A Killer Read, page 10
part #1 of An Ashton Corners Book Club Mystery Series
Jacob shook his head. “I had our intrepid Officer Craig, also. She really wanted me to have been in Stoney Mills at some point, but I haven’t, so she eventually gave up. It helps being a lawyer. I’m really adept at turning the questions back on her.” He grinned.
Bob snorted. “These days I can take some pleasure in that ability. Sure used to get my dander up though, dealing with lawyers.”
Lizzie had been watching Stephanie for several minutes. She was concentrating solely on her knitting, trying to appear small or even invisible, it seemed. It would be tricky, trying to get her to talk, but it needed to be done.
Just jump right in, Lizzie told herself, and then asked, “Stephanie, did Officer Craig question you, too?”
Stephanie took a deep breath and looked up at them. “Yes.”
“Not pleasant, I’ll bet.”
“No, not a bit.”
“It’s hard when people start prying into your personal life, I know,” Lizzie said. And thought, She’s not going to say anything with all of us staring at her. I’ll try seeing her alone. Maybe if I keep slowly chipping away, I can get some answers.
Molly looked from Stephanie back to Lizzie. “So, what we’re saying is the police are looking for a past connection, but what I want to know is, why did Frank Telford come here, to my house?”
“That’s right,” Lizzie said. “The question is, did Telford know about our meeting and come here for that reason, which is highly unlikely because the book club wasn’t widely advertised. But if it is the reason, the question still is, why?”
“One of us could have told him,” Bob interjected.
“You’re right, but that would mean that person knew Telford. And we’ve all claimed we didn’t know the man.” Or won’t admit it. She looked around the room at everyone. She couldn’t believe any of them were involved. “Why would he want to come to this house?”
Bob scratched his head and tried to smooth the long, gray strands of hair over the thinning spot right on top. “That’s a good question. But here’s another: was it all just a coincidence?”
Lizzie felt a buzz of excitement. Lots of questions and no answers, as yet.
“If Agatha Christie were writing this,” Molly said, “then she would use the ordinary. Her solutions often came from everyday things, like people’s names. Although I don’t see many clues in the name Frank Telford, I must admit. But perhaps we should look at the most obvious, basic elements of this case.”
“Agatha Christie,” Bob said in mock disgust. “Molly, we’ve got to broaden your reading horizons. Let’s say I just bring over some James Lee Burke for you.”
Molly glowered at Bob but said nothing.
“Well, not that anyone asked me to, but I went online and searched for Frank Telford,” Andie said. “And he doesn’t have a Facebook site, go figure. I guess no one that old does.”
Molly raised an eyebrow.
“That was a great idea, Andie.” Lizzie meant it. “How about searching further on the Internet and see if he’s mentioned anywhere else?”
“Sure, I can do that.” Andie actually grinned.
“I wonder if we should go to Stoney Mills and ask around about Telford. See what we can dig up on him,” Lizzie suggested.
Bob intervened. “That’s not a good idea, young lady. There’s a killer out there, and if he gets wind that someone’s trying to track him down, who knows what he’ll do. This calls for someone with some professional experience.” He thought for a few seconds and then nodded. “Yeah, I could take a drive over there and do some checking. I’ll do it in the next day or two, if the fish aren’t biting.” He stood up and went over to take another cheese straw off the plate, turned back to his seat but changed his mind and grabbed the plate to pass it around.
Molly couldn’t hide her astonishment as she took one. Lizzie gave it a pass. He sat back down, looking pleased with himself.
Molly asked, “What can I do? It was my house, after all, and I’d like to get in on this.”
“You could go undercover,” Andie said with a wide grin. “You and Chief Bob could do it together.”
Bob took up the thread. “Now, that’s a great idea. Molly, you and I could pretend to be looking to buy us a house. It would be real natural to ask around about the town and the people before actually putting down our small nest egg.” He was almost smirking.
Molly drew herself up to her full sitting height. “Miss Molly Marple. It has a ring to it. All right, I’ll do it… but don’t you go getting any funny ideas, Bob Miller.”
