Murder in the Stacks (A DAFFODILS Mystery) Page 2

  "Ha! She probably, like, ripped off the spine label and penciled in a price on the book. I'll bet it's a limited edition, million dollar book, and she got it for five bucks!"

  "Guthrie, you're getting ahead of yourself," Kevin objected.

  "What's new?" Penny Sue muttered as she stuffed a cracker in her mouth.

  "Forget the book. Abby and I used to live together," Kevin said.

  Our mouths dropped as one, except Penny Sue, who sputtered her cracker. "Sorry," she mumbled, snatching a sponge and wiping crumbs from the counter. "You lived together? When?"

  "In graduate school at Yale. That's how Willows, Abby, and I know each other. We were all working on our Ph.D.'s at the same time. Abby and I fell in love, or so I thought, when we were researching Spanish Florida and Ponce de Leon. Shortly after we received our degrees, she up and left, taking our research with her."

  "Man, I knew she was a black widow."

  Ruthie poked Guthrie's arm. "Shh, let Kevin finish."

  "Wait a minute." Penny Sue stared at Ruthie. "And don't poke me! He's my cousin and I'm allowed to ask a question." Then to Kevin, "She stole your research? Why didn't you sue or something? Your mother would faint if she knew you took that lying down."

  Kevin shrugged. "Mom knew and wanted me to sue. But I was young and truly loved Abby. At first I was in shock and deep depression. By the time I snapped out of it, she'd published her Register Award-winning history of St. Augustine, which incorporated much of our work. If I had said anything then, it would have looked like sour grapes and possibly damaged my career."

  "She stole it from you!" Ruthie said.

  "Yes, but proving it would be hard. We did the research together. It was a joint effort. Separating out who did what would be close to impossible, so I decided to let it slide."

  Guthrie drained his glass and plunked it down on the counter. "Good for you, man. Like Hugh Prather says, 'Peace of mind is more important than diarrhea.'"

  Penny Sue gave Guthrie a sour look. "I've had a tiresome day. Can we please stay away from bowel movements? My head is full of library and Dewey decimals; I can't take New Age philosophy right now."

  "Did Willows know the details of your split with Abby?" I asked. For Dr. Willows to spring something like this on Kevin at the last minute seemed awfully convenient, or rather inconvenient, to me. In fact, it was downright hateful. I thought he and Willows were friends, yet this was not the way a man would treat his buddy.

  "Yes, Willows knew. The three of us socialized quite a bit." Kevin raked his fingers through his thick salt and pepper hair. "In fact, I've often wondered if Willows had something to do with Abby walking out on me. I suspected Willows had a crush on Abby, considering the way he seemed to show up wherever we went."

  "Jealousy. Maybe he's harbored a grudge about your relationship with Abby all of these years and is trying to get even," Ruthie said.

  Kevin went back to studying his wine with a hangdog look. "Or discredit me because I interviewed for the chairmanship of Deland University's History Department. I'm sure Willows is my major competitor for the position, and there's no one who knows my findings on New Smyrna's history better than Abby. If Willows wanted to make me look like a fool, Abby's the best person to enlist."

  "That's why she came over here acting so high and mighty," Guthrie said. "She's in cahoots with Willows and trying to psyche you out!"

  Kevin stared at Guthrie for several beats. "You might be right."

  Chapter 2

  An extensive schedule of Founders' Day Celebrations preceded the library debate over which city was discovered first, New Smyrna or St. Augustine. The historical consensus said St. Augustine was first, founded by the Spanish in 1565. New Smyrna's founding was attributed to a Brit--actually a Scotsman--Dr. Andrew Turnbull, in 1768.

  Leading the single largest attempt by the British to establish a colony in the New World, Turnbull recruited some fifteen hundred indentured servants from the Mediterranean isle of Minorca to make the voyage to Florida. Unfortunately, Turnbull and his thug overseers were mean, rotten managers. That, plus Indian attacks and a food shortage, eventually led the workers to revolt and march seventy miles north to St. Augustine, where they sought refuge.

