MBDD excerpts 3.5 & 3.6

      The post below this one explains what's been going on about my health the past couple of days. Now that I've had time to think about it and digest the bad news, I'm going to be okay. I'll learn about diabetes, I'll take my meds, I'll lose the weight, I'll exercise. There is just another bump in the road. Same for the sleep apnea. Same for the other thing that I don't want to talk yet until we know for sure. But however things turn out, I'm the orginal bump-n-go boy. I'll be okay.
      I remember being amazed by Agatha's past and how it warped her life. I was amazed because her story seemed to come to me fully formed. I knew what she did and why she did it. I even understood her enough to pity her.

Excerpts 3.5 & 3.6 from Murder by Dewey Decimal
Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.

Excerpt 3.5
      The chief could see that Richard Storer, the brother-in-law of the late and so far unlamented Agatha Ryton-Storer, was shook up but didn't know whether it was because the murder had rattled him or because he was standing knee deep in the wreckage of his late sister-in-law's house. Someone had systematically torn Agatha's small house apart. Her belongings were in the floor, most broken; the seat cushions of her living room couch were shredded.
      "I found it this way," Storer said. "I just can't believe someone would do this."
      The chief nodded, kicking himself mentally. He should have sent deputies over to the house yesterday.
      Sims came into the living room. "Chief, all the rooms are torn up like this."
      "Figures," the chief grunted. "Mr. Storer, we had better go outside so that we don't disturb anything. There might be some evidence in here. Sims, you'd better call for some help and start dusting for prints."
      Storer followed the chief outside to the covered porch and stood quietly, almost seeming to ignore the chief. The bookstore owner was slight, with sandy brown hair and a crease in his brow. He looked rumpled with his tie loosened and his shirt wrinkled.
      "Are you doing okay, Mr. Storer?" the chief asked.
      "Yes." Storer sighed. "This is ... I'm taking this harder than I thought I would." He took a deep breath. "I took off work for a few days so that I could handle all the arrangements. I was planning on staying here, but I guess that won't be possible?" He looked questioningly at the chief.
      "At least for a couple of days until we're finished, if you don't mind," the chief said.
      "No, that'll be fine. I have an uncle I can stay with." Storer watched as Sims went to the police car to use the radio. "Tell me how she died," Storer requested so quietly the chief could barely hear him.
      The chief thought for a moment, looking for a gentle way to tell the story, but couldn't find one. "Sometime between seven and eight Tuesday morning, someone attacked her in her office in the library. Her throat was cut. She was found upstairs by her assistant around nine. Also, that morning, the murderer killed a man who possibly could have identified him or her and later that night may have attacked a woman. And that's about it. We don't have much more than that."
      Storer never looked up, studying the unkept lawn as if it was a tome of precious knowledge. Storer was so quiet and still that the chief began to get uneasy.
      "Are you okay, Mr. Storer?" the chief asked.
      Storer didn't answer for a moment, then sighed. "Yes, this has been quite a shock." He moved to the side of the porch and sat down on the old wooden swing. It creaked uneasily, and the chief decided he wouldn't test it by sitting down also.
      "I was wondering if you could tell me anything that would help understand why this has happened," the chief said, leaning against the porch railing. He felt that something about Storer's reaction wasn't right, but he couldn't pin down what.
      “I really doubt that I would know much that could help," Storer said, knitting his fingers around his knee. "Agatha pretty much lived her life, and I lived mine. We talked about once a year, usually on August tenth." He stared at the porch roof. "That's the anniversary of my brother's death. And we didn't talk long then. To be honest, I always wondered why she called. I guess that I was just the nearest thing to my brother she could find. And she did like to hold on to things."
      He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to the chief.
      The chief shook his head. "Never picked up the habit. Why did you have keys to her house?"
      "Two or three years ago, Agatha went to California to attend a relative's funeral. She asked me to check on her house while she was gone. I came up and spent a few days here visiting some friends. She had a spare set of keys for me, and I never gave them back. I forgot I had them until you called."
      It occurred to the chief why Storer's reaction seemed off, so he said, "If you don't mind me asking: if you weren't close, why are you so upset?"
      Storer laughed. "Good question. It's hard to tell you how I feel about Agatha. She was rude, irritating, insensitive--pick your bad quality, she had it. Still, she was just always there. Kind of like an old sofa that you hate and move to the basement but never get rid of. It's hard to explain. But I’ll miss her."
      The chief nodded. He could understand that. "Tell me, are you familiar with the library?"
      Storer lit up the cigarette and took a long draw. "No. I haven’t been in it since it became a library thirty years ago."
      "Did you know there was a safe in her office?" the chief asked.
      "No, though it doesn't surprise me," Storer said. "Old Eliah loved secrets, and Agatha was a lot like him. And if your next question is do I know what was in it, the answer is also 'no.' Agatha and I weren't that close."
      The chief shrugged casually. "Just wondering since whatever was in there was gone."
      Storer didn't reply.
      The chief tried a different tack. "Could Agatha have had any jewelry or anything like that?"
      Storer laughed shortly. "No, the Ryton family jewels were stolen a long time ago by Agatha's sister. Or at least that's what Agatha always said. Of course, she believed Eve was
actually Satan in disguise anyway."
      "That would be Evelyn Ryton," the chief said, moving upwind from Storer's cigarette smoke. "We haven't been able to find an address for her."
      "I might have an old one," Storer said. "We haven't stayed in touch. Not after --"
      "Not after?" the chief prompted.
      "My brother's death," Storer said.
      The chief felt certain that Storer had almost said something else.
      "Was there any particular reason Agatha didn't get along with her sister?" the chief asked.
      Storer seemed startled. "Well, what do you know. Old scandals do die. I didn’t think this town would ever forget."
      The chief waited.
      "My brother was killed over thirty years ago in a car accident," Storer said. "He was driving too fast on Watts Ridge and went off the side of the cliff. Just an hour before, he had told Agatha that he was leaving her and running away with another woman. The other woman, of course, was her sister, Evelyn."

