The Battered Body

ONE

“It’s how much?” Librarian James Henry turned pale as he glanced back at the real estate listing on his lap.

The real estate agent, a prim blonde with purple-tinted lipstick and calculating blue eyes, reached over her polished mahogany desk and removed the listing from her client’s soft lap. “I’m sorry,” she smiled icily. “I’m sure we can find you something in your price range that would suit you just perfectly.” She uncapped a ballpoint pen and held it poised over a blank sheet of paper. “What would you say your price range is , Mr. Henry?”

“About half of that one.” James gestured at the listing that his Realtor was tucking into a blue folder, and his eyes slid toward the shiny brass plaque on her desk. Apparently, Joan Beechnut had been the area’s leader in home sales for the last three years.

Seeing that her client had noticed her laurels, Joan smiled proudly, revealing small, ferretlike teeth coated by a thin line of purple.

“I’m planning to win again this year,” she stated haughtily, and then she began flipping through her binder of house listings. “It’s too bad you didn’t call me earlier in the fall,” she chided him as her fingers raked through listing after listing. “If you had, you would have had so much more to choose from. As it stands, well, most folks don’t put their houses up for sale right after Thanksgiving. They’ve got Christmas shopping on their minds and no one likes to move over the holidays.”

“Well, I have to,” James replied rather testily. “My father is getting married on Christmas Eve, and I’m sure Pa would rather not carry his new bride over the threshold only to remember that his adult son is sleeping in the bedroom down the hall.”

Joan’s brown eyes, hidden beneath an expensive pair of aquamarine contacts, twinkled at the thought of some interesting gossip. “A second marriage, eh? Did your parents get divorced?”

“My mother died a few years ago,” James stated flatly. “That’s how I ended up as Shenandoah’s head librarian. I used to be a professor at William & Mary. That’s why lots of folks in Quincy’s Gap call me Professor,” he added with pride.

Blue Ridge Realty wasn’t in James’s hometown of Quincy’s Gap, however, and Joan was unimpressed by James’s title. “And what about you?” She gestured at his left hand. “No wedding ring, I see? Will you be living all alone in the three-bedroom, two-bathroom house you’d like to purchase?”

James squirmed in his chair. He didn’t appreciate the “all” Joan had placed before the “alone” for emphasis. “Yes, it’ll just be me.”

Joan flipped through more listings. “No pets?”

“No.”

“Hmm, then you don’t need a big yard.” She turned back several pages.

“But I like to garden,” James piped up before the Realtor restricted him to a yard that could be mowed with a pair of barber’s clippers. “In fact, I’d like an excuse to buy a riding mower, and if the house had a deck or a patio, that would be great too. Decks are perfect for growing tomatoes.”

“Tomatoes, huh?” Joan stared at James for a moment and then removed a listing from the binder and placed it in front of him with a flourish.

James gazed at the image of a sad-looking ranch with a flat and treeless expanse of front lawn. Even though the photo was black and white, James could see that the roof was stained, the front stoop appeared to be sagging, and chips of paint the size of dinner plates were missing from the wooden siding.

“It’s a perfect fixer-upper for a handy guy,” Joan said enthusiastically, as though the house were a valuable gemstone that only required some simple polishing in order to make it sparkle. “A new coat of paint, a bush planted here and there, and you’re good to go.”

“And a new roof, replaced stoop, and who knows what else inside.” James handed the listing back to her. “And I’m rather a novice with power tools, so I’d prefer not to buy something that needs this kind of overhaul.”

Shoving the rejected home back into the binder, Joan laced her fingers together and leaned forward on her desk. “You know, I have some lovely apartment rentals over at Mountain Valley Woods. They’re just starting to lease Building F. Why don’t I take you to view a few of them? You could move into a brand new two-bedroom apartment and relax while waiting for the perfect house to come onto the market.”

James thought about the idea of living in Building F of Mountain Valley Woods. He could easily visualize the crisp, white walls, pristine carpeting, and sparkling kitchen. He could also imagine the lifelessness of such a dwelling. Even if he filled it with his books and bought some prints to hang on the unscathed walls, he knew that an apartment would never feel like home. Even the decrepit ranch Joan had shown him had more character than four square rooms that had never witnessed a moment of human history. Besides, how could he possibly live in a place with the ridiculous title of Mountain Valley Woods? It was as if the developers strung together every geographic noun they could think of to use as the complex’s name.

