Murder in the Stacks (A DAFFODILS Mystery)

  Praise for Mary Clay's

  DAFFODILS* Mysteries

  (*Divorced And Finally Free Of Deceitful, Insensitive, Licentious Scum®)

  Witty and hilarious...

  Midwest Book Review

  ... a crisp pace with plenty of humor ...

  RT BookClub

  The Ya Ya Sisterhood meets The First Wives Club.

  A cleverly done light mystery that's a rare find ...

  The Examiner (Beaumont, Texas)

  The Turtle Mound Murder is light and accentuated with the familiar mannerisms of Southern women. ... A fun book.

  Southern Halifax Magazine

  Bike Week Blues is one of the funniest capers this reviewer has had the privilege of reading.

  Harriet Klausner, #1 Reviewer, Amazon.com

  Sometimes we just need something fun to read. The DAFFODILS Mysteries fit the bill.

  The DeLand-Deltona Beacon

  DAFFODILS Mysteries

  written as

  Mary Clay

  The Turtle Mound Murder

  Bike Week Blues

  Murder is the Pits

  Murder in the Stacks

  New Age Fiction

  written by

  Linda Tuck-Jenkins a.k.a. Mary Clay

  Starpeople: The Sirian Redemption

  A DAFFODILS* MYSTERY

  *Divorced And Finally Free Of Deceitful,

  Insensitive, Licentious Scum®

  Murder in the Stacks

  Mary Clay

  IF Mystery

  An Imprint of Inspirational Fiction

  New Smyrna Beach, Florida

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by IF Mystery, an imprint of Inspirational Fiction

  P. O. Box 2509

  New Smyrna Beach, FL 32170-2509

  www.inspirationalfiction.com

  Cover Design: Peri Poloni-Gabriel, Knockout Design, www.knockoutbooks.com

  Back cover beach photograph used with the permission of Debbie Ledbetter.

  This is a work of fiction. All places, names, characters and incidents are either invented or used fictitiously. The events described are purely imaginary.

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2010 Linda Tuck-Jenkins

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2010938059

  For Christa Kelsey,

  the woman with the beautiful smile.

  We miss you.

  As usual, I have benefited from the suggestions and advice of many friends and colleagues. Thank you Adele Aletti, Sheila Brust, Cindy Burkett, Erica Davis, Emily & Dale Ellis, Bonnie Gattanella, Beverly Poitier-Henderson, Deborah Jacklitch, Carla Steele and Martha Swanson,

  Special thanks to my husband, Chris Jenkins, and my editor, Mimi Hall, for good humor, infinite patience, and editorial expertise.

  Chapter 1

  "How was your first day at work?" Ruthie set her book aside and smiled hopefully at Penny Sue, who scuffed down the hall of my condo. I followed, careful to keep my distance. Penny Sue was in a foul mood.

  "My feet are killing me!" Penny Sue kicked off her red-soled Christian Louboutin pumps and headed to my refrigerator. "Leigh, do you have any Chardonnay?" she asked, butt up, rummaging through the lower compartment. A moment later she was on her knees, stretching to the back of the bottom shelf.

  "No, but there's some Sauvignon Blanc in the door."

  Penny Sue swiveled with a loud grunt, grasped the edge of the counter, and hauled herself to her feet, cradling the bottle of wine. Without so much as a "thank you," she pulled the cork out of the bottle with her teeth and filled a juice glass she found in the cabinet. She took a long swig. "Not Chardonnay, but okay," she heaved, finishing the wine and pouring another. "This stuff isn't half bad. Have any more?" Penny Sue asked as she held up the empty bottle.

  "Are you willing to share it with Ruthie and me?"

  She raised her chin regally. "Of course! I was just a little stressed. Please forgive my rudeness."

  "There's a case in the utility room."

  Penny Sue's eyes sparkled as she brushed past me to the hall. I could almost hear her thoughts, "A case! Party hearty!"

  I shook my head. As a proper Southern woman raised in Roswell, Georgia, Penny Sue's mother, bless her heart, was no doubt having a conniption as she stared down from Heaven at her only daughter. I could almost hear her snap, "Penny Sue, I taught you better than that! Only heathens drink straight from a bottle! And where is your napkin?"

