I wasn’t a drinking man, however. Instead I settled for getting a cup of water from the cooler and downing a couple of the aspirin I’d brought with me. Thanks to the combined efforts of Marie Steverton and Kelly Grimes, I discovered, I had a raging headache from all the morning’s tension.
I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes for a couple of minutes. My attempt at relaxation helped ease the throbbing in my forehead.
During my talk with Kelly Grimes my mind had not been completely focused on the conversation. I was thinking of some way to make access to the diaries simpler for everyone concerned. From my cursory perusal of them yesterday I didn’t think they were good candidates for photocopying. The paper wasn’t brittle, thankfully, but the bindings wouldn’t hold up being flattened on the bed of a photocopier.
The archive did possess an overhead scanner to capture images of the pages, and a researcher could also use a digital camera for the same purpose. Both were tedious and time-consuming processes, but in the long run this might be the best option for both Marie Steverton and Kelly Grimes. My half-formed thought was to discuss this with Mayor Long and see whether she would allow it. It was a reasonable request, I figured, and I didn’t think she would have any serious objections.
Before I could reach for the phone, Melba appeared in the doorway with Diesel. “Here we are,” she said. She hung Diesel’s harness and leash on a coat hook near the door.
Diesel ambled forward and around my desk to jump into the broad window ledge behind my chair. This was his favorite spot while I worked, and he had an ongoing feud with the squirrels and birds who appeared in the large oak right outside the window.
Melba made herself comfortable in the chair recently vacated by Kelly Grimes. “I really will call Dr. Newkirk about the Steverton witch if you want me to. He owes me a favor from years ago. I hate to think of you being stuck with that lump of misery in your office while she does whatever it is she thinks she’s doing.”
One thing I loved about Melba: Her loyalty was absolute. I knew all I had to do was say the word, and she would do whatever she could to get Marie banned from the archive. I didn’t dare imagine what Dr. Newkirk had done in order to incur a debt to Melba, and I knew better than to ask. Melba loved gossip, but she understood the importance of discretion when it came to her friends.
“I appreciate the offer,” I said. Behind me, Diesel warbled loudly. He wouldn’t be happy with Marie in the office, either, but we would both have to live with it. “Although I don’t think we need resort to such a drastic measure just yet.”
“I get why Dr. Steverton wants to poke around those diaries, but what’s in it for the writer?” Melba asked.
I couldn’t divulge the complete story, but I could share part of it, I reckoned, without violating Kelly Grimes’s trust. “Background for the state senate race between Beck Long and Jasper Singletary.”
“That’s reaching pretty far back.” Melba frowned. “I don’t see the point, because frankly I don’t think Jasper Singletary stands a chance. Not against Beck Long. Jasper’s basically a nobody, even though his family’s been here in Athena since before the Civil War.”
“Maybe delving into the glorious past of the Long clan will help Beck Long keep his lock on the race,” I said. “Between you and me and the cat, I don’t see much point in it, either, but it’s not my decision.”
“Guess not,” Melba said after a moment. “I’d better get back downstairs before Peter realizes I’m not there. See y’all later.”
Peter Vanderkeller, the director of the library, leaned heavily on Melba, and he tended to get antsy if she wasn’t nearby the moment he needed her.
“Later,” I called to her retreating back. Diesel added a loud meow, and Melba turned to flash a grin at us before she disappeared into the hallway.
I thought again about calling the mayor to propose my compromise, but after further consideration I decided I ought to spend more time examining the four volumes of the diary first.
Diesel watched with sleepy-eyed interest as I pulled the archival boxes from the shelf and set them on my desk. He yawned, then put his head down on his front paws and appeared to go to sleep.
Smiling, I put on some cotton gloves before I opened the first box and extracted the initial volume of Rachel Long’s diary.
As I had noted yesterday, the paper appeared to be the usual linen-and-cotton rag, typical of writing paper from the first part of the nineteenth century. I recalled that I had not spotted significant blemishes or other problems on the pages from my hasty skimming. Now that I had time for a closer, more thorough examination, I realized there were issues with the condition.
These problems stemmed largely from the ink. The standard ink used at the time was iron gall, or oak gall, ink, made from a combination of iron salts, tannic acids, and vegetable matter. The latter tended to be the galls, formed by wasps that infested oak trees and caused the plant tissue to swell. The resulting ink is acidic and sometimes caused so-called ghost writing on the obverse side of the writing surface, usually vellum or paper.
Iron gall ink, due to the ease of its composition and its durability, had been in use since at least the early fourth century A.D. One of the earliest—and vaguest—recipes, I recalled, came from Pliny the Elder, who lived during the first century A.D. I had seen medieval English manuscripts written in this ink, and the clarity of the writing, even after several centuries, amazed me.
In addition to some of the ghost writing, I saw the occasional hole in the paper where the ink had eaten through. Overall, I concluded, the paper was in remarkably good condition, despite the fact that the diaries had been stored in an attic without significant temperature control. The ravages of unchecked humidity could be extensive, but somehow this volume had escaped them.
As long as the other three volumes were in similar condition to this one, there should be no problem with scanning or photographing the pages. Having them digitized would cut down on the necessity of handling the originals and thereby would help conserve them.
