“Good morning, Spence. Did you sleep well?” I infused as much Southern charm as I could manage via cell phone while sitting at my dining room table early the next morning.
“Good morning, Marvey. Indeed I did. How ’bout you?” Spence sounded like he’d been up for hours. Apparently, I needn’t have waited as long as I had before calling him.
I smiled in response to the humor lacing his words. I’d half expected him to ask after the welfare of my mama. That seemed to be a top priority question, at least here in Peach Coast. “Yes, I did. Thanks for asking.”
“Of course.” The pinging of metal tapping against porcelain sounded in the background. Like me, Spence must have been making his morning coffee. “As delighted as I am to hear your voice this morning, we just spoke last night.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to make a habit of this?” He chuckled. That was a good sign. It meant he wasn’t irritated. And he had a nice laugh.
“A habit of what?”
“Calling to wish me good night every night and good morning every morning. Not that I’m complaining. In fact, I could get used to it.”
Was he flirting with me? Whatever he was doing was making me tongue tied. A first.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, actually, I am. I thought that, if you aren’t able to have round-the-clock protection—”
“Marvey—”
“And I do understand the Camden County Sheriff’s Office doesn’t have those kinds of resources—”
“Marvey—”
“Then the least I could do as your friend is check in periodically. Say two or three times a day.”
“That’s a lot.”
“That way, I could know as soon as possible if the unthinkable happens.”
“Marvey?”
“Yes, Spence?”
“Please don’t do that.”
“With respect, Spence, I think it’s necessary.” A change of subject was in order. “Are you attending the library’s Big Book Swap today?”
“That depends.” His tone was dry. “Are you going to have me under surveillance?”
The thought had crossed my mind that it would be a lot easier to ensure his safety if he spent at least some time at the library. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep it to a visual surveillance. I won’t actually handcuff you to me.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” He laughed again. He really did have a great laugh.
I struggled against my fear for his safety. If anything happened to him, I would be devastated. I had to stop this serial killer before tragedy struck again.
But how?
“Your usual, Marvey?” Anna May’s comfortable welcome greeted me early Saturday morning.
“Yes, please, Anna May. And a slice of your delicious peach cobbler to go.” The tempting aromas of sweet pastries, warm breads, and strong coffee embraced me as I crossed to the front of the café. Along the way, I exchanged greetings with several familiar, friendly faces.
Most of the regulars expressed excitement for the library’s first-ever book swap. Several of them weren’t ready to part with their own books but were willing to spend a few dollars for gently used ones. With luck, a robust turnout for this event would convince the library’s board of directors to support the swap as an annual activity. It also would benefit Lonnie’s pet shop. Success was just around the corner. I could feel it. My blood pumped with exhilaration. I might not even need my usual small doctored café mocha.
Ha! Who was I kidding?
After exchanging pleasantries with Anna May, Dabney and Etta, I paid for my order and turned to leave. That’s when I noticed Trudie Trueman. She was sitting alone at a corner table for four near the front of the cafe. A white porcelain coffee mug was inches from her right hand. Dressed in a faded red V-neck T-shirt, she glared at a thin black notebook laying open on the table in front of her. Puddles of papers and manila folders surrounded her. It seemed like she’d been sitting there, swimming in aggravation for hours. Frustration rolled off her like waves. If anyone needed a hug, it was her. Besides, I wanted to check out Jo’s potential rival for Nolan’s affection.
“Excuse me, Ms. Trueman. I’m Marvella Harris, the library’s director of community outreach.”
Startled, she looked up. Confusion receded from her striking dark brown eyes and was replaced by recognition. Her frown melted into a warm smile. “I know who you are. Please call me Trudie. I enjoyed the kickoff.”
“I’m glad.” My heart warmed. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself that night.”
“There were a lot of people at the event.” She pulled her paperwork closer to clear a spot at her table. “Will you join me?”
I settled onto the seat across from her. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. You look very busy.”
She sent me a wry look. “You probably heard I inherited my family’s construction company.”
“Yes. My condolences on your father’s passing.”
“I appreciate that. I miss him and my mother very much. Before his death, I didn’t have any involvement in the business. I worked in administration for a health care provider.” She scrutinized the rivers of papers and folders. “I’m beginning to regret that. There’s a lot to learn.”
I grimaced, looking at the paperwork strewn across the table. “Do you have any siblings or other family members who could help you?”
“Nope. It’s just me, although Nolan’s been wonderful, explaining the accounting system and reviewing the ledgers with me.” She laid her palms flat on the piles of folders. “I spend every Saturday at this table. Somehow it doesn’t feel like working when I’m surrounded by such wonderful smells.”
“I understand.” Laughing, I rose to leave. “I’ve taken enough of your time. Good luck. I hope you’re able to keep the company going for your family.”
“Thank you. I intend to.” She inclined her head. “I’ll probably see you later at the swap. My parents were both voracious readers, but some of their books have too many memories. I’d like to donate them to your fundraiser.”
My heart ached for her. Losing both of your parents and not having any family left to share their memories with must have been so painful. “We appreciate your support. I look forward to seeing you then.”
At the condiments counter, I stopped to grab a few extra napkins—then froze. Delores Polly had walked through the door. This would be the perfect opportunity to pull her aside and question her about the threatening emails she’d sent to Spence, Nelle, and Hank after her godson had been denied the Town College Scholarship last month.