  Things change, and Momma hadn't been around for a long time to keep an eye on her impetuous daughter. Penny Sue's father, Judge Warren Parker, who we affectionately called "Judge Daddy," thought raising children was a woman's job, so he didn't keep close tabs on his daughter after his dear wife passed away. Basically, the Judge only got involved when Penny Sue did something completely outrageous, which had happened far too frequently in recent years. The downhill slide in Penny Sue's behavior accelerated when her hormones started to go haywire at about age 45. Lord knows what would happen when she turned 50, an age that Ruthie Nichols, Penny Sue Parker and I, Leigh Stratton, were approaching fast.

  Sorority sisters at the University of Georgia, we drifted apart after graduation, what with the marriages, children, and divorces, but reunited when I canned my slime ball husband who was having an affair with a stripper our daughter's age. That's when I was initiated into the DAFFODILS (Divorced And Finally Free Of Deceitful, Insensitive, Licentious Scum®), and Penny Sue and Ruthie tried to cheer me up with a vacation in New Smyrna Beach. As the Fates (Ruthie's word) would have it, I stumbled over a dead body, which wasn't particularly cheery but did take my mind off my sorrows.

  That initial event set a precedent. Since then, I'd moved to New Smyrna Beach and was living in a condo next door to Judge Parker's unit, but every time Ruthie and Penny Sue came to visit, we invariably encountered one or more dead people. Understand, it was never our fault, but unnerving, to say the least.

  Back in college, Penny Sue always said we were women cut from the same cloth. Same cloth, ha! It had to be a patchwork quilt! Although most of my sorority sisters were pampered southern belles, my family was a hundred percent middle class. And our looks were just as diverse. Penny Sue was tall, pudgy, with streaked brown hair and decided kewpie doll tendencies in makeup and dress. Expensive, almost haute couture, yet kewpie doll, nonetheless. In college she had an hourglass figure that attracted men like ants to honey, but she had put on a few pounds over the years so the bottom of the hourglass was now larger than the slightly drooping top.

  Ruthie hadn't changed a bit. She was shorter than we were, about five six, and disgustingly slim. A typical strawberry blonde, fair and freckled, she favored clothes with tailored, simple lines--the ones that were so minimal they shouted, "mega-bucks!"

  On the other hand I was middle-of-the-road. I was tall like Penny Sue, though a little slimmer, and my shoulder-length brown hair was darker than hers by a couple of shades. I bought my clothes on sale at Dillards and Talbots favoring elastic waists and comfort whenever possible. When I did dress up, I opted for tailored suits and dresses that didn't shout anything. Rather, they spoke in a normal voice.

  I glanced at Penny Sue as she popped the cork on the bottle of wine. The way she was slugging down wine, you'd think she'd been through a horrible ordeal. I loved working at the library and was very grateful to land a position there after budget cuts eliminated my job at the Marine Conservation Center. The
people were nice, and I would be eligible for health insurance and a retirement plan.

  One day volunteering at the library and Penny Sue was already complaining. Heck, she'd spent most of the day in training. Thank the Lord I didn't have to train her. Guthrie Fribble, our neighbor and library volunteer, was given that honor. Being spacey most of the time, Guthrie was probably the only person on the planet who could stand eight straight hours of Penny Sue. As a newly hired Library Aid assigned to checkout and shelving books, I caught sight of them several times during the day. Penny Sue's expression was extreme boredom; Guthrie's was full of enthusiasm and glee. Glee for sorting books, you wonder? Well, you have to know him. An old hippie in his fifties, Guthrie's sunny disposition could have something to do with overindulging in herbs and pharmaceuticals in his Woodstock days. Even his name, Guthrie, was a moniker that stuck from his love for Arlo Guthrie and the movie Alice's Restaurant.

