MELODY and MURDER (Melody The Librarian Book 1) Read online

  “Well, now that you’ve taken an interest, Chief Benson, I’m sure there’s no limit to what you can accomplish.”

  “I’ve said what I had to say to you, miss,” he huffed, and reached for the doorknob. He pivoted 180 degrees, though, to deliver a final thought.

  “You know, if there was someone out there planning on killing people, I’d be concerned, but I don’t think there is. I think someone just got tired of one of these folks milling around, with nothing to do but cause trouble. I know you bleeding hearts like to think that each and everybody’s special but – in reality – that ain’t always the case.”

  “It’s called empathy, Chief. Nobody deserves to die like he did, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to have his death ignored, especially by the ones in charge of protecting us.”

  He turned and left. My arms and legs felt shaky and I could hardly catch my breath. I hoped my nervousness wasn’t obvious. It happens every time I get in an argument which, fortunately, isn’t often. Why had the Chief felt compelled to confront me like that? I’ve never understood why people can’t calmly discuss issues rationally, instead of taking a position that pits one “side” against the other.

  I realized that I was as much to blame as the Chief for the emotional escalation of our talk. This situation calls for a calm, clear, analytical approach, and I resolved to make that my mantra going forward. The Chief was not the enemy; he was a resource, an ally. I hoped that, when he cooled off, he’d feel the same about me.

  Chapter 15

  Friday was a happy-sad sort of day. It was Marian’s last day at the library, and a procession of friends and patrons made a pilgrimage to wish her well. That was the happy part, of course, but there was an underlying sadness felt with each congratulatory hug. She held up well, but there were times her eyes glistened and her voice quivered.

  “It really feels like I’m saying goodbye,” she told one friend, who had traveled from Traverse City just to be there on this special day. “Which is nonsense; I’ll probably come by often as a ‘civilian.’ I wonder how long it’ll take before I stop waking up at 6:00 to get ready for work!”

  “Oh, that’ll change,” her friend assured her. “In a couple of weeks, you won’t even get dressed any more. That’s right, you’ll just wander around in your robe and slippers and watch TV all day. If you want, you can start making martinis at noon!”

  “Promise me you’ll shoot me if I do!” Marian laughed.

  At 10:00, there was a rustling of activity as Charlene Bradshaw-Cook made an entrance, leading her entourage which included her husband, Nathan, and Geraldine Rafferty and an assistant, carrying a huge, two-tiered cake with blue frosting. Charlene pointed at a table.

  “You can set it down right there,” she directed. “We have forks and napkins, and they’ll be bringing in a juice dispenser on the next trip.

  “Listen, everybody. We won’t keep you long.” The excited reaction of the patrons to the arrival of the cake quieted. “Nathan and I just wanted to acknowledge our appreciation for the hard work and service of Marian Schultz. Before TVs and the computer age overwhelmed us, people relied on books, magazines and newspapers to learn about the world around us. People like Marian dedicated themselves to making that world available to us all…for free. They did it with very little financial support, and a lot of the time, they made it up as they went along. And our lives have been made richer because of them.

  “When Nathan and I decided to build a new library for our town ten years ago, one of the reasons we did so was because of Marian. She promised to give us ten years of her expertise and she’s kept her part of the bargain. It was her decision to retire, and she certainly has earned the privilege.” She looked at her husband, standing slightly behind her. “That’s all I have. Do you want to add anything?”

  Nathan took a step forward and cleared his throat. “You probably know that we have a new librarian, Melody Reed. If you haven’t stopped by to introduce yourself, you should. Make her feel welcome and feel free to rely on her for assistance, just like you did with Marian.

  “And thank you, Marian. You’re a very special woman, and this is a special day. Enjoy it and eat lots of cake!” People laughed and clapped, and some called on Marian to make a speech. She waved away the opportunity. I think she was choked up.

  Nathan cut the first piece, put it on a paper plate and handed it to Marian. “The good folks at Geri’s Bakery will be standing by if the cake should run low. Melody, you just give them a call if you need more. Keep in mind, when school’s out, the kids will probably race down here to see Marian.”