All they needed was to add River, Brook, or Stream and they’d have listed all the things on a Shenandoah County map, James thought with a wry grin, and he stood. “I’ve got some time, Ms. Beechnut, so I’d rather keep looking at houses, if that’s okay. But right now, I’ve got to get back to work.”

Doing her best to disguise her frown, Joan rose as well and vigorously pumped James’s hand in farewell. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you something. But even if the perfect house just fell into my lap today, it would take at least thirty days to close, so you may want to go ahead and make plans to stay someplace else on your father’s wedding night.”

Ruffled by the smirk in her voice, James pivoted. “I’ve got friends who will put me up as long as I need,” he declared with feeling.

“Well, those must be some nice friends,” Joan replied and closed the door to her office.

“They’re the best,” James mumbled happily to himself as he got into his old Bronco and headed back to work.

At the library, James realized that he had used his entire lunch hour at the Realtor’s and hadn’t had the chance to eat anything. He dug through the staff fridge for any enticing leftovers, but was disappointed to find only an assortment of condiments and a piece of string cheese that had turned hard enough to double as a cudgel.

“I come bearing dessert.” Scott Fitzgerald, one of the twenty-four-year-old twin brothers who formed James’s full-time staff, breezed into the kitchen. He dumped a covered cake plate onto the counter, shoved a wave of his unkempt hair behind his ear, and removed the Tupperware lid with a flourish. “Yum, yum! It’s Mrs. Hurley’s famous chocolate angel food cake. She brought it in ’cause Francis and I helped her design and print out her own Christmas cards using our computers. She told us we were magicians and that she was going to make us a dessert every week ’til Christmas.” He smiled. “We’ve got the best job, Professor.”

“Yes, we do, Scott.” Saliva leapt into James’s mouth as he inhaled the rich scent of buttery chocolate. “Oh my, I think it’s still warm.”

“Yep.” Scott reached for a knife and two paper plates. “She said she just took it out of the oven, strapped it to the back of her bike, and headed over here. That’s the kind of woman I’d like to marry someday, Professor.” He cut an enormous slice of cake, slapped it onto his plate, and handed the knife to his boss. “Of course, the future Mrs. Fitzgerald also has to have a fine appreciation of sci-fi and fantasy, video games, and the Discovery Channel.” Scott’s front teeth sunk into the moist cake. He chewed and swallowed as rapidly as a rabbit munching on a lettuce leaf.

Eyeing Scott’s lanky frame, James cut a marginally smaller piece of cake for himself. “What I’d give for your metabolism,” he muttered to Scott. “Enjoy it while you can.”

“No problem, Professor,” Scott said dutifully as he washed down his cake with a swig of Mountain Dew. “I ate a double-decker bacon-ranch cheeseburger for lunch, and it barely made a dent. I totally should have super-sized the whole meal.” He glanced toward the door of the break room. “Uh-oh, Francis isn’t looking happy out there. I’d better see what’s up.” Scott hurriedly wiped his mouth with a paper towel and dashed out of the break room and around the circulation desk.

James cut himself another piece of cake as he watched Francis grab his brother’s slim arm and gesticulate toward the Children’s Corner. Assuming that Francis had merely found a glitch involving the craft he had planned for the kindergarten class that was scheduled to arrive any moment, James finished the cake in a leisurely fashion. The twins were more than capable of handling twenty-four energetic five-year-olds.

Licking the last crumbs from his plastic fork, he washed the cake knife and pondered over whether to brew a fresh pot of coffee.

At that moment, however, a patron approached the circulation desk with a tower of hardcover romance novels, and James hustled from the break room to check out her books and pack them neatly in her deep-red Friends of the Shenandoah County Library tote bag.

“I gotta do somethin’ to keep warm over the winter months,” the elderly woman told him with a sly grin. “Some steamy books, a plate of cookies, and a tumbler of whiskey. That’s the trick to survivin’ the long, cold nights when you live by yourself.”

Watching the old woman shuffle away, James wondered about his own plans for the winter months. First and foremost, he wanted to buy a house. Secondly, he had to figure out the details of Jackson and Milla’s wedding gift. He knew that he wanted to treat them to a wonderful honeymoon, and since they didn’t want to leave until after the New Year, James had four weeks to come up with the perfect trip. And just as soon as his father’s wedding was over and the newlyweds were out of town, James wanted nothing more than to focus his attention on rekindling a romantic relationship with Sheriff’s Deputy Lucy Hanover.