  Penny Sue's day actually was a big deal, because it was the longest she'd ever worked in her life. Until recently she'd been a very wealthy woman, mostly due to the settlement she received from Sydney, her second husband, who turned out to be bisexual. Judge Parker took Sydney's aberrant (the Judge's word) sexual preference as a personal affront and went for the jugular. Poor Sydney paid dearly for that parting. Sadly, Penny Sue ignored her father's investment advice about diversification and not putting all of one's eggs in the same basket. Like other wealthy people, she fell for the Madoff scam, investing and losing most of her fortune. She was dumb and trusting, just like I was with my divorce settlement. My ex-husband, Zack, was a partner at Parker, Hanson and Swindal, the Judge's prestigious Atlanta law firm. Swindal, the name fit Zack to a tee. I'd be living in a tent if Judge Daddy hadn't stepped in to help. And Madoff's name, pronounced made-off, should have been a clue to that sleazeball's intentions. Maybe there was something to karma, vibrations, and the Law of Attraction as Ruthie, our New Age expert, claimed.

  Back to Penny Sue's plight. Fed up with her three marriages and numerous escapades, Judge Parker finally had enough. He refused to help her unless she sold her stately Roswell, Georgia home that overlooked a lake, and turned over a new leaf. He offered to let her live in his New Smyrna Beach condo rent-free, provided she went to work. Getting a job in the middle of a recession presented a problem for a woman whose only skill was throwing parties, and she had contracted most of those out.

  Guthrie and I convinced her to volunteer at the library, with the hope it might work into a paying job with benefits one day. At least it would give her something other than marriages, divorces, and parties to put on her resumé. So, Penny Sue was living in the other half of our beachfront duplex and working with me at the library. Whoopee! Don't get me wrong, I love Penny Sue, but her presence invariably means trouble.

  "Who wants wine?" Penny Sue called. "It's warm, so you'll have to use some ice."

  Ruthie and I signaled that we did. One more glass of wine would, hopefully, give Penny Sue time to process her day, and she'd go home to her side of the duplex where her houseguest, Cousin Kevin, likely waited.

  I pulled out real wine glasses that Penny Sue stuffed with ice. Ruthie sauntered to the counter that partitioned the kitchen off from the dining area and great room. "So you had a bad day?" she asked Penny Sue.

  Penny Sue filled her glass, took a sip, then poured ours and passed them around. "Remind me never to wear heels to work again."

  I rolled my eyes. "Penny Sue, why would you wear $800 pumps to work? Didn't you know you'd be on your feet all day?"

  "I wanted to make a good impression. You know Daddy says I have to get a real job."

  I shook my head. "This is the beach; people dress casually. The Dior suit with those fancy shoes made you stick out like a peacock in a flock of crows."

  "Hey, there were some other well-dressed women in the library."

  "That was the New Smyrna Ladies' Investment Club. They meet at the library every week. They're all skinny and dressed to kill, but you outdid them."

  "And I was wearing an old outfit." Penny Sue arched a brow and grinned smugly. "Guthrie loved it."

  "Of course," I said. "Guthrie's gay. He appreciates quality and probably wished he had your shoes. I think his feet are about your size." I backed up out of her poke range and did my best to keep a straight face.

  "Tacky! You are just tacky. Besides, you know Guthrie prefers jeans and tee shirts." Penny Sue tossed her hair that was down to only two colors now that she was pinching pennies. No more $300 multi-color highlight jobs. "He said I really classed up the place."

  I glanced down at my black slacks and tailored cotton shirt. Perhaps I should spiff up a little if I wanted a promotion.

  "In fact," Penny Sue went on, "a man reading magazines couldn't take his eyes off me."

  "The man with curly brown hair and a navy striped shirt?" I asked.

  "Yes." Her bottom lip inched forward, a sure sign Penny Sue was peeved by my question. "Why do you ask? Do you know him?"

  "He comes to the library all the time. We suspect he's homeless, a pedophile, or a man on the prowl the way he gawks at the investment club ladies. He was probably surprised to see someone dressed better than the other women. Or, he could have been watching Guthrie."

