Murder in the Stacks (A DAFFODILS Mystery) Page 3

  They didn't arrive a moment too soon. An older woman with tight, pink curls had just swung her purse and whacked a young lady sporting a large New Smyrna Beach First! button upside the head. New Smyrna First! retaliated with a roundhouse blow from her oversized handbag that knocked the old lady on her keester. The old lady's nose-pierced daughter lunged at her mother's assailant, grabbing New Smyrna First! by the hair and slinging her into an elderly group in the next row. An aristocratic woman was floored.

  The cameras rotated for a closeup.

  "Grab patience and might!" Mrs. Aristocrat shouted as her husband helped her up.

  "Grab my ass! Might this!" Nose-Ring screeched, and snatched Aristocrat by her perfectly styled hair. The perfect style came off in Nose-Ring's hand. Flabbergasted, Nose-Ring flung the wig over her shoulder as if it were a dead rat. The hairpiece came flying back, skimmed the top of Nose-Ring's head and landed in Mr. Aristocrat's chair. The TV cameras focused in on a closeup as Mrs. Aristocrat dropped to her knees, hastily trying to reposition the wig. Then Mr. Aristocrat completely lost it and smacked Nose-Ring in the gut with his cane. Yet the crowning blow, literally, came when someone lobbed an open water bottle that hit Kevin squarely in the face. The plastic bottle splashed on a cameraman who shielded his recorder and made a hasty retreat.

  That's when the deputies rushed in to separate the troublemakers. Terry, the Branch Librarian, was fortunately very nimble. She dodged a soda can, announced that the debate was over, and thanked everyone for their enthusiastic participation. She then ducked and ran out the back door.

  Penny Sue, eyes blazing with her kung fu don't-mess-with-me expression, raced to the panel and ushered Kevin out of the auditorium. Hunched low in case there were other projectiles, Ruthie and I herded Abby and Willows out of the room, with Guthrie close on our heels.

  "Kevin, are you all right?" Guthrie asked. "Man, those people are vicious! They should be, like, shot or put in jail!"

  "You're going to have a big bruise," Penny Sue said, ignoring Guthrie and stroking Kevin's forehead tenderly.

  "I'm so sorry," Terry said. "I never expected a historical debate to inspire such rage."

  "Money," I replied. "There's big money at stake with tourism and real estate values."

  "Yes, but this is a library!"

  "Money trumps everything," I said, turning my attention to Willows and Abby. Willows didn't appear to be overly troubled by the brawl except for the fact that his comb-over hairdo was askew, but Abby was sweating like a whore in church.

  "That bottle may have been intended for you," Ruthie told Abby. "You're lucky you didn't get popped in the face, the way Willows was stirring up the crowd. After all, most of the audience was probably from New Smyrna."

  Abby regarded Willows suspiciously and stepped aside.

  "I didn't do anything wrong," Willows retorted with a palms up. "I was merely trying to spur the debate."

  "You certainly did that," Penny Sue said. "You incited a riot." She stepped within inches of his face. Given her height in three-inch heels, she looked down her nose at his thinning hair. "Do you have investments in St. Augustine or something? Your moderating sure didn't seem impartial to me." Willows backed up. Penny Sue's kung fu mode was very intimidating.

  "I'm horrified you'd suggest such a thing," Willows objected. "I was absolutely impartial. I had nothing to do with that mêlée."

  "Yeah, right," Penny Sue said, eyes narrowed.

  Abby, looking flushed, asked directions to a bathroom.

  "Here, I'll take you." Terry grasped Abby's elbow. They headed to the children's department since attendees were still being ushered out of the building under Deputy Heather's watchful eye.

  Terry returned shortly. "I believe Abby is more upset than she let on. She was rubbing her chest and breathing heavily when she went into the bathroom. I suspect she's having an anxiety attack and needs some alone time to collect herself."

  Collect herself or sneak a swig of Jack Black? I thought.

  Terry turned to Penny Sue, Guthrie, and me. "I anticipated the debate would go late, so I gave the cleaning crew the night off. I sure didn't expect the audience to start throwing things! There's a needlepoint meeting scheduled first thing tomorrow morning. Could you meet me here at eight-thirty to pick up the trash? I hate to impose, but don't want to call the regular staff this late at night. I don't know about you, but I'm too tired to deal with it now."

