Taking the Fall (12 page)

I simply said, “Hello,” back to the librarian. Her name tag said
Helen
. Were she and Stacey friends? It was kind of hard to imagine. Helen was dressed in a no-nonsense dark cotton skirt and a short-sleeved button-up blouse. Her glasses were the plain, wire-rimmed variety.

“We’re new in town, and we’d like to get library cards,” said Blythe.

I scanned the room for Stacey while Blythe took a couple of forms from Helen. There was a slender young man with the kind of intentionally rumpled hair that said,
Look at me; I’m too studious to care,
staring at the other computer screen on the librarians’ desk, biting his lip as he searched for something for another patron. I spotted another librarian in the rows of books on hold behind us, plucking books from a cart and shelving them. Though she had her back to me, there was no way her round form belonged to Stacey Goode. Maybe Stacey was the librarian in the room to my left, where the mothers and their little ones had gone—the one leading story time. Now, that was a scary thought!

“We haven’t met many people yet,” Blythe was telling Helen. “Just a few. Carlos and Lourdes Vargas, Stacey Goode—she works here, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, yes. She should be in any minute now. She will be working in the back, ten to three today.”

Blythe and I exchanged looks. It was nine-thirty. So, Stacey hadn’t been running late for work after all. Where was she now? What was she doing?

“So, I will just need to see your identification and something with your Bonney Bay address on it. Any piece of mail … ”

Being a big fan of books and a member of Friends of the Library back in Sierra Vista, Blythe knew the ins and outs of these things, so we’d come prepared. “We haven’t gotten any mail here yet, but here’s the property assessment from the County they sent me recently. You can see I’m listed as the owner.”

Recognition registered in Helen’s eyes as she read the address. “Oh, you’re the one who owns Miss Ruth’s place. The Olympian.”

“Yes.” I smiled politely.

“Well, we are so honored to have you here. Both of you.”

Too bad Stacey Goode doesn’t feel the same way
, I thought as Blythe and I thanked her.
 

Once we had our cards, Blythe and I wandered over to the paperback racks.

“We should definitely check something out while we’re here,” I said. “So we look legit.”

“Yes, definitely.” Blythe was a bit distracted, with her nose already buried in a romance novel.

I aimed for the mysteries. It seemed more fitting. By the time ten o’clock rolled around, we’d both chosen several books, but Stacey still hadn’t shown up.

“I guess we should check out and go,” Blythe said. “Stacey’s going to be working in the back, and I don’t know what else we’re going to find out here.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s check out.”
And then maybe we can drive around town and see if we can spot Stacey’s car and figure out what’s making her late for work.

 
A light drizzle of rain greeted us as the library’s automatic doors opened and we stepped into the parking lot.

“Huh. I didn’t see that coming.” Blythe eyed the pale gray clouds overhead. She’d read up on the downpours that could strike any time of year here on the Western Washington coast. “Like monsoon season all year long!” she’d protested, back in Arizona, where our rainy season was predictable, and pretty much confined to July and August.

I pointed to a patch of sunshine in the distance. “Just a little mist. This would’ve been nice on those hot spring days back home, huh?”

Blythe made a little
hmm
sound, the closest she ever came to grunting.

“I’m sure the clouds will be gone any minute,” I said.

Blythe turned her attention back to the paperbacks under her arm. She started telling me how she loved the author. But I wasn’t paying much attention. I’d just noticed the library windows, and how easy it was to watch the job-seeking patrons sitting at the computers, the preschool aged children curled up on bean bags with picture books. Would it be this easy to see into the back room, where Stacey was scheduled to work? Without a word, I headed around toward the back of the building. If there were any good windows …
 

“Where are we going?” Blythe said.

“Looking for windows.”

“Oh-kay.” Blythe shrugged, then continued raving about her favorite author. “You should really try one of her books. They’re so good. The characters—”

A car door slammed. “Shh!”

That slamming car door belonged to a red Prius. Stacey stood next to her car, her back to us. She held her phone to her ear with one hand and pushed her purse back up on her shoulder with the other. “Yes. I know. It doesn’t matter where. Yes, of course inside! I have to go. Bye.”