But Delores as a serial killer? She was an organist at my church.
Don’t let personal feelings get in the way of an objective homicide investigation.
Reminding myself that Southerners preferred to ease into a conversation, I crossed to her. “Good morning, Delores. Have you been well?”
Her gray eyes were wide behind large glasses that masked half of her small face. “Good morning, Marvey. I’ve been fine. And how are you?”
With my hand on her shoulder, I drew her away from the door to a quieter corner of the cafe. “Well, since you’ve asked, these latest murders in Peach Coast have made me uneasy.”
“Really?” Delores tilted her head and frowned at me. She’d styled her dark brown hair in a simple bun at the nape of her neck. “Being from New York, I’d think you’d be used to murders.”
Why did people in Peach Coast think there were dead bodies every day on every street corner in every borough of New York?
“Actually, before moving to Peach Coast, I’d never seen a homicide victim.”
“Is that right?” Her eyes grew even wider with amazement. “Well, I for one am glad you were able to help the deputies uncover the truth about Fiona Lyle-Hayes’s murder.”
I considered the petite woman. She’d dressed in a modest gray dress with cap sleeves and a mid-calf hem. “Delores, do you have any thoughts on who might have wanted to kill Coach Figg or Nelle Kenton?”
Her thin brown eyebrows knitted. “Well, no. Why would I?”
“Hank, Nelle, and Spence Holt were judges for the Town College Scholarship.”
“That’s right.” Her voice slowed and her expression grew wary as though she was trying to determine where this conversation was going.
I hoped my next words wouldn’t turn the organist against me. Again. “Is it true you were upset your godson wasn’t awarded a scholarship?”
She pressed her palm to the neckline of her dress. Her voice was a harsh whisper. “Are you accusing me of killing them and plotting to kill Spence Holt because of that silly competition?”
“You didn’t think it was silly when your godson lost. It’s a full, four-year scholarship. In response, you sent the judges a long, angry email, threatening to make them feel the pain of losing something important to them.”
Her pale cheeks bloomed like a Campari tomato. Grabbing my arm, she pulled me out of the café and didn’t stop until we were in its parking lot. Her lips trembled as she glared at me in silence for several seconds. “Where did you hear about that? From Spence Holt?”
Taking a page from my favorite journalist, I refused to reveal my source. “Delores, I’m sorry. This is hard for me. I like you a lot, despite our bumpy start when you tried to stop my investigation into Fiona Lyle-Hayes’s murder.”
“Like me?” Breathing heavily, she crossed her arms over her thin chest and raised her pointed chin. “You New Yorkers are a strange bunch. How can you like me when you think I’m capable of killing people?”
“If I didn’t like you, I’d be having this conversation with the deputies instead of asking you to help me understand why I shouldn’t be suspicious of you.”
Slowly, her postured relaxed. The flush faded from her cheeks. “You know, if I was the killer—which I’m not—this would be the second time you’re putting yourself in harm’s way for a friend.”
I gave the small woman a suspicious look. “I suppose you’re right.”
“That shows how much you value your friends.”
“I do value them, very much. I can’t sit on the sidelines, doing nothing when they could be in danger.”
“They’re very lucky to have your friendship.” She relaxed her arms. “And I’m not offended. Well, not much. In fact, there’s something I should’ve gotten off of my chest a long time ago. Yes, I was angry. Very angry. My godson’s a good boy. I love him like he’s my own son. I was disappointed that he wasn’t awarded any of those scholarships. There were five of them!”
“But sending that email wasn’t the best decision you could’ve made.”
“It was a terrible decision.” Her hand wringing caused her gray purse to slip from her right shoulder. “I’ve regretted it ever since. Truth be told, the judges were right. It took me a couple of weeks to admit what I should’ve known at the time.” She sighed and adjusted her purse. “My godson hadn’t earned a scholarship. His grades have always needed work, and I practically wrote that entire essay for him.”
“Delores! That’s cheating. He was supposed to write it by himself.”
“I know.” She wrung her hands again, faster this time. “I must have been out of my mind. I never really wished any harm to come to Coach Figg, and if anything ever happened to Spence Holt I’d just lose my mind.”
That would make two of us. “Delores, I want to believe you didn’t have anything to do with these murders, but I keep going back to the email you sent. It’s really mean.”
“I know. I was wrong. The Good Book says you’re supposed to treat others the way you want to be treated. I shouldn’t have done what I did.” Her gray eyes swam with regret.
Delores couldn’t be our serial killer. I wasn’t basing this on her being a church organist or looking as though she couldn’t hurt anyone. It was alleged motivation. Granted, her email had been mean and unhinged, but she hadn’t threatened Hank’s, Nelle’s, or Spence’s lives. She’d planned to damage their reputations. And what about Brittany? If Delores’s motivation was the committee’s rejection of her godson, the bicycle shop owner hadn’t had anything to do with that.
I removed her from our main suspect list, but we still had an unresolved issue. “It’s too late to make amends with Hank and Nelle, but it’s not too late to speak with Spence.”
Delores nodded, her eyes downcast. “It’s past time I made things right with him. Even after I sent that disgraceful email, he’s been all that’s cordial and gracious toward me. And I’ve gone out of my way to be kind toward him and his mama. But you’re right. I need to ask for his forgiveness.”
I reached out to squeeze Delores’s shoulder. “I know where you can find him this afternoon. Why don’t you stop by the library?”