Don't Wake the Dead Page 11

  “Gimme!” I demanded, reaching out for the cup. Then I realized that Jonelle shouldn’t be here until eight. “Oh my God, did I oversleep?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. I woke up at five-thirty and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I decided to get the good shit. It’s seven now.”

  “You’re an angel. No, a goddess,” I breathed as I sipped the delicious coffee. She’d even added the perfect amount of sugar and half and half. “Thank you.”

  Jonelle grinned. “I know. Now, get your ass up and showered then you can have the raspberry jelly donut I brought you.”

  My eyes widened. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Laughing, she got off the bed and left the room. I jumped up and was showered, dressed, and wearing light make-up within a half hour.

  I bounded down the stairs, empty coffee cup in hand, and walked into the kitchen.

  Like the good friend she was, Jonelle had the jelly donut on a plate and waiting for me. I sighed happily when I noticed that she’d purchased a huge container of coffee.

  “Now I remember why you’re my best friend,” I joked, pouring myself another cup of coffee.

  “Because you pay me?” she replied, her face innocent.

  “No, because you bring me food. Otherwise, I wouldn’t tolerate you.”

  “Ungrateful cow,” she muttered.

  I grinned at her as I sat down at the kitchen table and took a huge bite of the baked goody. When I finished it, I opened the box and fished out a blueberry cake donut.

  “Wow, you got all my faves,” I commented.

  “I figured it was a good way to thank you for letting me come along.”

  I shrugged. “I love having you. It’s just that this is my job and Mal is my boss. It felt weird to ask if my bestie could hang with us while we did work stuff. You know?”

  She nodded. “Well, thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You’ll be cursing my name when you have a crick in your neck and blurry vision from staring at newspapers for hours on end.”

  “I still think it sounds fun.”

  I stopped myself from grabbing another donut after I finished the blueberry. I’d seen how much Mal could put away and I figured he’d polish off what was left.

  When the doorbell rang, I let Mal in and led him back to the kitchen. He looked a bit dazed when his eyes landed on Jonelle, which didn’t surprise me. Though she wasn’t very tall, she was built like a pin-up and wore her long blonde hair in shimmering waves down her back. A lot of men were struck dumb the first time they saw her.

  To my surprise, he shook off the Jonelle-induced trance rather quickly and settled down at the kitchen table to eat. As I suspected, he ate almost all of the remaining baked goodies.

  While we finished off our coffee, Mal and I explained to Jonelle what we were looking for at the library today.

  After he finished elaborating, she clarified, “So we’re looking for articles on the accident, his obituary, things like that?”

  He nodded. “All he told us was that he died in 1996. He was wearing short sleeves, but in Texas it could any time of year.”

  We piled into Mal’s van and headed to the library. I was surprised at how easily the conversation flowed.

  Verna, the librarian, greeted us when we arrived. She didn’t seem curious about our request for newspapers in the least. She merely led us downstairs to the basement and unlocked the archive room. Her lack of interest was probably due to the fact that I came to the library often and asked for all sorts of books and periodicals. I doubted any of my requests surprised her anymore.

  “Let me know when you leave so I can come back down here and lock it up, dear.”

  I thanked her and followed Jonelle and Mal into the little room. It was musty and the florescent light blinked several times before it finally clicked and began to brighten.

  A long, narrow table sat in the middle of the room with shelves crowded around it. There was just enough space to walk around the table if no one was sitting there.

  I found hooks on the wall next to the door and hung up my purse after I removed my notebook, pen, and cell phone.

  We split up, walking through the cramped aisles, looking for the newspapers from 1996. The first row I examined held papers from the twenties and thirties, around the time that The Kenna Journal was established.

  “Found them.” The low ceiling in the room dulled the sound of Jonelle’s voice.

  I made my way back to the center of the room and turned at the end of the shelves. That’s when I found myself face-to-face with the spirit of Janice Marie Saint, the first librarian here in Kenna.

  “Holy shit!” I cried, stumbling back.

  Janice frowned at me and lifted a finger to her lips. “Language, girl. I catch you talking like that at the library again and I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”

  I sighed, putting a hand over my heart. “Sorry, Ms. Saint. I didn’t realize you were down here.”

  “It’s Miss Saint, girl. You know I never married.”

  Janice Marie’s spirit had been wandering around the library for a long time, ever since I was a child. I always made an effort to say hello to her. When I’d gotten old enough, I’d encouraged her to move on, but she stubbornly refused. She claimed the library needed her.

  Mal appeared on the other side of Janice Marie and I could see his worried expression through her opaque body.

  “Are you okay, Zoe?” he asked breathlessly.

  I nodded. “I’m fine. Sorry I scared you. I wasn’t expecting to see Miss Saint here.”

  He glanced around. “Someone else is here?”

  “Miss Saint used to be the librarian in the 1940’s,” I explained.

  I could see when he comprehended my meaning completely. “Oh, I see.”

  I nodded. “I’ll be right there.”

  He turned and left me.

  “What are you doing down here?” Janice Marie demanded. “You better not be planning on any hankypanky with that young man. This isn’t the time or place, young lady,” she admonished, shaking a finger at me.