I looked for somewhere to hide, but Stacey turned around too fast, and we were right in the middle of the back parking lot. Right in her path.

Stacey looked right at us, and the color drained from her face. “Brenna and Blythe Battle, what are you doing here?”

I gave her a saccharine smile. “Getting library cards, now that we’re residents of Bonney Bay.” I held up my newly borrowed mystery novels and waved them at her.

She glowered at me. I’m pretty sure she wanted to say,
Not for long!

Blythe said, “Helen helped us. What a nice, welcoming lady.” She gave Stacey a gleaming smile.

I looked her up and down, hoping to spy a tell-tale blotch of green paint. If only I could get a good look at her fingernails. Didn’t that kind of evidence always end up under the villain’s nails?

“What are you looking at?” Stacey spat at me as she brushed past. “There’s something wrong with both of you.”

Blythe waved at her. “Have a nice day!” she said.

“How’d I do?” she whispered to me. “I didn’t want her to know we’re onto her.”

“You did great,” I said. “We’re going to blow her out of the water. Just as soon as I get some binoculars so we can watch her through the back window.”

19

We parked in a shady spot in the back of the library lot, where the pickup was partially obscured by a red plum tree. This location also provided us with an excellent—though long-distance—view of the windows into the library’s back room. And that was where Stacey Goode seemed to do most of her work—going through the return box, scanning books and DVDs, sorting them onto carts. Blythe and I were both wearing sunglasses and pretending to read. Well, Blythe really was reading, but I was too antsy. I kept checking the time on my phone. Stacey was due to end her work day and exit the library any moment now.

Blythe lowered her book a little and said, “Bren, I’ve been thinking. I really want to solve this thing too, but … we already know where Stacey lives. What else are we going to find out by following her home from work?”

“Where her son goes to daycare, maybe? She might be friendly with some of those other moms. Maybe we could figure out how to bump into one of them and squeeze out some more information about Stacey.”

“Maybe,” Blythe said skeptically.

“What else are we going to do? I can’t just do nothing.” I held my hand up. “We can’t just wait for the police. Not with this. Not here.”

“You’re right. But maybe we should rethink this. Come up with a better plan,” Blythe said.

But I wasn’t paying much attention. Through my brand new binoculars, I watched Stacey sneak a look at her phone. Her expression and demeanor changed dramatically as she appeared to read a text message. I flicked the binoculars’ dangling price tag out of the way and zoomed in for a better look. After discovering this morning that Stacey worked in the back—which made total sense, considering her personal skills—I’d paid out the nose for these at a touristy Bonney Bay bird enthusiast shop. It was either that or drive forty-five minutes to Walmart. Maybe the binoculars were turning out to be a good investment after all. The way things were going now, I just might cut off the tag and keep them.

I smiled at my sister. “Sometimes you just have to go with your gut. I’m not the only one watching the clock.” I handed the binoculars to Blythe.

“Ooh. She looks nervous.”

“Yep.” Stacey Goode had started giving her fellow librarians distracted looks, and paying an awful lot of attention to the clock on the wall above the book carts.

“Maybe she’s just anxious to see her son. Or a hot date, or … ”

“Or meet up with an accomplice.”

Blythe bounced up in her seat. “Here she comes! She’s got her purse. She’s waving good-bye to the other librarians!”

I tossed my paperback onto Blythe’s lap and started the truck. We were right by the back
 
parking lot exit. I hoped I had time to pull out before Stacey clocked out and came out the employee door on the side of the building.

“What if she goes out the front of the parking lot?” Blythe said. “It’s an easier shot out of town.”

“That could be a problem,” I agreed as I maneuvered out, trying to be quick without drawing attention by gunning the engine or making the tires squeal.

Just as I backed into a shadowy driveway around the corner from the library parking lot exit, the red Prius cruised by. “Yes!” I said. I waited for another vehicle to appear on the little back road. I knew that was what you were supposed to do—not follow too closely, get some other cars between you and the suspect. But no cars came.

“Why is there no traffic here?”

The movies make it look so easy to follow someone without them noticing. I’d like to see 007 try it in Bonney Bay.
 

