Diesel came warbling into the kitchen the moment I set the casserole dish on a trivet on the table. The cat had impeccable timing—and an infallible nose—when it came to mealtime.
I barely had time to dish up the food when the house phone rang. I stared at it. Not again.
Diesel meowed, ready for a piece of chicken.
“Hold on, boy, and you can have a bite in a minute. It’s too hot anyway.” I kept an eye on the cat as I answered the phone. He had been known to jump up on the table in his quest for food.
“Mr. Harris, Lucinda Long here. Sorry to trouble you at home, but a situation has arisen that I need to discuss with you.”
Right then I could cheerfully have consigned Marie Steverton to the farthest pit of hell. She was going to be a pain in the posterior after all.
FOUR
I struggled to keep the irritation out of my voice when I responded to Mayor Long. “That’s okay, Your Honor. How can I help?” I imagined myself making a voodoo doll of Marie and sticking pins in it.
The mayor sighed into the phone. “This is all rather awkward, but I have been approached by an old friend—someone I went to Sweet Briar with many years ago. She has expressed an interest in the diaries I brought you earlier today.” She paused. “I understand she has already spoken with you.”
“Yes, Marie came to see me a little while ago,” I said. “She was pretty insistent that she have exclusive access to the diaries, and I had to explain to her that it wasn’t up to me.”
“I know you were within your rights to tell her that,” the mayor said. “Unfortunately Marie gets stubborn when she decides she wants something, and she doesn’t always understand that the world isn’t going to change its ways just for her.”
I responded in a dry tone. “Yes, that was my impression.”
“I’d like to help an old college friend because I know this is important to her. Frankly, she hasn’t left me much choice, but that’s neither here nor there.” She paused for a moment. “At the same time, I’m well aware of her reputation at Athena College, and that makes me a little hesitant to grant her request.”
She had probably had an earful about Marie from Professor Newkirk. According to Melba, he had little respect for Marie and her abilities as a historian.
“I see. How would you like me to handle the situation?” I wasn’t going to make this any easier for the mayor. I didn’t want to be in an awkward position myself, and I thought this decision was her responsibility. I would abide by it, whatever it was.
Mrs. Long still sounded uncertain when she replied. “My husband will want to see the diaries handled properly by qualified historians and students, and so do I. I would like to give Marie a chance, however, in light of her needs and interests. I must get this settled, because I have many other matters that require my attention.” She paused, and I waited for her to continue. “How about this as a compromise? Marie can have exclusive access to the diaries for three weeks.”
“If that is what you want, then that is what we will do,” I said. “I need to make you aware of two things, however. I work at the archive only three days a week, because that is all the library budget covers. Also, I can’t allow Dr. Steverton or anyone else to remove the diaries from the archive—unless you are willing to give permission and assume the risk. It’s possible that they might be photocopied but I can’t guarantee it.”
“The most important thing to my husband and me is that the diaries be carefully conserved.” Mrs. Long spoke firmly. “If you would be willing to work five days a week at the archive for the next three weeks, I’m sure my husband will arrange with the library director to cover the costs.”
Frankly I was surprised the mayor was going to such lengths to accommodate Marie, even if she was an old college friend. They must have been pretty close, and still might be, for all I knew. I would have to discuss this further with Melba. In the meantime, I knew the mayor was waiting for my answer.
“I can do that,” I said. “I’ll also need to let Teresa Farmer know I won’t be able to work my volunteer shifts on Fridays at the public library during those three weeks, but I’m sure she’ll understand.”
Teresa was a good friend, and I knew she wouldn’t object. I looked forward to those volunteer stints, however, and I knew the staff and patrons would miss seeing Diesel as well, since he always went with me.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your flexibility on this.” The mayor’s gratitude sounded sincere—but with politicians, one never really knew.
“One final thing,” I said. “If Dr. Steverton’s three weeks of exclusive use could start next week, that would be most helpful. I’ll need a few days to assess the condition of each volume and do conservation work.”
“That sounds fair. Marie will abide by that; I’ll see to it. Thank you again, Mr. Harris.”
I was not in a happy frame of mind when I sat down to eat, thanks to Marie Steverton. Diesel immediately put a paw on my thigh to let me know he had waited long enough for his tidbits of chicken. I found a small piece and was about to give it to him but I noticed that the casserole included onions. They were not good for cats, so I couldn’t let Diesel have any of the chicken.
“Sorry, boy, this chicken wouldn’t be good for you.” I pushed back from the table and went to the fridge. I found a container of sliced chicken breast and popped some in the microwave to heat. “Just a minute, boy,” I said to the impatient feline now meowing piteously by my legs.
As I ate I doled out the warm chicken breast. Diesel was content, but I was not. I did not look forward to spending three weeks with Marie in my office at the archive. Her unfriendly presence would make for a tense atmosphere, and I knew Diesel would feel it and be unsettled. He would be even less happy if I left him at home those three weeks, but then I realized he could spend time with Melba instead when he needed a break from Marie. I, unfortunately, would have no such option. I would have to keep an eye on her the entire time. I didn’t feel I could trust her not to do something stupid that could compromise the state of the diaries.
