False Alibi

By Marguerite Sansone

Library Assistant Cory Parker gets more than she bargains for when a rekindled childhood friendship with Elizabeth Strafford catapults her on the trail of a murderer. Cory and Elizabeth have more in common than having once shared a school bus. They've both lost people they love through violence. Cory sets out to solve the murder of Elizabeth's mother in order to give her friend the peace and closure she needs. The past bleeds into the present as Cory uncovers a murder plot gone bad, the truth of which threatens to destroy both women. A stranger interferes with Cory's research as clues emerge, intimately tying Elizabeth to the killer. Evidence linking the murderer to the crime turns up in Cory’s possession, making her a target. Cory closes in on the killer--just as the killer closes in on her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Dec 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781628306965

Book preview

story.

Prologue

Summer 1978

Kurt Strafford stared in disbelief at the paper in his wife’s hands.

A doctor? He laughed. You want me to see a doctor? He paced the kitchen floor. The fingers of his right hand curled into a fist.

He’s a certified psychiatrist with an office right here in Montview. He said with a strong commitment and effort on your part, he’ll be able to get your problem under control in no time. Desperation tinged her voice. The morning’s first rays cut through the breakfast nook window highlighting her long, blonde curls.

You don’t get it, do you, Jill? He stepped toward her. I want you to stop interfering in my life. No more doctor referrals, no more phone calls to my friends in the middle of the night, no more harassing me at work. You got that? The muscles in his neck tightened.

But you’re spending all of our savings. We can barely make the payments on this house, never mind afford the monthly bills. Your child never sees you anymore.

Don’t you dare bring Elizabeth into this, Jill. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, brushed the stubble on his chin. "You got some nerve preaching to me. All you do is collect dusty old toy animals and sell a few paintings here and there. I’m the breadwinner of this house."

Jill’s slender frame flinched as though she’d been stung. I’m just telling you how it is. Your family̕ s suffering. You need to face up to this fact soon before you lose everything you ever loved in this world, including your daughter.

Kurt rolled his wedding ring around his finger, a slow revolution. To be told he needed professional help for a problem that didn’t exist was one thing, but to be accused of hurting the daughter he̕ d loved and cared for all these years was quite another.

Are you finished?

Jill didn’t answer.

Fine then. I’m getting the hell out of here. He grabbed his suit jacket off the kitchen chair.

Go if you want, but if you don’t see a counselor, Jill said, her breath measured, audible. I’m leaving you.

Kurt froze, his arm halfway up the sleeve. What did you say?

Jill straightened. I said I’m leaving. For Elizabeth’s sake. Tears formed puddles in her hazel eyes.

She can’t file for divorce. Not now, when I’m so much in debt. The alimony and child support will ruin me. He dropped his jacket. Birds frittered and chirped outside the open window. If you do, so help me…

He whisked a decorative deer figurine off a nearby curio cabinet, the one he̕ d given Jill on their tenth wedding anniversary, and hurled it against the far wall. Brown glass shattered onto the green linoleum. He snatched a pearl white dove statuette, bobbed it up and down in the palm of his hand, and then slammed it onto the shelf, the wings and rest of the body still miraculously intact.

He stared his wife down. I’ll kill you.

Jill shrank backwards, clasping her arms. She looked beautiful but vulnerable in her pale yellow nightgown, a flower for the crushing. Kurt, she gasped.

His solid frame twitched under the dull overhead light. I’d better go. One minute longer and I’ll have more than debts to worry about.

He scooped up his coat and charged across the room to the exit.

Kurt wrenched the door open with such force that it slammed against the kitchen wall. He stood still with his hands clenched, then bolted into the hall, his shoes pounding against the floorboards.

****

A few miles away, on the opposite end of the small town of Montview, eight-year-old Cory Parker lay in a fetal position, her body shaking under the sheets. Groggy from sleep, she opened her brown eyes, sticky with film, and clutched at her stomach.

Elizabeth, she murmured.

Her insides churned. She’d dreamt her grammar school friend was in trouble.

Holding a hand to her mouth, she pulled her thin frame up from the bed, ran as fast as she could to the bathroom, and vomited into the porcelain bowl.

Chapter One

Twenty-Eight Years Later

Behind the mahogany desk, a long gray filing cabinet sat next to a three-tiered bookcase loaded with library journals and children’s story-time books. Cory Parker focused her gaze upon the picture book, In the Deep, Deep Pond.

I’m sinking.

