Murder of a Stacked Librarian (3 page)

Squeezing through the congested aisles, she headed for the baby section first. Her brother, Vince, and his wife, Loretta, were expecting their first child on January 9, and Skye wanted to get something for the newest member of the family. Loretta and Vince had decided not to reveal the infant’s sex before the birth, so the gift needed to be appropriate for either a boy or a girl.

This area was less crowded than the rest of the store, and Skye took her time studying the assorted items. Everything was darling and it was difficult to choose, but she finally selected a layette set packaged in a pale yellow box shaped like a house. A sign hanging on the window of the door with a satin bow read WELCOME HOME BABY! The mailbox said SPECIAL DELIVERY. And the roof lifted off to reveal a long-sleeve yellow nightgown, nightcap and pair of booties—all with white trim accented with tiny black polka dots.

Skye had picked up a shopping basket by the door, and she slipped the layette set into it before making her way to the shelves displaying gifts for men. Because her fiancé was the son of a Texas oil millionaire, or maybe billionaire, and could buy himself whatever he wanted, finding a present for him was difficult if not downright impossible.

She had ultimately decided on a subscription to the Beer of the Month Club. Unlike her male relatives who would drink whatever was on sale, Wally was picky about his beer, so she knew he’d enjoy the monthly assortment of lagers, ales, and ambers from different U.S. microbreweries. But she wanted to get him something more. Something that wouldn’t be consumed and tossed out with the recyclables. Something permanent.

Almost immediately, she spotted a shelf of Ford Thunderbird collectibles. Wally’s father had given him a sky blue T-bird for his fortieth birthday, and Wally was extremely fond of that car. An item with the Thunderbird emblem would be the perfect Christmas present.

Skye bit her lip as she scanned the possibilities, torn between a stainless-steel card case and a Ford Thunderbird fiftieth-anniversary watch. The case was more within her price range—about thirty bucks—but she liked the watch more. Shrugging—what was another hundred dollars on her credit card?—she tucked the watch into her basket and moved on to the jewelry counter.

She’d planned to buy a scarf slide for her mother. May had recently begun wearing scarves, but found it difficult to tie them correctly. When the silk rectangles and squares inevitably came undone, she grew frustrated, and if May was frustrated, she tended to share that experience with everyone around her.

The area in front of the glass cabinet was mobbed, but Skye scooted into a space vacated by a large man clutching a foil-wrapped box. She immediately spotted what she wanted and plucked a gold tube with an intricate knot design from the display. She checked the price—twenty-two dollars, well within her budget.

Before she could ease away from the case and allow someone else to take her spot, the person behind her said, “Skye, what are you doing here?”

Skye turned and recognized the speaker as Anthony Anserello, a nice-looking young man with sandy hair, sincere brown eyes, and a shy smile. He worked part-time for the PD and part-time for his father, who owned an appliance-repair business.

“Hi, Anthony.” Skye made room for him beside her. “Probably the same thing you are.”

“Last-minute Christmas presents?” he asked, edging into the space she’d created.

“Yep.” Skye extended the package containing the scarf ring. “I’m getting this for Mom.” Once he’d admired the gift, she put it in her basket and asked, “Who are you shopping for?” When he didn’t respond right away and his cheeks turned red, she teased gently, “Someone special? Or maybe more than one someone special?”

“Just one,” he answered quickly. “Judy. She gets back tomorrow.”

Judy Martin was the director of the Scumble River Library and had been away on sabbatical studying at the University of North Carolina for the past six months. In her midtwenties, Judy was young to be running a library on her own, but the salary was too low to attract a more seasoned librarian. The Scumble River school district had similar difficulties attracting experienced applicants.

“I bet you can’t wait.” Skye smiled at Anthony. “Are you meeting Judy at the airport?”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, then added, “I’m not the only one who will be glad to see her.”

“Oh?” Skye knew that the young librarian was popular among her patrons and staff, but was Anthony referring to something else?

When he didn’t continue, Skye prodded, “Who else is anxious for Judy to come back to town?”

“Probably everyone who uses the library.” Anthony frowned. “Ms. Osborn has been so mean about stuff. I’ve heard a lot of grumbling.”

