Read and Buried (8 page)

Chapter Eleven

Not my problem, I thought. Doesn’t have a thing to do with me.

STATE FAIR
—EARLENE FOWLER

T
he tiny bells above the door at the Book Bin jangled as Lizzie walked into the store.
She spotted Jensey with a customer so she browsed the front display of newly received
titles. She had decided to stop by and pick something to read over brunch. And, to
ask Jensey a few questions.

The customer demanded a lot of attention so Lizzie began wandering through the stacks.
She loved the cozy feeling of the Book Bin. The tall, dark shelving covering the outer
walls, the shoulder-high units placed at an angle taking up half of the floor space.
There were comfy chairs in various locations. In the back corner, a small monitor
and DVD player showcased a variety of TV mystery series. Customers with the time to
stay could watch while seated on the floral-covered love seat, enjoying a cup of coffee
from the drip machine located in the tiny alcove at the far left. The experience led
to happy customers and, Lizzie guessed, a large number of DVD sales. If she owned
a bookstore, it would look a lot like the Book Bin.

Lizzie had amassed a small pile of new paperbacks in her shopping basket and her stomach
grumbled. She looked around for Jensey and found her alone at the front desk. Lizzie
piled the books on the desk as she greeted her.

“This snow’s a bit of a surprise,” Lizzie said.

“I’ll say. It’s been a few years since I’ve looked outside and the ground’s been white.
I wish it had waited until closer to Christmas, though.”

“Me, too. Maybe it will put everyone in the holiday spirit and they’ll decide they
need to do extra Christmas shopping.”

Jensey laughed. “You know, that happens. In fact, that customer I was helping, she
had a long list of people who were all getting books under the tree. Now, let’s see
what you’ve chosen.” She started scanning the books Lizzie had piled on the counter.

“You must be shocked at what happened to Derek Alton,” Lizzie said. “I find it hard
to believe it was just last week I met him here in your store.”

Jensey grimaced. “It’s unbelievable, Lizzie. When I heard the news, I was speechless.
I didn’t know him well but it was no less a shock.”

Lizzie nodded in sympathy. “I can imagine. That was the first time you’d met him?”

Jensey glanced at her sharply. “Why, yes. What makes you ask?”

“I’m just wondering why he came to town. Was he visiting someone? Did he tell you?”

Jensey shook her head. “No. I hadn’t really thought about it. He’d only arrived in
town the day before so I was pleased that he’d taken the time to stop in here. Fortunately,
I had a few copies of
Judgment
on the shelves—the book sells quite regularly even after all these years—and a couple
of his other titles, so I asked him to sign them. We talked a bit about the town but
he didn’t mention anyone. And then you arrived. Oh dear, of course, he was killed
at your place, wasn’t he? That must have been very disturbing for you. How are you?”

Lizzie shrugged, trying to feign a nonchalance she still didn’t feel. “I’m getting
over it. Like you, I was shocked.”

“I’ll bet. That’s so terrible.” Jensey reached across the desk and patted Lizzie’s
arm. “Did he talk to you about his new book at all?”

“No. He seemed more interested in hearing all about the book club.”

The bells over the front door jangled again and three teenage girls entered the store.
They giggled as they made their way to the fiction section. Jensey watched their progress
and then finished putting Lizzie’s order through. She bagged the books as Lizzie hunted
for her credit card.

“Thanks, Lizzie. Excuse me, I should see if they need some help,” Jensey said as she
finished the transaction. She grimaced and escaped from behind the desk while Lizzie
gathered up her purchases.

Lizzie wandered out to the sidewalk, selected from the bag a book by Mary Jane Maffini
that she’d been meaning to get for some time now,
The Busy Woman’s Guide to Murder
,
and stashed the rest in her car before walking across the street to the Oasis Diner.
The restaurant teemed with chatter and cutlery as Lizzie found a vacant table for
two by the front window.

She took a quick look around the interior, almost expecting to see Stephanie Lowe
waiting on tables. But that wouldn’t happen. Stephanie had been ordered by the doctor
to stop working a few weeks ago until after the baby’s birth. She was lucky enough
to have an employer who valued her work ethic and willingly gave her an extra two
months’ leave, which would lead into the six-month maternity leave that awaited her.

Lizzie smiled as another server glanced over, then she gave her full attention to
the menu. She decided to treat herself and settled on smoked salmon eggs Benedict.
A mug filled with steaming coffee was placed in front of her and her order was taken,
all within seconds.

She glanced around the restaurant again, hoping not to see anyone she knew, which
would require a stop at the table and a chat, then felt secure in pulling out the
Maffini book. She was well into the third chapter and totally riveted when someone
sat on the chair facing her.

“I can’t believe you planned a Saturday morning brunch and didn’t include me,” Paige
Raleigh whined. She turned around and snagged a menu off the now vacant table behind
her.

Lizzie grinned. “And I can’t believe you’d be able to sneak out on your hunky husband
and two darling daughters. Besides, it was a last-minute decision. But, I am happy
to see you. As always.”