  “We’re not, Miss Saint,” I promised. “We’re here to work and look at old newspapers, nothing else.”

  She stared at me, her gaze fierce and piercing, as sharp as it must have been when she was alive. I wondered what happened to her that caused her soul to remain here, completely intact. That was a characteristic of violent and untimely death. I’d never asked, but now I suddenly wanted to.

  “All right then,” she stated. “Don’t forget to let me know when you leave so I can lock up.”

  I shook my head as she disappeared through the wall next to me. It seemed librarians may change from time to time, but certain characteristics were ingrained in all of them.

  When I returned to the table, Jonelle looked up at me. “Miss Saint?” she asked.

  I nodded and picked up one of the large leather bound books that contained some of the 1996 newspapers.

  “She still as peachy as ever?”

  I grinned at her. “More like vinegar and salt.”

  Jonelle returned my smile and went back to her own book. Mal didn’t look up, his eyes moving rapidly across the page he was reading.

  I took his lead and settled in to read the newsprint in front of me. The editions in this binding were from June and July of 1996. I took my time and combed through each page carefully, looking for anything related to Hank Murphy, even if it wasn’t about his death.

  We read in silence for a couple of hours until I finally had to stand up and stretch. I walked through the maze of shelves, hoping that the movement would get the blood flowing in my legs again.

  I did a few squats and felt my muscles loosen with each motion. When I returned to the table, I found that Jonelle and Mal had gotten up as well.

  After another hour, I found what I was looking for. It was an accident report in July of 1996.

  It was only a few sentences, but it was enough to make me think of Hank, even though he wasn’t named.

>   Single vehicle accident on Farm to Market 457 the night of July 20th. One fatality.

  I read through the paper for the following two days before I found his obituary. Henry James Murphy. Age 25. Survived by his wife Patricia Louise Murphy, nee Sneed. There was information about his achievements and his work, but the obituary was small and simple.

  Reading the paragraph, I got the sense that Hank loved his simple life and his wife. He didn’t want anything other than this small town, his job at the factory in Weatherford, and a home with a loving family.

  Sadness swamped me. His life had been cut short and he had no idea why. There was no mention of children or other family members, so I wondered if there had been any relatives other than his wife to miss him.

  “I found it,” I stated, gaining Jonelle and Mal’s attention. “I found the accident and his obituary.”

  I slid the book to the center of the table so they could take a look.

  “That’s it?” Jonelle asked. “That’s all they wrote about it?” She sounded disgusted.

  I understood how she felt, but replied, “They didn’t know it wasn’t an accident. I’ll keep reading. Maybe there’s an article somewhere after his death.”

  Mal’s pen scratched across a page in his notebook quickly as he jotted down information.

  “Keep looking,” he muttered. “We need to be sure there’s nothing else before we move on.”

  Jonelle helped me page through the rest of the newspapers from that month. The only other information about Hank’s death was a short article about a fundraiser to help his wife, Trisha. It was dated a few weeks after the accident.

  It was after noon by the time we righted the archive room and went back upstairs. I hadn’t realized how dark it was in the basement until we stepped into the sunny lobby of the library.

  “Damn,” I mumbled, squinting against the brightness.

  “I feel like I just stepped out of Hades,” Mal commented.

  Jonelle and I giggled, earning a scowl from Verna.

  I approached the front desk. “We’re done in the archive room. Thank you, Verna.”

  She didn’t seem to care, but her sense of decorum required that she reply, “You’re welcome.”

  As we walked into the parking lot, Jonelle groaned, putting a hand to her forehead. “God, I’m seeing double. That newsprint was tiny.” I gave her a stern sideways glance, which made her laugh. “Okay, okay, so you warned me, but I still had fun.”

  “I hate to admit it, but I did too.”

  “Why do you hate to admit it?” Mal asked as we climbed into the van.

  “Because what kind of person likes going to the library and spending three hours in the creepy basement, looking for information on a dead man?”

  His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “My favorite kind.”

  Since I had no idea how to reply to that, I zipped my lips and buckled my seat belt.

  “I need a drink,” Jonelle sighed from the front seat. “Let’s go over to Weatherford and eat at that burger joint that serves booze.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Mal stated. “Tell me how to get there.”

  Chapter

  Over lunch we decided our next course of action would be to contact Hank’s only living relative, his wife Trisha, and see if she knew of anyone who wanted to hurt her late husband. However, we weren’t sure if she was still in the area.

  The afternoon was spent at my house, where we fired up our laptops and continued our research.

  Somehow, Mal managed to find Trisha’s information via Facebook. She was no longer Trisha Murphy, but Trisha Dwyer, which made sense because she was only twenty-three when Hank died. Her phone number and address were in the phonebook.

  “Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, call first?” Jonelle asked.

  I looked to Mal and lifted an eyebrow. He hadn’t called me before he showed up on my front porch several weeks ago.

  Mal shook his head. “Probably not.”

  I considered our options for a moment. “Maybe you should just introduce yourself as a television producer,” I suggested. “Don’t mention the name of the show.”

  “Maybe,” he responded, but he sounded distracted. “You could say that you’re researching a book.”