I know I’ve been late a lot, Meghan. I’m sorry. I’ll try harder to get to work on time.

A wrinkled, button-down blouse hung over one side of Cory’s jeans. She tucked it in, shifting uneasily in the leather chair.

Meghan Healy perused the contents of an open manila folder, her lips pursed as she read the employee review. It’s not just the tardiness that concerns me, Cory. It’s your overall performance. It hasn’t been quite up to par lately.

Well-groomed, with an oval-shaped face and deep brown eyes that seemed to bore into Cory, Meghan fiddled with a pen and then eased back in the leather chair, apparently waiting for a response.

I love finding information for people, Cory sputtered. I assisted kids with their science projects the other day. Did searches for them on the computer as well. I could help out more with that if you’d like. Her brows rose in anticipation. Did Meghan notice the bags under her eyes?

Meghan folded her thin, manicured hands on the desk blotter. Cory saw in her boss everything she herself was not: professional, cool, confident.

I’m sorry, said Meghan in a clipped tone. Reference work requires training and a detailed knowledge of the materials in this department. You’re a library assistant, and I expect you to do the duties assigned. I’m going to document this in your file. That’ll be all now.

Cory trudged out of her supervisor’s office and into the children’s room, passing a maze of round wooden tables. She approached the reference desk, an oblong structure positioned in front of a row of plate glass windows overlooking a courtyard filled with multi-colored perennials. The scene did nothing to soothe her.

A tall, gangly woman with gray frizzy hair and tan Birkenstock sandals sauntered up to her from the computer work station. How’d everything go with Meghan? Was she tough on you? Rectangular reading glasses clipped to a black cord swung from the woman’s neck.

Cory sighed. She wrote me up, Phyllis. I need to apply myself more and get to work on time. I pretty much saw it coming. An image of a guardrail flashed before Cory’s eyes and then abruptly vanished. Her lips trembled.

Books thumped against a far wall and a plump, wholesome-looking woman in a paisley jumper bustled out from the stacks, her hands fluttering like bird wings. Would one of you gals mind picking up craft supplies for me at the Art Box? I’d go myself, but I have a program this morning.

The idea of stepping outside after the stressful meeting with Meghan appealed to Cory, and she raised her hand. I’ll get them, Janie.

Great, Janie said and passed her a sticky note. Here’s the list. We’re making stars and planets today. She motioned to a colorful poster taped to a wall. The catchy phrase Shoot for the Stars—Read! appeared above vivid pictures of the solar system.

I’m glad you’re getting out of here, said Phyllis. A little fresh air and sun is good for the soul and heals the spirits, especially after what you just went through.

Cory thanked the women, then hurried out of the library. Phyllis was always offering her words of comfort, no matter what the situation. She’d never told Phyllis about her past—she’d never told anyone. It was much too painful. Still, the librarian appeared to sense something was wrong, something apart from the job warning. Were her emotional scars that obvious?

She swung open her driver’s-side door. The keys were right where she’d left them, hanging from the ignition—a bad habit left over from her days living in Maine. She started up the engine and rolled down the window. June air mingled with the sweet scent of honeysuckle, flowing into her lungs like a salve. Phyllis was right; nature was healing.

As she drove down the main street, a rare sense of vigor took hold of her. She’d been given a second chance as far as her job was concerned. Could she live up to the expectations?

She turned on the radio. A hauntingly familiar love song drifted out from the speakers.

Her gaze shot to the rearview mirror. A string of cars stretched as far as the eyes could see atop black macadam streets, dry from the summer’s heat. I should have taken the side roads. An alto sax mixed with the sound of horns beeping.

Shaken, she clutched the steering wheel. Memories closed in on her like the vehicles approaching from behind. Up ahead, she cut the nearest corner and switched off the radio. Her breathing slowed, and Cory loosened her grip on the wheel, her eyes wet with tears.

****

Cory pushed open the doors of the Art Box, passing metal shelves filled with candle-making kits, scrapbooks, and plastic flower arrangements. She stopped short in front of a row of aisles and did a double-take. The floors were painted different colors—yellow, green, orange, blue. She surveyed the signs perched high above them. Paint Supplies appeared over the blue aisle, Picture Frames over the green one, and so on. She approached the yellow section, marked Crafts, while checking Janie’s list.