Chapter Seventeen
I was in no mood to deal with any more of this nonsense.
THE DIVA RUNS OUT OF THYME—KRISTA DAVIS
The doorbell startled her. Lizzie turned on the light in her kitchen and checked the clock. She’d been raiding the fridge before heading upstairs to bed. She didn’t usually get guests calling at midnight. She peered through the peephole before opening the door. Awfully late for her landlord to be dropping by.
“Nathaniel. What are you doing here at this hour? Is anything wrong?”
“I hope I didn’t scare you, Lizzie. I’ve been waiting for you to get home.” He handed her a large manila envelope. “I saw that cyclist again tonight, and he left this in your mailbox. I wanted to bring it to you and make sure everything’s all right. You know, I saw him the other night and it looked like he had a big manila envelope that night, too. That’s real strange, him stopping by so late again.”
Lizzie ripped open the envelope and pulled out more chapters. “It’s the next part of the manuscript,” she said, to herself rather than her landlord. She flipped through the pages quickly, then asked, “Would you like to come in for some tea, Nathaniel?” She knew he often watched old black-and-white movies until the early hours of the morning, and although she longed for bed, he might want the company.
He’d thrown a navy nylon shell over his beige knit turtleneck sweater, and had on brown khaki pants and a pair of worn moccasins. His wire-rimmed glasses were pushed up on his forehead, as was usual. Lizzie often wondered why he wore them. Sometimes he’d pull them down to read something, other times, not. The same went for looking into the distance. He didn’t own a car or drive, so no need there. His thinning white hair was straight and on the long side, although never unkempt. Perhaps the glasses acted as a headband, keeping the hair back and out of his eyes.
“No, thanks. It’s getting late, but I wanted to check on you. This is nothing distasteful or threatening, is it? Should I be calling the police the next time I see him?”
“I don’t think so. Someone is dropping off a manuscript, section by section. It’s an interesting story, but that seems to be all.”
“Well, I should get going then. You’ll be wanting your beauty sleep, not that you need it. The beauty part, that is.” He gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Lock up tight, now.”
“I will. Good night, Nathaniel.” She closed the door behind him and took his advice about the locks. But instead of heading to bed, she poured a glass of Shiraz and settled down with the latest pages. Another three chapters, she noted, wondering how long the manuscript would be and if it were finished.
It seemed the more my pops had, the more he wanted. But it was all for the family. He weren’t the sort to go out drinking and gambling. He tried to make sure the house had a washing machine, at the very least, for when the baby came along.
It was sure hard with just his field hand salary, though. But he managed to start a small savings account, also, which made Adele happy. She didn’t want much out of life but a clean, dry house and food on the table. And a healthy baby.
Harlan would often sit and watch his wife and his baby girl, wishing he could give them a real fine house and clothes. So, when one day the smooth-talking land developer came to Stoney Mills, Harlan Fowls was all ears.
He heard the man talking to a group of townsfolk outside the barbershop, and stopped to listen when he should have been down at the general store buying up some food. This stranger was a real good talker, painting pictures of the land on the south side of town being turned into lots of houses, with some parks, and at some point even, a school. Maybe even another church for Stoney Mills.
Lizzie read on and turned over the final page, then looked at the clock. One A. M. Really time to head to bed. She rechecked the doors, turned off the last light and went upstairs. While brushing her teeth, she thought about what she’d just read.
Despite continued money problems, the family was a happy one. The daddy, Harlan Fowks, struggling with ways to bring in more cash, liked what he’d heard, and when the man from the neighboring county talked persuasively about the deal he was putting together to bring some housing and industrial development to town, Fowks was hooked. It was the promise of a healthy return on his money. After several more meetings with the man and another couple of serious investors, Fowks decided to take another mortgage on his house and sink all his funds, meager as they were, into the deal. His wife, Adele, when told after the fact, was enraged, then scared about what would happen if the deal fell through and they lost everything. She had a young baby to worry about, after all.
