Murder at the Best Little Library in Texas

By Roy Sullivan

Think public libraries are staid and quiet? Then welcome to the “Best Little Library in Texas” where restroom fires/accidents, a surprise birth upstairs, angry female demonstrators at the front door, even a study group pledged to kill people because of their DNA (and a subsequent murder) are almost routine. How do six committed librarians and one lonely Texas cowboy survive these dangers? Credit their high quotient of humor, affection for one another, teamwork and community service. The “Best Little Library” proves it’s not the quality of the book collections, it’s the individuals of the staff who make the library exceptional.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781546275121

Roy Sullivan

Former Regular Army and State Department Foreign Service officer Roy Sullivan enjoys Texas history. In addition to history, he also writes short, one night/one flight mysteries featuring private investigator Jan Kokk from the Caribbean Island of Curacao. The latter is a bon vivant, man-of-the world and sleuth equally at ease with an intriguing mystery or a lovely lady. Kokk, that is, not Sullivan.

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2019 Roy Sullivan. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/09/2019

ISBN: 978-1-5462-7502-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-7512-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019900235

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

This book is a work of fiction, pure fiction. Any references to real people, actual locales or businesses are used fictitiously. Other names, places, lyrics, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actuality is the result of chance, not intent.

CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY ONE

TWENTY TWO

TWENTY THREE

TWENTY FOUR

TWENTY FIVE

TWENTY SIX

TWENTY SEVEN

TWENTY EIGHT

TWENTY NINE

THIRTY

Dedicated to Librarians Everywhere

ONE

I t was late September in the Hill Country of Texas, still hot and simmering, waiting for cooler temps or maybe a taste of rain to awaken the cedar-clad hills and dry past ures.

Monday morning and the streets of Carrville, Texas, were crowded with yellow Head Start school buses, behind them lines of impatient motorists waiting as bus doors opened to swallow sleepy school children struggling with backpacks.

Drumming slender fingers on the steering wheel, Lara lip-synched

"I got to get my rest,

‘Cause Monday’s a mess!"

Traffic creeped along narrow Water Street as she guided her late model sedan along with the pick-ups and SUVs. The stop light ahead on Main Street changed, allowing traffic to enter Highway 16, leading south to Bandera. At traffic intervals like this, she usually sang a happy alto. Fittingly, today’s tune was ‘Blue Monday.’

As soon as possible, Lara eased into the far right, causing a big black pickup following closely on her bumper to repeatedly honk in complaint. Loudly.

I’m never sure she said to herself, if the honk is for me or for my car tag.

The tag proclaimed "LIVE BETTER; READ MORE"

Thinking positively, she waved a languid hand out the open window at the honker as she pulled into the parking lot of the library—her very own library for the last five years.

She backed the Ford into an empty space in the last row. No assigned parking places for library employees, she reminded herself of the first new rule when she became Library Director.

She locked the driver’s door and stood, checking her appearance in the window. Her coal black hair cut short was seldom a problem. Large luminescent green eyes—which could look either endearing or fiery—inspected her reflection, a slim image of a white, frilly blouse over black slacks and no-nonsense flats.

She’d prefer jeans, T-shirt and cowboy boots. ‘Library Directors dress professionally,’ she mouthed the phrase learned as a graduate student of library science at College Station where she attended A&M University.

As usual, her dependable chum and sounding-board, Amy Sidwell, chief reference librarian, already had opened the library side door and turned on the first floor lighting. Standing beside the coffee/break room, thirtyish Amy, blonde pony tail half-way down her back, smoothed a green skirt topped by an amber sweater.

Morning, they smiled and spoke simultaneously as Lara dropped her black briefcase, another required accessory for library directors, on the coffee table.

Coffee’s makin’, Amy announced as she tasted the first cup. Making a face at the result, she asked, How was your night?

Lara deadpanned. "Dull and duller. The usual. Think I watched Raymond reruns until midnight."

Amy made another face. Ouch!

Lara flinched at Amy’s look. But you…you had a date with Harold last night. Right? How’d it go?

Amy blinked blue eyes over the rim of her large cup. Another tag match, but I won.

Lara rolled her eyes. Thought you really liked the guy?

Amy sniffed. My calico cat’s better company after the first few minutes. Harold’s new passion is the NFL draft.

Sighing, she added a dollop of cream to her cup. Talks about it nonstop.

Last week Amy mentioned a planned future cruise out of Galveston with Harold. No more talk about that Caribbean love boat get-away?

Amy sat, staring at the laptop. Not until after the Super Bowl, he says. Then he’ll come up with another excuse, she lamented.

Turning on a laptop, Amy shook her head. What about your latest adventures with Make-A-Match? Any handsome bachelor persistently vying for your in-box?

Ignoring the innuendo, Lara picked up the day’s schedule of library activities. Doris handling the Children’s Hour again?

Yep. she enjoys it, except for those bossy parents.

Oh, for the life of a public librarian, Lara mimicked. Work, work, work and not an eligible man in sight!

Her voice raised an octave. But the pay’s good and going to get better after Christmas!

Yippee! Amy jumped out of her chair. You mean those commissioners approved your new budget? We’ll get a raise?