  I leveled a glance at him. “She’s probably heard rumors about me, Mal. She’ll know I’m not a writer as soon as I introduce myself.”

  “Fine. Maybe I’m researching a book,” he quipped.

  “That might work better,” Jonelle stated. “Plus, you’re a handsome man. Dress in some slacks and a nice shirt and I bet you’ll have her eating out of your hand.”

  Mal frowned slightly. “What?”

  Jonelle shook her head. “Never mind.”

  Mal and I began to compose a list of questions for our “interview” with Trisha should she agree to speak with us. After about a half hour, Jonelle started yawning.

  “Okay, that’s it. I’m done for the day. I’ll call you tomorrow night to see how it went,” she said as she leaned down to hug me.

  By the time Mal and I finished plotting how to approach Trisha it was dark outside and my entire body was stiff.

  “I think that’s everything,” Mal stated, gathering up his laptop, notebook, and pens.

  I rubbed at the crick in the back of my neck. “Thank God, I’m exhausted. Hey, where were Stony and Blaine today?”

  “They’re editing the latest episodes of the show.”

  It surprised me that Mal let them handle it alone. After being in such close proximity for the last few days, I was beginning to realize that Mal was a bit of a control freak. The Wraith Files show was his baby and he struck me as the type that would take excellent care of anything he loved that much.

  “You look surprised,” he commented.

  “I guess I am,” I admitted. “I just got the impression that you would be in charge of something like that.”

  He shook his head. “No way. Stony was a film major in college and Blaine was an art history major. They’re better qualified to handle that side of the process. If I tried to butt in, it wouldn’t look as great.”

  And now I had something else to admire about Mal. Not only was he handsome and intelligent, he understood his strengths and weaknesses and he didn’t have any hang ups about them.

  I lamented the fact that my conscience refused to ignore the reality that he signed my paychecks. I liked him, more and more each day, but I would not be financially dependent on a man I was dating or sleeping with. I needed the security of my independence, in knowing that I could take care of myself if things didn’t work out. Despite the things Jonelle and Teri said, regardless of their belief that I was too rigid and uptight, it was a principle I wouldn’t compromise.

  And for those reasons, it was highly probable I would never have anything more than a professional relationship with Mal because I was beginning to seriously consider extending my contract with the show.

  I watched as he finished packing up his things.

  “I’ll be here to pick you up at four tomorrow. Maybe we’ll have better luck catching Trisha at home closer to the end of the workday.”

  I nodded and walked him out.

  “Thanks for your help today,” Mal said as he walked out my front door. “This has been an exciting development.”

  “Hey, it’s my job now,” I replied. “It’s also the first time I’ve considered helping a ghost figure out who murdered them. It’s exciting for me too.”

  Before I closed the door, he leaned a shoulder against the jamb. “So have you given any more thought to that kissing thing?”

  His sudden shift of subject threw me off balance and I ended up blurting out, “Yes.”

  “And?”

  I shook my head. “Still not a good idea.”

  “Damn. Well, let me know if you change your mind.” He grinned. “It might be fun.”

  I bit back a smile because I didn’t want to encourage him. “Maybe. Or it might be a train wreck in the making,” I re
plied.

  Mal shrugged. “That could be fun too.”

  This time I couldn’t stop the smile that curved my mouth. “I don’t even want to know in what context you would find a train wreck entertaining.”

  “Hey, it would definitely be interesting. See you tomorrow, Zoe.”

  “Night, Mal.”

  I shut the door behind him, locked it, and leaned my forehead against it. Somehow his subtle flirtation was a great deal more effective than the blunt overtures that Stony and Blaine used.

  Or maybe it had more to do with the person doing the flirting.

  Either way, I needed to make a decision and soon.

  The next afternoon I stepped out on my porch and locked the door as soon as Mal pulled up in front of my house.

  I didn’t want to admit it, but I was nervous. I’d never done anything like this before. I hated confrontation of any kind. I would face it if I needed to, but I preferred to avoid it. Probably from years of being on the receiving end of my mother’s sharp tongue.

  Our spontaneous arrival at Trisha Dwyer’s house could very well end badly.

  I tried to keep up with Mal’s small talk as he drove, but it was a struggle. My focus was on what would happen when Trisha opened the door. If she opened the door.

  “You okay?” Mal asked.

  “Yeah.”

  A few minutes later, he asked again, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I glanced at him. “Yeah, I’m sure. Why?”

  He shrugged. “No reason except that your left leg is bouncing and the rest of your body is so tense it might as well be stone.”

  Why did he have to be so observant?

  “Okay, so maybe I’m a little nervous,” I admitted.

  “A little? You’re wound up so tight that you’ll shoot to outer space if you fart.”

  I choked as I gasped and laughed simultaneously. Without thinking, I smacked his arm. “Oh my God, don’t say stuff like that to me!”

  Mal guffawed. “The look on your face was priceless!”

  I laughed until tears ran down my cheeks. When I finally stopped, my nerves had calmed as well. I wiped my eyes with a tissue I dug out of my purse.

  Mal gave me a few moments before he asked, “So why are you so nervous?”