  Although the national flag that flew over St. Augustine changed from Spanish to British, to Spanish, to the United States, to the Confederacy, and finally back to the United States, the true paradox of the whole mess was that the descendants of the Minorcans, a large portion of Turnbull's New Smyrna colony, made up the venerable families of St. Augustine today. Therefore, as television and newspaper reporters often pointed out, in a sense, New Smyrna was the backbone of present day St. Augustine. Naturally, that notion fueled the competition and newspapers in both cities were flooded with editorials criticizing the scholars and the debate. Dissension even erupted between the Minorcans and other factions within St. Augustine.

  The debate was a good idea gone bad. A genteel, scholarly discourse had the potential of turning into a slugfest. The police and press established a presence in the library's parking lot hours before the event was scheduled to begin. Word of the satellite trucks and cameras spread like wildfire, meaning additional people from all camps suddenly decided to attend with the hopes of getting on TV.

  I worked at the library that day, but planned to take off early in order to change clothes for the event. Like many modern libraries, the building was a sprawling, one story structure. The main entrance faced the parking lot and was comprised of automatic, sliding glass doors that opened onto a foyer and hallway leading to the auditorium and lavatories. The library proper was behind another set of glass doors that could be locked and were flanked by metal detectors. The layout was designed to allow meetings in the auditorium after regular library hours. Considering the crowd massing in the parking lot, it was a good thing the library could be locked down, at least providing the participants a quiet place to wait for the big show. The plan was to bring Kevin and the others into the main library through a side door hidden by a high plastic fence. The fence enclosed a picnic table used by the staff for breaks and lunches on pleasant days.

  As the day wore on and the parking lot continued to fill, the Branch Librarian, Terry, told me to go home before lunch. When I showed up at the condo about noon, my news about the TV satellite trucks sent Penny Sue and Ruthie into a clothes frenzy. Actually, I was in a slight panic myself. The drab cotton slacks and tailored blouse were no longer appropriate. We decided not to say anything to Kevin or Guthrie about all of the hoopla, figuring Kevin might get nervous and Guthrie would surely tell Kevin.

  We drove two cars to the library. Penny Sue and Kevin went in Ruthie's Jaguar while Guthrie rode with me. We parked in a gymnasium parking lot next door, at the direction of police, and Ruthie and I spirited Kevin to the side door of the library where I punched in the security code.

  Guthrie and Penny Sue went in the front door, since they were scheduled to staff the library's entrance, passing out programs and directing guests to the auditorium that had been expanded to its full capacity. The anticipated crowd of scholars and government officials did turn out, especially groups from St. Augustine. The mere suggestion that New Smyrna was founded before St. Augustine caused blood pressures to soar and fingernails to curve into claws. Big bucks were at stake since an entire tourist industry was built on the premise that St. Augustine was the Ancient City.

  Not to be outdone, the New Smyrna Chamber of Commerce, Ladies' Investment Club, and Association of Realtors organized a sizeable contingency of their own. This was economic war, and New Smyrna was not going to be outdone by a bunch of over-advertised promoters and a city with half its population, who barely counted as Floridians given their close proximity to the Georgia state line! Substantial bets had been placed on the outcome of the debate fueled by all the news coverage, giving the affair the feel of a horse race.

  Everyone was dressed in their finest for the benefit of local TV. Penny Sue wore a three-year-old (unbelievable by her p
revious standards) jersey Chanel dress with a front slit up to her hoo-ha. The outfit would have been obscene except that she had the good sense to wear opaque tights. That was the extent of the Derby ambiance at the front door. Guthrie was dressed in his usual evening attire--an ancient madras shirt, wrinkled khaki slacks, and a skinny striped tie that may have served as a bungee cord from time to time. Penny Sue could barely contain her disdain for his outfit, giving him disgusted looks between her Southern sugary greetings.

  In truth, Guthrie's outfit didn't really matter, since few guests even noticed it. To a person, they snatched a program, immediately flipped to Kevin's and Abigail's biographies, and studied their credentials like a racing form. Many additional bets were placed before attendees reached the auditorium.

