The Miss Fortune Series: Overdue (Kindle Worlds Novella) (5 page)

All sorts of alarm bells were going off in my head. What was up with Lila Rose’s daughter, and why was she trying to prevent her mother from talking to me?

Lila Rose waited while her daughter disappeared into the house, then turned to me. “I have a habit of shelving my library books in with my own collection, so it may take her a while. You do like sweet tea, don’t you?”

“Yes, in fact I do.”

“Then let’s you and I have a glass while sitting on the porch out back overlooking the bayou.”

Jackpot.

She shut the front door behind her. “The house is in disarray because we’re having some remodeling done, so let’s walk around the path to the back, shall we?”

A few minutes later Lila Rose and I were sipping sweet tea on a wide deck overlooking the water. Ida Belle had explained that Lila Rose suffered some sort of breakdown about five years ago that had shut down her writing career. I had no idea what those emotional issues were, but she seemed totally fine to me. Her daughter, Janice, however, seemed nervous as she popped her head out of one of the windows and asked Lila Rose where she might have left the library book.

“Try the top shelf of the blue bookcase in my study,” she said, waving her hand in the air. After Janice pulled her head back inside, Lila Rose whispered to me. “It’s actually on the bookshelf on the east wall of my library. So we’ve got lots of time to chat.”

Wearing denim shorts and a crisp, white T-shirt, Lila Rose looked younger than the mid-fifties that she was, with shoulder-length, salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“So… you’re here for an overdue book. Shame on me for book hoarding,” she said after taking a sip of tea. “And for such a dreadful book, too. The author didn’t write it, she gave birth to it. What an awful, bloody mess that one was.” She held up a plate of cookies. “Care for a jelly delight?”

“Uh, sure,” I said, taking one from the plate. “You’re a writer as well?”

“I was anyway. Okay, I still am.” She looked back at the door to the house. “I tinker a bit. Actually, a lot. I have for years. I’ve written three completed series, one with more than seven installments. I just don’t show them to anyone anymore. Even my daughter is prohibited from reading them.”

“Why not let people read them?”

“Because I write for my characters. Not my agent, not my publisher, and not the reviewers. My characters tell me what to write, and I only make changes for them. And if the powers that be have a problem with it, screw ‘em.”

Yes, she was odd, but I liked this woman’s attitude.

“It must be ‘author’s-with-overdue-books day,’” I said. “I just visited with one of your fellow writers.”

“Fellow writers?” She asked, puzzled.

“CJ Banks?”

“Him?” she hissed. “He’s a hack. He vomits one dreadful book after another. And, no, I haven’t read all of his messes. I read several of his earlier works and vowed never to do so again. Life is too short for such nonsense. And, yes, I know that he has a successful series out now. Lord knows how. The declining tastes of readers is all I can surmise.”

She took a bite of cookie and swallowed it with a sip of tea. “But I’m guessing you really didn’t come over to hear me eviscerate other authors. You want to know what I told Deputy LeBlanc about Waddell’s untimely death.”

I pulled up my eyebrows. I wasn’t feigning surprise. I was surprised. I held up my list. “You’re on the list of overdue books. That’s why I’m here.”

“Do you realize how many times I’ve had overdue books? And this is the only time I’ve been visited by the Library Police.”

“Actually, I’m just a visiting librarian. Just helping out for a few days.”

She folded her arms. “You’re a friend of Ida Belle and Gertie. They have their noses so far up everyone’s hindquarters in this town I’m surprised they can still breathe. I’ll be honest with you. They’ve never been friends of mine. However, I do admire them. They’re strong women. Hell, this town probably would have fallen apart had they not been running things all these years. But they’re too nosey. And it wouldn’t surprise me if they sent you here to snoop around.”

I shifted in the wicker chair. “Well, now that you brought Waddell’s name up—”

“I brought him up?” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “You keep telling yourself that.”

I liked her a lot. “I heard you lent him money in the past to cover gambling debts.”

