A Killer Read (5 page)

“How about talking it over with Bob Miller?”

“I don’t want to unleash him on our poor chief,” Molly said with a sigh. “Bob’s already got a stick up his backside about the boy.”

“Well, what about calling Jacob Smith then? He must take cases other than those involving pigs.”

A giggle escaped Molly’s lips. “Oh dear. I do suppose I should consult a lawyer.”

“Just to be clear on your rights.” Lizzie glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I have to run, Molly, or I’ll be late for the class. I’ll see you tonight. It’s literacy night, remember?”

“That it is. And, thanks, Lizzie. I appreciate you coming by.”

Lizzie scrunched her into a big hug before driving off. Molly had slipped easily into the role of family member when Lizzie’s Grandmama Beata, one of Molly’s close friends, died and then again when Lizzie had to deal with her mama’s illness and eventually choose a residence with the proper level of care for her. She knew it was thanks to Molly that the weekly visits took place in the brightly decorated sunrooms rather than a depressing bedroom. It helped to have pull with a board member and bypass the lengthy waiting list.

She owed Molly a lot, but she also cared and worried about her. Molly had been devastated when her husband, Claydon, had died suddenly of a heart attack many years before. Lizzie knew that the brave face she showed to the community was strictly that, even after all this time. This new trauma was not something Molly would have to face alone.

Lizzie made it to the school in record time. Ashton Corners Elementary School had celebrated its seventy-fifth
anniversary last year. The halls were now painted a brighter, noninstitutional peach color, the windows in most of the rooms had been replaced by single-pane glass, the floors had been redone with a heavy-duty laminate, the old wooden desks had given way to new plastic ones, and even the blackboards had been replaced, but the character of the school remained in the twenty-foot ceilings, the crown moldings and the wide hallways.

Whenever she entered room 12, Lizzie had a fleeting memory of being back in sixth grade, listening intently to Mr. Bigelow, absolutely the most gorgeous teacher the young impressionable girls had ever seen. They’d giggled through many a lunch hour discussing his rumored romance with Miss Tays, the stunning fifth-grade teacher in room 8. Lizzie wondered now if that relationship had been pure adolescent fantasy or if the rumor had been true and the two were actually happily married after all these years.

And outside, the school had long ago shed its white and green government image in favor of an updated, smarter beige with taupe trim. The front boulevard sported mature oak and maple trees, and the schoolyard offered two play structures, one for the primary-grade students, one for the older kids; a paved area on which boards and boundaries for various games had been painted; and way back behind it all, a softball diamond.

Lizzie had never shined as a softball player, tending to close her eyes when the ball got into her comfort zone, but she’d spent many afternoons after class, lazing on the grass, reading while her pals played ball.

She made her way through the thinning groups of kids in the hall, entering the classroom at the same time as the teacher, and settled at the back to observe for the next hour. After class, she tucked herself into an armchair in the staff room and wrote down some observations of the class she’d just left. The teacher had her hands full with a couple of new students, and the disruption that caused for the other kids
needed attention. Sometimes Lizzie wished she had a magic wand and, with one wave, could make everything run smoothly. But then she’d be out of a job.

Lizzie enjoyed working as a reading specialist. She’d been with the Ashton Corners School Board for four years now and loved the challenge of assessing young readers and suggesting methods to help them acquire the necessary reading skills, developing the programs when necessary. This allowed her to work with the children, their parents, the teachers and the school board administration. Never a dull moment.

The lunch bell jolted her out of her musing, and she slid her notes into her tote. After a quick stop at Tessa’s Tex-Mex Cafe just around the corner for a spicy chicken burrito, she drove to a meeting at the school board office. Three tedious hours of listening to the ongoing debate of the merits of a proposed new statewide testing, and Lizzie wanted nothing more than to head home for a couple of hours of quiet.

She pulled into her driveway and by the time she’d gathered her tote and exited the car, a police cruiser sat near her bumper. Mark Dreyfus gave her a small wave as he emerged. He tossed his hat back in the car, locked the door and walked over to her.

“Hey, Lizzie. You got a few minutes to talk?”

“Talk or be interrogated? Or is there a difference? And should I have a lawyer present?”

Mark grinned. “A bit touchy today?”

Lizzie sighed and made an effort to relax her shoulders. “Sorry. It’s been one of those days, as they say. Let me try that again. It’s nice to see you, Mark. Please come in.”

“That’s much better,” he said, grinning. “Got to get something out of the car. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Lizzie noted the slight limp as Mark walked to his car. She’d heard he’d been wounded shortly after he’d enlisted in the army, but had never learned the details. Maybe that’s where he’d left his curly black hair, too.

The cats hadn’t appeared when she opened the door, so she assumed they were in dreamland on her bed. She left the front door slightly ajar while she hung up her jacket and shoved the tote into the hall closet. This could be great timing. She might be able to get just as much information as she’d give. She checked her hair in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs but turned quickly as Mark came in.

“I thought you might like some refreshments… make it seem less like an interrogation.” He held out a soda.

Lizzie burst into laughter. “Cream soda. I haven’t had one of these in years. In fact, I didn’t think they made it anymore. Thanks, Mark.”
Is he being sweet, or is this to soften me up?
“I’ll get a couple of glasses. Just make yourself comfortable.” She pointed to the living room to the left.

He had his back to her, scanning the titles on the massive bookcase that covered one wall, when she returned. The white shelves held an eclectic mix of reference books, travel guides, classical literature, current mainstream novels and, of course, tons of mysteries. Lizzie wondered what he thought about all the books.

“This is a real nice place, Lizzie. I don’t think I’ve seen so many books in one room outside of the library.”

“A lot of them belonged to my daddy.”