  Penny Sue's eyes narrowed and her lips pursed to a full pout. Thankfully Ruthie, our resident peacemaker, interrupted. "Shouldn't we invite Kevin to join us? He worked all day on his debate and is probably ready for a break. I spoke with him earlier and he seemed upset. Maybe his presentation isn't going well."

  "Sure, give him a call." I winked at Penny Sue.

  Ruthie had been staying with me for the last several months since her elderly father passed away. He left her millions, not counting the mansion in the elite Buckhead section of Atlanta. Alone and grieving, Ruthie moved in with me. She was massively depressed for weeks but she perked up with the arrival of Kevin Harrington, Penny Sue's first cousin. Kevin was in town for the New Smyrna Beach Founders' Day celebration, which included a scholarly debate at the library on whether New Smyrna Beach or St. Augustine was the oldest city in North America. In sharp contrast to his rambunctious cousin, Kevin was a soft-spoken, serious historian on sabbatical from Columbia University. He was also exactly the right person to draw Ruthie out of mourning. Penny Sue and I were thrilled to see Ruthie smile after his arrival, a first since her father's death. She'd even begun venturing out of the condo alone.

  "They'd be a perfect--" Penny Sue stopped suddenly as Ruthie returned with a wide grin.

  "He'll be over directly. Guthrie's with him."

  "No-o," Penny Sue moaned as she thunked her forehead on the kitchen cabinet. "How did he get into this? Eight hours of Guthrie is all I can take."

  "There was something about a female acquaintance from Kevin's days at Yale--" Ruthie started but didn't have time to finish. Guthrie came barreling down the hall with Kevin trailing behind.

  "Man, do we need a drink. Glad you called so we could get rid of her. That lady was a real bitch! Snappy doesn't begin to describe her. Maybe it's because she's quitting smoking; I saw one of those patches on her shoulder. Whatever it was, she makes my crazy Aunt Harriet look good." Guthrie hopped on a stool in his usual place at the corner of the L- shaped counter. "Got a scotch?"

  "Sure. What can I get you?" I asked Kevin.

  "Man, he probably wants a gun," Guthrie said. "Hide the weapons and ammunition."

  Kevin answered quietly, "Wine would be fine."

  As I fixed the drinks and pulled out some cheese and crackers, Penny Sue went for the details. "What woman? What's going on?"

  "Her name's Abby and she's, like, a witch--"

  Ruthie turned on Guthrie with uncharacteristic forcefulness. "Hush! Let Kevin tell the story."

  Kevin sighed and took a sip of his drink, eyes downcast. "The woman is Dr. Abigail Johnston. She dropped by to inform me that she's representing St. Augustine in the debate tomorrow night at the library."

  "I thought you were debating your ol
d friend Dr. Willows, who teaches at Deland University. He's the one who wrote a book about Central Florida," Penny Sue said.

  Kevin stared in his glass uncomfortably. "I thought that too. It seems Willows changed his mind and invited Abby to take his place. Willows is going to moderate."

  "Why is that a problem?" Ruthie asked.

  Kevin took a seat at the counter, eyes still lowered.

  "Because the lady's a bitchy witch," Guthrie blurted. "She had this, like, evil smirk when she told Kevin she was taking Willows' place. And she sneered that she looked forward to," Guthrie rolled his eyes, "taking Kevin to task." Guthrie gulped his scotch. "I think she's been stalking us." He turned to Penny Sue. "Remember the lady in the Books For Sale room? The one with blonde hair and a black outfit? That's her! She was in there for hours. Man, like, who would spend hours in a used book room? I'll bet she was watching us. She most likely knew you were Kevin's cousin. I think she's a black widow," Guthrie exclaimed with full drama. "You know, the kind of woman who lures men in, then slits their throats."

  Penny Sue scowled at Guthrie. "Your imagination is running wild. But, I do remember her. She was wearing a good looking pants suit that caught my eye."

  "Wait." I held up my hands. "She purchased a book from me, a really old book about the history of Florida. In fact, I thought it might be one from the rare books section that accidentally wound up in the sale room. I consulted a reference librarian before I sold it. Turns out it was donated to the library and not part of our collection. Abby only paid five dollars."