“Small town woes,” Blythe mumbled. Then, “Hey!” Blythe’s face lit up. “What’s she doing, fifteen miles per hour? Maybe it would be easier to follow her on foot.”

“It’ll definitely be easier to keep her from catching onto us. But I don’t know how long I can maintain fifteen miles per hour.”

Blythe frowned. “You’re right. But look, she’s headed downhill. Do you think we could see where she goes if we park at the top of the hill?”

“Maybe, if she gets far enough downhill, and if you can get to a good vantage point with the binoculars. But then we’d be so far away—unless we split up.” I quickly pulled over. “Here. Take the wheel. I’ve got my phone. Text me and keep me updated on where she goes.”

“Brenna!”

“I’ll keep my distance. Go! Hurry!”

I didn’t give her a chance to argue any more. I sped off, mentally patting myself on the back for wearing running shoes this time. I clutched my phone in my hand, since I was wearing pocketless running shorts. It was a warm day, and besides, I’d thought I might end up doing some on-foot snooping. Dressing as a jogger was a pretty good cover. Heh, I guess Blythe’s not the only one with planning skills. This time Brenna Battle was prepared! Well, except that I’d forgotten my phone holster. My phone vibrated with a text. I slowed my pace a bit so I could read it.

“In a tree! See her!”

I waited for more. My heart beat faster. My sister was in a tree! There are women less outdoorsy than Blythe, but I can tell you it’s pretty difficult to imagine her in a tree. She certainly never climbed one when we were kids. I barely kept myself from texting back, “Do u know how to climb a tree? Can u get down?”

Instead I texted, “OK,” and kept running until I got another message.

“Lost her corner of Gardenia & Main. Meet u there.”

I
GPS
ed it, selected
walking
, and turned up the heat.

My lungs were on fire by the time I spotted my pickup parked along Gardenia Street. Blythe was crouched behind the truck, waiting for me. She smelled like a Christmas tree. There was a big glob of sap on her rear end, and pine needles stuck in her hair, which now resembled a late eighties teased ’do.

“That way,” she whispered, and pointed to a side street. We ran to the corner, paused, and peeked around an ornamental block wall covered with flowering vines. The red Prius was parked just a few feet away. I barely caught a glimpse of Stacey disappearing around the corner in the distance, far down on the end of the street. “Come on!” I took off, and Blythe, in slightly less practical khaki shorts and canvas slip-on tennis shoes, trailed behind.

When I reached the next corner, I crouched behind a parked car and surveyed the street. No sign of Stacey. Dang it. There were two more connecting streets she could’ve made a turn onto. I had to find her. Stacey had parked a block away, and left her car on foot. Kind of like she didn’t want anyone wherever she was going to spot it. Kind of like what we’d just done.

Blythe caught up with me and joined me in my hiding spot.

“Right or left?” I whispered.

“You didn’t see?”

I shook my head.

Blythe put her scratched-up, pine-sappy hand on my shoulder. “Go with your gut, Bren. It seems to be onto something today.”

I grinned, only partly because of how her serious, earnest face looked, framed by a net of pine-sapped, tree-teased hair. “Right,” I said.

But once we’d turned right and found cover behind another car, there was no sign of Stacey. I was just about to pronounce my gut good for nothing but digesting junk food, when Blythe said, “What was that?”

I frowned at her.

“I heard something,” she whispered.

I held my breath and listened. I heard it too! A faint clatter. I skittered around the car in a crouch, toward the sound. I ended up on my belly behind a lawn fountain, watching Stacey Goode standing on her tiptoes around the side of the house next door, pulling on the window frame.

Blythe joined me on the meticulously kept lawn, behind the burbling fountain. Who has lawn fountains? Retired people, that’s who. Half this town was probably retired people. How long would it be before one of them spotted us lying here in the grass like a couple of snakes?

Stacey jerked backward with the window screen in her hands. It had finally popped free. She set it down against the side of the house.

“What is she doing?” I said.

“Oh, wow. She’s breaking in!”

She wasn’t exactly breaking anything, but yes, technically speaking, Stacey Goode was breaking in. Even as we watched, she hoisted herself up onto the window ledge and disappeared inside.