A Killer Read (9 page)

L
izzie sorted through a stack of articles on reading exercises that she’d signed out from the school board office earlier that morning. She’d borrowed the vice principal’s office for a couple of hours to put together a reading guide for fourth-grade teachers, a list of short articles and chapters from reference books that would reinforce anything Lizzie might suggest. She wanted them prepared to hear her suggestions when they met, and hopefully, be better able to visualize how to integrate the ideas.

She considered herself to be the shortcut between the teachers and all that knowledge written for them to use. Since they had so little time to even find what they needed to read, Lizzie’s method saved them many hours.

It took much longer than she’d planned, but by the time she met with the first of her two student appointments in the afternoon, the list had been forwarded to the school office for distribution to the teachers.

She stayed on after school hours to answer some of their
questions and then rushed home to get ready for the literacy class.

T
wo small literacy groups met at Molly’s house, twice a week, with Lizzie and Sally-Jo as the volunteer teachers. These were the advanced new readers, most just a step away from taking their GEDs. Lizzie’s group met in the library where the book club had met, while Sally-Jo’s was in the sunroom, an addition to the grand old house in the 1980s, just before Claydon Mathews had died. The classes for those just starting the long trek to literacy met in the Ashton Corners Community Center on Main Street. All were part of the long-distance learning program attached to a community college in Montgomery.

There had been talk of moving all the classes to one central location last spring, but Lizzie had backed Molly’s request to keep some of the classes at her house. Lizzie suspected, that in spite of all her community involvements, Molly was lonely and still missed Claydon. She’d found Molly one night, in the detached garage sitting in the front seat of Claydon’s 1960 Corvette, talking to herself. Lizzie had been quick to leave and hadn’t let on about it.

Sally-Jo had also been eager to remain at Molly’s house, partly, Lizzie suspected, because of their friendship. Even though she’d lived in town for ten months now, Sally-Jo didn’t do a lot of socializing, spending most of her free time fixing up her house, an old wood-framed two-story left to her by a great-aunt. Excellent if sad timing. The house was actually bequeathed to two of the six Baker girls, but Sally-Jo eagerly grabbed the opportunity to move in and away from the tightly knit family. Nothing like seven hundred or so miles to ensure happy family relations, she often said. Lizzie envied the thought of having sisters, but five did sound like overkill.

“I have a short writing assignment for you tonight, based
on the book of photography that you read last week,” Lizzie explained as soon as the four students in her group were seated and somewhat attentive. She noticed right away that Stephanie Lowe hadn’t made it to class. She hoped everything was okay with her. She hadn’t seen nor heard from her since book club. Troy Nebock, another of her students, was a no-show, also.

A hand shot up from the club chair in the corner by the window. Lizzie acknowledged Sonny Dolman with a nod of her head.

“I didn’t git around to getting a library card, miss, so I couldn’t take out a book.” He looked very self-satisfied.

Not a big surprise. “I have a book right here, Sonny, that you can use.” Sonny was doing well enough to be in the advanced group, but he liked to provide these little bumps along the way. The smirk left his face, and he tapped his left knee with his pencil. He sat slouched with his knees poking through the threadbare legs of his jeans, his thin black hoodie partially zipped up, showing off the top part of a purple T-shirt with skeletal designs on it. His long black hair was held back in a ponytail, allowing Lizzie to actually see his face for a change. He glanced over at the only other male in attendance, Dwayne Trowl.

Dwayne shrugged and held up his hand, although his arm remained lowered. He appeared to be wearing an identical T-shirt, although an unbuttoned multicolor flannel shirt covered his. His jeans were more intact. “What say we write about something real? Like that there murder right outside this here house last week?”

The two girls in the class shrieked and started talking at the same time. Sonny gave Dwayne a high-five sign.

Lizzie took a minute to consider the suggestion. That topic might work out better than their thoughts about a photograph. At least it would engage their attention and hopefully, their imaginations. Although a bit more advanced a task than she’d ordinarily choose to do at this point, it was
worth a try. And she’d find it much more interesting to read the finished works.

“All right. Let’s give it a go.” Her gaze moved around the room. “Get your pens and paper ready and I’ll give you the facts. Then I’d like you to write a page-long story about it. Tell me what you think led up to this murder, who this man was, and what happened. But be sure you incorporate all the points you’ve been checking for when reading.”

She gave them a few minutes to get ready and then gave them the facts: that the Ashton Corners Mystery Readers and Cheese Straws Society was holding its first meeting; that a stranger was found wandering in the entry hall; that he asked to use the phone to call for help for his disabled car; that his body was found in his car, where he’d gone to wait for a tow; and that he’d been shot.

“Okay. That’s what happened. Now, I’d like you to make that into a short story for me. It’s due on Wednesday, so start working on it now. Ask me questions; I’m here to help with words, sentence structure, how you format this on a page, whatever you’d like help with. Are there any questions?”

There weren’t any, so she again instructed them to get started. She sat thumbing through her notes on the original assignment, thinking she’d use it for a class later on. Then she decided to task herself with the same assignment, to see if she could make some sense of what had happened.

By break time, Lizzie felt she had a pretty good fictional outline, but nothing related to reality, she was sure. She needed more facts. At least she felt satisfied that, thanks to Dwayne, they were an interested group.

Lizzie pulled Sally-Jo aside as the students were leaving after classes. “We need to talk with Molly,” Lizzie whispered. “Something’s come up to do with the you-know-what.” She didn’t want to say any more with the others milling around.

Sally-Jo nodded. She slid her arms into the sleeves of the pale green shrug draped over her shoulders. “I’ll see our charges out the door.”

Lizzie found Molly in the kitchen, a pitcher of tea and three glasses on the table along with a platter of brownies and sugar cookies.

