Chapter 30

30

While I understood Samantha's concern for her own safety, I didn't find much merit in it—that the killer would return to shut her mouth for good. Still, she'd let me know there was one other person in the library that day who may have seen him—Johnny, the other employee.

I wanted nothing more than to return home after the long day I'd had, but I knew if I didn't make one more one last stop, I'd regret it.

When I pulled up to Johnny's driveway, a burgundy '90s Mercury Capri two-door hatchback was parked in the driveway. After too many years in the sun, the paint on its roof was weathered and faded, adding to the rundown look of the vehicle.

As I glanced at Johnny's condo, I noticed the blinds were drawn. Even so, light was emanating from between the slats, a good sign that he was at home. I parked behind the Capri and walked to the front door, ringing the doorbell.

I heard some rustling from inside the house but got distracted when I felt something brush across my ankles. I looked down. A cat was rubbing itself over my legs, purring up at me as if in need of attention. It was a big, white, overweight fluffball, but its bright-blue eyes were captivating, and before I knew it I was crouching down, stroking its fur.

The front door opened, and the man looked down, smiling at the cat and then at me. I gave the cat one last pat and stood, facing the man in front of me.

"Hello," I said.

"Hiya. What can I do for you?"

"I'm Georgiana Germaine with the Case Closed Detective Agency. Are you Johnny?"

"That's me. Why?"

"I've been hired to investigate Cordelia's?—"

"I know who you are. You work with that woman … Simone Bonet."

"I do. I believe the two of you spoke yesterday."

"We didn't talk long, a few minutes at most."

He turned his head, peering inside his house as if something had diverted his attention.

"Is everything okay?" I asked.

"Aww, yeah. It's fine."

He had a thick Southern accent, which I enjoyed, but it was hard to make out what he was saying at times.

"I was wondering if I could speak to you for a few minutes," I said.

"Why?"

"I just visited with Samantha, and I wanted to ask you about the last day you worked with Cordelia at the library."

His eyes lit up. " You saw Samantha? I was told she wouldn't see anyone, not since the murder. How's she doing?"

"Better, I hope. There was something she hadn't told me before now. It's the reason why I came to see you. I have a few questions."

He looked at me, then at the ground, then back to me again, as if trying to decide what to say. "I see. I suppose you better come in, then."

He opened the door all the way, turned, and I followed him to what I could only describe as a living room turned into a game room. There were a couple of pinball machines, a shuffleboard, and a pool table. The ideal bachelor pad.

In the center of said bachelor pad was a sofa and two chairs, each covered in tight plastic wrap, custom made to fit the furniture perfectly. Johnny suggested I take a seat, but as I assessed the meager offerings, all I could focus on was how much cat hair was around—on the furniture, the floor, in the air.

He sat on one of the chairs and squinted up at me, saying, "I think I know what this visit is all about."

"Why do you think I'm here?" I asked.

"You tell me."

I'd played a few games in my life when trying to extract information, but you tell me was a game I had no interest playing.

"You had a conversation at work with Cordelia on the day she died," I said. "In the afternoon, in the romance section."

"I suppose I was one of the last people who talked to her before she, umm … she, umm … anyway, I don't know what Samantha told you, but yes, it's true. We argued."

Samantha had made no mention of an argument.

If it had been a heated argument, I assumed she would have seen it or overheard it or both.

Had she known about the argument between them and what it was about?

And if so … why had she kept it from me?

Was she covering for Johnny?

"Why did the two of you argue?" I asked.

"I, for one, don't shy away from the principles I believe in."

It was more of a statement than an answer.

"Having principles is one thing," I said. "Having an argument is another."

"Do you have any leads in your investigation, Detective?"

He was attempting to divert the conversation.

It wouldn't work.

"A few leads, yes," I said.

"Then why are you here, putting a target on my back?"

"I'm not targeting you. I'm just here to chat, nothing more."

To keep him talking, the right chess moves needed to be played. I leaned into his preconceived notion that I'd arrived at his house with full knowledge of the argument he'd had with Cordelia.

"I heard Cordelia could be argumentative at times," I said.

