Patron Martha Grams shares this true crime story about her trip to the local library:
I'm a long time user of the public library. I read mostly the murder books. True crime or fake crime. I just love a good story that starts with a man or woman brutally stabbed to death in the snow. I am at the library a lot as the folks behind the circulation desk can tell you.
So the other day I'm in the library looking over the true crime section when there's this tugging on my skirt. I look down and a man is there. He's got blood all over and he's holding a knife. He tells me, "help me," and I am beside myself. My very own mystery!
I ask him, "now, sir, please tell me who did this to you." I always wonder why people never say that in the books. It would save a lot of time.
Well, you should have heard the language that came out of him. He called me some names and told me to call the… well he meant the police but there was more of that language. Just not the way to talk to someone trying to help you. I told him that and asked again, "who killed you?"
He got this look on his face and he pointed down the row. Wouldn't you know there was this fella standing there holding this big bloody knife. I ask that fella, "hey, you found the murder weapon."
By this point the stabbed man has gone to sleep, the poor little lamb. I can tell he's still alive and not dead because his hearts still pushing out the blood. I read that somewhere.
I try to help. I find a book on the shelf, something not great like a Mark Fuhrman. He's okay as a writer and we all remember what he's really famous for, but his writing is just so bland. Anyway, I used one of his books, I forget which one, and try to compress the bleeding.
While I'm doing that, the big fella that found the knife starts coming down the aisle. I tell him he should drop that knife, maybe go wash up because he had blood all over him, too.
Then it hits me.
This guy's been attacked as well.
I ask him, "dear heart, who hurt you?"
He looks at me all funny. Like I did somthing. His face gets all scrunched up. This big guy is just standing there then in the library crying like a lamb.
He turns around and runs out. By that time the police had come. Thank goodness someone called them. The big fella, though, the police mistook him for the killer and shot him dead.
Don't you worry, though. I'm still on the case. The police in this town are useless. One time they had my phone disconnected and wouldn't listen when I was calling them about my neighbor killing her husband with a fake heart attack.
Come back next time for another edition of True Crime Sorta