  "Of course, we'd be happy to help," Penny Sue answered in the gushy drawl she usually reserved for wealthy men.

  "Thanks, I really appreciate it. I have to close up the back office now. When the audience clears, you're all free to leave. I'll turn off the lights and lock up."

  "They can't clear out fast enough for me," Penny Sue said after Terry left. "I need a great big glass of Chardonnay."

  Chapter 3

  It was unusually cold for Florida and New Smyrna Beach--mid-40s. Such temperatures were virtually unheard of in October, a once-in-a-decade occurrence. Guthrie, Penny Sue, and I arrived at the library simultaneously and parked our vehicles side by side waiting for Terry to show up. Guthrie was in his Lemon-Aid VW bus that was outfitted to fix old (lemon) computers, while Penny Sue and I were in my new VW Beetle. Both vehicles' heaters were running full blast since none of us had wardrobes for such chilly weather.

  Guthrie opened his window and motioned at Penny Sue. She cracked her window enough to hear him.

  "How long is this weather going to last?" Guthrie asked.

  Penny Sue zipped her sweater to her throat and answered through the small space at the top of the glass. "Ruthie says it should pass in a day or two." Ruthie was our news junkie and Weather Channel expert who put her heartless cardiologist ex-husband through med school while working as a librarian. I suppose that's where she developed a passion for information. Given half a chance, Ruthie would watch cable news shows and read newspapers all day long. "One must be informed," was one of her favorite adages. Yet, deep down, I wondered if her obsession with staying on top of everything didn't come from being blindsided by her cheating husband.

  "Bummer!" Guthrie rolled up his window.

  Penny Sue hit the window's switch and shut hers, too. "Bummer is right. It never gets this cold in Florida. Our power went off last night. Did yours? I thought I'd freeze my butt off. I almost had a heart attack when I took a shower. The water was frigid!" She pulled down the visor and checked her lipstick. "I didn't bring clothes for this kind of weather. Did you?"

  "I thought I was finished with winter, so I gave most of my warm clothes away when I moved down from Atlanta. I have two jackets--the one I have on and one I lent to Ruthie. Sorry."

  "Never mind, I'll go shopping later. Your jackets wouldn't fit me, anyway." God's truth. If Penny Sue could get her arm in the sleeve, she surely couldn't button my jacket over her boobs. She'd always been buxom, but her perimenopausal weight gain added a few inches everywhere. Penny Sue flashed a smile at Guthrie, who was blowing on his hands. His old bus' heater was obviously not in tune with the times or temperature. "This being poor is awful!" Penny Sue groused. "I would normally call my housekeeper and have my cashmere coats shipped down. But I don't have a housekeeper anymore and, God willing, won't have a house either. I can't believe Daddy is putting me through this. He said I was muleheaded. Can you believe that? Muleheaded!"

  I clamped my lips shut. Tar Baby was not going to say a word. I was not going to mention all of Penny Sue's husbands, messy divorces, excesses, and escapades that pushed Daddy to the brink. Penny Sue's investment and loss to Madoff was merely the icing on the cake. Judge Daddy told her not to do it, and she did it anyway. He was majorly annoyed. Fortunately, Terry pulled up beside us, giving me an excuse to ignore Penny Sue's question. I buttoned my jacket, hooked my pocketbook on my arm, and got out of the car. Penny Sue raced for the front door, beating Terry. Guthrie followed, hopping and flapping his arms like a spastic chicken. I arrived at the moment the doors slid apart and rushed into the foyer. Balancing
a donut box in one hand, Terry was already keying in another alarm code and unlocking the glass doors to the library proper. Glorious heat bathed us as the doors opened.

  Terry checked her watch. "We don't have much time," she said, putting the box on the counter and shrugging out of her coat. "Let's stage the auditorium for the needlepoint group. Then we'll make a pot of coffee and have a donut."

  "Excellent plan," Guthrie replied, eyeing the box.

  Whether spurred on by the donuts, a sense of duty, or need to warm up, we all rushed through the children's department to the auditorium. To say the room was a mess was an understatement. The initially neat rows of chairs were in complete disarray, with some overturned, attesting to the quick departure of patrons once the fights broke out and the law arrived. As if that wasn't enough, soda bottles, cans, crumpled programs and candy wrappers were strewn everywhere.

