Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 05 - Just Ducky (2 page)

Tom Melvard
–A contract custodian, who is good at cleaning up messes.

Angus & Olivia Spurley
–Nebraska Senator, and his wife, are paying customers at the Alexandria Inn, who like all the other guests, are spoiled and pampered, well beyond the call of duty, helping make the bed and breakfast a thriving lodging establishment.

Detective Clint Spurley
–A rookie cop, whose dispassionate, and surly, personality rubs Lexie the wrong way, until she realizes there might be a good reason for his offensive behavior.

Colby and Mrs. Tucker
–Director of the county library system, who rarely bites off more than he can chew, and his wisp of a wife, who has the challenging job of keeping her husband full. Lexie can be counted on to make an unforgettable first impression on her new boss.

Quentin Duckworthy
–Ducky’s husband, loves his wife, but not so much that he can’t pursue other interests. Is he a ruthless killer, or just a gentle old man who makes wooden toys for sick children in the hospital?

Barbara Wells
–Is this postal clerk, a buxom blonde, one of the other interests Quentin Duckworthy is pursuing, or someone with her own interests at heart?

Elroy Traylor
–Rockdale City Manager, whose hobbies include land development, bass fishing, and getting under Ducky’s skin.

Tina Traylor
–Elroy’s wealthy wife, whose book collection is worth more than the Rockdale Public Library’s, but she’s not done collecting yet.

Chapter 1

Boredom had set in on me like a thin layer of congealed fat on a bowl of brown gravy. With autumn leaves falling gently from the tree limbs, business at our bed and breakfast had slowed down tremendously. I almost wished I had a couple loads of laundry to do. I thought about rewashing a load of bedclothes I’d just washed yesterday. You know what they say: you can’t be too rich, too thin, or get sheets too clean. I even considered driving to Pete’s Pantry because we were running low on turmeric, a spice I used about once a decade, whether I needed to or not. Our last guests had left nearly a week ago and the intervening days had dragged on like a silent movie, or a foreign film with subtitles. I wasn’t one who handled idle time well.

Stone Van Patten and I had fallen into a comfortable routine at the Alexandria Inn. Everything from the front door out was his responsibility and everything from the front door in was mine. The only exception was when something broke, leaked, or made odd noises it shouldn’t make inside the house. Then the responsibility shifted from me to Stone. He seemed to actually look forward to these occasions with great anticipation. Nothing excited him like a small kitchen appliance gone haywire. It usually resulted in a trip to Wal-Mart to buy a new one, after Stone had disassembled the faulty one and been unable to recall how to put it back together again. But in the meantime, it kept him happily occupied and he always enjoyed the challenge.

It was early on a Monday morning. Stone and I sat at the kitchen table sipping on fresh coffee and reading the
Rockdale Gazette
, the local newspaper that Howie Clamm had just recently flung into the thorny bushes out in front of the massive Victorian mansion we’d renovated in the historic section of Rockdale, Missouri. Stone had purchased the mansion after deciding to sell his online jewelry business in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and move to the Midwest to be closer to me. We’d met while I was on the East Coast, investigating the death of my ex-son-in-law’s first wife. It had been twenty years since my first husband, Chester, had died of an embolism, and I had finally been ready to allow myself to form a new relationship with a man that wasn’t strictly platonic.

“What do you have planned for the day?” I asked Stone, more to make idle conversation than any real interest in his plans. He traded me the business section for the sports page, and set his empty cup down on the table.

“Wyatt’s stopping by for coffee, and I thought I’d see if he wanted to go to the RV and Boat Show in Kansas City today. He wants to buy a new bass boat with a more powerful motor.” Stone’s light blue eyes sparkled in delight at the idea of a faster boat.

“Why would he need more power? So you can get to your fishing hole in three minutes instead of five?”

“It’s a man thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

“No, probably not. It just seems like an awful waste of money to me.”

“You mean waste of money like purchasing that new pair of black leather shoes last week, even though you already have ninety-eight pairs of shoes, many of them leather, and most of them black?” Stone said, with a wink to indicate he was merely messing with me. “I know you’ve had some of them since you were a freshman in high school, which makes me wonder if they are family heirlooms you’re planning to bequeath to your daughter in your will.”

“Okay, okay, point taken! Having a shoe fetish is a woman thing that you just wouldn’t understand. Throwing away a pair of shoes is like losing a good friend, and a lady simply needs a uniquely different style for any situation that’s apt to occur. For instance, one can simply not be caught dead in a pair of white heels after Labor Day.”

“Good Lord, do you ladies have to memorize a whole list of rules and regulations on what shoes you are, or aren’t, allowed to wear on any given day?”

“Pretty much! And, even more crucial, is what type of event or function you’re attending. The list of do’s and don’ts regarding that aspect of shoe protocol is even lengthier. Like I said, it’s something only women understand.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’ll never understand the shoe fetish thing, or a zillion other different things about women, and, now, I’m not sure I’d want to,” Stone replied, as he ran his fingers through his silver hair. “I don’t even want to start on women and their obsession with their hair; curling it if it’s straight, straightening it if it’s curly, adding extensions if it’s short, and adding highlights if, God forbid, it’s all the same color. You don’t even want me to get started on the need to make it some color other than the one they were born with.”

“You’re right, I don’t want to get you started on the importance of having our hair be the perfect shade for our complexion.”

