Summer Reading is Killing Me (Phee Jefferson Book 2) (6 page)

Chapter Thirteen

I walked next door to Mrs. Lassiter’s house with two
tomatoes in my hand. An elegant woman in her eighties, Joan Lassiter was the
town matriarch. Her approval guaranteed success for any project planned by the
town council. Mrs. Lassiter wasn’t only my neighbor. She served as president of
the Friends of the Miller’s Cove Library, so I stayed on her good side. I kept
my hedges trimmed and mowed my grass before she could cast a critical eye on
it. She sat on the front porch on a wicker chaise lounge sipping a tall glass
of lemonade.

“What a pleasant surprise. Come sit down and tell
me what in the world is going on with Founder’s Day.” Mrs. Lassiter gestured
towards the chair beside her. “I already heard about the murder in the park.
Phee
, nice young ladies do not stumble on dead bodies willy
nilly
like you do. You need to settle down with that
handsome Clint Mason and start a family. Leave the criminals to the police.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m happy to let the sheriff handle
murders and mayhem. I went to the park to set up the tables for the book sale.
Sometimes the early bird doesn’t catch a tasty worm,” I gave her my best humble
smile of apology. Mrs. Lassiter had used her influence to convince, although
some would say bully, the town council to fund a remodel of the library next
year. I was not above kowtowing. The library needed new shelves.

 “I understand, dear. I’m sure if that
Sheriff Dawes spent more time patrolling and less time behind the desk, this
crime wave wouldn’t have happened. He might even lose a little of that belly he
sucks in every time he talks at the council meetings,” Mrs. Lassiter pursed her
lips in a moue of distaste.

“The victim was Senator Campbell’s daughter,
Elody
,” I informed her. “There’s a memorial service tonight
at the park for her.”

“I knew Richard Campbell when he was a child. His
mother and I attended university together. Ladies went to college to earn their
M R S degree back in my day.” Seeing my puzzlement, she explained, “We went to
college to catch a husband, dear. None of us planned to work. The goal was to
marry a nice, young man from a good family.”

“What was Mr. Lassiter like?” I asked her. She had
one picture of her husband from their wedding day. It hung over the mantel of
the living room fireplace. He had a studious face. Mrs. Lassiter was gorgeous
in her youth. Like they said in my favorite classic movies, a real pip.

“George was quiet and kind. To look at him, you’d
wonder what I saw in him. He had the most beautiful singing voice though. It
was his singing that won my heart. He used to stare at me over his book at the
library. I always pretended not to notice. One day I was with my girlfriends in
the university cafeteria when George walked up with a single white rose and
sang to me. I fell in love with him that day and we married a year later.”

“What did he sing?” I asked. I loved romantic
gestures. Clint loved me but was way too practical for flowers and songs.

“He sang
Only You
by The Platters. It
became our song. I shocked my mother and insisted they play it for the first
dance at our wedding. George was the only man for me.” She stared off into the
distance as she remembered a day long ago.

“What happened to George, Mrs. Lassiter? You never
talk about him,” I probed. I wanted to hear about their romance and life
together.

“He died less than a year into our marriage,” Mrs.
Lassiter said in a sad voice. “His head was in the clouds all the time. Kind of
like a young lady, I know. We married our senior year at university. We decided
to delay our honeymoon and make it a combined graduation and marriage
celebration trip. He and I went to Maine two weeks after graduation. George was
an avid birdwatcher. He spotted some endangered bird and followed it. He walked
right off a cliff and drowned. I hope the damned bird is extinct! Sorry, dear.
I didn’t mean to say a curse word. It broke my heart losing George. I vowed to
never love another man again.” She took a long sip from her glass. “Enough
being a Gloomy Gertie, young lady. I plan to attend this memorial service
tonight. I need to talk to young Richard and see if he grew into a man who
would make his mother proud.”

“I should be going. I need to fix dinner and
change clothes before this evening. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could
you introduce me to the Senator?” Mrs. Lassiter could be my entrance into Camp
Campbell.

“It’s not a problem. I’m calling his mother now.
She’s retired to Florida to an old folk’s home where the nurses make you do
senior chair aerobics and all sorts of foolishness. You won’t catch me dead in
a place like that,” she said firmly. “I plan on dying in my own home.”