For the next two hours I pored over all four volumes to check the condition of each. I had to resist the lure of reading the diaries, though I did indulge myself and read the occasional brief passage. The first volume was filled with details about parties and the social whirl in 1850s Athena. Evidently Rachel Afton found herself in demand for various events, with a handful of young suitors vying for her companionship. In the bits I read she came across as modest, noting once with sharp wit that “no doubt Father’s extensive holdings in the Delta enhance my appearance and charm” for the less well-heeled young men chasing her.
By the time I finished the final volume I discovered I was hungry, Azalea’s big breakfast notwithstanding. Diesel slept throughout the time I worked, but when I stood up his eyes opened. He yawned and stretched on the windowsill.
“I’m ready for lunch, boy. How about you?” I stretched my back in imitation of the cat. I felt stiff and cramped. I should have taken a break or two to stretch earlier, but I was so engrossed in my work I didn’t stop.
“Let’s go see Helen Louise.” I retrieved the harness and leash, and Diesel jumped down from window and trotted over to me. “We’ll have to go home and get the car because I don’t feel like walking to the bakery in the midday heat.”
Diesel warbled, as if he understood and agreed. After a brisk walk home to retrieve the car, we headed for the center of Athena and the town square.
I found a parking place near the bakery, and Diesel and I headed down the sidewalk. Diesel loved Helen Louise, and he knew there would be chicken to eat. He walked fast and tugged on the leash, eager to get inside.
Newcomers to Helen Louise’s bakery sometimes looked askance at a large cat walking in as if he owned the place, but Diesel knew his corner and went straight toward it. Helen Louise had had a lengthy chat with the health inspector, who, ever since, had turned a deaf ear to protests.
This was the kind of thing that could happen in a small town like Athena, and Diesel was so popular with most people, anyone offended by his presence took his or her business elsewhere.
As I followed Diesel to our corner I noticed a cluster of several people at the cash register. The tallest, a young man, chatted with Helen Louise. She had not yet spotted Diesel and me because she appeared to be engrossed in the conversation. When I sat, at a right angle to the register, I had a better look at the young man and what seemed to be his entourage. I recognized the handsome features of Beck Long.
Was this a campaign stop? I wondered. Or was he here simply to have lunch?
I scanned the room. As expected, at lunchtime, the bakery was nearly full. To my surprise, I spotted Kelly Grimes in the far corner. Her gaze seemed riveted on the cash register area. I glanced at Beck Long again and saw that he now had one arm draped around the shoulder of a beautiful blonde. He looked down at her and smiled.
When I turned back toward Kelly Grimes, I could see she did not appear at all happy with her secret fiancé and his closeness to another woman.
EIGHT
The writer’s gaze shifted for a moment in my direction, and I caught a slight start as she recognized me. She inclined her head to acknowledge me, but her attention moved right back to Beck Long and the young woman beside him.
There was enough bustle and buzz of conversation in the bakery that I couldn’t make out what Beck Long and Helen Louise were talking about. He didn’t appear to be ordering anything, so I wondered whether this was a stop on his campaign trail after all.
I hated the last couple of months before an election. The media bombarded us with political ads, almost all of which consisted of mud being flung in every direction. The choice often came down to voting for the least objectionable candidate, rather than for the truly outstanding one. I hadn’t yet made up my mind about Beck Long or his opponent, Jasper Singletary, but I had to admit their campaigns seemed to be running cleaner than most. A little dignity in politics went a long way these days, sad to say.
I heard the bell on the door jingle to signal a new arrival, and at the same time, the buzz of conversation grew louder. I turned to see who had entered and spotted a group of five men making their way toward the counter. After a moment I recognized the tallest among them, Jasper Singletary.
This ought to prove interesting, I thought. The two candidates—both hometown boys—crossing paths in a local business.
Diesel tapped my thigh with one paw, and I looked down at him. He chirped a couple of times, and I interpreted the sounds as a question: Where’s my chicken that Helen Louise always gives me?
“In a minute, boy,” I said in an undertone. “She’s busy right now. We’ll both have to wait.”
The cat stared at me for a long moment before he resumed his position at my feet beneath the table. I found it uncanny sometimes the way he seemed to understand what I told him.
When I focused my attention again on the two politicos and their opposing camps, I saw Singletary making his way toward Beck Long. Beck didn’t appear to have noticed Singletary yet, but then the latter spoke.
“Good morning, Beck. Glad-handing the voters, I see.” Singletary’s tone was jocular, yet I thought I heard a sharp edge to it.
The noise of conversation in the bakery suddenly dropped to a low hum as most people tuned in to the chat between the two young men.
I regarded the pair for a moment. They definitely formed a study in contrast. Beck Long was the proverbial golden boy—tall, blond, blue-eyed, with the body of a trained athlete. Top of his class in law school, partner in a successful practice in Athena, he seemed to achieve anything he wanted with ease. Jasper Singletary had the dark good looks of the Black Irish, as my late aunt would have said. Not quite as tall, chunkier like a heavyweight boxer, he also had a pugnacious attitude—or so I had gathered from reading about some of his encounters with the press.