She found the glue and the Styrofoam balls, then searched for the glitter. No bottles anywhere. She backtracked, thinking she may have passed it along the way, then scanned the shelves. Not there. To her right, a female store clerk stood in front of a wire display rack fussing with the sign. Cory walked over to her. Excuse me. Can you tell me where the glitter is?

The woman turned. Her blonde wavy hair slid across her slender neck. Sure. It’s at the end of the yellow aisle, right before you get to the green one. She held several paintbrushes in one hand. The pockets of her smock were stuffed with colored pencils.

I was just there but couldn’t find it.

I’ll show you. She laid the brushes on the rack and headed down the yellow floor. Cory followed.

You probably thought the aisle ended back there, she said, motioning with her head toward the area they’d just passed. But it continues at an angle down here. She made a sweeping gesture with her hands. A lot of people make that mistake. They’re so busy shopping, they don’t notice the floors.

You’re right. I didn’t realize it extended this far. I feel like Dorothy walking down the yellow brick road.

The worker laughed, a soft chuckle, and then stopped at the end of the aisle. She pulled down two bottles of glitter, one silver, the other multi-colored, and held them in front of her for Cory to see. Which do you prefer? Her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires under the bright fluorescent lights.

Cory scanned the list Janie had given her while running her tongue along her lower lip. Hmm…it doesn’t say what kind I should get. I guess I’ll buy them both.

Now that was easy. I doubt the Wizard of Oz could have made such a sale.

The two of them laughed in unison, and then approached the sales counter, squeezing past two small boys carrying model airplane kits. The woman rang up the order.

I would have been there all day if you hadn’t helped me, said Cory. Thank you again.

That’s what I’m here for.

Cory paid close attention to the woman’s face as the register clicked away. She noted her soft, delicate features and her pale skin color, the refined, elegant way she carried herself. How lovely.

Will that be cash or charge?

Cory blinked. Could you please charge that to the Montview Library? They have an account with your store if I’m not mistaken. Heat surged to her cheeks. She wondered if the woman noticed her stare.

Yes, they do, she said, and removed a carbon from the drawer. She copied some information down on the front, retrieved the receipt from the register, and attached it to the document. Smiling, she positioned the papers and a pen in front of Cory.

You’re all set. I just need you to sign.

Cory’s hands shook as she wrote her signature. Why am I so nervous? She slid the form back, willing her hands to stay still.

The woman checked the name, opened the drawer, then paused. Cory? she asked. Cory Parker?

Yes. Is there a problem?

We went to grammar school together. I don’t know if you remember me or not, but I’m Elizabeth Strafford, the girl you shared your seat with on the bus. I lived on Lakeview Avenue, right next to Montview Park.

Cory’s mind raced to recall the woman’s name. Elizabeth, she blurted. Of course I remember you. The little girl the boys used to pick on. Well, one boy in particular. What was his name again?

Tommy Bullock, said Elizabeth. I’ll never forget that name as long as I live.

That’s right, said Cory. The big kid with the red hair. He was always getting suspended for one reason or another. She couldn’t get over the change in her friend. In her mind’s eye, she saw a chunky little girl with blonde curls and awkward ways, yet standing in front of her now was a fully matured woman, charming and gracious in every sense of the word, without a hint of the body fat she once wore.

He made fun of me and knocked my books off my desk all the time, said Elizabeth. It was awful. But he got his that day you fought him on the playground. Remember, Cory? It was the last day of school and you gave him such a shiner.

Cory remembered it well. The wild punches, the cheers from the kids as they looked on, Tommy lying beaten on the hard ground. After her teacher dragged her off the school parking lot, she had her one and only encounter with the principal. He gave her a stern lecture and then forced her to spend an hour in detention with Tommy. She thought it unfair that she should be punished along with the boy. Unlike him, she was well-behaved, one of the smartest kids in her class, and protected younger children from unprovoked attacks from bullies, Tommy being the main one. How she missed those glory-filled days.

Cory wondered afterwards if Tommy ever kept his promise not to bother Elizabeth. There was no way for her to know because she moved to a small suburb outside Boston, Massachusetts, a month and a half later. It was a sudden move—her mother had lost her job at the local diner where she’d worked, and her grandmother, who lived in Boston at the time, had grown gravely ill.

Elizabeth came out from behind the counter and threw her arms around her. I thought a lot about you over the years. I heard you’d moved, but I had no idea you were living in New Jersey again. When did you come back?

About three years ago. I was up in Maine for a while… Her voice hitched. …then came back to live with my mother. She returned here from Massachusetts six years ago.

