Viv waved a negligent hand. “Oh, no. It’s nothing like that. Spence Holt is very laid-back. Business casual is perfectly fine.” She cocked her head, scrutinizing my sapphire blouse and black slacks. “What you’re wearing now would be fine.”
That was a relief. I had a few dressier outfits in my closet, but I wouldn’t have time to change before getting to his home to help with the dinner preparations.
Corrinne took a sip of her coffee. “I can’t emphasize enough how important it is that Spence is hosting another dinner party for us. The support of high-profile influencers like him will be incredibly helpful in getting the budget we need to continue to provide our community services—and hire a computer support specialist.”
That’s the reason Corrinne had hired me for the newly created position of director of community engagement. My role was to raise the library’s profile in the community, increase financial donations, and build a solid argument for growing our annual budget. In short, this was my dream job and the reason I leaped out of bed every morning.
Viv nodded in agreement with Corrinne. “It’ll also help distract us from Fiona Lyle-Hayes’s murder.”
“Oh, I don’t know if anything could do that.” Adrian’s eyes gleamed with morbid fascination. Note to self: introduce Adrian to other fiction genres beside horror. “I heard the deputies are looking hard at Jo Gomez.”
“It’s not just the deputies.” Viv sounded concerned. “I heard some customers at On A Roll talking about the murder. They were speculating about Jo too.”
My shoulders tensed. If Jo was being tried in the court of public opinion, then the situation had already run away from us. “Why would people think Jo murdered Fiona? What’s her motive?”
“It’s not about motive.” Floyd slurped his coffee. “People want quick-and-easy answers. Fiona was killed in the bookstore. Jo owns the bookstore. What’s easier than that?”
I was struck by his answer. The person who didn’t seem to like people sounded like a student of human nature. “I don’t know much about Fiona. What kind of person was she?”
There was a tangible pause. I’d expected it. As the newcomer, the locals were still taking my measure, wondering if they could trust me. This was the reason I needed Spence’s endorsement if I was going to help clear Jo’s name.
Corrinne lowered herself onto a silver cushioned chair with the grace of a dancer. Her tone was cautious as though she weighed every word. “Fiona didn’t come into the library much.”
Adrian made a face. “She was so stuck up, she’d’ve drowned in a rainstorm.”
Corrinne gave him a scolding look. “It’s not kind to speak ill of the dead, Adrian.”
He endeavored to look chastened. “Beg pardon, ma’am.”
“Fiona was a very private person.” Viv cupped her coffee mug in both palms. Her fingernails gleamed with a black polish that complemented her trim pantsuit. “You could tell from the way she carried herself. She was very aloof. Even though she’d been married to Buddy Hayes, who’d been a prominent resident, she never made an effort to get to know people or to let people get to know her.”
Floyd grunted. “Not until she got that big contract with that fancy New York publisher. Then she was running all over town, telling people she knew and people she’d never said a word to, to buy her book when it came out.”
Over the course of my six-year career, I’d met many first-time and veteran authors. Some were so shy you could have an entire conversation without learning they’d been published. At the other end of the spectrum were authors who’d give you their book’s title and plot within the first few minutes of meeting you. Apparently, Fiona fell into the latter category. But why would a previously private person start running around town, opening up to people about her book? Had it been pride over her accomplishment? Or had she been concerned that in a town where she hadn’t had many friends, her sales would suffer?
“I remember seeing her at On A Roll a couple of months ago.” Corrinne crossed her right leg over her left and smoothed her skirt over her knee. “She referred to her story as a water-cooler book.”
Adrian cocked his head. “A what now?”
“It’s the kind of book that sparks discussion.” Corrinne gave me a thoughtful look. “Fiona and I had moved in similar circles for almost two years, yet that was the first and last real conversation we’d ever had.”
Interesting. What discussion had Fiona hoped her book would spark? “Have you started her book?”
Corrinne shook her head. “I bought it. And we have several copies in the library, but I want to finish the book I’m reading now first.”
Fiona had been excited at the thought of people talking about her book. Instead, everyone was preoccupied with her murder. Maybe the timing of her death wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe someone envied the attention she’d been getting because of her book. Jealousy was a strong motive.
Chapter 8
Three minutes after I returned to my office, I looked up from my desk to find Deputies Jed Whatley and Errol Cole standing at my door. Adrian, who’d escorted them, gave me a wide-eyed stare before drifting out of sight.
I gestured toward the two guest chairs in front of my desk. “What can I do for you, deputies?”
The bemused expressions the deputies exchanged reminded me that Peach Coast residents didn’t conduct business in a New York minute. Here, business transactions seemed to last a Georgia afternoon.
Jed removed his green felt campaign hat, revealing his balding pink pate. “Mornin’, Ms. Harris. Deputy Cole and I have a few more questions for you.”
I folded my hands on my desk. “What do you want to know?”
Errol set his hat on his lap as he took the chair beside Jed. He opened his notepad. “Ms. Jolene said you’d been with her from shortly after she left the storage room until you, Mr. Spence, and Ms. Jolene had found Ms. Fiona’s body. Is that right,
