Kill the Librarian: A Kat Mystery, #1

By Kathleen Guire

 Kat comes home to find a dead body in her backyard.

She's a nobody and she'd like to keep it that way.

She's a librarian who is more at home with books than with people.

Kat was raised in the foster care system. She has no family. No money. But someone is after her.

Who? Why?

Join Kat and her new friends at the FBI as they try to stay alive and unravel the mystery of who wants Kat dead. Things get even dicier when they uncover a human trafficking ring. Kat doesn't know who is after her, whom to trust, or who's coming after her next. Just when she thinks she has it all figured out, she is thrown for another loop! Grab your copy today and prepare yourself for a nonstop roller coaster ride. Who can Kat trust? Will she trust the wrong person and end up dead?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathleen Guire
• Release date: Aug 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201320294

Book preview

Chapter One

The man was dead. I had checked his pulse three times. Patted his face and whispered through gritted teeth, "Wake up!’

He did not wake up. He was lying on his back in the dewy grass in my backyard. It was twilight. I pulled out my phone and tapped the flashlight app to examine him. He was wearing a brown uniform, like a UPS man, with his name sewed neatly on the pocket. Bob.

What do you do when you come home and find a dead Bob in your backyard?

---

"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact." ¹flitted through my head. Thanks, Arthur Conan Doyle.

---

I had an eerie vibe. Turning around, I saw glowing light in purple sky, emanating from the park behind my house. A white fence separated my yard from the park. I could see the outline of a head and the shadow of a body. Someone was watching me. What should I do?

I dialed 911.

Um, I just got home from work and found a dead Bob in my backyard.

A dead Bob?

A dead body named Bob. It’s on his name tag. My hands were shaking. I usually stayed calm in crisis and reacted afterwards. This was different. My calm was really a kind of checking out. I couldn’t check out now. There was a dead body in my yard. If he was murdered, the murderer could be watching me right now.

Were you acquainted with the deceased?

No.

---

Life is only one of the Great Illusions. ²

---

I was doing it again, thinking in quotes from murder mysteries. It was a coping mechanism I had adopted in my teens. Other teens drank, did drugs, or had sex. I read mysteries and recited (or thought) quotes when stressed. I couldn’t process what was going on. Was this an illusion? A sick joke? A dream?

What was he doing in your backyard?

Leaving a package I guess.

Did I order a package? I didn’t remember ordering anything. I was a regular Amazon Prime customer, but today, I couldn’t... there’s a dead body named Bob in my backyard.

The EMS and police are on their way, the dispatcher said, transporting me back to reality.

Within ten minutes sirens screamed into the neighborhood. Neighbors walked out on their porches. Jim, who worked for the FBI suddenly appeared at my side.

So, Kat, what happened here?

I have no idea. I came home from work and just found him here.

Nothing suspicious then?

Nope. I said, I wasn’t sure what he meant by suspicious. A UPS man wandering around the yard was a little weird. Maybe he knocked and was checking to see if I was in the backyard.

Was there a package? I was suddenly transported in Jim’s world where everything was questioned. I imagined myself being under a bright light, being interrogated.

No clue.

Did you look for a package?

---

Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and leading to the most outre results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable. ³

---

Kat, why are you quoting Sherlock Holmes?

It helps me stay calm, I answered.

Jim reached out his pumpkin sized hand and patted me awkwardly on the shoulder.

He turned on the flashlight app on his phone and studied the gray grass. Just then two policemen walked towards me.

Are you the one who found the body?

Yes, I found the Bob. I mean body.

The paramedics covered the body with a sheet and loaded it up on a gurney. They wheeled him up towards the ambulance and put him in.

I answered a few more questions for the police and then Jim returned from the front porch carrying a box.

That is strange, he said while making long strides towards me, his copper hair glowed in the patio lights which I had finally remembered to turn on.

What? I asked.

Strange that he left the package on the front porch and then went to the backyard.

I took the package and turned it over. No label. No address. Just a box. That was pretty weird too.

No label either, he added before I could say it. Then he turned to the policemen and introduced himself. Jim Gains, FBI.

Well, officer one said, I didn’t know this was a federal case.

It’s not, I said. Jim is a neighbor helping me out. It’s not anything. Just a poor UPS man who died in my yard.

I grabbed the box. And if you are finished here, I’d like to go inside with my package. I’ve had a long day and I’m pretty shaken up.