“Don’t talk like that, Mrs. Lassiter. I don’t want
anything to happen to you,” I insisted. She might be prickly, but I loved her.
I grew teary-eyed thinking of her gone.

“You’re a sweet girl,
Phee
.
A good girl. Settle down and marry that young man. I want to hold your children
on my lap before I leave this world,” Mrs. Lassiter said as she patted me on my
hand. “I think I’ll lie down for a nap after I call Kitty Campbell. It will
take all my energy to deal with this evening’s service.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” I said and walked down her
porch steps. On my way back to my house, I considered my wardrobe choices for
the evening. What did one wear to a memorial service and an interrogation of a
senator? I didn’t know, but I bet no book on etiquette ever addressed this
fashion dilemma.

I fixed myself a salad for dinner, then dived into
my closet to look for an outfit. Thirty minutes later, I decided a black
sleeveless dress with flat sandals and pearls fit the bill. If Nancy Drew
lived, she would adore my outfit. I tried to channel her spirit and style, but
Miss
Marple
was the only one who answered. Large
frumpy hats and Peter Pan collars wouldn’t cut it this evening.

“Hello!
Pheeble
Mind!
Are you here?” Juliet called.

I wanted to travel back in time and tell my
parents to please pick another name, any name, other than Ophelia. My nicknames
ranged from Flea,
PheePhee
,
Oph
,
and now this latest addition,
Pheeble
Mind. I
silently praised Carrie every day for choosing Zoe and Samuel for the twins’
names.

“No one by that name lives here. If you’re looking
for the amazing, the beautiful, the brilliant Super Librarian, then here I am,”
I responded. I walked out of my bedroom strutting like a Paris runway model.
“Don’t hate. Just appreciate.”

Juliet whistled. “You look good for someone going
to a memorial service in the park. What’s up with the fancy duds?”

“This isn’t fancy. If you owned anything besides
yoga pants and blue jeans, you would realize I am simply wearing an appropriate
frock for fraternizing with Senator Campbell. Mrs. Lassiter said she would
introduce me to him tonight at the service. She went to college with his
mother, Kitty Campbell,” I informed Juliet. “While I’m schmoozing with the
bigwigs, you can get close to Jay and see what you can find out from him.”

“Great. I get the dirty artist and you meet a
senator. Why do I always get stuck with the grungy guys?” Juliet pouted.

“Really? You dated a man for two months who lived
in a tent and made his living singing on a street corner begging for change.
You don’t even own a pair of heels. You have a tattoo of a polar bear on your
behind from one date with Tattoo Bob. Do I need to continue?” I had plenty more
dating disaster scenarios from Juliet’s life.

Juliet bared her teeth at me and meowed. “Catty
much? I did those things when I was young and dumb. I’ve matured.”

“It was two years ago. Case closed. Do not pass
go. Do not collect two hundred dollars,” I informed her.

“Fine. Wade’s good for me. He civilizes and calms
my inner wild child,” Juliet said. She plopped onto my couch and kicked off her
flip flops. She rested her feet on my coffee table. I glared at the offending
electric blue polished toenails.

“I found out something interesting today. It
involves crime, doing time, and the reporter Tessa Brewer,” I said as I sat
primly on the other side of the sofa and inspected my nails. I whistled and
waited.

“What? I want to hear all about it,” Juliet
dropped her feet from the table and sat forward to listen.

Mission accomplished. Feet secured to the floor.
“Tessa Brewer was an accomplice in an armed robbery when she was sixteen years
old.”

“What the heck? Are you kidding me? Details,
Phee
. I want all the juicy details,” Juliet practically
panted like a puppy in her eagerness to hear my news.

“On one condition. You never call me
Pheeble
Mind again.”

“Fine. People have no sense of humor. It isn’t my
fault Mom and Dad gave you a name begging for mockery. So what’s the word,
nerd?”