“Professor!” Francis approached the desk wearing a worried frown and carrying a basket brimming with cotton balls. “He’s gone! Glowstar’s gone!”

Searching his memory bank for the name Glowstar, James came up blank. “Who?”

“Our elf,” Francis answered impatiently. “The Elf on the Shelf? You know, the stuffed elf we take out every year who magically moves around the library and watches the kids to make sure they’re good.”

“Right!” James remembered and grinned. “And he reports their behavior to Santa Claus after every library visit. I hadn’t realized his name was Glowstar.”

Francis’s frown deepened. “This is serious, Professor. The younger kids always get pretty wild this close to Christmas vacation, and Glowstar’s the only way we’ve been able to keep them in line. The whole ‘You better watch out’ chorus Scott and I like to sing has lost its power without that elf.” Francis cast a frantic look over his shoulder. “For example, I’ve got twenty-four kindergartners back there that are supposed to be gluing cotton balls together to make Santa’s beard. Instead, they’re gluing them to their fingers, the chairs, the carpet, their friends’ hair…”

“Oh.” James could see that this was no laughing matter. He hated when the library became untidy. “You’re not using glitter with this project, I hope.”

Francis glanced away. “Um, it’s supposed to create ‘the twinkle’ in Santa’s eye.”

James walked around the circulation desk. “And what is it being used for in lieu of an eye twinkle, may I ask?”

“Uh,” Francis removed his glasses and began rubbing them vigorously on his plaid shirt. “Well, one kid has doused his side of the table with a magical silver snowfall, and now there’s glitter everywhere but on Santa’s face.”

“We need to distract them before things get any worse.” James took Francis by the elbow. “Announce a reward. The first kid to clean up his or her space will be given the opportunity to find Glowstar and win a prize for spotting his whereabouts. I’m sure the elf’s just hiding in the stacks somewhere.”

“And their reward?” Francis inquired. “They’re going to need motivation, Professor. These twenty-first-century kids don’t lift a finger without the promise of instant gratification, so I’ll need to tell them ahead of time what to expect.”

James’s gaze swept around the library. All he had were bookmarks and tote bags. He doubted the average five-year-old would work too hard for literary paraphernalia. “I bought a box of candy canes at Food Lion,” he mused aloud. “I was going to put them out on the circulation desk for our patrons to take as they exited. Do you think that’ll work as a motivator?”

“Absolutely!” Francis quickly nodded. “I think our entire educational system would grind to a halt without candy, Professor. Kids will do anything for sugar. I’ll go make the announcement before all the picture books are covered with glue and glitter.”

As Francis jogged back to the chaotic Children’s Corner, James decided to empty the reshelving cart while conducting his own search for Glowstar. By the time the cart was empty, a gang of mischievous kindergartners had pulled books from a dozen lower shelves. The kids discovered dust bunnies, old Band-Aids, and a few pieces of hardened chewing gum, but there was no trace of a six-inch elf dressed in red and green felt.

An hour later, the twins had finally finished picking up the trails of sticky cotton balls and vacuuming up most of the silver glitter from the carpet. James was just replacing the last stray-a picture book entitled Everybody Poops, which was one of the library’s most popular titles and not just with the juvenile crowd-when Bennett Marshall walked in.

“What are you doing here?” James asked his friend. “This isn’t your regular route.”

Bennett reached into his mail satchel and withdrew a thick pile of letters and catalogues held together by a rubber band. “Larry got bit by a dog this morning. I’m helpin’ out with his route, because the United States Postal Service doesn’t care what kind of evil canines are runnin’ loose in this world. The mail must be delivered, come rain, snow, hurricane-force winds, or rabid, wild-eyed, furry hounds of hell.”

“Larry’s never mentioned any threatening dogs on his route,” James said, gesturing for Bennett to follow him into the break room.

“That’s ’cause there aren’t any. He’s got the cushiest route in the whole valley. At least as far as dogs go. Nah, he was bit takin’ his cat to the vet this mornin’. Apparently that crazy feline decided to try to ride a pit bull like it was in some kind of kitty rodeo. Larry was attacked while pryin’ his cat off the back of one mighty irritated young dog. That pup had just gotten a whole mess of shots and was in a foul mood before Larry’s cat treated him like a pincushion.” Bennett smirked. “Guess animals get just as agitated as we do about visitin’ the doctor.”

