Chapter 30
Mercedes wasn’t sure the assignment she had received was in her wheelhouse. After all, she had never been a detective or a member of a neighborhood watch before, and now all of a sudden she was both. Looked like she’d have to wing it and hope it all worked out.
She did feel sorry for the lady running the library. According to Marge’s mom, she had become addicted to the kind of music this particular band was making, and Mercedes knew full well that addicts were a special breed. Highly unpredictable and dangerous.
She hoped Marge wouldn’t lash out and do to her what she may have done to Harley.
She checked her phone again, but the last message that Scarlett had sent her was the one she had already read.
It certainly was quite a story. The woman wasn’t merely responsible for setting fire to her daughter’s house, but also for lying to her family about her addiction, and even, possibly—murder!
She raised her head over the row of books she was pretending to peruse and saw that Marge was still replacing books on their correct shelves, the way a librarian does.
She wondered if she should check her pockets now. According to Scarlett, it was one way of finding out if she should add arson to her list of crimes.
And since Marge hadn’t moved from her book trolley for the past twenty minutes, she felt reasonably sure she wouldn’t find out that someone was going through her pockets.
She tiptoed in the direction of a door marked ‘Staff Only’ and, glancing over her shoulder, carefully tried the handle.
Unlocked, as she had hoped it would be.
Entering the small space, she looked around and located Marge’s coat and also her purse.
The coat didn’t yield any particular clues, but the purse did.
Not only did it contain a box of matches—a clear indication that Vesta’s arsonist theory was right on the money—but also a book of cards that depicted the different members of the Turbo Heartthrob band.
The same band Harley had been so obsessed with.
If he hadn’t loved that band so much, he would never have traveled to Hampton Cove, and he would never have had a run-in with a fan who was even more obsessed than he was and died as a consequence.
She had a good mind to crumple up the cards of those horrible musicians and destroy them. Rip them into a million little pieces. But Marge might find out, and she would go looking for the culprit. And if she indeed was as crazy as Vesta seemed to think, she might even go after Mercedes herself!
The thought made her feel for her can of mace—just in case.
Rifling through the librarian’s purse, all of a sudden she thought she heard a sound outside the door.
She froze and listened intently. But when the sound wasn’t repeated, she resumed her search.
As far as she could tell, there wasn’t anything that pointed to Marge being a killer as well as an arsonist, but of course the sister of the chief of police would not be stupid enough to keep the murder weapon in her purse.
She would have thrown it away right after she killed Harley.
Dumped it in the sewer or thrown it into the ocean.
She paused and wondered what she should do next. She looked around and saw that there was a paper bag placed on the same low bench that Marge’s purse had been on.
She took the bag and examined it. Inside, she found more Turbo Heartthrob paraphernalia and… a letter.
Odd. In this day and age of messaging apps and email, who sent letters? Maybe an old-fashioned librarian like Marge.
She carefully unfolded the letter and started reading.
It didn’t take long to understand that the letter was pretty hot stuff.
It was full of ‘darling’ this and ‘beloved’ that, and suggestions were made to meet up in hotel rooms or motel rooms and all of that kind of stuff.
Some of the language was such that it made Mercedes blush, and she felt at some point that she was reading one of those steamy romance novels that are so popular.
The author certainly had a lot of imagination. She had to give them that.
Her eyes flew to the bottom of the page, only to discover the letter had been written by a Dan. Could this be Daniel Bozek? The guitar player for the band?
Could it be that this was the man Marge was having an affair with?
She quickly took out her phone and took pictures of the three-page epistle, and then carefully tucked it away again where she had found it.
If she was correct in this, there were other letters, and this affair had been going on for quite some time.
Vesta would be happy. Or rather, she would be unhappy that her suspicions had all been confirmed.
Except for the murder, but Mercedes was pretty sure by now that those suspicions were also correct.
Which meant that they had found Harley’s killer before the police had done.
As she replaced the paper bag on the bench, suddenly the door swung open and Marge stood before her, looking quite shocked and not a little annoyed.
“What are you doing in here?” asked the librarian. “This room is for staff only.”
“Is it?” asked Mercedes, adopting a shaky tone and a doddering physical presence. “I was looking for the toilet, miss. I was looking all over. But I just couldn’t find it.” She took a seat on the bench. “For a moment, I thought it was in here, but I couldn’t find the flush!”
“My God,” said Marge, making a face. “You didn’t pee in here, did you?”
“Pee in here?” asked Mercedes, still putting on her old-lady act. “Pee where?”
“In here,” said the librarian. “Did you pee in here, thinking it was the bathroom?”
Mercedes gave Marge a look of confusion. “I don’t know,” she said in a weak voice. “Sometimes I don’t know where I am, miss,” she explained. “Sometimes I get… confused.”
Marge’s expression softened. “Oh, you poor thing,” she said as she took Mercedes by the hand and pulled her to her feet. “Let me take you to the bathroom.”
“Isn’t this the bathroom?” asked Mercedes, glancing around uncertainly. “It sure looks like a bathroom.”
“Well, it isn’t,” said Marge, and gently led her by the hand and took her to the public lavatory at the other end of the library. “Do you need any help?” she asked.
“Help for what?” asked Mercedes.
“Well, if you do need help,” said Marge, “I’ll be right outside. You take your time.”
“Take my time to do what?”
“Did you come to the library all on your own?” asked Marge, who was clearly starting to get a little worried.
“Is this the library?” asked Mercedes. “Oh, dear. I was supposed to go to the shop. I thought this was the shop.”
“No, the shops are farther down the street,” said Marge. “Do you want me to show you?”
“Would you?” asked Mercedes, who couldn’t wait to get out of there and report her findings to her two fellow Neighborhood Watch members.
Marge took her to the front door, led her out, and then explained to her where she could find the shops she so desperately wanted to visit.
“Are you sure you will be all right?” asked the librarian. “Or do you want me to call someone?”
“No, I’ll be fine,” said Mercedes, waving a hand. “I need to go to the shops. I need to buy… stuff.”
As she tottered along the street, she turned to see that Marge was still staring after her, a look of concern on her face.
Too bad that Marge was a killer, she thought.
Otherwise, she looked like such a nice person.
But then looks can be deceiving. When Harley opened the door to let Marge in, he probably also thought that she was a nice lady and a fellow fan.
But instead, he had invited his killer into his room, and soon thereafter his life ended.
Time to put a stop to this, and put this dangerous lady behind bars where she belonged.