I could feel another quote welling up in my gut. I didn’t want Jim to think I was weird. Okay, weirder than I actually was. I pushed it back down.

We’re finished here, Officer two said.

I started towards my back door. Jim followed. Let me make you some coffee, he offered.

Thanks, Jim, that would be great. I knew he wasn’t just being nice, he really wanted to know what was in that box and why Bob died in my backyard. I wanted to know too.

Once inside, we went to the kitchen. I turned on the lights. Jim went to the coffee maker and filled up the pot with water.

Sit down! he said pointing to the bench in the built in breakfast nook. I can handle this.

I sat and stretched my legs out on the bench like a little girl. Jim was used to making coffee in my kitchen. Not like he was here all the time or anything like that. Nope. He just came to my weekly book club. We read mysteries. A genre which attracts both men and women. Several couples came. It was a fun night out for them. We had just finished Anne Perry’s The Face of a Stranger. I love a good mystery and apparently so did Jim, he never missed a week.

I had always wanted to own a bookstore and sell mysteries and collect rare books. I hadn’t squirreled enough money away for that yet, so I settled for my job at the local library. I can’t say settled. I loved it there. Who wouldn’t be happy surrounded by books? It was a dream come true for me. I never thought I would survive my teenage years, much less go to college and major in library science. I spent my four years of high school bouncing from foster home to foster home, finally landing in Green Pines, a facility that helped foster kids find their footing in the adult world.

At Green Pines, I had buried my nose in books, but a counselor had noticed. She suggested I go to college and major in Library Science. She helped me get a part time job at a library reshelving books. I finished my degree and got a full time job at that same library. That was ten years ago. A year ago, I bought my first house. This house, a craftsman that someone had meticulously restored. It was my dream house. I started the mystery book club a month after I moved in because I wanted a social life. A book club was a safe way to have one on my terms. I could have people over for a few hours and then they would go home. It was a great way to make friends and still maintain my introverted lifestyle.

I have two questions for you, Jim said as he handed me a mug of coffee.

I took the coffee and he turned to pour himself a cup, first he ran his fingers through his hair, giving it a mad scientist sort of look. He did this when he was thinking. I had noticed it during bookclubs when we were discussing the who, what, when, where, and why of the plot. I liked that he didn’t really care that his hair was sticking up like the arms of an anemone.

Shoot. I said. Sipping my hot coffee. It was strong, just the way I liked it.

Where is the UPS truck and why did you go in the backyard when you got home?

I did not see a truck. That’s a mystery. I went in the backyard because I had left some gardening tools out before work and I wanted to put them away.

Did you?

Did I what?

Put the tools away.

---

To a great mind, nothing is little,' remarked Holmes, sententiously. ⁴ I recited.

Exactly, Jim replied.

---

Well, no. I found a dead Bob. I guess I forgot.

I’ll do that before I head home, he said.

Please don’t go yet, I said. I don’t want to be alone. Plus. The box. Don’t you want to find out what’s in the box?

The box was sitting on the table. He pulled out a pocket knife and slit the clear packing tape. He grabbed both ends of the box and flipped the flaps open. As soon as he did, it started ticking. Not like an old analog clock, more like a microwave beeping. I stood up to look inside. I didn’t have time to see the contents. Jim grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the backdoor.

It’s a bomb! he yelled as we ran out into the yard. He pushed me face down into the grass and threw himself on top of me. Grass went up my nose. Then I felt a wave of heat move up my exposed legs and my ears rang. Everything moved in slow motion.

---

Crime is common. Logic is rare. Therefore it is upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should dwell. ⁵

---

A bomb.

I felt as if I had been pinned down under Jim for hours. I knew it was only seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. He stood and pulled me up by the arm. You okay? he asked.

I turned and looked at my house. Flames shot out of the roof. The kitchen? Gone. Swallowed by a charred black hole.

Chapter Two

Y ou can stay with me! Maryanne, another neighbor, and member of the book club, said as she put her arm around my shoulder.

It had been a taxing night. The police returned. Then the FBI. Since it was a bombing, it had now shifted to the FBI.

Who in the world would target a librarian? Especially one raised in foster care with no ties to anyone? I was no one valuable - no source of secret documents or information. Or wealthy relatives to scam. Just a less than average ordinary girl. It made little sense.