James laughed. “And they don’t get lollipops either. Doc Spratt has given me a green lollipop ever since I can remember. Would you like some chocolate angel food cake while you’re here? It’s homemade.”

Bennett cast a longing glance at the cake and then shook his head. “Can’t do it, man. I got some bad news when I was at the doc’s office last week. Shoot, I felt like bitin’ somebody on my way out of there.”

Concerned, James closed the break room door and motioned at the table. “Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothin’ major, my man. I don’t have cancer or anythin’ that should be puttin’ that long look on your face.” Bennett pointed at the cake. “I just gotta keep an eye on my sugars. Seems like bein’ over forty comes with a whole mess of possible ails, and it would appear as though I’ve got one of them.”

“Which one?”

Bennett formed quotation marks with the first two fingers of his hands. “Mature onset diabetes.” He dropped his hands. “But I don’t need any pills or anything yet. I can control this thing by gettin’ back into the gym and watchin’ what I eat. And truth be told, James, I’ve only been watchin ’ the food as it leaves my plate and is shoveled into my mouth. Ever since we got back from the barbecue contest this summer, I’ve been indulgin’ way too much.”

Relieved to hear that his friend wasn’t seriously ill, James scooped some grounds into the coffee machine and pushed the brew button. “I know what you mean. I tried on the suit I’m planning to wear to my father’s wedding, and I look like a big, gray whale. I’d better hope there’s no fog out that night or someone might harpoon me.”

Bennett threw his head back and laughed. “My friend, you always know how to cheer me up.” He shifted to one hip and removed his wallet from his back pocket. “Take this,” he said, handing James a business card. “She’s my nutritionist. I’m meetin’ with her once a week until I get on track. My doc recommended her, and man, I did not want to go see her one bit, but she’s just as nice as she can be.”

“Ruth Wilkins, huh?” James put down the card and poured coffees for them both. “And what does she advise you to do?”

“Keep a journal of everythin’ I’m eatin’ and what kind of exercise I’m doin’.” Bennett took a sip of coffee. “See? I’m gonna have to write this down now.”

James grimaced. “Sounds like a hassle.”

“Maybe.” Bennett shrugged. “But I’ve only got one body. I gotta start takin’ care of it.”

“Well, I’m good at making lists, so I guess keeping a food log isn’t too different. Though my to-do list is getting as long as Santa’s these days.”

Bennett took his coffee cup to the sink and began to rinse it out. “What’s on it?”

James ticked the items off on his fingers. “Find an amazing honeymoon trip for Milla and my father, buy a house, locate Glowstar-our Christmas elf who’s gone missing-and make an appointment with your nutritionist so I can fit into my suit.”

Chuckling, Bennett began digging around in his mailbag. “Oh, you’ve got one more thing to put on that list, my friend.”

“That’s true,” James answered, surprised that Bennett was aware that the most important item hadn’t been mentioned aloud. “I want to take Lucy out for a truly memorable date. I want to prove to her that I never stopped caring about her, even though I was dating Murphy over the summer.”

“Murphy is the other item I was going to add to your list,” Bennett grunted unhappily. “Murphy Alistair. Editor of the Shenandoah Star Ledger and soon-to-be the destroyer of life as we know it.” He unfolded a glossy postcard and held it out to James with a flourish. “Read it and weep, my friend. Then go to your calendar and circle January first, because that’s the day your ex-girlfriend’s fictional account about our lives hits the shelves. Put that on your list so you can flee town with the rest of us.”

James paled. “It wasn’t supposed to be released until February.” He unfolded the postcard and gazed at the colorful graphics with horror. “Oh, Lord,” he muttered miserably.

“Yessir. Unhappy New Year to us all. At least you’ve got that chocolate cake to comfort you.” Bennett clapped him on the back and then slipped on his coat. “You’d better take Lucy out on that date before Murphy’s book comes out. After all, now that she carries a service revolver and a nightstick, I’d be mighty nervous about bein’ near her when she gets her hands on a copy of that novel.” Bennett zipped his coat. “Shoot, we may just have another murder on our hands.”