“Really?” Skye was puzzled. As far as she’d noticed, the library had been running smoothly. “Like what?” Heavens, what in the world was there to complain about? Well, now that she thought about it, probably the same things people complained about when they were unhappy with the schools: issues the employees had little control over and the administrators were never going to change.

“Judy looks the other way when the kids get a little rowdy,” Anthony said, shoving his baseball cap to the back of his head. “And she lets the overdue fines slide if it’s just a day or two.”

“And Yvonne doesn’t?”

“No.” Anthony wrinkled his forehead. “She enforces every little rule.”

“You can’t blame her for that,” Skye admonished. “It’s hard filling in for someone who’s as well liked and respected as Judy.”

“Yeah. Judy’s great.” Anthony tapped his fingers on the glass countertop. “But did you see the rant about Ms. Osborn in the
Star
?”

“No.” For the past several weeks, Skye had been too busy to read the local newspaper.

“It was in that column where people can call in anonymously, whine into an answering machine, and the editor decides which of their complaints to write up.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, someone said that Ms. Osborn better mind her own business or she’d regret it.”

CHAPTER 3

Lost and Foundering

S
unday was a whirlwind of activity. Skye started her day with nine o’clock Mass, then hurried home to wrap her presents for the Leofanti party. Her mother’s family celebrated on Christmas Eve with a huge potluck and gift exchange, while her father’s side picked a Saturday in early December for their more sedate get-together.

Skye had decided to forgo sending cards and decorating the house this year, but she’d drawn the line at skipping the tree—which had turned out to be a smart decision. Whenever she took a moment to inhale the fresh pine scent and enjoy the twinkling lights, she regained a small piece of her sanity. And she needed every little bit she could recapture.

Although it was both the weekend and a holiday, Wally was on duty at the police station. Theoretically, as the chief he worked eight to four Monday through Friday, but with such a small force, he often ended up covering for an officer who was sick or had a family emergency. With only six full-timers, it took just one case of the flu or a vacation to create a staffing problem. The two part-timers were supposed to fill in the gaps, but they often weren’t able to take the shift since they both had other jobs.

Skye had been counting on Wally’s help with last-minute wedding tasks, and she was not happy about his absence. In her opinion, he should have ordered someone else to come in to the PD. She wasn’t sure if he’d agreed to work because he was too nice a guy to force one of his officers to give up a holiday they were originally scheduled to have off, or if he just didn’t want to be around during the eleventh-hour bridal madness. Probably a little bit of both.

Either way, she was once again coping with all the chores alone. So as soon as she finished wrapping the presents and had cleaned up the scraps of paper and bits of ribbon that littered the sunroom floor, she moved into the kitchen to begin her next project. Opening the Tiffany blue leather organizer, a gift from Wally’s father, she flipped to the GUEST tab and started phoning people who hadn’t yet responded to the wedding invitations. Of the nearly two hundred invitations that had been sent, thirty-seven recipients had disregarded the request to RSVP.

Skye would have been happy to assume they weren’t attending, but the wedding planner at the Country Mansion restaurant where the reception was being held had insisted that Skye contact the slackers. Thirty-six calls and three hours later, she stared at the remaining name on her list. Should she or shouldn’t she? In most cases, it was her policy to let sleeping Dooziers lie.

The Dooziers were hard to explain to anyone not from Scumble River. They had their own little kingdom on the water’s edge, and as with so many imperial dynasties, the crowned heads did as they darn well pleased. They felt that rules didn’t apply to them, whoever wasn’t a part of the royal clan deserved what they got, and they were entitled to whatever tribute they could grab. Their philosophy was render unto the Dooziers the things that were the Dooziers’. And in their mind, everything that wasn’t nailed down belonged to the Dooziers.

Strangely enough, Earl, the monarch of Doozierland, had adopted Skye. She wasn’t sure if it was because he saw her as the ambassador between his realm and the rest of the world—a role she had often had to assume within the school system—or because he’d saved her life on more than one occasion. Whatever his reason for taking a shine to her, she had felt obligated to invite him and his family to her wedding.