After all the questioning, standing out in the yard looking at my blackened kitchen, the police and FBI left. Jim said goodbye and went back to his house. I had kind of hoped he would have asked me to stay there, but it made no sense for him to. I wasn’t really anyone to him. I wasn’t really anyone to anybody. Except, Lilith, the counselor from Green Pines. I still met with her once a week for coffee. It wasn’t an official counseling session; it had grown from that into a friendship. The only true friendship I had.

Come on, let’s go in, Maryanne said, waking me from my trance.

We walked across the shadowed yard and up to her brightly lit front porch. I had never been inside her house before even though she came in mine weekly. A weird thought to have after my house had been bombed. I don’t think I had processed that. I didn’t process things quickly. Lilith had told me that. I kind of got stuck in freeze mode. I think I was stuck there now. Lines from Murder Mysteries were flitting through my head. When I didn’t know how to cope, I processed with words or quotes that had nothing to do with my story. Maybe there was an indirect connection, I couldn’t tell. Not until I ran them by Lilith on our weekly coffee dates.

---

We matter to God — God only knows why.

Lilith had recited that to me. She wasn’t a huge mystery fan however, she encouraged me to quote them. She had found the Father Brown quote and used it regularly.

---

We stepped into the small foyer. Maryanne had a craftsman, like mine on the outside, but not at all on the inside. It was bright instead of dark like mine. She had taken a few walls out, opening the kitchen to the dining room. I loved it. Shiplap embellished the walls surrounding the fireplace. Two white slipper chairs flanked the hearth. A streamlined pearly gray sectional served as a divider between the living room and dining room. The dining room contained a slim white farmhouse table and six pale gray upholstered chairs. A sign on the wall advertised the style Farmhouse.

I like what you’ve done with the place, I said.

Oh, thanks! I love design! It’s so much fun!

Maryanne was a puzzle. She was a data analyst for the FBI. She should fit the bookworm mold- chunky glasses and a plain face. Instead, she was gorgeous. Perfect, even. Long chestnut curls cascaded over her shoulders and azure eyes dazzled with vitality. She worked out all the time. Her wardrobe was always well coordinated, even her yoga pants looked put together.

I looked down at my sweatpants. Saggy in all the wrong places. I had grabbed them before questioning, before the FBI put yellow tape around my property. I was average. The girl you don’t call out in an exercise class. No amazing transformation story. I was always the same size. Not the super fit cute girl in the front of the class. The don’t- look- at-me girl in the back working out a plot to a mystery novel in my head. Oh, and falling over during the balance sequence.

Bizarre. I was thinking about the shape of my body and a mystery when my house had blown up, but why?

Looks like we have a mystery to solve, just like your book club! Maryanne said, Oh, was that insensitive? Probably. We just don’t have a lot of excitement around here. I guess I’m overreacting.

No. No, I said, I was thinking the same thing. We have a mystery to solve.

SQUEE! I am sorry about your house. I can help you redesign your kitchen!

I do feel bad about Bob.

Who?

The UPS man or was he someone else?

Maryanne jumped up and down and threw her hands up in the air like a cheerleader. A real live mystery!

I was excited to solve this, especially because someone was trying to kill me. I didn’t want that. I practiced dissociation and removed myself from the situation. I had a habit of dissociative episodes. I just ignored events, such as the time I set the dish towel on fire. Good thing it was a book club night and Jim had put it out.

The most exciting thing we have had around here is when you set the dish towel on fire during book club! It was if Maryanne had read my mind. Enough of my babbling. You must be exhausted. Let me show you the guest bath. You can get cleaned up and go to bed.

Maryanne led me upstairs to a bedroom with a doghouse dormer. A small bathroom with the tiniest clawfoot bathtub I had ever seen tucked in where a closet once lived.

Here ya go, she handed me a silver towel from the shelf. I’ll go find you some PJs too.

I pushed the plug down and turned on the hot water. I found a bag of lavender-scented Epsom salt and added some, watching the crystals dissolve while my mind backtracked over the day. Who would want to kill me?

Here ya go! Maryanne’s hand appeared with pink silk pjs in it. I’m not coming in in case you’re naked. I don’t care about that stuff, but I didn’t know if you did.

Of course she didn’t. She wasn’t lumpy in all the wrong places.

"Hey, I have some work to do. So, goodnight. Oh, Jim texted you and said some agents would be over