  "Man, these people were, like, old-time Woodstock slobs!"

  Terry and I stared at Guthrie. Little did he know what we routinely discovered in the book return bin! A few cans and wrappers were nothing in comparison to the baby poop, upchuck, and dead animals that sometimes accompanied book returns, particularly the ones that were long overdue and subject to hefty fines. Guthrie didn't know about that mess, because assigning a volunteer to book return duty invariably meant one less volunteer. Only paid employees with health insurance and retirement benefits at stake would put up with that horror.

  "A donut's calling my name," Penny Sue said. "Let's get to work."

  The motivational power of donuts is amazing. In less than 30 minutes we'd clamped shut the partition between the two halves of the auditorium, rearranged the chairs, and disposed of the garbage. The peace loving needlepoint club would never know there'd been a brawl the night before, unless they'd been there.

  Terry went ahead to start the coffee. We quickstepped to the donuts, congratulating ourselves on our amazing coordination and industriousness. Guthrie reached the box first and opened the lid. His eyes went wide and his lips formed, "wow."

  "Well, what's in there?" Penny Sue said. "Any Boston cream puffs?"

  Guthrie's eyes went wider still, and he pointed a shaky finger across the open box top.

  "Don't point at me. That's rude," Penny Sue admonished and grabbed at the box. He didn't let go. "Quit being selfish," she snapped. "Let me see."

  "Bo-bo-bod," Guthrie stammered.

  "Look, if there's only one Boston cream, I have dibs on it. I asked first," Penny Sue said.

  He shook his tousled hair, still pointing. "Bod-dy," he finally managed.

  Penny Sue was the first to follow his finger. "Oh, shit!" she screamed and ran down an aisle toward a pile of books. Guthrie ditched the donuts on the counter, and we followed Penny Sue into the stacks. Penny Sue was tossing books off of a woman's body, a couple of hardbacks almost nailing Guthrie and me.

  "Heavens, it's Abby!" Penny Sue screeched. "Call 9-1-1."

  Guthrie froze in place and screamed like a girl. I dashed to the checkout counter and snatched the cell phone from my purse. As I called 9-1-1, Penny Sue cleared the books from Abby, stretched her out on the floor, and began administering CPR.

  "What in the world?" Terry started, then quickly assessing the situation, hotfooted back to her office. She returned with paddles and a portable heart defibrillator. Terry nudged Penny Sue aside and flipped the switch to the machine. "Clear," she shouted, slapping the flat paddles on Abby's chest. Abby's body arched upward as the current surged. Guthrie swung around and threw up.

  Great, another Ruthie, I thought, remembering she had the same reaction to all of the bodies we'd encountered in the past. It wasn't that many, only four or five, but Ruthie threw up almost every time.

  "Clear," Terry screeched again, adjusting a dial. Abby's body jumped even higher this time, but she didn't start breathing and her fingertips were blue. "Mouth-to-mouth," Terry screamed, bending forward.

  "My technique is better," Penny Sue hollered, shoving Terry aside. Penny Sue began pressing Abby's chest. "1-2-3," she counted. "... 20-21-22," she continued. As Penny Sue pumped furiously, I assured Terry that Penny Sue knew what she was doing. She'd taken terrorist avoidance classes on account of Judge Daddy's constant threats from all of the nefarious characters he'd locked up. Meanwhile, the regular staff arrived and formed a circle around us, careful to avoid the pool of Guthrie's breakfast.

  I forced myself to inspect the body. I'd done a stint as a candy striper in high school, back when I wanted to be a doctor, and had picked up a few things in the process. The bluish hue of Abby's fingertips was a sure sign that she was beyond help. Her right hand was clenched tightly as if she'd been holding something. Weird. I thought rigor mortis progressed from the head down.

  "Out of the way!" Guthrie shrieked like a demon when the EMT squad arrived. Pushing people aside, he cleared a path for the paramedics and gurney.

  Penny Sue was oblivious to it all. She kept pumping. "80-81-82."

  "Penny Sue, it's time to stop. She's gone. Abby's hands are blue," I said

  A medic knelt beside Penny Sue and tried to take command. She elbowed him in the stomach, tears coursing down her cheeks. "No! I'm not losing another one!"