Chapter six ended on that ominous note. Lizzie could almost predict where this was heading. It wasn’t an original story line, but the characters held her attention. She changed into cotton pajamas and crawled into bed, still thinking about the story. It had potential. And could develop in so many directions. It might even turn out to be a mystery. The character could rob a bank, to get more money. Or even worse.
She toyed with the idea of asking the book club to read it, to get a variety of takes on it. The cats joined her, Brie settling in on her left side while Edam took time for some kneading of the quilt before curling up on her legs. She must remember to cut their nails, she thought and then fell asleep.
She arrived at the Ashton Corners Elementary School about twenty minutes early and stopped by Sally-Jo’s classroom, catching her writing some math tables on the board.
“Oh, to be a student again,” Lizzie said. “I did so enjoy arithmetic first thing in the morning.”
Sally-Jo peered over her glasses at her. “I’m thinking there’s a ‘not’ in there.”
Lizzie laughed. “Totally. Even at this tender young grade. Anyway, I won’t keep you. Just wanted to tell you that Molly has planned a garden party this Sunday for the literacy students. It starts at one P. M., but I told Molly I’d be over around eleven to help out. Does that work for you?”
Sally-Jo didn’t skip a beat. “Sure. No problem. Jacob and I are going to the Stoney Mills Fair on Saturday, but Sunday is free. What can I bring?”
“You’ll have to consult Molly on that. And what’s this about you and Jacob? Another date?”
Sally-Jo squared her shoulders. “Date number three, if anyone’s counting. But this time it’s all in the name of duty, Lizzie. We thought it couldn’t hurt for more of us to be asking the same questions in Stoney Mills.”
“That’s actually a great idea. By the way, I got another few chapters of the manuscript last night.”
“Wow… that’s so weird. And it reminds me, I’ve got the chapters you gave me right here. What was it you wanted to know?” She went over to the desk and searched through her tote.
“Mainly, what your take on it is. Do you think it could be a true story?”
“What makes you think that?”
“The writing style, for one thing.”
“Umm, it’s hard to say.” Sally-Jo handed over the earlier pages while she gave the question some thought. “It could very well be. I’m happy to read more of it, by the way.”
“That’s super. I want to read all the chapters together, then I’ll pass it along to you.” Lizzie glanced at her watch. “I’d better run. Good luck on Saturday, and I’ll see you at Molly’s on Sunday.” She gave a small wave and left.
Lizzie finished her meeting with a fourth-grade teacher just before two thirty. She’d been in meetings all day long and was keen to get outside for some exercise. She was due back for a staff meeting in an hour, which gave her just enough time for a brisk walk to LaBelle’s Bakery to stock up on some treats for that evening’s choir practice. Each of the four voice sections took on refreshments for a month, which meant her turn at helping out usually rolled around once a year. She and two others were providing the goodies tonight.
Her cell phone rang as she left the bakery, tantalizing smells emanating from the cloth shopping bag swinging from her hand.
She fumbled with the bag as she dug into her purse for the phone. After almost dumping the entire contents of the purse on the ground, she managed to say, “Hello, Lizzie speaking.”
“Lizzie, it’s Mark. Do you have a few minutes? We need to talk.”
She maneuvered her arm so that she could glance at her watch, as she rounded the corner. “Ten minutes, that’s all I can spare. I have a staff meeting at school shortly.”
“Good. That should be all it takes. I’m parked in the school parking lot, and in fact, I have you in my line of sight.”
She looked up and tried a wave when she spotted him leaning against the police cruiser. He gave her a small wave in return and stuck his cell back in his pocket.
“I’d offer you a cinnamon pecan drop biscuit or a sugar cookie, but they’re for choir tonight,” she said as she reached him.
“That’s okay. I’m trying to keep off sweets.”
“Surely, not a weight problem?” she asked, with a smirk and an exaggerated once-over of his body.