That’s the rumor, believe it or not. But don’t order champagne until we have it in our hot little hands.

Slender, Doris Meeker, brunette bangs almost hiding her seriously-round reading classes, came through the door, momentarily posing for them in her new twist top and skinny jeans. She stopped, eyeing them suspiciously. What’s going on? You two look too friendly for Monday morning. What’s wrong?

We’re fine, Lara helped herself to Mr. Coffee. Are you ready for the kiddies’ hour? Need anything?

Doris gestured. Short a few blankets for the little darlin’s sitting on the rug, but we’ll be okay.

I can get more, Lara volunteered.

We’ll be fine.

Clarice, the housekeeper, bustled in and paused, overhearing the subject. I’ll keep an eye on the restrooms. They may need extra cleaning.

Thanks, Clarice. Better keep a mop handy, too.

With a wave, Clarice disappeared into her supply closet, muttering Roger that, Boss.

Lara refilled her cup as Susan and Eugenia, who manned the book check-out station, arrived and took adjoining chairs behind the check-out partition near the library front doors.

Doris did a mock salute as Lara waved at the newcomers. All present and accounted for, Director. Except for our resident bachelor, Harry, who’s on a week’s leave ogling co-eds in Austin.

Lara half returned the salute with a grin. Good report. For that you’ve earned the first two book salesmen this morning.

Doris elbowed Susan. "With my luck, the sales men will be sales dollies."

TWO

L ara, slender Susan who’d just spent a week hospitalized for colitis, telephoned Lara’s office from the front desk.

"There’s a gentleman here wanting to see you. Shall I send him back?

Book salesman? Doris will handle him.

No, he looks like a cowboy…or something. Named Roberts.

Does the cowboy look dangerous? Wearing spurs?

Susan took her time, looking over the tall man in faded levis standing there, grinning at her. She returned the smile with interest before pointing him down the hall toward Lara’s open door.

Grade A, I’d say, she giggled as the man turned away and started down the hall. "He’s on the way. If you don’t want him, send him back. I’ll take him," she whispered.

Lara rose to meet the stranger, pausing outside her door to read its Library Director inscription.

How I help you, Mr. Roberts?

He towered over her, white teeth glinting from a tanned face like a toothpaste commercial.

"You may not remember…. I’m the guy who honked at you yesterday morning as you pulled into the parking lot here. You waved at me.

I thought to follow-up your friendly greeting. It took me a whole day to track you down.

She studied the man, unhappy with the memory of his loud honking from the pickup behind hers.

As I recall you also gave me the famous finger greeting as you roared by in your big black dually. To add to that quaint insult, that big dog in your passenger seat howled at me!

Roberts blinked at the onslaught. I apologize for Pooch and me, Ma’m. I’m here, hoping to redeem myself over lunch with you. Even Library Directors, he grinned, again exposing perfect teeth, require nutrition.

She stifled a smile. No thank you, Mr. Roberts. Nice of you, but I don’t intend to be fattened up and auctioned off at your sales barn.

In his best version of contrite, his smile faded. I apologize for the honking and inappropriate display, Miss…? He paused, looking at her sideways.

Beyer, she provided her name. She stared at him. Are you one of our library patrons, Mr. Roberts?

He held up a just-issued library card. Yes, Ma’m. So this proves I must be a reliable citizen. I repeat the offer. Please have lunch with me? I’m anxious to make amends as well as learn about what goes on in a big high-tech, attractive library like this. His eyes roamed the upper floors and computers above them.

Thank you, Mr. Roberts, but we’re having our staff luncheon today. I doubt you’d be interested in our library-oriented conversation and twitter that accompanies it. Have a nice day elsewhere. Goodbye now.

Later, at noon, she was so absorbed checking the September schedule of library activities, she didn’t notice the amused silence of Amy, Doris, Susan and the others seated around the luncheon table.

In the center of the table, surrounded by the usual brown bags from home, cold drinks and snacks, sat a very large white layer cake decorated with little red flower buds and red lettering legible clear across the room.

Lara stopped and stared. What’s this?

Some grinning, some giggling, the others all pointed at the bold lettering on the cake:

LARA: DINNER AT SEVEN PLEASE? DAN 257-5900

After only crumbs remained of the cake (everyone had seconds), Doris and Susan lagged behind in the lunch room, apparently to help Clarice clean up the luncheon mess. Their real purpose was to discuss the cake as an omen of their boss’s future.

That man is drop-dead devine! Susan was the first to voice an opinion.

Clarice, vacuuming nearby, heard the whisper and seconded the motion. He’d sweep her—me included— off that library science pedestal!

Doris volunteered. If she doesn’t go for him, I’m next in line. She swayed and began singing and gyrating:

"Take a chance on me!

Take a chance on me!"

Meanwhile Lara returned to her office, frowning at the telephone as she formed a mental reply to that presumptuous Mr. Dan Roberts. She already knew his first name after a quick scan of his library card application.

Roberts here, he answered the first ring crisply. His voice and tone initiated alarm bells ringing somewhere within her starched, impregnable white blouse.

Highly unusual, she mentally conceded. Even frightening.

She recovered instantly and managed, "Mr. Roberts, this is Lara Beyer at the