Chili Con Corpses, page 13
Francis looked sheepish. “You seem to have a lot on your plate lately, Professor, so we thought we’d try to solve this mystery by ourselves.”
James glanced at his watch again. “Let’s finish this conversation inside. It’s a bit brisk out here.”
Scott and Francis, who didn’t have a spare inch of body fat between them, were too animated to notice the chill. Once inside the library, they followed him like frisky puppies as he hung up his coat, put his lunch in the fridge, and began to brew a pot of coffee.
Rinsing out his Will Catalogue for Food mug that the twins had given him for Christmas last year, James said, “So who are our possible winners?”
Francis pulled out a notebook from his coat pocket and eagerly turned the pages. “The books in our outside box had been returned by the following patrons,” he began in a secretarial tone. “Stuart Matthews returned a James Patterson and a Vince Flynn, Wendy Carver returned two Nora Roberts paperbacks, Danny Leary brought back an audio tape biography of JFK, and Ruby Pennington returned a book called Get Rich Cleaning Out Your Attic: An Introduction to Internet Auctions.”
James listened thoughtfully. He knew all of those patrons. Stuart was a military man and had recently been deployed to Iraq, so it was likely that his wife returned his books. Wendy worked in the cafeteria at the elementary school, Danny owned the town’s only liquor store, and Ruby was the organist at James’s church.
“Were you able to rule anyone out?” he asked, pouring himself a large mug of coffee. He stirred in some fat-free half-and-half, a package of Sweet’N Low, and a sprinkle of cinnamon and took a grateful sip.
Scott shrugged. “Only the Matthews family. Mrs. Matthews told us that they don’t have money to waste buying lottery tickets.” His eyes turned sad as he looked at his brother. “We felt bad that they weren’t the winners. Seems like they could use the money.”
James pointed at the names on the list. “With the exception of Danny, who seems to do pretty well for himself, I’d say all these people could use the money.”
“We made the phone calls on Sunday,” Francis explained. “On Saturday, we kind of had to calm down and think straight, and before we knew it, we had watched four back-to-back episodes of Star Trek: Voyager. Then, it was too late to call anyone.”
“Mr. Leary never answered, so we asked him to call the library on Monday. Ms. Carver can’t remember if she bought a lottery ticket or not. Sometimes she does and sometimes she doesn’t.”
James took another sip of coffee. “Does she always pick the same numbers?”
“We asked her that, too!” Scott answered, pleased that they were all on the same wavelength. As he rummaged around in his backpack, he added, “She said she picks her birthday every time and unfortunately, her birthday hasn’t been too lucky. Wasn’t this time, either.”
“And Ruby?” James stared at his coffee and longed for a glazed donut from Krispy Kreme to dunk into the warm liquid. As if by magic, Scott pulled a small, white bag from his pack and shook out a half a dozen mini crullers onto a paper plate. James stared at his employee and wondered if the young man was clairvoyant in addition to being wise and generous.
Francis helped himself to a donut as he shook his head. “We never reached her and she doesn’t have a machine.” He popped the pastry in his mouth, chewed enthusiastically, and reached for another.
“So you’ve got some work to do this morning,” James stated, giving in to temptation and taking a cruller. “Danny won’t open until ten, so you may as well call the church and try to get a hold of Ruby. I know she does administrative work there, like the deposits and weekly bulletins and such. She may already be at work.” He dunked the donut into his coffee and then bit into the soft, sweet dough, moistened with milky sweet coffee. The combination was heavenly.
Scott practically ran for the phone as a disappointed Francis volunteered to empty the book bin and, afterwards, boot up all the computers. James finished off his coffee and then moved around the library, turning on lights and walking through the stacks, his fingers lovingly brushing the multicolored spines of orderly books. He replaced a few strays from the reshelving cart and then straightened the slightly disheveled fiction section in the recently improved audiobook area. As he watched Francis switch on the computers and printers in the newly expanded Technology Corner, James felt a surge of pride flow through him.