A lie, of course.

In truth, Cordelia seemed more avoidant than argumentative.

A Siamese cat crossed in front of him, and he bent down, pulling it into his arms. The cat offered up brief resistance, but Johnny either didn't seem to notice or didn't care. "The argument was the only one we ever had."

"I'd like to hear your side of the story."

"It wasn't a big deal. Not a big deal at all, no. No reason to make anything of it. No reason to talk about it either, in my opinion. I don't even know why Samantha brought it up to you. Why would she? What would be gained? People argue all the time. It's healthy for any relationship. Healthy is good. You know what I mean?"

As I stood there trying to piece together the speed round I'd just heard, I was reminded of the conversation I'd had with Simone. She'd described Johnny as a man who spoke fast, rambled, and went from one subject to the next. I was seeing that side of him now. While standing there, I'd taken the time to glance around when he wasn't making eye contact. On the kitchen counter, I'd spotted a few small baggies filled with white powder.

Maybe Simone was right.

Maybe Johnny did do drugs.

Based on his behavior, I guessed the baggies may have been filled with cocaine.

And he still hadn't told me what the argument was about.

"Why did you and Cordelia argue that day?" I asked.

"Oh, it wasn't a big deal."

"If it wasn't a big deal, I don't see why we can't talk about it."

"It's just … she liked to do things one way, and I like to do things another way. I was her superior, in every sense of the word. I've been working there for years. She'd just started. I didn't take kindly to her coming in and suggesting we do things in a different way just because she thought it would be better."

"What was she suggesting you change?"

"She had a bunch of ideas about how we could engage the community in new ways, things she'd heard other libraries were doing. She knew we lived in a small town. She knew we had a limited budget. I didn't understand why she was pushing something we couldn't accommodate. We didn't even know if the community would take to any of the ideas if we did try them."

"Was Samantha involved in the conversation?"

He nodded. "I guess I raised my voice a little more than she would have liked at one point. She came over and asked me to keep my voice down. I agreed. I wanted to end the conversation. Cordelia wasn't ready to, though. I started to walk away, and she came after me."

"What happened?"

"She wouldn't drop it, and I suppose it made me even more mad. There I was, willing to take the high road, and when she kept pushing her agenda, I lost it."

"Do you mean in a verbal way?"

"Of course. What do you take me for, lady? I'm no abuser. I've never laid a hand on a woman, just so we're clear."

"I wasn't suggesting you did."

Johnny put the cat down and went quiet, no doubt wanting to end the conversation. He was fidgeting with his fingers, like his nerves were getting the better of him. Maybe he needed a fix. Or maybe my line of questioning had pushed him further than he wanted to go.

I still wasn't getting the full picture of the argument they'd had or what ideas Cordelia suggested. I allowed the silence to go on for a time, watching him twitch and squirm in his chair. He didn't seem to enjoy the silence any more than I did.

"You know I'm not responsible for what happened to Cordelia, right?" he said. "I've already spoken to the police, and they cleared me, and of course they did, because I didn't do anything wrong."

They hadn't cleared anyone, to my knowledge, but I expected they'd offered him some assurance, making him believe he wasn't a suspect.

He was rubbing his hands together now, and I worried he was about ready to clam up. I switched subjects.

"When I was speaking to Samantha earlier, she told me there was a man in the library during the time of your conversation with Cordelia, someone she considered odd."

"People come in and out all day. What did he look like?"

"Tall, muscular, wearing a black leather vest, dress slacks. He was sitting off to the side, acting like he was reading a book when he wasn't, watching people come in and out. Do you recall seeing a man who fits that description?"

"Nope. Not a one."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, though I'll admit, if a man came in during my chat with Cordelia, I could have been a little too irritated to notice. When I get like that, I don't always see what's going on around me. Sorry."

I'd left Samantha's place feeling like the man she described was a great new lead, and in seconds, Johnny had me questioning things—questioning Samantha, and whether the man she'd mentioned even existed.

She'd kept me in the dark about the argument between Johnny and Cordelia.

What else was I being kept in the dark about?