Then I realized there was a further complication—Kelly Grimes. She approached me first about working with the diaries. I predicted she would be mighty annoyed to find out that Marie now had dibs on them for the next three weeks. Another situation that I did not anticipate with any pleasure whatsoever.
If Ms. Grimes was that unhappy, she would simply have to make her own appeal to Mayor Long, I decided.
Before this, I hadn’t had to deal with such a complicated situation regarding access to resources in the archive. I had students and professors come from time to time to consult documents, and once, I even had a visiting professor working there for a couple of months. I had never had people competing for the same resources, however.
It was only three weeks, I reminded myself.
Surely I could get through three weeks in close proximity to Marie Steverton without throttling her or bashing her over the head.
I finished my meal and cleared the table. Diesel wanted more chicken but I told him firmly there was no more. He stared at me for a moment before he trotted off to the utility room. I heard loud crunching noises emanating from that direction as I popped my plate and salad bowl into the dishwasher.
I felt restless. For once, curling up with a good book didn’t appeal to me. Helen Louise was busy at the bakery, and I would have to wait to chat with her until later in the evening when she had time to call. I had several hours to fill until then.
There was nothing to tempt me on television tonight. I could always watch a DVD of a favorite movie, but that didn’t appeal, either. I finally sat down in the den with my laptop and started searching the Internet for information on Rachel Afton Long. Given all the interest in her from other parties, I figured I might as well research her life before I started working on the diaries.
I started with the online catalog at the college.
I had vague knowledge of the contents of the Long family collection in the archive, and I ought to acquaint myself fully with the extent of it. The catalog record had only broad headings for the contents, but there was a finding aid created by my predecessor, Miss Eulalie Estes. It had not been digitized yet, so I would have to wait to consult it when I was back in the office. There might be letters or other documents connected to Rachel, but I wouldn’t know until I delved into the collection itself.
I discovered a record in the catalog for a memoir of Rachel, however, written by her granddaughter-in-law, Angeline McCarthy Long. Privately published and part of the regular circulating collection, the memoir was only seventy-eight pages long, but it could prove helpful for background detail. Then I noticed the status of the item: Lost.
That annoyed me. There might be a copy in the Long collection in the archive, however. Out of curiosity I decided to log in to the back end of the catalog where I could see more detail about the item’s status that wouldn’t be visible to the public.
What I discovered disturbed me. The status Lost had been applied earlier today.
Simple coincidence? I wondered. Or was there something suspicious about the book’s disappearance?
FIVE
Get a grip, Charlie, I told myself. Next thing you know, you’ll be turning into a conspiracy theorist.
The memoir could have been missing for years and its absence only discovered today when someone wanted to check it out. I speculated that either Marie Steverton or Kelly Grimes had looked for it and then reported it missing. As far as I knew no one else had been interested in Rachel Long for years, if not decades.
Still, I thought, it is odd. For a moment I fantasized a battle between Marie and Ms. Grimes over any resource connected to Rachel Long. Could one of them have stolen it to keep the other from having access to it?
My flights of fancy were becoming ever more absurd, I decided. I had yet to establish any connection whatsoever between Marie Steverton and Kelly Grimes. Let alone a link between either one of them and the missing book.
On impulse I went to the college website and entered Kelly Grimes into the people directory search. I retrieved three results: Jonathan Kelly, Andrea Kelly, and Winston Grimes, Jr.
I was pretty sure that all students and faculty were listed in the directory. If Kelly Grimes wasn’t a student or a faculty member, then who was she?
I exited the college’s website and typed the name into a search engine. The first result told me what I needed to know.
Kelly Grimes was a freelance writer. She had written a couple of articles for the local paper, the Athena Daily Register.
Curiouser and curiouser, I thought. If a freelance journalist was interested in Rachel Long, then perhaps the mayor was right about the potential political implications of her diaries. Ms. Grimes would probably be even more irritated over the delay in access than if she had really been a student. A writer hot on the trail of a saleable story wouldn’t be happy about being blocked from a source.
Loud warbling roused me from my reverie. Diesel, evidently having had his fill of cat food, butted his head against my side. He stretched out on the sofa beside me and laid his head and front paws on my thigh, nudging my laptop aside. I grabbed the computer to keep it from falling to the floor and moved it to safety on the end table. The cat moved farther onto my lap and rolled on his back. I recognized that as an invitation to scratch his chin and rub his tummy.
Happy sounds ensued for the next few minutes as Diesel received what he considered his due attention.
“How would you like to go to work tomorrow, boy?” I made a quick decision to spend the day in the archive office, despite the fact that it was Tuesday and a day I didn’t normally work. My curiosity about Rachel Long had continued to grow, and I might as well get started on the diaries a day earlier than I had originally planned. The sooner I had them ready for public use, the better.
I was also burning with curiosity to discover whether the archive collection contained a copy of the missing memoir. If it did, I was going to read it right away.
I had no real plans for tomorrow except lunch with Helen Louise at the bakery. That, I could still do. Otherwise I would have spent the day at home with Diesel, not accomplishing much of anything except for staying out of Azalea’s way.