  Another one! Penny Sue was reliving her efforts to revive our neighbor during the 2004 hurricanes when Charlie, Frances, and Jeanne cut a path through Florida. All of her recent traumas had apparently fused into this one moment. The medic attempted to take over again, and Penny Sue belted him in the face. I grabbed her arm before she could deliver a karate chop. "Penny Sue, this is not your fault. This is not Clyde Holden."

  She collapsed in my arms and bawled like a baby. "I tried," she wailed. "Tell Daddy I tried."

  I inched her away so the medics could do their thing. Guthrie snuggled against us and cried, too. Geez, two of them! As the paramedics huddled around Abby, I kept moving backward, dragging Penny Sue and Guthrie into the haphazard mound of books. Finally, we were up against the stacks and could move no further, but it gave the EMTs enough room. It didn't take long. The first EMT on the scene stood and shook his head. "Call for a medical examiner," he instructed his partner, who manned the gurney.

  As I clutched Penny Sue and Guthrie on each side, both sobbing at the mention of the medical examiner, Terry's face appeared within inches of mine.

  "I thought Abby left with your group!"

  I shook my head meekly. "No, we went before she came back from the bathroom. We debated checking on Abby, but we thought it might upset her even more if she was really having an anxiety attack. We felt sure she'd be out before you closed up. We left as soon as the crowd did."

  Terry dropped to her knees. "It's my fault. I locked her in!"

  "No, it's not your fault. Abby wasn't feeling well when you escorted her to the bathroom. You saw her rub her chest. She must have noticed when you turned off the lights and started to close up."

  Terry rocked back on her heels. "The lights in the bathroom would have gone off. Only the night lights and exit signs would have been on."

  "So, she had time to call out, right?"

  Terry paused, thinking. "Yes, I would have heard her shout."

  "And Abby wasn't incapacitated, because she made it from the bathroom to this place."

  Terry perked up slightly. "That's right. It's a fair trek from the children's department to this stack. She couldn't have been deathly ill, at least not at that point."

  Guthrie swiped at his eyes. "She had a cell phone, I saw her use it when she came in from the parking lot. Why didn't she call for help? There's not a scrambler in this building, is there?"

  Terry shook her head. "No. Besides, she could have used the landline telephones. They were all working."

  Penny Sue brushed tears from her cheeks. "Then why did she stay in the library and come here?"

  Terry had just given Penny Sue, Guthrie, and me permission to take the rest of the day off when Robert "Woody" Woodhead, the local prosecutor, or persecutor as we called him, strode down the aisl
e flanked by a uniformed police officer and a suit--a New York detective transplant we'd encountered on an earlier visit. The paramedic shook his head at Woody, who turned to the crowd and announced loudly, "We need to clear the building. Please take your belongings and proceed to the front door." Woody signaled the uniformed officer, who stationed himself at the exit and inspected each person's belongings as they filed out. I assumed he was trying to ensure that no one made off with evidence. Meanwhile, Terry and the detective started a room-by-room search.

  Guthrie, Penny Sue, and I struggled to our feet. I gave Woody a feeble smile. He just stared at us, shaking his head. It was hard to tell if his expression was one of disgust or disbelief. I hoped it was disbelief, because I thought we'd mended our fences and finally gotten Woody off our backs when we agreed not to press assault charges against his demented mother for pelting us with eggs. Woody the Worm had even brought us flowers as a peace offering. Yet the expression on his face told me the flowers had been an empty gesture.

  Penny Sue, Woody, and I went back to college days, when Penny Sue dated him a few times during a visit some of our sorority sisters made to her father's beach condo. Everything was fine until my ex-husband Zack, then Penny Sue's boyfriend, showed up unexpectedly. Woody and Zack had words that escalated into a fistfight. Because of the unpleasant situation, Penny Sue dumped them both and eventually took up with her first husband, Andy Walters, who was the amiable, if dumb, captain of the football team. Because of a grudge over the unpleasantness and some other stuff, Woody had made our lives a living hell on two of our last three visits. The third visit, during the 2004 hurricanes, wasn't much better initially, but ended on a positive note. Heck, I hadn't seen Woody since then, and judging from the look on his face, I wasn't thrilled to see him now.