He laughed. “Only if I continue with the sweets intake. I didn’t realize the unforeseen hazards of this job. Why, last week, I talked to three separate little old ladies in one afternoon and each of them pressed me into eating some of their home baking. It’s awfully hard to say no to a woman with gray hair and a plate of molasses cookies.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for the future. I’m sorry but I can only spare a few minutes. As I said, we have a school staff meeting, and I have some materials to finish in preparation for it.” They started walking toward her car.
“This won’t take long. I just thought you might know something about an older couple, who looked suspiciously similar to Bob Miller and Molly Mathews, who were poking around asking questions in Stoney Mills this morning.” Mark reached out to hold her bags while she unlocked the car.
Lizzie was pleased to hear that Bob and Molly had gotten right to it but hesitant about sharing the group’s plans with Mark. “News travels fast.”
“Well, they asked a Realtor, who I happen to see on a regular basis out at the shooting range, about houses for sale and then about Frank Telford. Kevin had heard he’d been murdered here, so he called me. Now, I have a feeling you know all about this.”
“I haven’t spoken to either of them today, so I can’t really tell you anything.” Partly true. Maybe she should change the subject. “But I’m thankful you’re the one asking. I’d hate to be grilled by Officer Craig again. She doesn’t have much in the way of people skills, does she?”
“She doesn’t really need them in this job. Besides, it’s her first homicide. Mine, too, come to think of it. I thought it would be good training for her to get out there asking questions.”
“I just wish she could do her practicum elsewhere,” Lizzie said, placing the bag on the backseat and locking the car door again.
Mark laughed. “Now, I know you didn’t mean it this way, but I take that as an endorsement of her policing skills. It will take all of our skills combined to solve this rather than having to bring the state police in.”
Lizzie thought about that. “I do hope you’re able to solve it, Mark, but I also hope I’m not paid a visit by Officer Craig again. Besides, no one in the book club is a murderer, so if you concentrate your efforts elsewhere, you might just find the killer. I’m sorry, I have to get going now.”
“Fine. We’ll talk again.”
“Fine.” She marched off, trying not to think of either police officer.
Chapter Eighteen
A ball of frustration gathered in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t like secrets.
THE LONG QUICHE GOODBYE—AVERY AAMES
Lizzie waved at Nathaniel Creely as she eased her 2004 Mazda 3 into the driveway. He had disappeared back into his house by the time she exited the car. Her first thoughts were of a much-needed shower followed by a quick meal, and then she would be off to her weekly choir practice. She hummed the soprano line of Rutter’s “Nativity Carol” as she kicked off her shoes and ran upstairs.
The front doorbell stopped her in the midst of shedding her blouse. Rebuttoning it, she retraced her steps to the door to find Nathaniel, with a plate of spiced figs in his hand.
“I thought you might have a few minutes to join me in an appetizer. I know it’s your choir night, but I suddenly thought about this fig dish this afternoon— Charlaine used to make them all the time— and I had a strong desire to taste them again. They complement a glass of white wine so nicely, you know.”
Lizzie smiled and opened the door wider. There goes the shower. “What a great idea, Nathaniel. I just happen to have a bottle of Pinot Blanc in the fridge. You get settled in the living room, and I’ll get the glasses and wine.”
He must have had a lonely day, Lizzie thought as she pulled out a pewter tray and some wineglasses, and uncorked the Pinot Blanc. The thought of inviting him to join the book club flittered through her mind, but she knew he didn’t really enjoy reading. Now, a gardening club would be a different matter entirely. She wondered why he hadn’t thought of that but knew the answer. He might be lonely, but he was also shy. She racked her brain to think of someone, preferably female, she knew whom she might get to invite him on a gardening adventure. There was that matchmaking urge again. She’d best stow that one.
Nathaniel had set out some colorful cocktail napkins— white daisies on a blue and yellow background— he’d brought over and cleared a space in the center of the coffee table for the appetizer plate. Lizzie made a bit more space for the tray, then poured them each a glass of wine and bit into a fig covered in a spice mixture, still warm from the oven.