  Inside the library proper, Ruthie and I were also dressed in our best. Ruthie wore a classic Dolce & Gabbana square-necked shift with a pale pink shawl. My finest was a black pants suit I'd purchased at Talbots for half price. Ruthie tagged along to give Kevin moral support. We made small talk for several minutes, wondering if Willows and Abby were going to show up, when Guthrie banged on the glass doors that separated the main library from the packed foyer. Willows, Abby, and a tall, distinguished gray-haired man were squeezing through the horde behind Guthrie. The tall gentleman had his arm firmly around Abby's back and shoulder as he cleared a path; otherwise, the petite lady would have been crushed. I raced to the glass doors and punched the button to open them. Willows and Abby slid through.

  "What a mob!" Abby said breathlessly as she smoothed her sleeveless silk sheath.

  "It sure is." Willows was grinning from ear to ear.

  "Didn't you get the message about entering through the side door?" I asked.

  "Yes, but I ran into my old friend Peter O'Brien in the parking lot, so we accompanied him to the front door," Willows replied. "I wasn't expecting such a big crowd."

  "Well, no harm done." I led them to a table next to the children's department that had been set up for their use before the debate. Each scholar lugged a laptop as well as assorted books and notes that they gladly dumped on the table. They took seats in upholstered chairs that had a good view of the front door. Willows stretched out lazily with a satisfied grin, watching the incoming crowd. Kevin had already powered up his computer and was reviewing his notes. Abby frantically dug in her purse and finally came up with a small leather-clad flask. She smiled.

  "My throat is parched," she said hoarsely. "I could use a nip to settle my nerves. Is there a water fountain with cups around here?"

  "There's one around the corner," I replied, hooking my thumb toward the children's area.

  "I'll get you a cup," Kevin said with a chuckle. "I see you still need a little Jack Black courage before a performance."

  Abby smiled wryly as she half-filled the small paper cup Kevin retrieved. She chugged the liquor. "Thank you. Would you like some?" She tipped the flask toward us. Everyone declined. "Come on, Kevin. You don't want a sip for old times sake?" Abby cooed.

  He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I've gone beyond those days." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small container of breath strips. "Maybe you should take one of these, Abby. That stuff reeks to high heaven."

  She ran her fingertips down his forearm before sliding two strips from the container. "God, Kevin, you've really stiffened up with age."

  "No, I grew up," he countered, and stuffed the small plastic container in his pocket.

  Ruthie was clearly not happy with Abby's flirtation. Normally filled with peace and love, Ruthie's lips drew tighter and tighter until they all but disappeared. Uh oh, a fight was in the making. The liquor sure hit Abby fast! Or maybe she'd had a drink earlier, I thought. Whatever the reason, Abby's antics had certainly rubbed Ruthie the wrong way. I needed to do something to diffuse the situation. "How rude of me," I blurted. "Can I get the rest of you something to drink before the debate starts? We have sodas and bottled water." Willows wanted a Coke while Kevin asked for bottled water and directions to the men's room.

  I sent Kevin to the children's department bathroom so he could avoid the crowd in the hall. "I could use a soda myself. Ruthie, would you help me carry the drinks?" I asked, anxious to put some distance between the two women.

  "Sure," Ruthie snapped, giving Abby a stern look.

  We weren't gone very long but when we returned, Kevin was standing alone perusing the new books display.

  "What happened to your colleagues?" I asked.

  He nodded in the direction of the stacks to his left. "Seems they've found something interesting over there."

  Willows and Abby were literally nose-to-nose in deep discussion. In fact, their noses would have touched if not for the books Abby clasped tightly to her chest. She was clearly telling Willows something he didn't want to hear. A moment later, she turned on her heel and started to walk away. Willows, one hand in his pocket until then, reached out, grabbed her upper arm and swung her around to face him. It was then that he noticed us watching them. He flashed a weak grin, said something to Abby, perhaps an apology, and strode towards us. I glanced at the table and realized Abby had left her computer behind, but was carrying all of her books. Strange. Was she afraid one of us would steal them? Abby started after Willows but she caught her toe on the carpet and dropped several books. Willows kept walking and didn't look back. Abby gathered her literary cargo, then rushed to catch up.

  "Coke, just what I need," Willows said, pointedly avoiding my eyes and focusing on the horde milling in the foyer. "We have quite a crowd," he said with a wide grin. "It's not often that historians draw such an audience."