Maine’s beautiful from what I hear, said Elizabeth, in a dreamy tone. I went to New Hampshire once, but that was as far north as I got. Being a painter, I fell in love with the scenery. Those White Mountains are gorgeous.

An artsy-looking man smelling of paint and patchouli meandered over to the counter, a shy grin on his handsome face. Elizabeth, there’s a customer in the green aisle that needs your help. She asked specifically for you, or I’d ask one of the girls assist her.

All right, Dereck. I’ll be right there.

He smiled at Cory, then turned around and disappeared down the blue aisle.

I have to go now, said Elizabeth.

I understand. Hey, you’re at work. I have to leave, too. They’re probably wondering what happened to me at the library.

What a wonderful place to work. You’ll have to tell me all about your job some time. I’ve been meaning to get over to the library to borrow some art books and update my card. It expired months ago. Maybe we can get together for lunch after I take care of those things.

For the second time that morning, an energy rose deep from within Cory. I’d love to. How about next week?

Elizabeth agreed and they exchanged phone numbers.

It was great seeing you, said Cory. You’ll have to fill me in on everything that’s happened in your life since I left. I’m also curious if Tommy Bullock ever bothered you again.

The smile on Elizabeth’s face faded and her expression turned grave. He didn’t have the opportunity. Like you, I moved to another state a few months into the school year. Things happened in my life back then… She wrung her hands together. We’ll talk next week if that’s okay.

Cory nodded. Sure.

I’d better go now or that customer is going to be livid, said Elizabeth. I’ll call you soon to set a day.

Elizabeth bid Cory goodbye, then hustled over toward the green aisle. Cory watched her friend’s slight figure disappear around the middle section of shelves. Something terrible had happened to Elizabeth. She could tell by the sad tone and by the gloomy look in her eyes.

Customers bustled past Cory, their arms filled with art supplies. She glanced at her watch. Eleven fifteen, forty-five minutes before her co-workers were due to take lunch and three hours before the craft program was scheduled to begin. She had to get going.

Nearing the exit, Cory pondered the warning she’d received earlier and the mundane duties that awaited her arrival. She thought of Elizabeth and how this time next week she would be spending precious time with her childhood friend, a reunion she was so looking forward to, a glimmer of light in the long dark void.

Chapter Two

Cory picked up the phone in the children’s room, listened and said, Thank you, Dora. I’ll be right there.

She retrieved her knapsack from her desk and headed to the elevator. A short buxom woman appeared from around the corner.

I wouldn’t take that elevator if I were you, the woman said. She held a decorative art poster in one hand. The words Historical Society Meeting, Thursday, June 20, at 8:00 p.m. ran across the top in bold, black print.

Is something wrong with it, Pat?

The damned thing doesn’t work properly. Yesterday a couple of patrons got stuck going up to the main level. It was only for a few minutes, but long enough to give one of them an anxiety attack. Took me half an hour to calm the woman down. She brushed her fiery red hair away from her face. Four turquoise-studded bracelets jangled against each other. I’m a program coordinator, not a nurse.

Why isn’t there an ‘Out of Order’ sign on it?

Because Drew, our esteemed assistant director, claims it was only a glitch. He’s been traveling up and down the elevator all morning long to ease everyone’s fears. She rolled her eyes. Red manicured nails tapped against the poster.

Cory chewed on her bottom lip. Thanks for the warning. I think I’ll take the stairs.

Smart girl. I’d avoid riding on that thing until Marlene gets back from vacation. She’s a decent director. She’ll call a repairman in. Pat hustled away to her office, her floral Indian dress swaying.

Cory ascended the stairs to the main level. Normally she dragged her feet when climbing but today she was sprinting up them, after four hours sleep, no less. Insomnia plagued her over the years, but the prospect of seeing her friend again invigorated her.

She stepped into the foyer and paused at the periphery of the Circulation Department. People waited in front of a long rectangular desk with stacks of books in their hands while two women stood behind the counter processing checkouts. No sign of Elizabeth. A slim erudite-looking man stepped out of the director’s office and pushed the button to the elevator. Drew isn’t afraid to ride on the thing. To the left and rear of the desk, students sat around square tables in the adult Reference Department, their backs hunched over textbooks and materials. Cory’s gaze settled on Periodicals. Magazines and newspapers lay on sloped shelves opposite cushioned chairs filled with patrons, none of them Elizabeth.

Cory spotted her friend exiting the adjoining fiction section. She