He had always thought that resigning his professorship at William and Mary would spell the end of any chance for career fulfillment. Now, however, as he surveyed his kingdom of books and computers and saw the first patrons of the day step into the warmth of the vestibule, he knew that he was more at home in this library than he had ever been in a lecture hall. His fiefdom was small, but he could see the changes that had been enacted since he came onboard as head librarian, and the positive proof of his hard work and devotion was a richer reward than a title or a higher salary could offer.
“Good morning, Professor,” an elderly woman greeted him as she settled herself at one of the computer terminals. “My daughter said she posted pictures of the grandkids at the pumpkin patch on this web site.” She dug out a grocery store receipt from her crocheted handbag. “The name’s written on the back. Can you help me figure out how to look at the pictures? I miss all of them so much. They’re growin’ like weeds and this is the only way I can keep up.”
“Of course, Mrs. Woodman. It would be my pleasure.”
As James helped his patron view her photos, he peered over the computer screen and noticed Scott holding a conference with Francis behind the circulation desk. After helping Mrs. Woodman print out several color copies of the photos, James headed over to join the twins.
“We’re in a bind, Professor,” Scott whispered. “Ms. Pennington says she bought a lottery ticket but doesn’t want anyone to know. She says it’s her secret vice.”
“That’s not the only problem.” Francis looked forlorn. “Mr. Leary called here. Seems he bought a ticket, too. Neither he nor Ms. Pennington remembers what they did with theirs. What are we going to do?”
“Let me think about it for a moment.” James busied himself with some paperwork while his thoughts flitted from one subject to another like a hummingbird zipping from bloom to bloom. He saw his father’s downtrodden face as he sat outside in the shed and then envisioned Murphy’s eyes filled with tears as she spoke about Parker. Added to these unpleasant thoughts was the image of how two townspeople would react when informed that they needed to prove that a lottery ticket worth a ton of money was rightfully theirs.
Pushing the paperwork aside, James dialed Danny’s number at the ABC store.
“Howdy,” Danny answered.
James identified himself and then said, “How are those anagrams going these days?”
“You must’ve known I was downright stuck,” Danny replied as James listened to the sound of the liquor store proprietor rifling through the newspaper.
“This week’s theme is state birds,” Danny explained. “I’ve been doin’ good, but I just can’t get this one.”
“Let me have it.” James poised a mechanical pencil above the memo pad next to his phone. As Danny recited the letters, James copied down the following: adalcrni. “Okay, give me a chance to stare at it a bit while we talk.”
“What’s on your mind, Professor?” Danny inquired pleasantly. “You callin’ about the lottery ticket, too?”
James took a deep breath. He knew what he was about to do was a big gamble, but he had known Danny Leary for years and felt confident that he was an honorable gentleman through and through. “Yes sir, I am. I’m calling to tell you that the lottery ticket in question was found in the book return box outside. It either belongs to you or to another fine citizen of Quincy’s Gap. We’ve ruled out all the other possibilities.”
“Yeah?” Danny seemed intrigued. “Who’s the other person?”
“I can’t mention that individual’s name, but I’m going to be completely honest with you, Danny. The ticket is a winner. A big winner.”
There was a pause and then Danny asked softly, “How much are we talking about here, Professor?”
“One hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” James answered flatly.
“Wow.” Danny whistled. “That would buy a lot of things.” He whistled again. “A whole lot of things.”
“That money rightfully belongs to one of you, and I’m asking you to think about whether you might have dropped your lottery ticket into our book box along with the audiobook you returned.” His voice firm, James pressed on. “I’m asking you to think real hard, Danny. If neither of you two can remember your actions clearly, then I’m going to suggest you split the money.”
Danny sighed on the other end of the phone but said nothing. James listened to the silence and stared at the word jumble in front of him.
“God’s truth, Professor. I can’t think straight right now.”
