A Killer Read (18 page)

Or maybe the book club should read it after all. There was a crime, maybe not murder, but fraud leading to suicide. And the manuscript itself was a mystery— what would happen next, and who was the author? Lizzie glanced at the
clock and was shocked to see she had ten minutes to get to literacy class.

No time to change or eat dinner. She stuffed the entire manuscript into her bag, filled the cat dishes with dry food and left, peeling a banana, which she ate on the way to Molly’s.

She arrived five minutes late and noticed the class was down by three, or they were even later than she. No Troy. Also missing were Dwayne and Teesha. That was surprising since they’d both been at the garden party and looked to have enjoyed themselves, even though Dwayne was working. Those two were often whispering at the back. Maybe they’d connected and had other plans for the evening. She hoped they’d all return for the next class.

“I have your written assignments about the unsolved murder ready to hand back. I want you to quickly read over my comments and then if anyone would like to share their paper with the rest of the class, we’d love to listen, and afterward, anyone who wishes can comment.”

She was sorry Dwayne had skipped class. She’d be interested in his reaction to her notes. Although his writing skills left a lot to be desired, she’d been impressed with his imagination. Of all the papers, Dwayne’s had been the most creative, suggesting that Telford had been about to extort money from Molly, and his brother had tried to talk him out of it, they’d fought over the gun, and it had accidentally gone off.

Sonny’s hand shot up immediately, and he started reading his paper aloud before even checking Lizzie’s comments. Although she didn’t grade the assignments, Lizzie had pointed out that Sonny’s lacked the structure they’d been talking about for several weeks now; however, it was equally imaginative, albeit implausible.

Jolene had a comment at the ready when he stopped reading. “We don’t have a Mafia here in Ashton Corners. There’s nothing for them to get their mitts into here. We don’t even have any gangs.”

“Says you,” Sonny countered. “Whoever heard about the Mafia going around telling everybody they’re in town? I like my story. It could’a happened like that.”

Jolene shook her head, and Stephanie looked down quickly to hide her smile.

Jolene went next, and her story had shades of fantasy involved. Stephanie wouldn’t meet Lizzie’s eye, so Lizzie decided not to put her on the spot. She felt Stephanie’s paper lacked anything more than the facts, anyway, and wondered if there was a reason for that.

Lizzie then pulled out a stack of Rapid Reads books from her tote. She’d been so impressed with this series of books for reluctant readers, she’d talked one of the program’s private donors into funding her special purchase.

“These books should not take y’all too long to read, some of you may even do it in one sitting, and don’t let the size of print fool you. These are books for adults, with topics that’ll hook you right away. Now, we have a variety of titles here. I want you to each choose one from the display on the coffee table, then start reading, finishing them at home. If you don’t get the one you want this week, don’t worry because we’ll be swapping around next week. After reading them, I’d like you to answer the questions on this sheet that I’m now passing out. I’d suggest reading over these questions first, so you’ll know what to keep an eye out for when reading the books. The assignment is due next class.”

The books were thin, which when added to their dramatic covers, meant a quick acceptance by the group. The students quickly made their choices and settled in to start reading. After the break, a lively discussion ensued about Rapid Reads before the class ended.

As Lizzie stuffed her books into her bag, Jolene stopped in front of her chair. She shifted from foot to foot, until Lizzie stopped what she was doing and looked at her.

“Hey, Jolene. What can I do for you?”

“Well, umm, I was wondering. Well, I sorta’ve got this story, you know.”

Lizzie’s heart started pounding. Was Jolene the mystery author and about to reveal all? “Yes?” she said encour-agingly.

“Well, umm, I know it’s not really good. Yet. But I’ll work on it and make it better. It’s a story that’s really important to me. And I was hoping you’d read what I’ve got so far and maybe give me some pointers? Umm, would you do that?” Jolene stuck her hands in the pockets of her camouflage army jacket and chewed her bottom lip. Her vibrant, red-dyed hair, worn in a ponytail, along with the black eyeliner that encircled both eyes, gave her the appearance of a preteen. Someone totally unsure of herself.

Lizzie smiled. “Of course, I’d be happy to. What’s it about?” Then she worried it might be the true story of Jolene’s own family. What would Lizzie say after reading it?

“It’s, umm, it’s like a fantasy story. Sort of sci-fi, also. About this planet and this young couple who escape there after the Troglelytes attack earth. Set in the future.”

She stared in earnest at Lizzie.

Lizzie tried not to show her disappointment, not just because this wasn’t the author of the mystery manuscript but also because she really didn’t enjoy reading fantasy or science fiction. She swallowed a sigh.

“Just bring it in next time, and I’ll read it as soon as I can.”

Jolene grinned, gave her a high-five and pranced out of the library.

Lizzie found both Molly and Sally-Jo in the kitchen. She gave the manuscript to Sally-Jo then said good night to them both and headed home, suddenly exhausted and wanting nothing more than a good night’s sleep.

T
he insistent ringing of the phone tried its best to awaken Lizzie, but she resisted as long as possible. Finally, her brain kicked into gear and she rolled over, dislodging the cats from their crevices around her legs. She fumbled with the receiver, her heart pounding in her chest. A phone call at that hour could only be bad news about Mama.

“Hello?” she blurted out.

“Elizabeth Turner?” She didn’t recognize the voice, couldn’t tell if it were male or female even. But nobody called her Elizabeth, unless it was someone she didn’t know very well. And it wouldn’t be from anyone from Magnolia Manor.

“Yes… what is it?”

“I think you’d agree that every life has a story, even though some of those stories are more what the people want you to believe, not what’s true. Your daddy knew that. In fact, his final story was about just such a person. That’s why he was in Stoney Mills just before his accident.”

