. I just left the library, but I'm heading that way."

"You're just leaving? Your meeting must have run late."

"Well, it sort of did."

"Betsy, I make my living predicting incoming storm systems. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Maybe."

"Betsy?"

"Okay, okay. I accidentally discovered another dead body."

It was quiet on the other end. Somehow, being romantically involved with a woman who had a knack for finding dead people was maybe a little on the strange side.

"Do you want me to come down?" His voice was so gentle I caught my breath.

"No," I answered, my voice hoarse. Pattie pulled up to my house, where I could see the living room light softly glowing through the window. "Listen, I'm home. Can I call you tomorrow and tell you all about it? I need to go see about Zach."

"Sure ... and Betsy ..."

"Yes?"

"Be careful, okay?"

"Okay."

Pattie was smiling, "Who was that?"

"That was my friend from Dallas."

Pattie recalled our earlier conversation about my debate over spending the weekend. "Oh,
that
friend from Dallas. He sounds like a nice fellow."

I jumped down from the van, shut the door and turned to the open window. "He's very nice. He was even nice after I told him about finding a body tonight."

"Why wouldn't he be?" she asked.

"You're right. It's not like it's my fault or anything."

"At least that's what you told the police," Pattie giggled.

"Come on, Pattie, you know I didn't do it."

She smiled. "You silly, I know – but I don't think Martha Hoffman does."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Are those waffles I'm smellin'?" my dad asked as he came through the back door to my kitchen the next morning.

"Why yes, I think your deductive reasoning is right on target," I answered, pouring batter into my waffle iron. "I wasn't expecting you for breakfast."

"I know, but I had some things I needed to talk to you about, and I figured it was better to talk to you here than down at the station."

"Oh." I put the metal lid down to let the waffles begin cooking. Zach came shuffling out in his floppy-eared puppy slippers and bright red pajamas dotted with the escapades of super heroes.

"Hi Grandpa," he yawned, sitting down at an empty plate. The sun shone through the white kitchen curtains fluttering in the morning breeze. I got the "World's Greatest Grandpa" mug out of the cupboard and poured a cup of coffee. "Black with two sugars."

"Thank you darlin'," he said as he took a chair next to Zach. We enjoyed a quiet breakfast of waffles, syrup and juice while Zach and my dad talked about their next fishing trip. When Zach left the table to dress for school, I started cleaning up the dishes.

"I wanted to let you know that because you're my daughter and a suspect in the biggest case to hit Pecan Bayou in awhile, Chief of Police Wilson will be taking the lead. He's worried I may not be totally objective in finding Vanessa Scarlett's murderer."

"Afraid you won't turn your own daughter in. That's reasonable." I rinsed off a sticky plate and put it in the dishwasher. "When Arvin Wilson starts checking on Vanessa, he's going to find out she had two sides. One was the beautiful and poised side our community saw, and the other was low down, mean and dirty. She was absolutely driven to be the first and best at everything, at any price."

My dad sipped his coffee. "Come on, Betsy, she didn't look all that mean to me. Crumpled up there on the floor of the library, she looked a little sad."

I sat down at the table. "I agree, she did. But in the last two weeks I saw her tangle with just about everybody she came in contact with. I know I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, telling her off at the mall, but she destroyed Pattie's entry and then blamed it all on Zach and Danny. You know you can say all kinds of things about me, but you go blaming my kid ..."

"I know, Mama Bear, I know." My dad chuckled and patted my hand. "I feel the same way about you. If I didn't, I wouldn't be riding shotgun to Chief Wilson."

"I think the deeper you dig into Vanessa's background, the more people you'll find who aren't all that sad she's gone."

"Could be, but this morning I'm going to visit with her biggest fan, Martha Hoffman."

"Good luck with that."

*****

There was a memorial service for Vanessa Markham on Thursday. All of the writers from author night were sitting in one pew at the Pecan Bayou Community Church in the same order they had been told to sit in at the library. As I walked toward them, Pattie scooted over and tapped the pew so I could complete the set. Damien Perez leaned over Pattie and said, "Good morning, señorita."

"Good morning," I replied.

"You are done with the police?"

"Probably not, but they seem to be satisfied for now."

"Good." He turned back toward the front of the church.