Doing so had infuriated Skye’s mother. May had begged her not to include the Dooziers, claiming that they would ruin everything, but Skye had stood firm. They were her friends and they’d be hurt if they didn’t receive an invitation. Besides, Skye figured the family would show up anyway, and forewarned was forearmed.

Of course, they hadn’t sent back their RSVP and she had to decide whether it was worth the hassle to call them. Any conversation with Earl had more land mines than the perimeters of the DMZ in Korea. Did it really matter if she didn’t know if one family was coming or not? Unfortunately, she was forced to conclude that it did, because the Doozier party could consist of anywhere between two—Earl and his wife—and the whole tribe.

Sighing, Skye dialed the last number she had for them, a disposable cell. Like so many others, the Dooziers didn’t have a landline. However, unlike most people, their reason had more to do with keeping off the government grid and less to do with a fondness for modern technology.

Skye wasn’t sure how the Dooziers obtained their electricity, but she would bet her engagement ring that it wasn’t from Commonwealth Edison—at least not with the power company’s knowledge. And she knew for a fact that they didn’t use Waste Management to collect their garbage, because if they did, their trash wouldn’t be decorating their front yards and backyards.

After a half dozen rings, Skye was ready to hang up when Earl’s groggy voice buzzed in her ear. “Miz Skye, issen that you?”

“Yes, Earl, it’s me all right,” Skye assured him. “How are you doing?”

“Well, I was fine when I was a-sleepin’,” Earl drawled, “but now that I’m awake, I’m not so good.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Earl.” Skye glanced at the kitchen clock. It was a few minutes before three. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

“I’m okay, but that crazy biddy that rents the property next door woke us all up at five this mornin’ complainin’ about old Blue.”

“Blue?” Skye asked, unsure whether Blue was one of Earl’s animals or one of his kin.

“Youse know, my bluetick coonhound.”

“Right.” Skye vaguely remembered the animal. “What did he do?” Earl’s house was on several acres and separated from his nearest neighbor by a section of trees, so she doubted the dog’s offense was something as simple as barking.

“He musta got outa the pen, ’cause she claims he was over to her place humpin’ her daughter’s fancy pooch.” Earl snickered. “Blue’s like his daddy; he likes a good f—”

“I’m sure he does,” Skye interrupted, not wanting to discuss the sex life of Earl’s dog—or for that matter any other member of the Doozier family.

But before she could change the subject, Earl added, “She’s got the fella on the other side of her land shittin’ a brick, too. That female really needs to back off afore I—”

“I’m sure she does,” Skye said, cutting Earl off again. “I’ll let you get back to sleep. I just called to see if you’re coming to my wedding.”

“Sure I is, Miz Skye,” Earl answered. “Me and Glenda and the kids wouldn’t miss it fer anything.”

“Great.” Skye put a check after their name on her list. “How many of you are coming?”

“Let’s see, now.” Earl paused. “Me, Glenda, MeMa, Junior, Bambi, and Cletus, so that’s six.” He hesitated, then added, “I’s sorry that Elvis and his wife and kid can’t make it. They’s got to go to her pa’s barn raisin’. And now that Elvira’s workin’ in the city, she don’t come home much anymore.”

“Uh-huh.” Skye made a note. “Six it is.” Then, before Earl could continue the conversation, Skye said, “So, I’ll see you next Saturday. Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, Skye briefly felt sorry for Earl’s neighbor, but she was soon distracted by her wedding to-do list. Next up was the caterer. The woman had told Skye that although she wouldn’t be answering the phone on Sunday or Monday, Skye should leave a message with the final head count.

Once that call was made, Skye checked to see what else she needed to accomplish before going to her parents’ house at five thirty. Due to the holiday, she couldn’t contact any of the other venders to confirm the details, so she decided to make the zuppa Inglese for the party.

It was a testament to May’s frantic state of mind that she had assigned a crucial component of the meal to her daughter. The zuppa Inglese was the Leofanti family’s traditional Christmas dessert—like a trifle, but richer and more calorie-laden. Skye had baked the pound cake the day before, so all she had to do was whip up the vanilla pudding, and while it chilled, blend the rum and apricot jam. After she’d layered the cake, pudding, and rum mixture into a pedestal bowl, she would whip the cream for the top.