James nodded even though he knew Danny couldn’t see him. “That’s understandable, my friend. Why don’t you try to recall what you did the day you returned those tapes? Look at the calendar. Think about your whole day. Call me back when you think you know.”
“I will do my very best,” Danny promised him.
“I know it. And Danny?”
“Yes?”
“The answer to your jumble is cardinal. It’s our own state bird.”
Danny laughed. “You sure are good at these, Professor. Thanks.”
When James hung up with Danny, he dialed the church’s number and went through the same routine with Ruby.
“I’ll think and pray and think and pray, Professor,” Ruby assured him. “I know my mind was an awful mess that day, because I broke a vase at my mama’s house that she’d been given as a brand-new bride. It was mighty precious to her and I felt so awful!” Her voice sounded as though she was on the edge of tears. “That’s why I bought the ticket! I prayed that I might get lucky and win so that I could buy an old vase like mama’s off the Internet. I planned to give any extra directly to the church, just so’s you know.”
James asked her to spend the rest of the day pondering her movements on that first Friday of November. He then turned his thoughts away from lottery tickets and focused on his job.
By four thirty, the library was abuzz with groups of high school students using the computers or simply hanging out in the magazine section as they took turns reading the more sexually themed quizzes in the latest issue of Cosmo. This happened several times a week, and though his only part-time employee, Mrs. Waxman, a former teacher, could settle the kids down within seconds, James liked to hand over the reigns to her at five o’clock and every Saturday with the library in a state of order and quiet.
Scott and Francis did their best to settle the rowdy teenagers down, but James finally had to intervene. He admonished a few of the more boisterous young ladies and forced them to begin the homework they had been sent to the library to complete. Once the room’s customary whispered hushes had been restored, James headed back to his office to phone Danny and Ruby. Just as he removed the receiver from the cradle, he saw Danny step up to the circulation desk and mutter something to Francis. Unable to control his curiosity, he hustled out front.
“Did you remember something?” he asked, surprised to see Danny standing on the other side of the desk. He must have left work a little early to get there before James headed home.
Danny looked glum. His thin, shoulder-length white hair was tied loosely at the neck with what looked like a twist tie for a garbage bag, and his oval, silver-rimmed spectacles were covered with spots. Though James had often compared Danny’s looks to those of Ben Franklin, the liquor store owner tended to look more relaxed than portraits of the famous American statesman. Today, however, Danny looked as weathered as the likeness of Franklin printed on one-hundred-dollar bills.
“It’s not my ticket, Professor.” Danny sighed. “I keep all the losing tickets in a stack in my TV room,” he explained. “I figure if I play long enough, the statistics are bound to let me be a winner sometime.” He shrugged. “Maybe not a big winner, but just something to show that the odds are right. Anyway, I like to keep count of how many I’ve bought for when I finally do win.”
Francis leaned over the desk. “So was your ticket for this drawing in that stack?”
Danny shook his head. “That’s the thing. It wasn’t. I thought maybe it had got stuck in that audiobook since I would have had both the ticket and the book on the front seat of my car.” He looked at James. “But I did what you said and tried to recollect the whole day. I remembered that just as I was about to leave work for the day, the word jumble that had been scramblin’ my brain all day like an egg shakin’ in its shell made itself clear to me. I grabbed the lottery ticket to write on, and then opened the newspaper to check the answer.”
“Were you right?” Scott asked, having appeared from nowhere.
“Yeah,” Danny’s lips curved into a hesitant smile. “But I threw the paper back in the trash bin and the ticket must have still been in the pages. That’s the last place I saw it.”
James rubbed his temples. It had been days since his last headache, but ever since his phone calls to Ruby and Danny, he had been sensing that he was only a stressful thought away from getting a whopper. “Still, Danny. You’re not sure. That ticket could still have ended up in the book bin.”
“No, Professor. That ticket …” he trailed off as Ruby Pennington approached the desk.