“You’ve got to stop with the sweets, Molly. I have absolutely no willpower and already too many extra inches around the waist.”

“Nonsense, honey. Men like to be able to hold on to more than skin and bones. I don’t care what the magazines tell you.”

“Men! Have you looked around Ashton Corners lately? Bob Miller is about the most eligible guy around, and I think he has his eye on you.”

“Pshaw. Now I know you’re overworked. And I’d like to point out that Jacob Smith might turn many a young gal’s head. And then there’s Chief Dreyfus.”

Lizzie spilled some of the tea she was pouring. “That’s not likely to happen, Molly.”

“Honey, I saw the way he looked at you the other night. And with a dead body outside and all. Seems he’s able to focus on more than one thing at a time.” Molly reached over and touched Lizzie’s hand. “He was quite the catch when you were both in high school, as I recall. Things were a little tough for him when he returned from serving in Iraq, but I think he’s landed on both feet with the job.”

Lizzie looked up sharply. “I hadn’t heard much about him after high school. You’ll have to fill me in sometime. Anyway, he’s just sizing me up for a pair of those orange coveralls, the kind so popular at the local jail. He’s eyeing all of us as suspects.”

Molly sighed. “I know, honey. Especially me. I’ve been wracking my brain about that gun and can’t remember the last time I saw it or who might have been in Claydon’s study.”

Sally-Jo overheard the last bit. “You have so much going on in your house, Molly. You open it to the literacy classes, charity events, and now the book club. Isn’t it possible someone slipped into the study without you knowing? But what’s missing?”

Molly looked at Lizzie before answering. “Well, honey, the police say the gun that killed Frank Telford was one of Claydon’s antique weapons, and I’m just trying to figure out when someone might have stolen it.”

“That’s shocking, and a worry,” Sally-Jo said.

“It is. Especially since I usually lock the door to his study— it was Claydon’s personal space, and I don’t want just anyone wandering in there. But I must confess, occasionally I’ve found it unlocked. My memory is not always that sharp some days. I’ll have to start writing down a ‘To Do’ list. And then place several copies of it strategically around the house.”

Molly looked so dejected that Sally-Jo gave her a hug. “I’ve been locked into a ‘To Do’ list for years, Molly. It’s simply overcrowding of brain mass.”

“I wonder if someone on the fall house tour earlier this month may have gotten into the room… if I left it unlocked.” Molly brightened slightly. “Maybe Frank Telford took the tour.”

“I remember that tour,” Lizzie said. “Didn’t the Floral Society set it up?”

Molly nodded. “There were five houses in all. We provided tea and cookies after a tour of the grounds. Now, the interior of the house wasn’t included in the tour, but someone could have just walked in. It seems unlikely though, doesn’t it?”

“Well, if we assume Frank Telford deliberately came to your house last Thursday night and then took the gun,” Lizzie said, “what was his motive? Had he spotted it during the tour and came back deliberately to steal it? It could be worth quite a lot to a collector. Or, did he just happen to spot it when he was snooping around, before Andie walked in on him? But why take it? To threaten the person he then phoned? And that person got the drop on him, took it and shot him?”

Sally-Jo grinned. “It pays to read all those mysteries.”
She pushed her glasses up to sit on top of her head and rubbed her left eye. “But if that was the scenario, then the gun had to be loaded. Was it, Molly?”

Molly shook her head. “I have no idea. It never dawned on me to check. I guess it must have been because I know for certain, there was no ammunition in that study.”

“And being an older weapon, it probably needed special bullets, something Telford probably didn’t carry around with him on a regular basis.” Sally-Jo looked pleased with her conclusion.

“Which doesn’t really get us any further,” Lizzie pointed out. “So much for reading mysteries.”

“Well, I’d like to point out that in all those mysteries, the police usually arrest the wrong person to start with,” Molly said with a shudder. “I don’t want that to be me.”

Lizzie snapped her fingers. “What about fingerprints? Molly, had you handled that gun?”

“Well, I’ve dusted it, but I didn’t usually take it out of the case. No, I think my prints would be on the case, not the gun.”

“That’s great then. I’ll call Mark tomorrow and ask about prints. I also want to find out if they checked to see whom Telford phoned from here. Oh, I almost forgot, Molly— we were thinking a special book club meeting is needed, Thursday night, if possible. We should all compare notes because I’ll bet Officer Craig has grilled us all by now. I didn’t get a chance to make any calls today, though.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Molly said. “We’ll meet here, of course.” She sat up straighter, looking a bit happier. “Yes, I think a meeting of the Ashton Corners Mystery Readers and Cheese Straws Society is definitely called for.”

L
izzie crawled into bed, willing her mind to follow the lead of her tired body. But it refused to cooperate. Molly was worried she’d be jailed; Mark had indicated he would
investigate the members of the book club; and there was one dead body. She didn’t believe for a minute that any of them were involved, but could the police be trusted to sort it out? Or would they stop at the first logical suspect, no matter how wrong a choice?

The last murder in Ashton Corners that wasn’t spousal or family related had happened over two years ago. Lizzie remembered the media frenzy when the person arrested turned out to be innocent. Shortly after, Bob Miller had retired.

She heard the cats come bounding up the stairs and felt the thud as they landed on the bed, almost in unison. They chose to settle down side by side next to her, with one of them kneading the lightweight quilt with a contented purr.

Lizzie was drifting off to sleep when she heard a noise outside. She tried to place the sound. A screen door banging shut? Another sleepless night for Nathaniel Creely? Or a raccoon sifting through the garbage can? The cats heard it, too, and sat up abruptly. After a few uneventful minutes, they curled up again and went to sleep.