  Marian burst into a sob and tried to recover, but the reference to the kids got to her. Marian had no children of her own, but I’d noticed how fond the kids were of her. She was like everybody’s favorite grandma, and she delighted in spending time with the youngest ones. Obviously, she was going to miss it. I made a mental note to suggest a weekly reading hour for the children. I wondered if she’d enjoy volunteering for that.

  “So is this self-serve or are you doing the honors?” a familiar voice whispered in my ear.

  “Michael! I wasn’t expecting you to drop in!”

  “You’ll find me wherever there’s free cake,” he replied. “Actually, I’ve finished interviewing everyone connected with the avicide sales, except for Mom, of course.” Michael glanced around at the gathering, gauging his ability to speak freely. “I’ll probably swing by tomorrow. Let Mom know, would you? Maybe I will run some of the names on that list by her, like you suggested. Who knows? She might have some insights.”

  “Maybe she’ll confess,” I suggested.

  Michael smiled, squeezed my arm, and headed for the cake table. I followed and took up my place as cake server. It was nice. I got a chance to meet several of the locals and make a little small talk. Under the gaze of the Cooks, who stood back from the throng, smiling and nodding as passers-by offered Marian congratulations, I felt as though they were evaluating how well I mingled with the public. If that were the case, and not just paranoia on my part, I trusted that I passed the audition.

  “Would you like some cake?” I asked two young men who stood near the table.

  “Maybe later,” the one wearing a dress shirt, tie and wrinkled khakis replied. “We’re with the Crawford Caller. Business before pleasure.” His partner was dressed more casually in jeans and shirt with no tie, and had a camera hanging around his neck.

  Charlene hadn’t missed a trick. Not only had she arranged for the refreshments, but she’d apparently contacted the media as well. I felt a little left out by her taking it upon herself to do these things without deeming it necessary to coordinate with me, but I was glad for the recognition it would bring both Marian and the library. Marketing was never my strength anyway.

  “Excuse me,” the man in the tie said. “You’re the new librarian, right? I’m Proctor and he’s Bergman….Pete Proctor.” The man designated as Bergman wore a camera around his neck. Either he didn’t rate being introduced by his full name or he was one of those creative types who only went by a single name, like Madonna or Cher. “Could you spare a couple of minutes…between servings? We were contacted to cover Marian’s retirement ceremony, but we could run an article on you as well.”

  “Kill two birds with one stone?” I summarized.

  “Exactly,” Pete said, unaware of the irony I felt using that cliché. He must have been ten years younger than I was. His dark hair was styled with that “wet,” spikey look some younger guys wear, and he wore studs in each of his ear lobes. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just record your responses. So tell me all about yourself…where you worked before this, your background, where you’re from.”

  I summarized my bio as briefly as possible while continuing to serve our patrons and guests. Although this exercise in participatory journalism wasn’t as awkward as my job interview, it was a close second, with me blowing my own horn to the amusement of the succession of guests while Pete held out his recorder in one hand and at
e a piece of cake with the other, constantly looking around the room, as if afraid he might miss something really interesting elsewhere.

  After finishing the succinct summary, I waited for Pete to notice I’d finished. He turned toward me, a trace of frosting on his upper lip. “Uh…thanks. So…you’re the one who found the dead man, is that right?”

  I was taken aback by his sudden transition, and wasn’t sure how to respond. I was hoping to lead into plans for upcoming programs for the library. I didn’t really know what those were yet, but I could have improvised.

  “Yes, I was the one. Jacob Miller was his name.”

  “Right. That must have been a shock. Did you notice any bruises on his face or hands? Cuts, anything like that?”

  “Mr. Proctor, I don’t think these questions are appropriate. How did you even hear about this?”

  “Oh, it’s public record, Miss Reed. Is it Miss Reed?”

  “My marital status is not public record, thank you.”

