harder to cover up her involvement with Peter? No wonder he showed up on the night she read her love scene at author night. Was he there to hear her fiction or to relive old memories?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I needed to know what it was Martha and Vanessa had been discussing during the meeting, so I headed over to talk to the one person in this town who truly hated me. I checked the time, and Zach was at Little League with my dad for another hour. I could talk to Martha until she tried to drop-kick me out of the public library. Knowing this would probably require all my stamina, I pulled through our local coffee house, Earl's Java, and picked up a caramel macchiato.
"Hey Betsy, wanted to let you know, I loved your recipe for coffee creamers," Earl, the proprietor, said. "You're drinking one now."
"That's great, Earl. Did you make the mocha flavor, too?"
"Yes, but I added just a touch of cinnamon to mine."
"Yum. Well, this ought to get me through," I said. "Thanks, Earl."
"No problem, Betsy, and tell Judd his officers can drive through for a free java anytime."
"I will. Thanks again." I pulled out of the drive-through and took a swig of my coffee, feeling it rush through my bloodstream and stimulate dulling nerve endings. I pulled into the library parking lot and walked in under the shade of the large trees that surrounded the building. I walked through the entrance and into the main library.
Martha was behind the circulation desk, her high-backed stool squeaking as she entered data into her desktop computer. She had her glasses down on her nose as she squinted at the letters on the screen. She had on a crisp white blouse with a bow tied at the collar. She did not look up when I stood at the desk in front of her.
"No beverages inside the library. Take it out to the tiled entrance. You can pick it up after you check out your books."
"Oh," I said, taking one final gulp of the coffee and setting it down just outside the door on a table in the tiled area. When the carpet in the library was new I remember them telling the kids to leave their muddy boots in this location during heavy rains.
I walked back to the desk and stood while Martha continued to type into her computer. Realizing I wasn't going anywhere, she finally looked up in exasperation. "Can I help ..." Upon realizing she was facing me, the killer of her dearest friend, her professional smile fell flat. "What do you want?" Ah, the real Martha.
"I want to ask you about this." I pulled out the folded note from Vanessa's office.
"Where did you get that? It's personal property."
"Well, I was invited to choose writing books from Vanessa's collection, and I found this little note folded inside of a book I took home," I lied.
"Fine." She reached across the desk to grab for it, but I was too quick and pulled it out of her grasp. She snorted. "I suggest you go home and do whatever it is you do. That issue is none of your business."
"Yeah, well as long as you are shouting out to anyone who will listen that I'm a murderer, it becomes my business. What was so important that you had to talk to Vanessa?"
"Nothing. Vanessa and I were very close. I don't expect you to understand. When you killed her, it's like you killed a part of me."
"First of all, I didn't kill her. Second, where do you get off talking about this special friendship you had? She just wanted to get that tacky book of hers into your library."
"Tacky book? That book was a masterpiece. I can show you the reviews."
"You have the reviews? Really?"
"Yes, I do. A book like that doesn't come along every day, and a local author that talented is hard to find. She knew her craft."
"I read her column in the paper. I wasn't all that impressed by her use of the word 'dashing' three times in one article."
"Poor editing."
"Give it up. She wasn't that good."
"So why did her book get picked up by a major publisher?"
"Because she looked so good on the back cover?" I said. How did she get a book
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I needed to know what it was Martha and Vanessa had been discussing during the meeting, so I headed over to talk to the one person in this town who truly hated me. I checked the time, and Zach was at Little League with my dad for another hour. I could talk to Martha until she tried to drop-kick me out of the public library. Knowing this would probably require all my stamina, I pulled through our local coffee house, Earl's Java, and picked up a caramel macchiato.
"Hey Betsy, wanted to let you know, I loved your recipe for coffee creamers," Earl, the proprietor, said. "You're drinking one now."
"That's great, Earl. Did you make the mocha flavor, too?"
"Yes, but I added just a touch of cinnamon to mine."
"Yum. Well, this ought to get me through," I said. "Thanks, Earl."
"No problem, Betsy, and tell Judd his officers can drive through for a free java anytime."
"I will. Thanks again." I pulled out of the drive-through and took a swig of my coffee, feeling it rush through my bloodstream and stimulate dulling nerve endings. I pulled into the library parking lot and walked in under the shade of the large trees that surrounded the building. I walked through the entrance and into the main library.
Martha was behind the circulation desk, her high-backed stool squeaking as she entered data into her desktop computer. She had her glasses down on her nose as she squinted at the letters on the screen. She had on a crisp white blouse with a bow tied at the collar. She did not look up when I stood at the desk in front of her.
"No beverages inside the library. Take it out to the tiled entrance. You can pick it up after you check out your books."
"Oh," I said, taking one final gulp of the coffee and setting it down just outside the door on a table in the tiled area. When the carpet in the library was new I remember them telling the kids to leave their muddy boots in this location during heavy rains.
I walked back to the desk and stood while Martha continued to type into her computer. Realizing I wasn't going anywhere, she finally looked up in exasperation. "Can I help ..." Upon realizing she was facing me, the killer of her dearest friend, her professional smile fell flat. "What do you want?" Ah, the real Martha.
"I want to ask you about this." I pulled out the folded note from Vanessa's office.
"Where did you get that? It's personal property."
"Well, I was invited to choose writing books from Vanessa's collection, and I found this little note folded inside of a book I took home," I lied.
"Fine." She reached across the desk to grab for it, but I was too quick and pulled it out of her grasp. She snorted. "I suggest you go home and do whatever it is you do. That issue is none of your business."
"Yeah, well as long as you are shouting out to anyone who will listen that I'm a murderer, it becomes my business. What was so important that you had to talk to Vanessa?"
"Nothing. Vanessa and I were very close. I don't expect you to understand. When you killed her, it's like you killed a part of me."
"First of all, I didn't kill her. Second, where do you get off talking about this special friendship you had? She just wanted to get that tacky book of hers into your library."
"Tacky book? That book was a masterpiece. I can show you the reviews."
"You have the reviews? Really?"
"Yes, I do. A book like that doesn't come along every day, and a local author that talented is hard to find. She knew her craft."
"I read her column in the paper. I wasn't all that impressed by her use of the word 'dashing' three times in one article."
"Poor editing."
"Give it up. She wasn't that good."
"So why did her book get picked up by a major publisher?"
"Because she looked so good on the back cover?" I said. How did she get a book
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