Paige lowered the menu and smiled. “Me, too. I have actually eaten, but when I saw
you sitting here I thought, not too early for lunch. Brad has the girls out trying
to build snowmen in the backyard, and I had to pick up some color swatches at the
Paint Emporium. We’re finally going to do the family room, you know. So here I am.”
She waved at a server, who came and took her order and returned immediately with a
mug, filled it with coffee and topped up Lizzie’s at the same time.

“So, what’s new?” Paige asked, blowing at the steam arising from her mug. “I wouldn’t
have been surprised if you’d been out making snowmen, too. This is interesting white
stuff.”

“I love it. I’ve already shoveled the sidewalk at home. I’m glad there’s not enough
of it to make driving tricky, though, I have to admit.”

“That’s the one and only beauty about driving that tank of an SUV. I feel I can take
on any weather that’s thrown our way.” She took a tentative sip. “Ouch, hot. I haven’t
talked to you since the day after that author’s death. Are you coping all right?”

Lizzie nodded. “It’s still sort of surreal, except when I walk into the living room.
I avoid looking at the spot where he died, and you know, the cats are still spooked
in there, too. But other than that, life goes on.”

Paige studied her face. “And Mark? Any changes there?”

“I still haven’t really talked to him.” Paige’s eyebrows shot up and Lizzie hurried
on to explain. “Sally-Jo was questioned and I went into the station, at Jacob’s request,
to try to get her to answer questions. She just sort of clammed up. Anyway, Mark had
to talk to me then, but it was strictly business.”

“What’s this about Sally-Jo, or shouldn’t I ask?”

Lizzie chewed her bottom lip. Paige was her best friend and she didn’t often keep
things from her, but she knew that Paige seldom kept things from Brad. The less said
the better.

“Well, she had known him briefly in her college days. The police are looking for any
ties he had with anyone in town. They want to know just why he came to Ashton Corners.”

“Hmm. I’ll bet Lucille Miller knows. She seems to find out everything. And I know
for a fact she loves sharing her information.”

“Lucille? How do you know her?”

“I don’t. Not personally. But Kitsey Chantell, she runs the quilting club I belong
to, she’s Lucille’s niece and we hear the darnedest things. From Lucille’s lips to
Kitsey and passed along to our eager, gossip-mongering ears.”

Lizzie laughed. “And here I thought you gave yourself totally to quilting at those
gatherings.”

“Oh, we do . . . we’re quite able to quilt and gossip at the same time.” Paige nodded.
“Now, all I ask is that you don’t get yourself run off the road or find yourself at
the wrong end of a gun this time.”

Lizzie laughed but it lacked mirth. “Not on my agenda, Paige. Once was enough.” She
reached out and squeezed her friend’s hand.

* * *

M
ark phoned at the exact moment Lizzie unlocked her front door. She stumbled in, dropped
the bag of books and a cloth bag filled with groceries she’d picked up at the Piggly
Wiggly, kicked off her boots and dashed to the phone. She got it just before it went
to the message.

“Hi Lizzie, I’ve only got a minute to talk. I’m calling to say I’m sorry, but I have
to cancel out on tonight. There’s just too much to do with the murder investigation.
You know how it is.”

Well, he didn’t sound sorry at all. She took a moment to reach in her grab bag of
emotions and pulled out the agreeable, controlled voice. Slightly aloof but not mad.
Definitely not mad. Nor sad. “That’s too bad but I understand, Mark. You have to keep
at it this early on in the investigation. Any leads?”

“Sorry, got to go. We’ll talk later.” He hung up before she had a chance to continue.

And just what did that mean? “Talk” as in two people who date? Or as in cop to suspect?

Chapter Twelve

“You never know,” said Theodosia. “I wouldn’t rule

anything out at this point.”

THE TEABERRY STRANGLER
—LAURA CHILDS

L
izzie had to admit to herself that there had been no hint of intimacy in Mark’s voice.
It was as if he were canceling a business dinner. So, what did it mean? He was truly
too busy to focus on anything other than the case? Or, he was too teed off at her
for having gone out with Derek?

This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman who’d had dinner with a somewhat dashing
man. Now dead. They’d met to talk about the book club over dinner, which hadn’t happened.
And she hadn’t even liked the guy even though everyone seemed to think otherwise.
Lizzie shook her head. There were more important things to dwell on than her shaky
love life.

Like, who killed Derek? And how could she find out?

She shoved the groceries into their rightful spots then grabbed the jar of almond
butter and a spoon, a notepad and a pen, and walked directly over to the wicker chair
by the front window, avoiding looking at the floor. She wondered how long it would
be until she could enter the room without seeing his body sprawled beside the coffee
table. Imagine if he’d been a friend or a loved one! She sat, eating the almond butter,
pen and paper on her lap. Not very inspiring.