“By the way, I also need to get a haircut one of these days before I have to get this mop permed,” Stone said.

I instinctively ran my hand through my own short, brown hair, realizing that it really was about time for me to get a perm. I still had a lot of highlights in my hair from my last appointment with Beth at the Klip Joint in downtown Rockdale, but the trim she’d given me on the same day had pretty much cut off what was left of the perm I’d gotten in late July. I decided that visiting the beauty salon would be a more productive way to spend time than loading up on spices I had no idea what to do with.

“Could you make me an appointment at the barber shop with Bruce for tomorrow? I’ll probably be with Wyatt for most of today,” Stone said. After my nod, he continued. “So, what’s on your agenda?”

At the mere mention of Detective Wyatt Johnston’s name, I’d already headed for the pantry to pull out some Danish pastries I’d bought at the bakery over the weekend. Wyatt was a human garbage disposal, about six-and-a-half feet of pure muscle fueled by nearly constant calorie consumption. The martial arts training he participated in to keep fit for his job probably helped him wear off those extra calories. He wanted to be able to defend himself if the situation arose, he’d told us one morning while we were having coffee and discussing his incredible physique.

Wyatt had been a member of the local police department for over fifteen years, and had become a close friend of ours after his involvement in the investigation of two murders that had occurred at the inn, and also the murder of the pastor of our church just days before he was to officiate our wedding in the spring.

Wyatt and Stone had both tried valiantly to keep me from getting involved in the investigation of those murders, with little to no success. I had a personal reason in each instance to want the perpetrator brought to justice, and I took great pride in the fact that, in all three cases, my involvement had been instrumental in apprehending and arresting the killers. The authorities were not impressed with my infinite wisdom and dogged determination, but I was. It was on rare instances such as these that I truly amazed myself. Of course, most of my success was more a matter of dumb luck and uncanny timing than investigative skill, but that was beside the point. My perseverance had paid off in each case.

As I poured a refill into both of our cups, I considered Stone’s question about my plans for the day. I tried to think of all the tasks I needed to accomplish and could come up with exactly nothing.

“Well, I, um, need to, um, probably should, um,” I mumbled. “Crap! I can’t think of one damn thing I need to do today. However, I was thinking I might go to the grocery store and stock up on turmeric, and maybe even some fennel. You never know when I might need either of those for a recipe I’m experimenting with. We have absolutely none of either one of those spices in the pantry.”

Stone had the gall to laugh at my response. “Good God, Lexie! Don’t tell me we’re in the midst of a rarely used spice-shortage crisis? What in the world are we going to do? How are we going to survive this precarious predicament?”

“Okay, okay, wise guy. I didn’t exactly say it was a crisis, just something I thought we should have on hand.” I didn’t appreciate the way he was getting his jollies at my expense. If he was as bored and restless as me, he’d be at Home Depot stocking up on every size and shape of screw, nut, and bolt they offered.

“Really?” He asked sarcastically. “Lexie, I think you need to get a job!”

“A job? Did you just tell me to get a job?” I asked. I stared at the man I thought I knew, wondering when he’d taken leave of his senses.

“Sure,” Stone said. “Why not? And why are you looking at me like I just asked you to go rob the Jazzy Jigger Liquor Mart?”

“Well, for one thing, I thought I already had a job here at the Alexandria Inn,” I said. “And, secondly, if we need the money, why don’t you go get a
real
job?”

“We don’t need the money or I would get a ‘real’ job,” Stone said, chuckling at my over-reaction to his teasing. “And, yes, of course you have a job here. I didn’t mean it as an order, just a friendly suggestion because I love you. You wouldn’t need a full-time job, or even necessarily a paying job. But you’ve been uptight and antsy, and complaining about being bored during the fall as business is slowing down. Winter will be even slower, so why not find something you’d enjoy doing to help fill some of your spare time? I’ll be busy remodeling the suites upstairs that I didn’t have time to mess with when we renovated this old place. I’d also like to replace all the old plumbing in the restrooms upstairs, and lay new tile in the showers. I might even replace all the existing toilets with the low-water flush ones. I’ll have enough to do to keep me busy until business picks up in the spring. But you might need a reason to get out of the inn and do something to keep your mind and hands busy. The inactivity around here for days on end might drive you nuts. And from what I’m seeing here today, it might be a very short drive.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” I said, after a little consideration. “Wendy just told me yesterday that she’d heard the head librarian at the Rockport Public Library was getting ready to retire and they were looking for someone with librarian experience to handle the job during the interim, while they interview applicants for a permanent replacement.”

My twenty-nine-year-old daughter, Wendy, who worked as the assistant county coroner, had mentioned the opening in passing, knowing I’d volunteered for several years as an assistant librarian in my hometown of Shawnee, Kansas. Now that I thought about it, she was probably hinting at the same thing Stone had just suggested. They must have realized even before I did that I was going stir-crazy. Maybe it was watching me re-arrange the spices in the pantry into alphabetical order that tipped them off. But how else would I have discovered our lack of crucial spices like turmeric and fennel? If it wasn’t my spice obsession, then maybe it was their finding me sorting all the books in the bookcases by genre that made Stone and Wendy think I’d missed working at the little local library in Shawnee.

“Maybe you should consider applying for the job. It would get you off the couch. You know those scintillating old re-runs of
The Love Boat
you’ve been watching in the afternoon? I can DVR them for you if you’re afraid you might miss one.”