Now that I had settled on a course of action for tomorrow, I decided I could relax with a book. I gently moved Diesel from my lap and told him it was time to head upstairs. He hopped off the sofa and headed out of the den ahead of me. He liked it when I stretched out on the bed to read. He always curled up next to me, his head on a pillow, and napped.
Upstairs I fluffed up my own pillows and arranged them for comfortable reading. I reclined on the bed and pulled my current read from the bedside table. I was reading the latest Maisie Dobbs novel by Jacqueline Winspear, and I looked forward to immersing myself once more in 1930s England.
While I read, Diesel slept. We spent many hours this way. By the time I surfaced from the book, having turned the last page and put it aside, I noticed it was a few minutes after ten. Helen Louise ought to be calling soon.
Seconds later my cell phone rang. “Hello, love,” I said. “How are you? Exhausted as usual?”
Helen Louise laughed. “Pretty tired, sweetheart, but for once I decided to let someone else close up. I left them to it and came home. I’m going to soak in a hot tub for a while and then crawl into bed.”
I couldn’t let myself dwell on the image of Helen Louise lounging in the bath, or I’d never get to sleep. I told her as much, and she laughed.
“I’d invite you over to share the tub with me,” she said. “But all I’d do would be to fall asleep.”
I could hear the tiredness in her voice. “Another time,” I promised her. I was tempted to tell her about my day, but right now I figured she needed her rest. We could talk about it all tomorrow at lunch.
We chatted for a few more minutes, mostly about plans for the weekend and our usual Sunday dinner with the family. Then we bade each other good night. I yawned, suddenly tired myself, and turned out the light. Not long after, I drifted off to sleep with Diesel still beside me.
Next morning, eager for an early start at the office, I showered, shaved, and dressed before going down to breakfast. Diesel disappeared while I dressed, and I knew I’d find him in the kitchen. He would be watching Azalea closely, hoping for a scrap of bacon or sausage. She thought I didn’t know that she occasionally slipped the cat a few tidbits, but I could usually tell from the cat’s smug expression when he’d had a treat from her.
The mingled scents of fresh biscuits and sausage greeted me as I neared the kitchen. My stomach rumbled in response.
“Good morning, Azalea. How are you today?”
My housekeeper turned and nodded to acknowledge my greeting. “Tolerable, Mister Charlie, tolerable. You must be going somewhere, you all dressed up like that.” She turned back to the stove. The cat sat nearby on the floor, his gaze fixed upon her every movement.
“Diesel and I are going to work at the archive today,” I said. I noticed the newspaper beside my place at the table. “Thanks for bringing in the newspaper.”
“Why you going in to work on your day off?” Azalea frowned as she set a plate of scrambled eggs, biscuits, and sausage in front of me. She had already poured my coffee.
“This looks wonderful, as usual,” I said as I picked up my knife and fork. “I have a special project to work on that’s going to take some extra time. The mayor brought me some old family diaries yesterday, and several people are anxious to look at them.”
Diesel batted at my thigh with one large paw. I cut off a small piece of the link sausage and gave it to him. He grabbed it and went under the table.
“Miss Lucinda sure stays busy,” Azalea said. “I was talking to her housekeeper, Ronetta, the other day. Ronetta says she’s about run off her feet a
ll the time, all the entertaining Miss Lucinda’s doing because her son wants to be a senator now.”
“I can just imagine.” I had a bite of fluffy biscuit and tender sausage. “I guess when you’re in politics, you have to entertain a lot if you’re going to be asking people for money for your campaign.”
“That sure is the truth.” Azalea popped another biscuit on my plate.
She was determined to keep me well fed, and I gave a fleeting thought to my waistline. I really shouldn’t have another one, but Azalea’s biscuits were a true gastronomic delight. I’d just have to run up and down the stairs a few times to work it off.
Diesel meowed and tapped my thigh again. I gazed sternly down at him. “I’m not sure you need anything else, boy. I’ll bet Azalea gave you at least a whole sausage before I made it downstairs.”
The cat warbled as if to say, Oh no, she didn’t. I’m still starving.
“That cat is shameless,” Azalea said with a faint smile. “He’s had him a whole sausage. You’d best not be giving him any more, or else he’s going to be sick.”
“You heard Azalea,” I told Diesel. “If you want anything else, you’ll have to go eat what’s in your bowl in the utility room.”
The cat stared at me for a moment before he turned and stalked away, his tail in the air.
Azalea laughed, a sound I loved to hear. She had mellowed a bit since her health scare of the previous fall. She laughed and smiled more now, and that was good.
“How’s Miss Laura doing?” Azalea asked. “I sure do miss seeing her and that pretty smile of hers in the mornings.”
I sighed. “I do, too. She’s doing fine. I don’t get to see her much, either, these days.” I would have to tell Laura she really ought to drop by occasionally to see Azalea. I knew they were fond of each other, and Laura brought out all of Azalea’s considerable maternal instincts.
Arsenic and Old Books Page 3