Enough.
She stalked upstairs, grabbing the bag of book purchases as she passed by it, and
found some space on one of the bookcases for them in the spare room. This was also
her home office, her multitasking room, and she clicked on the computer. She was damned
well going to find out more about Derek’s life. She used Google to search for his
name and waited. The wait time seemed to be getting longer each time she used her
computer. Maybe it needed an overhaul or something. She had no idea when it came to
computers. Programs were fine; she could Excel with the best of them. But when it
came to gigabytes and RAM, she preferred to rely on the techies at her favorite computer
shop.

The screen finally filled with fifteen hundred hits. Most of the first page was stories
about his untimely demise. She found a biography link and clicked on it. She read
it over quickly, but as Andie had said, tons about Derek the author but nothing personal.
The only thing even slightly interesting was the cookie factor. He was also listed
on his publisher’s website with links to various interviews over the years. There
were several Facebook sites and a Twitter account with that name, but none were his.
This was getting complicated, trying to sort through to find which hits were Derek
Alton, author. Maybe she should let Andie have another go at it.

She read until the fading light in the room alerted her to the fact that it was time
to eat. She’d spent an hour in front of the screen, and besides knowing all about
his books and his writing courses, she still knew nothing about the man. Totally frustrating.

She debated briefly about calling George Havers, owner and editor of the
Colonist
, Ashton Corners’s weekly newspaper, to see if he knew Derek or knew of any connection
he had to the town. Mark would have already done that, she was sure, and Saturday
mealtime wasn’t the best time to intrude. She’d try him next week.

Supper was a thrown-together concoction of leftover veggie stir-fry and baked chicken
strips, which turned out to be surprisingly tasty. She poured a glass of Shiraz and
settled in with her meal and her copy of
Judgment
. She wanted to start where he had. Maybe some autobiographical bits had found their
way into the writing. But how would she know? She just hoped there’d be something
that would click. By midnight she was almost finished with the novel, but so far,
no “aha” moment. Maybe tomorrow.

She glanced out the window and noticed most of the snow had disappeared. So much for
her hopes it would stick around and present them with a white Christmas. Oh well,
she’d simply have to watch the movie again this year.

She’d just crawled into bed when a thought hit her—she’d had two people contact her
by email asking if they could attend the book club to hear Derek speak. She’d never
met Xenia Henshaw, but she’d seen her face around town on numerous Realtor signs.
Now, why had she wanted to meet Derek? The second, Calvin Knox, was from nearby River’s
End, a writer himself, he’d explained in his email. Was either of these the person
Derek had come to town to meet? But if so, why would they be arranging to come to
the book club?

She hadn’t even thought to get back to them after Derek’s death, and neither of them
had shown up at the meeting. Obviously, they’d heard about the murder in the media.
But she thought it rather odd they hadn’t contacted her to cancel. That would have
been the polite thing to do. But since when did politeness become a factor in a murder?
Although, who said they were involved?

* * *

S
he had to get out and run. Funny what a couple of days playing hooky could do to one’s
psyche. When Lizzie was in run mode, desperation drove her out each morning. Her body
craved the hour-long circuit and her mind then clicked in for the day ahead. Since
the murder, she’d been sluggish, dragging herself through the morning routines, reluctant
to leave the coziness of her house. Today would be different. She’d need to be bright
and cheery for her afternoon visit with her mama.

She fed the cats, did her stretches, and set out taking the longer route, twisting
back and forth through the neighborhood streets until she reached the town square,
then across the small park with the red and white azaleas and camellias strategically
planted throughout, and benches placed at intervals along the intertwining paths.
At the far end, two blocks of asphalt brought her to Glendale Park, home to every
fair and event the town council could devise to welcome in the various seasons and
tourists.

Lizzie felt perfectly safe running by herself. Ashton Corners was known for its law-abiding
citizens, despite the fact that two murders had taken place within the town limits
in the past four months. No wonder Mark was feeling the pressure.

She adjusted her musing. Most of the townsfolk were law-abiding and anxious to keep
their small town safe. She’d even been invited to sit on the Crime Prevention Council
but had to beg off when it conflicted with the literacy classes. Lucille Miller was
on it, as was George Havers. It was that kind of town. You were bound to know someone
connected to something you were interested in, but it was still big enough that the
majority of faces were nameless, which afforded that extra space for privacy.

Lizzie had missed that familiarity when she’d been away at college in Auburn for five
years. It took her another year to earn her Reading Specialist Certificate from the
University of Alabama in Huntsville and then she’d stayed on for another year to work.
She’d been offered a permanent job with that school board but she felt the tug of
Ashton Corners, although the three-hour drive each weekend to visit her mama would
not have been a hardship. But she felt more comfortable being close by, in case she
was needed in the middle of the night. A morbid thought, but there it was.

By the time Lizzie had circled around back onto her street, she felt she’d gotten
the kinks out of her brain as well as her body. Time for breakfast, the weekly crossword
puzzle in the
Birmingham News
and then a visit with her mama.

She looked down at her soggy feet. First she’d have to wring herself out. Slush will
do that to a girl.