“And who told you that?”

I shrugged.

“Ida Belle? Damn that woman! How’d she know about that?”

I shrugged. “I’ve only been in Sinful for six weeks. I’m still trying to figure Ida Belle out.” Actually, that wasn’t a lie.

“Well, she’s right about that, although I wouldn’t call them loans. Waddell could be a handful, and never made anything out of himself, but he was my sister’s son, God rest her soul.” She made the sign of the cross over her chest. “Luckily this past year he must have turned his life around because he stopped coming to me for gambling money. And he stopped charging me for work he was doing around the house.” She sipped her tea then continued, “I have more than enough money, so I didn’t really care if he ever paid me back. All my series are still enjoying brisk sales. And my husband left me two highly productive oil wells, so I don’t want for much.” She glanced back at the door to the house. “Just don’t let my daughter, Janice, hear me say that. She’s always thought I was frivolous with my money. If I let her run things, I’d be kowtowing to the publishers and churning out crap, and hoarding every penny.”

Well, that certainly piqued my interest.

“And, no, she didn’t kill Waddell,” Lila Rose said. “Not that she doesn’t know her way around a needle. The dog is very high-strung and requires a shot of tranquilizer on occasion. In fact, we have an emergency fanny pack we take with us when we walk her, equipped with treats and a syringe at the ready. Janice is the one who handles all that. Lord knows she won’t let me do it. But, hell, even I know a thing or two about needles. I’m a mystery writer. I’ve consulted umpteen medical professionals while researching facts for my books. But it’s one thing to know how to kill someone, quite another to have the capacity for murder. And though you won’t find Janice grieving much for Waddell, she doesn’t possess the capacity for murder.”

“So who does?” I took a bite from the cookie. Peanut butter with a grape jelly filling. “P B and J,” I said, holding the cookie up. “My favorite.”

“Of course they are,” she said. Odd. Her voice seemed to deepen. Her seated posture, which had been slightly stiff in the chair, was now more relaxed. She grasped my knee and firmly shook it. “What were we talking about again?”

“Waddell’s murder. Your ideas about who might have done it.”

“I’m glad you asked, kiddo because I’ve been observing some mighty strange things lately.” She reached for a folder on the wicker coffee table next to the plate of cookies. “When Deputy LeBlanc called to say he was coming over to talk about Waddell, that reminded me of something peculiar that I observed a week ago.”

She opened the file folder, bulging with pages of lined paper, and pointed to a paragraph in the middle of the page. “It had to do with the mailman. I was walking Gracie, she’s my chocolate lab. She was sniffing around Juliette Nolin’s azalea bushes and decided it was time to do her business. I knew Juliette would pitch a fit if Gracie left one ounce of poo on her precious grass, so I walked her around Juliette’s house to the empty lot next door.”

I nodded.

“Soon I heard people approaching, stopping behind those hideous topiaries that fill Juliette’s yard. One voice was Waddell. I couldn’t quite place the other voice, but I looked down and noticed a pair of jungle-print hi-top sneakers with a zipper in the back. Silly shoe for a man, but I’d seen that shoe before.” She looked down at the notes. “On the mailman. He doesn’t wear them every day, thank the good Lord.”

“What were they talking about?” I asked.

“The mailman said Waddell was holding out on him. He wanted all of the goods. Waddell said he was raising the price on his services. Said it was worth it. The mailman agreed to the price, but said this was the last time Waddell was going to raise it. Waddell then left and the mailman called someone on his cell phone. Sounded like it might be a lady friend. Now, I don’t know if this is the same lady friend,” she said, examining her notes, “but I do remember seeing the mailman with the café owner.”

“Francine?”

She looked back at her notes. “I don’t have a name here.”

“Francine owns Francine’s Café,” I said. “The only restaurant in Sinful.”