“Tessa was the getaway driver for her own father.
Truth is stranger than fiction. She and her father pulled a string of armed
robberies all over Arkansas. Turns out, that’s where she lived before moving to
this state. Her dad shot a man during a hold-up at a convenience store in some
podunk
town. The police caught them, and Tessa was almost
tried as an adult. Her defense attorney argued her deadbeat dad made her drive
the car. Since the dad was her only living family member, the judge took pity
on her. He sentenced her to a juvenile facility until her eighteenth birthday.
After her release, she fell off the radar screen until about four years ago
when she began writing a gossip column for the newspaper.”

“Holy jalapeños! A convicted robber right here in
our midst. We need to meet Tessa and question her. She has a criminal mind
already. I just moved her onto our suspect list,” Juliet declared. If she had a
badge and a gun, my sister would be lethal. Lethal with her 1970s cop lingo,
that is.

“I met her. She reinvented herself better than a prisoner
turned preacher. She wears Coco Chanel and designer shoes. No southern accent
and she has the attitude of a spoiled socialite from the Hamptons. She threw a
hissy fit in Abe’s today over a tomato because it wasn’t heirloom and organic.
You’re right about one thing. She has a criminal mind. She killed one of Abe’s
tomatoes right in the produce aisle with her bare hands!”  

Chapter fourteen

Juliet and I walked to Longfellow Park fifteen
minutes before the start of the memorial service. We weren’t the only ones
curious about the events unfolding in our small village. The majority of the
town crowded the small park. Between the news reporters, townsfolk, and people
arriving from out of town for the service, Miller’s Cove had never seen so much
action. Our sleepy hamlet was now a bustling metropolis and murder was the
cause.

I spotted Nellie Jo and Mike milling around near
the band shell. I lifted my hand and waved. Juliet and I shouldered our way
through the masses until we made our way to where they stood. “Nellie Jo, I
knew I’d find you here,” I said.

“Why me and Mike wouldn’t miss a big event like
this. I got my autograph book with me. I plan on meeting a movie star or
somebody famous tonight.” Nellie Jo showed us the bright red autograph book she
held in her hand.

“I didn’t realize they made autograph books
still,” I said.

“I’ve had this book since I was a little girl.
Look here. I’ve got an autograph from Rowdy Rick. He was famous in the
seventies in the wrestling ring. I even got Boots Chavez, the famous zydeco
musician. One day this here little book is
gonna
be
worth a ton of money,” Nellie Jo proclaimed. Mike rolled his eyes. Mike was as
gray as Nellie Jo was colorful. A quiet man, he spent his time working at his
pickle factory and rarely ventured into town. From conversations with Nellie in
the past, I knew Mike collected guns and didn’t care for the federal government
too much. According to Nellie, Mike ranted about the government trying to
control his pickle brine with too many “dag burn regulations.”

“I don’t know how many celebrities will be here
tonight,” Juliet said. “It will mostly be
Elody’s
groupies and the press.”

“I don’t care. If they look famous, I’m
gonna
get them to sign my book,” Nellie Jo declared.

“Mrs. Lassiter is trying to get my attention. Nice
seeing you and Mike. If I spot any celebrities I’ll send them your way,” I
promised. “Juliet, I’ll meet up with you at the fountain in an hour. You’ve got
your assignment.”

“Yeah
yeah
. I’m on the
case.” Juliet turned and worked her way through the crowd searching for her
quarry, Jay Burns.

It took me five minutes to arrive at Mrs.
Lassiter’s side. The disgruntled frown on her face told me what she thought
about the crowds. “Sorry. It’s a madhouse. I’m surprised I didn’t get a black
eye fighting my way here. You would think we were at a rock concert instead of
a memorial service,” I said. I straightened my skirt and tried smoothing my
curls.

“It’s a spectacle and a crying shame. A girl died
and the vultures immediately start circling.” Mrs. Lassiter shook her head in
disgust. “My George would roll in his grave if he had lived to see what our
world’s become.”

“You’re right. I’ll stick with my dusty books.
They are much better than the gossip rags fueling this bunch,” I replied.

“Of course I’m right,” Mrs. Lassiter harrumphed.
“Richard said an Anthony
Ziegfried
would come get us.
He was to be here five minutes ago.”