  “Fair enough. But the county coroner has ruled it a possible homicide. Other than that, there doesn’t appear to be a lot of information available.”

  “Well, you should probably speak with Chief Benson.”

  Pete’s deadpan expression changed to a smirk. “There seems to be a vacuum of information there. I got the feeling the Chief was trying to get information from me. That’s not a good sign. But I did hear from a source that you found something at the scene of the death. A bottle, was it?”

  I now realized that any interest this reporter had in the new librarian was merely a Trojan horse to learn more about Jacob. “Again, you’d have to speak with the Chief…or that man over there.” I’d spotted Michael with Marian. He’d know how to handle Pete’s inquiring mind. “He’s with the State Police and is involved with the investigation.”

  “Really?” Pete nodded to Bergman. Bergman stood before me and snapped two quick shots. “Well, thanks for your time, Miss Reed. Good luck with your new position.” Pete wove through the crowd with photographer in tow toward Michael.

  I hoped he did plan on speaking with Marian. After all, this was her day, not mine. It was lunchtime and many of the shop owners had come by to express their good wishes. I met Mayor Lowell and most of the principals from the avicide list. Admittedly, I looked hard at each one’s face and the way they interacted with others, looking for some characteristic or quirk which might indicate a capacity for murder, but they all looked normal to me.

  Marian thoroughly enjoyed the turnout, reminiscing about yesteryears and listing the activities she looked forward to experiencing, including traveling around and out of state. The duo from the Caller made good on their commitment to cover her story – having hit the stone wall “no comment” Michael had erected.

  All in all, it was a grand day for Marian, and the kids from school hadn’t even arrived yet. It looked as if we would need more cake, after all.

  Chapter 16

  The next day was Saturday, and as I was finishing up my half-day at the library, Michael called. “Hey, just to let you know, there’s been a change in plans. I won’t be stopping by today.”

  “Why not?” I asked, disappointed. “I was looking forward to running through your rogue’s gallery of suspects.”

  “I decided to let my fingers do the walking and called Mom. It was a slow day at her shop so – without revealing exactly why – I asked her to provide a thumbnail sketch of each of the people on the list.”

  “And whom did Mom finger as Most Likely to Murder?”

  Michael chuckled. “She provided a little dirt on everyone, actually. Little character flaws, secretiveness, stuff like that. None of it very helpful.”

  “So what’s the next step of your investigation? Where do you go from here?”

  “We’re into the phase I refer to as the ‘dead calm.’ Unless we can add more links between Jacob Miller and the people who purchased the poison, we’re dead in the water.

  “According to the coroner, the death took place between 10:00 and midnight. Of course, everyone on the list was at home in bed, either alone or with a spouse. And these street people tend to be loners. Their comings and goings aren’t observed by employers or landlords. They keep low profiles, avoiding confrontation.”

  “There must be something you can do,” I said, hoping that there was some investigative technique that might apply.

  “Do you know how most crimes are solved, Melody? Someone comes forward with a suspicion, or the perp brags to someone about what they did, or we’re lucky enough to catch something on a surveillance camera. Downtown Lake Hare doesn’t have any cameras, and so far, no one has come forward. I’m not giving up; I’m just saying that until a development presents itself, we’ve hit a temporary dead end.”

  “I hate to even ask, but do you think Chief Benson might turn up something?”

  “You never know,” Michael replied. “Like the saying goes, ‘Even a blind pig will find an acorn once in a while.”

  That evening, Mom and I were watching TV. It was kind of a boring night. I’d hoped that maybe Gary Van Dyke would call and want to do something, maybe check out a movie, or go hang out somewhere. I guess I could have called him and made the suggestion, but I hesitated, wondering if he might take it the wrong way. Mom’s matchmaking noises pretty much put the kibosh on such a purely friendly overture, so here I sat.

  We were both ready to call it a night when the local newscast began. The male and female anchors ping-ponged opening teasers between them, attempting to hook viewers with their lead stories…and it worked.

  “Lake Hare police officials announced a breakthrough in the suspicious death of a homeless man. Stay tuned for details.”