She thought a moment, then nodded. And blinked a few times, as if she were getting her bearings. “You’re right, Miss Morrow,” she said, her voice lifting a bit in pitch. “Francine’s is the only place to dine in Sinful. Do they still have that silly banana pudding race every Sunday? Honest to Pete, if those ladies love pudding so much, why don’t they learn to make it themselves?”

“Do you remember the mailman saying anything else to the woman on the phone?”

She looked puzzled. “Who?”

“The mailman. With the funny hi-top shoes. He was on his phone after Waddell left.”

She looked back at her notes. Clarity seemed to return to her. “Yes, of course. Excuse me for appearing muddled. It’s that damn pill I took to calm my nerves. Well, half a pill, but don’t tell Janice. She insisted I take one before speaking with Deputy LeBlanc. One of the side effects is confusion soon after I take it. That’s why I only like to take half. Just between you and me, I’d say Janice’s obsession with my well-being borders on insanity. But maybe crazy runs in the family. What do you think, kiddo?”

Before I could even possibly know how to formulate an answer to that one, she continued, “You wanted to know where the mailman was going to meet his lady friend.”

I nodded.

“He wasn’t specific, just said he would meet up with her at their usual Wednesday spot. Said he had something to give her. And then he added that they had to figure out what to do with Waddell.”

“Usual spot? You didn’t hear him elaborate?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, kiddo, the note ends there.”

“Hmmm. Do you know where the mailman’s regular Wednesday spot is?”

“Hm?” Lila Rose asked.

I repeated my question. She shrugged.

“Well, I did hear him say he spent his Wednesday nights at the roller rink. Why do you ask?”

“Because, you said you overheard him on the phone making plans to meet someone at their usual Wednesday spot.”

“I did?” she asked. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me. I just had a pill to calm my nerves. It can cause temporary confusion.”

That half a pill must have packed a punch, because even I was getting confused with the conversation. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d just told me about the shot a couple minutes ago.

I decided to change the subject. “Skating rink?” In all my time in Sinful, I’d never noticed a skating rink. “Where’s the skating rink?”

“Well, dear,” she said, closing the file folder with a flourish, “you might want to ask your friends Ida Belle and Gertie about that. In fact, it was because of them I built one of my stories around a skating rink.”

The door opened and Janice appeared with a book. “I found it,” she said, handing it to me. She walked outside and gestured toward the path Lila Rose and I had taken to the back porch. “If there’s anything else I can get for you, don’t hesitate to call.”

Lila Rose scribbled something on the corner of one of her note pages and tore it off. “I wrote my personal cell number down in case you need me.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking it. “And thanks for the tea and cookies.” I stood up and followed Janice around to the front of the house. The door opened and a woman in overalls stepped outside. She looked to be around early-fifties, and was carrying a thick book of fabric swatches.

“I think we’ve found a perfect match for the sofa,” the woman said to Janice.

“Good,” Janice said to her. “How much longer do you think you’ll be in that room?”

“I’d say another week. But I think you’ll love the results.”

Janice nodded as the woman walked toward a pickup truck parked in front of the house.

“I would hope so,” Janice muttered. “That company has been taking forever on it.” She rolled her eyes at me. “We had a leaky pipe last month, so we’re having a couple rooms worked on. They’ve spent four weeks alone on mother’s office.” Before going inside the house, Janice wished me a good day and then added, “If you need to reach us, best to call me on the house number. Mom’s cell phone is used in case of emergencies.”

I nodded, said goodbye to Janice, and walked to my Jeep. The woman had finished putting her swatches into her truck and was coming back to the house, stopping to chat as she passed by.

“You’re Sandy-Sue Morrow, aren’t you?” She asked. “My name is Mayliss Darby. I’m a contractor. I saw you in the library yesterday.”

She extended her hand to me and we shook.

“Yes, I’m taking over for one of the regular librarians for a few days.”

“I was so glad when you showed up in town,” she said. “I moved to Sinful three years ago and until you arrived I was still known as the new girl in town.”