  "It's not often that so much money rides on historical facts," I retorted.

  Kevin's face twisted with confusion. "What do you mean, Leigh?"

  "If you're right about New Smyrna pre-dating St. Augustine, a lot of tourist money is at stake."

  "You're saying this quaint town could turn into a hectic tourist haven?" Kevin asked.

  Willows chuckled. "Of course. What did you think this was about?"

  "History!" Kevin said.

  At that moment Terry stuck her head through the back door of the auditorium. "Show time! The place is packed, standing room only."

  Kevin picked up his paraphernalia and clutched it tightly. He wore the expression of a man who suddenly realized he had no idea what he'd gotten into.

  Predictably, the debate was heated. Abby claimed Ponce de Leon landed in St. Augustine in 1513, pointedly referring to her research with Kevin at Yale. Kevin did his best to maintain scholarly decorum over hoots and murmurs from the St. Augustine contingent. He questioned the generally accepted idea that New Smyrna's famous ruins called the Sugar Mill had been used for industrial purposes. Why did the structure have the design of a Spanish mission, and how to explain the religious artifacts found nearby? Kevin also pointed out that noted archeologists speculated the mission was constructed on Columbus' second voyage.

  There was also the mystery of New Smyrna's Old Fort, covered by a mound of debris for most of its history. A restoration during the Depression unearthed the date 1513 carved on one of its massive coquina blocks. Who built it? Certainly not Ponce de Leon, even though the date coincided with his voyage. By all accounts, he didn't stay anywhere long enough to build such a substantial structure. Considering the style of its construction, Europeans had been in New Smyrna long before Ponce arrived. Who could it be? Columbus was a possibility, but the most likely explanation was Castilian slave traders who'd sailed northward from the Caribbean islands.

  "That's a bunch of hooey!" A shout came from a bald man wearing a shirt embroidered with the logo of a St. Augustine real estate firm.

  Kevin wiped his brow. "Actually, slave traders regularly raided the Bahamas as early as 1494. Considering the size of the islands, the native population could not have been very large. It's likely that able-bodied workers were quickly captured, forcing slave traders to sail north."

  "Yeah? Prove it!" the realtor yelled ba
ck.

  "Las Casas' History tells us that slave traders sailed northward from today's Dominican Republic in early 1511," Kevin responded. "New Smyrna could certainly have been their landfall, and that was probably not their only journey. It's possible traders first arrived much earlier and constructed the fort to store provisions and imprison the unwitting natives they captured. It doesn't take much imagination to see that the cubicles of what remains of the fort could have been holding cells. And, when one considers that newly quarried coquina must harden for one to three years before it can be used in construction, that puts landfall in 1511 or earlier."

  "Screw you and Las Casas!" The bald realtor flashed a rude hand gesture and the TV cameras turned in his direction. "That document could have been forged!" Peter O'Brien, the distinguished man who'd ushered Abby through the crowd, grabbed Baldy's arm and ushered him to the side of the room. Peter was obviously delivering a stern reprimand, but Baldy kept his mouth shut.

  The cameras swung back to the panel as Kevin delivered his most damaging evidence to rebut Abby's St. Augustine thesis--the fact that her various reconstructions of Ponce's voyage and landfall in St. Augustine did not account for Gulf Stream currents and recent discoveries about shifts in the magnetic North Pole. When that information was factored into readings from Ponce's voyage logs, it put old Ponce's actual stops in the area between Ormond Beach and New Smyrna.

  Abby viciously attacked the credentials of every study and academic Kevin quoted. At times she was so agitated, Abby slurred her words and mopped perspiration from her face. Willows did his best to provoke the controversy by lobbing sarcastic zingers, most of them aimed at Kevin, while mugging for the TV cameras. As the debate waged on, the audience's hoots, boos, and shouted questions ramped up.

  Unable to contain himself any longer, the bald realtor took a swing at O'Brien who'd tried to restrain him earlier and decked a New Smyrna commissioner in the process. That's when the Branch Librarian, who'd stationed herself by the door to the main library, sensed danger and called the Sheriff's Department on her cell phone. Two burly male officers and a tall female I recognized as Deputy Heather Brooks appeared within minutes.