Ruby’s face was blotched with red and her eyes were puffy with recently shed tears. Her brown hair, which was streaked with gray, had been hastily braided and hung down her back like a fraying rope. She reached out both her hands, calloused from playing both the organ and the piano on a regular basis, and grasped James’s.
“I tried, Professor. I tried to remember about—,” she glanced at Danny quickly and then continued, “—that piece of paper. Thing is, I just can’t say what I did with it, so I want you to go on and let that other man have the money. My mama will grant me forgiveness, and that’s all the wealth I need in this world.”
Danny’s eyes widened. Before anyone else could speak, he removed Ruby’s hands from James’s and took them in his own. “I’m the other ticket holder, ma’am, and that money sure don’t belong to me. I threw out my ticket with my newspaper. Danny Leary at your service.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s your money, ma’am.”
Ruby’s face slackened as she realized what he was saying. Gently removing her hands, she turned back to James. She opened her mouth to say something but only her expired breath was able to escape.
“I think this lady here needs to sit a spell,” Danny suggested, taking Ruby’s elbow.
James led her to the break room and all of them sat down. Scott and Francis were beaming, apparently thrilled to the core that the mystery had been successfully solved.
Ruby removed a tissue from her purse and blew her nose with such a sharp honk that all four of the men had to smile. Catching their grins, Ruby relaxed as well. “Okay then. Okay. Since you say so, it’s my ticket. And if it’s my ticket, I’d like to claim the money.” She put her tissue down on the table and sighed in relief. “And if it’s my money, then I can spend it however I see fit. Is that right?”
James was perplexed. “Yes, Ruby. However you like.”
Ruby pulled on her braid. “It’s the season of thankfulness, Professor. I have many things to be grateful for, and I would be grateful to you if you would help me out with …” She trailed off and glanced at Danny again. “Mr. Leary, I have an idea. It involves you, and I sure hope you’ll help me.”
It was almost six by the time James finally left the library. His heart was full after he listened to Ruby Pennington’s plan. In fact, it had given him a plan of his own. Bursting through the back door, he startled his father, who had just come inside from sweeping the porch.
“You tryin’ to kill me, boy?” Jackson barked.
“No, Pop.” He gave his father a quick hug. “I want you to live to a ripe, old age.”
Jackson gave his son a bewildered look. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Pop!” James announced. “We are not having Dolly’s ‘Housewife-on-Strike Thanksgiving Dinner to Go’ this year.”
His father was alarmed. “Why not? There’s not a soul on this earth who can make a sweet potato casserole like that woman.”
“Oh, I think there is,” James said mysteriously, winked, and then bounded up the stairs to his room, clutching the portable phone is his hand. “And I’m going to invite her to our house to cook it!”
The doorbell of the Henry home rang shortly after one o’clock. It was such an unusual sound as the house was located at the end of a long, gravel drive and anyone familiar with the Henrys knew that they came and went exclusively through the back door. Even the mail carriers had learned that if a letter or package needed to be signed for, a light rap on the door leading to the kitchen would produce the best result. So the only time the door bell was brought to life over the course of the year was on Halloween, when a handful of zealous trick-or-treaters, likely in their early teens, made their way down the rough drive, waded through piles of leaves blanketing the cracked front walk, and forced the slumbering door chimes into life.
When Mrs. Henry was alive, she’d greet the enthusiastic candy gatherers with a warm smile and a bag of homemade chocolate-chip peanut-butter cookies tied with an orange ribbon. Since her passing, the kids now had to settle for Dum-Dum lollipops and many of them felt that the trek to the Henry house was no longer worth the effort.
Jackson looked up from the television as the ringing echoed through the downstairs. Turning down the volume, he listened carefully to determine if the sound of the doorbell was a figment of his imagination. When it wasn’t repeated, he restored the volume of his show about the day’s big football game to a deafening level.
As James ran a comb through his hair and examined his appearance in the mirror, he noted that his pants weren’t quite as loose as they had been last month.