Mark turned around and smiled. “That’s right, he was a writer, wasn’t he?”

“Uh-huh. A newspaperman who then went on to write feature articles for
Life
and other magazines.” Lizzie handed Mark a glass.

He flipped the tops off the sodas and poured both drinks, then sat on the green striped love seat. Lizzie chose the taupe wicker chair across from him and opened the window next to her. A soft wind blew the fragrance of sweet autumn clematis into the room. She breathed in deeply.

“You know, you do have a right to a lawyer and you don’t have to answer my questions. But I’d really appreciate if you would,” Mark said.

Lizzie sighed. “Thanks, but I don’t need one and I will answer.” She smiled.

He cleared his throat and took a long drink of his soda. “I’d like to know if you’ve thought of any other details, something you might not have mentioned last night.”

“No, I haven’t thought of anything else, and it’s not from lack of trying. I couldn’t get to sleep last night. It all kept replaying through my brain.” She decided to let him be the one to mention Molly’s gun. “Have you any more details? Or, better yet, a suspect?”

“No suspect and unfortunately, that doesn’t happen very quickly unless someone’s standing over the body with a gun,” Mark admitted, “but that’s my priority since it’s been ruled a murder.”

Lizzie flinched. That news wasn’t unexpected but it was unsettling. “I’m not sure what else I can tell you.”

“How about going through the events again from when you encountered Frank Telford in the hall.” He answered the surprised look on her face. “He’s been identified. He’s from Stoney Mills. Seventy-six years old, lived alone. Does the name ring any bells?”

She tried to place the name with the face and match it to her internal Facebook. “No, I’m pretty certain I don’t know him.” She went through the events while Mark referred on and off to a black notebook he’d pulled from his pocket. Mark finished his soda before asking, “Did anyone else leave the room, other than you and Ms. Mathews going out to meet Telford?”

“Well, yes… Bob Miller went to check that the guy, Telford, had actually left the house, and to lock the door.” Brie chose that moment to saunter into the room; she paused briefly, looking from Lizzie over to Mark, and then selected Mark’s pant leg as the ideal spot against which to rub her sleek body. Lizzie grimaced. “I’m sorry about that,” she said, pointing to his leg. “I’ll get you a clothes brush before you leave.”

Mark leaned down to absently pet the cat, ignoring the telltale beige fur on his gray pant leg. “How long would you say he was gone?”

“Oh, I don’t know… maybe three minutes or so.”

Mark nodded. “Anyone else leave during the meeting?” He’d pulled out a pen and begun to jot down notes as she talked.

“Let me think.” She tried to visualize the library and place everyone in their chair. “Uh, Molly went to the kitchen again to refill the food tray, and Sally-Jo Baker went to the restroom at one point. So did Andie Mason and Stephanie Lowe. Jacob Smith, too, I think. And me. I got some more tea. Well, that would be everyone leaving at some point. Why are you asking?”

“Did anyone seem to take longer than normal?” Mark stared at her intently.

She bit her bottom lip and then shook her head. “I don’t think so, but I wasn’t timing anyone.” She sat up a bit straighter. “Don’t tell me you think one of the book club members is a murderer? That’s ridiculous. We’re readers, not killers. Besides, nobody knew him, so who would have motive?”

“Did anyone have a noticeable reaction to his being there?”

Despite the sodas, this Mark sounded very official, and she didn’t like where it was heading. She thought briefly about Stephanie, then tried to erase the image. “I wouldn’t say so.”

He stared at her a moment.
Oh God… can he read my mind?

“You know, I have to look at everyone in the book club, Lizzie, if only to eliminate them. Even you, I’m sorry to say. There might not be any connection between Telford’s death and his appearing at Ms. Mathews’s house or your book club. On the other hand, he could have deliberately gone there. And if so, that could implicate Molly Mathews, at the very least.”

“Oh, come on now, you don’t really believe Molly’s involved in this?”

He didn’t answer. She shifted uncomfortably.

She remembered Telford’s excuse. “Did he really have car trouble?”

“Doesn’t appear so. It started just fine for us. One more thing, Lizzie… don’t leave town.”

Her mouth dropped open, but she could not think of a thing to say.

Mark chuckled. “Sorry. I’ve always wanted to say that. Makes me sound like Lucas Davenport, don’t you think?”

F
riday night meant choir practice, and Lizzie realized Mark’s visit had put her a bit behind schedule. She gulped down some leftover chili, only one day old, and, in record time, changed into a charcoal cropped cardigan over a teal ruffle blouse. She’d meant to get there early and talk to the music librarian, hoping to replace some pages that had become unreadable over the years due to an accumulation of coffee stains and something that looked vaguely like strawberry jelly.

The weekly practices were held in the basement hall of St. John’s Episcopal Church on Yancy Street. Over the past few weeks— since the summer break ended— they’d been working on music for the annual Christmas concert; Britten, Rutter and some less-than-traditional carols made for a compelling mix.

By the time Lizzie made it to the church, most of the parking spaces in the adjacent lot were taken. That was the problem with being located in the center of town: parking
lots were small, and leaving the car on the street meant competing for desirable spots with store patrons taking advantage of later shopping hours on Fridays. Her small Mazda looked tiny next to Posey Daniels’s monster Lexus SUV. Lizzie often wondered why such a petite woman, single at that, had to drive something so big. She was tempted to peek in and see if extra cushions had been added to the driver’s seat.

Lizzie didn’t meet anyone on her way in to the church.
I must really be late
, she thought as she picked up some new music left out on the table by the door to the rehearsal room. She could hear the accompanist, Tommy McCann, warming up on the piano. Chairs scraped the floor, and the sound of a laugh, almost a screech, pierced the air. Judy-Lynn Jones was there, at least. The door creaked as she pulled it open.