Lizzie heard the phone click and then nothing but a dial tone. She said hello a couple of times anyway, then turned on the light and grabbed the pen and pad from the bedside table. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm down and thought about what the caller had said. Then, she carefully wrote down every word she could remember, read it over, then turned off the light and slid back down under the covers. Her brain kept going over the words until they all became meaningless. She’d give it a go in the morning.

Lizzie woke up, heart pounding, gasping for breath. She sat up abruptly.
What’s going on? Am I having a heart attack?
She lay back down and tried sorting through her jumbled thoughts.
Breathe slowly.
Her daddy. She sat back up. She’d gotten a phone call about her daddy.

She scrambled out of bed and grabbed the paper on which she’d written the caller’s message. Had this person known her daddy? What had he been writing about? What was going on?

She kept rereading the message as she finished her breakfast of granola and fresh fruit. It just didn’t make any sense. The voice hadn’t sounded sinister, just anonymous and androgynous. Was there a connection to Frank Telford’s death? Or to the manuscript she’d been receiving?
Another anonymous contributor.

Maybe Molly could help make sense of it, but Lizzie had meetings all day. She scraped the dregs of her breakfast into the composting bin and rinsed her dishes. Back in her bedroom, she ditched the flouncy skirt she’d been planning to wear and settled on taupe straight-legged pants and a multicolored long-sleeved crepe blouse. She added a cinch belt, some hoop earrings, and comfortable brown flats since she’d be hoofing it between classrooms most of the day.

She made certain she had all the books, test papers and other materials she needed, stuffed her lunch in her tote and left for school. Neither cat tried to get out the door, a sure sign they’d finally settled into the back-to-school routine.

She had to force herself to concentrate on each student and teacher she spoke with, finding her mind wandering to the now-memorized message. She hoped her subconscious could come up with an answer while she did her work, but the memory of the late-night call refused to stay in its allotted place. Finally, the end-of-day bell rang and she raced off to Molly’s.

She was annoyed with herself for not calling first when it became apparent Molly wasn’t at home. She’d give her a call later. What she needed was a cold drink and a quiet place to think. She realized, with a sinking feeling, that might have to wait. Officer Amber Craig drove up as Lizzie walked back to her car.

“I’m here to see Ms. Mathews,” she told Lizzie.

“Well, you’re out of luck. She’s not here.”

“In that case, you’ll do. Would you mind following me down to the police station?” Lizzie looked skeptical. “Or you could climb into the back of my smelly cruiser and we could talk here.”

“I’ll see you at the station,” Lizzie said and left before Officer Craig got back in her car.

They entered the station at the same time, Lizzie through the front door and Craig through the back. Mark looked up from his desk as Lizzie was escorted past his open door and over to Officer Craig’s desk. Lizzie avoided looking at Mark, which was hard to do since she sat in a chair facing his office.

“I want you to tell me all about the little snooping trip that Molly Mathews and Bob Miller took to Stoney Mills.” Craig leaned on her desk, pen in hand, ready to make notes.

“I assume Chief Dreyfus told you about that, so he can also tell you what they found. Which, I think, is nothing. I’m certain he must have interviewed them. Or, I guess he asked you to do that, which is why you were at Molly’s today.” Lizzie felt a streak of irritability run through her body. She wouldn’t make this easy.

“I don’t need you to tell me why I was there, Ms. Turner,” Officer Craig said through gritted teeth. “Just tell me what you know.”

“I already told you, I think they didn’t have any luck. They found nothing.” Lizzie sat erect in the chair, trying to appear more confident than she felt.

“You think. I’ll bet you know. I think you’re the instigator here. That you’ve sent your merry book clubbers off in search of a killer. Which is not only interfering with a police investigation, it’s also stupid. You all could get yourselves hurt. Or killed.”

“Stupid?” Lizzie rubbed her temples. She could feel a doozy of a headache taking hold. “If that were true, we might be a bit foolhardy or overzealous, but stupid?” She stood up, trying to keep her voice down.

“Sit down, Ms. Turner,” Officer Craig growled.

Lizzie felt a hand on her arm. “Maybe I could have a word with Ms. Turner, Officer Craig,” Mark said. He pivoted her and held tightly to her arm until he’d guided her to a chair in his office.

“I’m sorry, Mark. That woman just gets me going.” Lizzie looked at him, a suitably contrite expression on her face. “I am sorry.”

Mark smiled. “You two are like oil and water. I think I’m going to have to take on all the questioning of you. Now, do you know anything else about what Molly Mathews and Bob Miller found in Stoney Mills?”

“Just as I told Officer Craig, they didn’t find a thing. Except that Frank Telford was a recluse. Which you probably already knew.” She waited for him to confirm that, but he said nothing. “So, I’m wondering, why was a recluse in Ashton Corners to start with?”

“That’s the question, Lizzie. You don’t happen to have an answer, do you?”

“Only what he told us at the house, which was exactly nothing. So, where do you go from here?” She wasn’t
about to tell him that Sally-Jo and Jacob had also taken a stab at it.

“We’re still trying to dig into his life, but there’s not much to go on since he dropped out of society about thirty years ago.”

“Why then? What happened to make him do that?”

“I’m trying to find out, believe me, but we’re having a hard time finding someone who knew him, and of course, as I’m sure you know, the local paper lost all their old files in a fire about fifteen years ago.”

“What caused the fire?”

Mark looked at her a moment. “Are you thinking it’s tied in, some sort of conspiracy?” He sounded amused. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

“No.” She sat straighter. “Well, you never know, but I guess it’s highly unlikely.”

“So, I should be looking at what happened fifteen years ago to precipitate the fire that may have been set to destroy any information referring to Frank Telford, who was then killed fifteen years later?”