Excerpt 3.6
      Lisa woke up in pain in a room she didn't recognize. Her throat throbbed with fire, and her face felt numb and stricken. She began to panic and started to rise, but the effort was too much, and she slid off in darkness again.
      When she woke again, a nurse was checking her pulse. "Where am I?" she tried to ask, but only a strangled noise came out.
      "Ah, you're awake," the nurse said. "I imagine you're not feeling so hot. I'm Tina Hayden. You might know my husband, Deputy Hayden."
      Lisa tried to talk again and did a little better. "Where am I?" she rasped. The effort made spasms of pain in her neck.
      The nurse looked concerned and said, "You're at the hospital, dear. Doctor Osborne treated you last night, but you're going to be just fine. You have a slight concussion, and that has you all mixed up right now."
      Lisa nodded. She could remember her attack in startling detail, but after that, it was hazy, disjointed.
      "Dear, we were wondering if you had any relatives that you might like us to call. Your friend Rita didn’t know."
      “Rita was here?”
      “Yes,” the nurse said. “She heard about it on the radio and came to see you. I’m afraid you were sleeping all the time she was here.”
      “She used to work with my mom at the truck stop,” Lisa whispered.
      “So is there anyone you’d like us to call?”
      Briefly considering her elderly Aunt Stella, Lisa finally shook her head. Stella had enough health problems of her own.
      “Well, Rita said she would be back later,”
      Lisa started to nod, but fell asleep again. It was afternoon before she opened her eyes again. Her thoughts were clearer, and the pain in her bruised throat had settled down to a dull throb.
      "You're awake."
      Bernard's voice startled her. He was sitting in a chair beside her.
      "I only got here a few minutes ago," he said. "I didn't want to wake you."
      “Obsidian?" she asked in a soft whisper.
      "Oh, the cat. He's fine. I went around this morning and fed him again. How many times a day should I feed him?"
      Lisa held up two fingers.
      "Okay, I'll go around tonight. Rita was here when I got here. She went down the cafeteria.” He looked embarrassed. “I think she thinks we’re … ah … dating.”
      Lisa raised her head a little. "Did they catch him?"
      "No. He ran away when I showed up, but the chief thinks they will soon," he said. "There's a policeman just outside your door."
      She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She felt bereft, alone and beaten. Tears welled up. Suddenly Bernard reached out and took her hand.
      "I want you to know I'm here for you," he said.
      For some reason, him saying that seemed funny. And it was even funnier that she saw Rita stick her head in the doorway and smile at them. She tried to laugh, but it hurt. She drifted off to sleep as he held her hand.

End excerpts. Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.