  “Oh, this must be about Jacob.” Mom said, picking up the remote to increase the volume. “Your brother said he may have been poisoned.”

  Great. So I was sworn to secrecy, but Michael could reveal information as he pleased. I wondered how much he had shared with Mom.

  “So what did Michael say about it, Mom?”

  “Sssh!” she hissed. “Here it is!”

  The anchorman assumed an appropriately somber expression as he read the story. “The mysterious death of a homeless man came one step closer to being solved, according to law enforcement officials in Lake Hare. Lake Hare Police Chief Benson issued a statement that a “person of interest” related to the death of Jacob Miller has been taken into custody for questioning. The individual’s name has not been released, and he is expected to be arraigned on Monday.”

  “Oh, my god,” I muttered. “I wonder if Michael is aware of this.” I grabbed my phone and speed-dialed his number. He didn’t pick up, so I thought I’d better leave a message.

  “Michael, this is Melody. I just saw a ‘breaking news’ report on TV that said Chief Benson may have solved the Jacob Miller case. He has a suspect in custody. I would have hoped he’d have kept you in the loop, but just in case, I thought you should know. Congratulations,” I teased. “It looks like the blind pig struck gold, or whatever. Bye.”

  I looked over at Mom, still staring intently at the TV screen. I removed the remote from her hand and turned the TV off.

  “Alright, Mom, spill. What all do you know about this case?”

  A smug smile lit her face. “Now, don’t get all indignant with me, Missy. You were holding back info from me, too, it turns out.”

  “Michael made me take a vow of silence!” I protested.

  “As did I,” she countered, with a sanctimonious countenance. “But to answer your question, when he called and asked my opinion about the people on this list of his. Well, he didn’t say too much, but he admitted it was part of his investigation, and the names were people who might have – through carelessness or malice – poisoned that Jacob Miller.”

  “So what did you tell him? Who did you finger for it?” I was aware that my phrasing sounded like something from a 1940s B-movie.

  “All of them!” she exclaimed. “Except for me, of course. Seriously, from
what I know, any one of those people could be mean enough or stupid enough to leave poison out where someone hungry enough might help himself to it.” She paused. “Who would you put your money on, if we were betting?”

  “I have no idea,” I admitted. “I guess we’ll just have to tune in Monday to find out Chief Benson’s theory.”

  “Chief Benson,” she scoffed. “That man would be lucky to find his shoes in the morning, let alone catch a killer.”

  At last, Mother and I could agree on something.

  Chapter 17

  On Monday, I was at work while the Chief’s suspect was being arraigned in Crawford. Michael was attending the hearing. He’d called Sunday to tell us that he was completely blindsided by the Chief’s statement, and he’d been unable to reach the Chief to get more information. (Apparently, the after-hours emergency number can be quite arbitrary regarding who gets through to the Chief.) Michael promised to update me once he’d had a chance to review the Chief’s case file and interview the suspect. Mom and I promised each other that we’d share any information either of us might receive.

  At 3:00, Michael called. He was on his way home and had me on speakerphone.

  “What a day,” he sighed. “Well, where would you like me to start?”

  “What happened at the hearing?” I asked. He sounded exhausted, or as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

  “Ah, yes, the hearing; well, the accused is a guy named Lester Moore. Poor guy didn’t know where he was or why. Fortunately, his court-appointed attorney entered a motion to have a competency hearing. Finding out whether or not he has his mental faculties will probably be the only clear-cut aspect of this fiasco.

  “The crux of the Chief’s case is based on the testimony of one Thaddeus Slip, aka Thad Hand, aka Chad the Hammer, and on and on. I ran his name in the system and it nearly blew our server. He has a diverse portfolio, including manufacture of methamphetamine, drug possession and dealing, armed robbery, etcetera. This upstanding citizen, with no fixed address at the moment, claims that Lester Moore admitted to him that he ground up poison and served it up to Jacob Miller. That is the Chief’s case in its entirety.