“He’s probably trapped by paparazzi. I’m sure the
press recognized him the minute he arrived with the Senator. Like you said,
vultures,” I said trying to soothe her ruffled feathers. Mrs. Lassiter had no
patience for lack of punctuality or bad manners.

A moment later, a red head bobbed its way through
the masses. When he made his way to our side, he was out of breath. “Ladies, I
apologize. It’s a madhouse. Half these people never even heard of
Elody
until now.”

Anthony
Ziegfried
exuded
confidence and success. He possessed the polished good looks of an Ivy League
education. Bright blue eyes gleamed with intelligence behind stylish frames and
his charcoal gray suit cost more than I earned in a month. “I’m Ophelia
Jefferson. Mrs. Lassiter is my neighbor,” I introduced myself.

“A fellow ginger! Nice to meet you. Anthony
Ziegfried
, aide to the Senator, errand boy, chauffeur and
anything else the occasion may need.” Anthony’s handshake was firm and his
manner friendly and easy going. My nervousness at meeting the Senator eased.

“Ophelia discovered poor
Elody’s
body. She shouldn’t have been in the park at the crack of dawn, but she handled
it well. No hysterics and she kept the public away until the sheriff took
control of the scene,” Mrs. Lassiter said.

 “Ah. The sheriff told us the town librarian
discovered
Elody
. From what I understand, you were
setting up for the Founder’s Day Celebration,” Anthony smoothed over Mrs.
Lassiter’s disapproval of my presence in the park. “Senator Campbell wants to
speak with you alone for a few minutes about what you saw when you found her.”

“Didn’t the sheriff tell him the details?” I
asked. I didn’t want to describe the horrible scene to
Elody’s
father.

“The Senator wants to hear it straight from the
horse’s mouth, so to speak,” Anthony said. “He is well aware of how sanitized
the reports to the victim’s family can be. Richard Campbell is a straight-shooter.
Don’t worry about sparing his feelings. Give him the unvarnished truth.”

“I don’t know how much I can add, but I’ll talk to
him,” I agreed. A heavy cloud settled over me at the thought of sharing the
details of the scene with the Senator.

“If you would both like to follow me, I’ll take
you to the Senator. The service should start in ten minutes, so we need to
hustle,” Anthony instructed us. He guided Mrs. Lassiter around the back of the
shell to where Senator Campbell stood flanked by two women in business suits.
When he spotted us, he broke off his conversation and walked to Mrs. Lassiter
and hugged her. “Aunt Joan, thank you for coming.”

“Richard, I’m sorry for your loss. I know how hard
it’s been for you since Patsy’s death and now this. If I can do anything for
you, please call me.” Mrs. Lassiter grasped his hand between her two wrinkled
ones. The Senator’s face softened and lost its public demeanor. Here was the
face of a father, not a politician, worn down by too much grief in too few years.
I felt guilty for suspecting him even for a second of his daughter’s murder.

I stepped forward to express my condolences.
“Senator Campbell, I’m Ophelia Jefferson. I’m sorry about your daughter’s
death. I’m the person who found her in the park on Saturday.”

“Thank you, Ms. Jefferson. I wanted to speak to
you but in a more private setting. Could you come to dinner at our summer cabin
tomorrow evening?” Senator Campbell asked.

“Certainly, Senator. I doubt I have much to add to
what the sheriff told you, but I’m willing to answer any questions.” Even
though it would be uncomfortable to share what I found, dinner with him would
allow me to discover more information about
Elody
.

“Call me Richard, please. Anthony will give you
directions to the cabin. I’ll see you at six sharp tomorrow evening. Now if
you’ll excuse me, I need to discuss a few more things with my staff before the
service starts. Aunt Joan, I’ll call you tomorrow and make plans for a visit.”

“Fine, Richard. I’ll speak to you soon,” Mrs. Lassiter
said with a regal nod of her head.

Reverend Taylor walked to the microphone. He
tapped it several times with his finger to make sure it worked. He cleared his
throat and asked everyone to bow their heads as he offered a prayer for
Elody
. When the prayer ended, I opened my eyes. In front of
me, I saw Tessa Brewer leaning in close to talk to Nicolette Simon. I might as
well ferret out some more information from our criminal-turned-girl reporter.