“Hey, Jasper.” Long turned with a smile and an outstretched hand. “Yeah, you know the drill. Have to get out into the community and talk to everyone.” The two shook hands. “Have you met the owner of this fine bakery, Helen Louise Brady?”
Singletary inclined his head at Helen Louise, who smiled warmly at him. “I have indeed. She makes some of the best chocolate cake I’ve ever eaten.”
Beck laughed. “Amen to that.” He patted his trim waistline. “I’ve spent many an hour in the gym to compensate for it, let me tell you.”
“I’d love to work out in a gym,” Singletary said with a slight smile. “I have bigger priorities for my budget, however, so I have to settle for jogging around the neighborhood.”
Singletary’s reference to his budget was a subtle nod to the fact that, unlike Beck Long, he hadn’t grown up in a privileged, wealthy family. The son of an impoverished local farmer with only a small holding, he had worked two jobs to put himself through college and law school. His ambition and hard work paid off as he became a successful lawyer in Memphis, but in the past year he’d moved back to Athena, evidently to enter politics in his home state.
Long gave little outward sign that he registered Singletary’s jab. “You’re lucky you’ve got the knees for it. I guess I played too much tennis, because my knees give me heck these days.”
I remembered reading that Long had been a tennis champion all through high school and college and had even flirted with the idea of turning professional, but decided instead to stick with family tradition.
“That’s too bad,” Singletary said in a patently insincere tone. “My advisors and I are planning to have lunch in this excellent establishment, and our schedule is tight. Have you finished here?” He waved a hand toward the cash register.
“Yes, I’m afraid we have to push on. No time for lunch today. So many folks to see. We just stopped by to say hello to Ms. Brady.”
Long’s entourage of five evidently took that as their cue, because they started moving away from the counter and toward the door. Long turned back to Helen Louise and nodded. “Always good to see you, Helen Louise. Let me say again how much my parents and I enjoyed your food the other night.”
“My pleasure, Beck,” Helen Louise said.
I watched as Long paused on his way toward the door to shake a few hands. My attention switched back to the counter, however, when I heard Helen Louise greet Singletary.
“Nice to see you again, Jasper,” she said. “We have that chicken salad you like so much today. How about that?”
Singletary grinned. “You know my weakness, so how can I say no?” He motioned for his companions to join him at the register.
I listened for a few moments but when I realized all they were talking about was food, I lost interest. I hoped they would finish soon because I was getting hungrier by the minute, I realized. Diesel chose that second to reappear from under the table and tap my thigh again. “I know,” I told him. “I’m hungry, too. Won’t be long, though, I’m sure.”
The cat appeared to understand, though the look he gave me was far from happy. He meowed twice and slunk under the table as if disgusted.
When I focused on the register area again, there was no line. I surveyed the room and spotted Singletary and his companions sitting on the far side of the bakery from me. They occupied a table next to the small one where Kelly Grimes sat. I was surprised to see her still here, because I thought she might be following Beck Long discreetly for either personal or professional reasons.
Instead I noticed her shooting covert sideways glances at Singletary—or so I thought. He sat at about a forty-five-degree angle from her spot in the bakery. From what I could tell, though, he didn’t appear to notice her. Perhaps she was hanging around to get a chance to talk to him. A good writer wouldn’t turn down an opportunity like this, I reckoned.
She did nothing but continue to sit there, however, as I watched. I became fascinated by the way she glanced his way, then ba
ck down at her plate, at regular intervals. What was going on here? She wasn’t shy; I knew that. So why didn’t she get up and go to his table?
“Are you sitting there ogling another woman, Charlie Harris?”
Helen Louise startled me. I had been so engrossed in watching Kelly Grimes, I hadn’t noticed her leaving the cash register and walking over to my table.
She grinned at me as she leaned down to give me a quick kiss. Diesel warbled at her, determined to be noticed. She laughed. “I’d never forget you, honey.” She rubbed his head, and he purred contentedly. I knew it wouldn’t be long, though, before he would be hunting for his usual treats from her.
“How could I ogle any other woman when you’re around?” I asked.
Helen Louise grinned impishly. “Do I take that to mean that you do ogle other women when I’m not around?”
“Oh, yes, I roam the streets of Athena just looking for women to leer at,” I said as I rolled my eyes at her.
“You cad, you. I didn’t realize you were such a roué,” she said in a mock-horrified tone, “or I never would have gotten involved with you.”
“You’re just feeling giddy because you’ve had two young, attractive men fawning over you.” I frowned. “I had no idea your affections were so easily shifted, and all for a pretty face.” I shook my head, my expression doleful.
Her peal of laughter made me smile. “I do love you so,” she whispered as she bent to graze my cheek with a kiss.
I grinned at her. “Ditto. Now, how about some food, woman? The cat and I are practically malnourished, we’ve waited so long for you to stop flirting and take care of us.”
Diesel warbled loudly, and Helen Louise and I exchanged a smile.
“Guess I’d better feed you right away,” she said. “I can’t have you fading away to nothing in my bakery. I’ll be right back.” She scratched Diesel’s head before she headed to the kitchen.
Arsenic and Old Books Page 5