“Don’t even joke about that!” James called out as Bennett disappeared through the break room door. Returning his attention to the postcard, his eyes soaked in the image of Murphy’s book cover and he shook his head in disgust. It showed the interior of a bakery, with shelf after shelf overflowing with plump croissants, golden loaves of bread, and delectable pies, tarts, and cakes. Splayed out on the black and white tiled floor was the body of a man wearing a varsity letter jacket. The man was facedown and his features were disguised by locks of curly golden hair, but a pool of blood had spread out beneath his head and shoulders and had formed a small stream that ran to the very edge of the postcard.

“Oh, brother,” James mumbled crossly as his eyes traveled away from the dead man to the pair of women standing above him. They both wore tight, starched, white aprons bearing the word Cravings in crimson cursive across the chest and were clutching one another in fear. One of the women was older and James assumed that she was meant to represent Megan Flowers, the owner of the Sweet Tooth, the bakery beloved by all in Quincy’s Gap. The younger woman with the inflated bosom and shapely legs was undoubtedly meant to be Megan’s teenage daughter, Amelia.

“I don’t think Megan’s going to like that image of Amelia,” James said aloud. “And they’re wearing an awful lot of makeup for two people who got up at three a.m. and spent the morning covered in flour and sugar.”

Flipping over the card in annoyance, James read the blurb on the back.

Small towns are full of secrets, and Quimby’s Pass is no exception. It seems that the isolated highlands of Virginia are not as bucolic as its residents believe, and when a former high school football hero is fatally poisoned, neighbor will turn against neighbor in search of justice. When the authorities are stumped by the killer’s cold trail, the true heroes of The Body in the Bakery arise. These average citizens-a librarian, a teacher, a mailman, a secretary, and a dog groomer-join together in an attempt to solve the murder. Can they stop the ruthless killer in time, or will another corpse show up somewhere on Main Street? Based on an astonishing true story.

Publishers Weekly calls The Body in the Bakery “the first must-read book of the New Year,” and Kirkus hails it as “a fast-paced thriller that unveils the chilly truth not only about Quimby’s Pass, but about the deceptions lurking beneath the surface in small towns throughout America. A fantastic read.”

The Body in the Bakery by Murphy Alistair. Pre-order your copy today!

James reread the blurb and then examined the graphic on the front one more time before tossing the postcard in the garbage.

He stomped into his office and gathered his briefcase and coat. He bid a terse farewell to the twins and paused in the lobby to slip into his wool coat. As he was fastening the buttons, Bennett reappeared from inside the library, brandishing two audio books.

“Uh-oh. You’re wearin’ a scowl deep as a dried river bed,” Bennett remarked.

“You can’t be surprised,” James replied curtly, jerking his gloves onto his fingers. “Where did you get that postcard anyway?”

“A man on my route tossed it into his recycling basket and the picture caught my eye. That card went to everyone in town, James. You’ve probably got one in your mailbox right this very minute.”

“And that means Lindy and Gillian and Lucy do too.”

Bennett nodded unhappily. “I’m afraid so.”

James wound his plaid scarf around his neck three times and then squared his shoulders. “I’m just not ready for this book to come out, Bennett. I have so many other things on my plate right now.”

“Well, you’d better move that date with Lucy to the top of your list. In fact, I think you should run right over to the Sheriff’s Department, pick her up, and take her out for some fancy, candlelit dinner. Maybe you can get that postcard outta her mailbox on the sly.”

Taking his keys from his right coat pocket, James looked at Bennett in confusion. “How much harm could a postcard do? It’s not like it says anything about us. I’m more concerned about what’s in the actual book.”

“It’s your call,” Bennett said, opening the door. A blast of December air caused them both to hesitate before stepping outside. “But I’m tellin’ you, man. Lucy is going to be mighty sore that Murphy called her a secretary.”

James groaned. “You’re right, she’s going to hate that. And somehow, I feel like she’s going to blame me for everything.”

“Well, you did get in bed with the enemy.” Bennett nudged James with his elbow. “No pun intended.”

“Thanks a lot, Bennett.” James gave his friend a harmless shove. “You go on ahead. I forgot something inside.”

“A book?” Bennett asked as he opened the door to his mail truck, revealing plastic bins filled with tidy rows of letters and catalogues.

“No,” James answered. “I’m going back in for the rest of that cake.” As he turned toward the library’s familiar warmth, James eyed the Santa cutout Francis had taped to the front door. He studied the cheery man’s soft paunch and round cheeks. Seeing that his own reflection in the glass door bore a resemblance to St. Nick’s physique, James frowned and grumbled, “Bah, humbug.”